to forge

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Talyson hastened off and there was only the marginal wait before the crackle of his voice across the phone. Another snort threatened to rally along his throat, but he kept it in check, eyes flickering down to watch Sah’s offspring lean in far too close, and hid another snicker. He’d been half-hoping she might screech into it and startle the courier along the other end, but this was fine too. The excitement and cheer were probably enough to disconcert Talyson anyway. For his efforts, Deimos permitted his voice to carry along and downwards, with no need to project, given his constant rumbles and deep tones. “Are we coming through clear?” The Sword had no intentions of crafting an object that would only instigate and ensure a garbling, crackling, static-laden mess on the other end. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace