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12-26-2015, 08:26 PM
 The world managed to shift in peculiar ways. What had started as a preface to alliance building, to negotiated armistices, to specific ceasefires, built to scorched friendships and missing companions, ended in a distorted, foreboding measure. It’d been as if everything had been forgotten, tied and tethered elsewhere, led astray and built on a ledge he couldn’t reach. Distractions aplenty: there’d been too many monsters, too many villains, too many Gods, too many chances to obliterate, to defy, to massacre, and the chain of discussions and discourse had been abandoned, left simmering, brewing, and brooding, an opportunity wasted. The Reaper was not a beast strung together by merchants of fate or predetermined misgivings, he didn’t sit upon his throne and hope an opportunity came by; he waited, he calculated, he machinated, he marched and deliberated, seized and stole, plundered and pillaged – and he had no intention of returning to his kingdom empty-handed. He’d slowly eroded from the silent mercenary, from the stoic, nonchalant General, to a King who melded, molded, and shaped his misgivings, his flaws, his defects, into sterner measures, into defiance and dissent. He would not be a Lord surveying from shadows with naught but the predacious glow pervading his devilish soul; he would not be a crowned carnivore with naught to his name but the stature of demise and the calling of revolution mottled to his brow. He’d alter, change, and morph to strengthen his sovereign, to protect and safeguard his comrades. There was too much at stake to give up now, and if Deimos was anything, it was resolute, adamant, and unwavering, one more satanic chassis intending to grasp, clench, and hold what they wanted – whether or not it was something Mauja craved remained to be seen.
So he returned to the haunting fringes of the World’s Edge without his son or the Mender, eyeing the choking mist and the falling leaves, listening to the roaring seas meet the rocks and cliffs with a barbaric crash (and remembered the way he listened to its sound over and over again, alone and unafraid, much like the stones, rubble, and ruin, unaware of what perils would face them in the seasons ahead). Just as merciless as the sea, just as heartless as the tides, just as belligerent, vehement, and ferocious as the wake of the ocean and the roaring waves, he meandered close to the borders, a predator tracing old footsteps, worn traps, and broken snares. The pieces of his past flickered and ghosted around him, phantom paintings, wraith writhing, specter sketches of days spent harboring only discord, only malice, only chaos, and staring in disbelief when they’d finally found bedlam, and subsequently rewarded with a devastating loss – an empire no longer theirs. The narrowed slate of his eyes stared into the void, and his mouth offered one firm bellow, calling for the leader, for the familiar slate of ice and rime, for the mold of yesteryear to return to the present. He’d try and try and try again, unyielding, tenacious, a billowing barb of smoke, fire, and death. [Possible Basin/Edge alliance thread #2. XD] DEIMOS
delivered from the blast
last from a line of lasts and now the kingdom comes crashing down undone |
image credits
@Tembovu @Elsa
