To long

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Belial watched the panther, but since companions came and went through these halls on a normal occasion, he paid her no mind, other than to stare at her from the back of the couch. Zuriel made her presence known by stretching further in front of the hearth, and Deimos tended to the stove, turning to place water in the kettle as he listened to Darkeye. He could only imagine the state of the Grounds – and with only recollections from before, where they’d all been together, then broken apart, then trapped within sconces of darkness during some of the worst days, the visions remained stark and desolate. “It is fine. Sounds like you have more than enough on your plate.” Snagging at two mugs and some tea, he waited for the liquid to boil along the burner, head tilting slightly. “Are you taking on a leadership role there?” For he wasn’t certain, nor could he fathom, many others willing to snag and take hold. “We are all recovering in our own way,” and he could only shrug his shoulders, not to make light of the situation, but to void the topic from his shoulders and spine. “Halo and the Climb have been separated, and the Fangs has collapsed. But with the skyports, transportation has not been an issue.” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace