Deimos the Reaper master of nothing place, of recoil and grace Perhaps this was one of the reasons his herd, his empire, was inherently flawed; multitudes had no ability to think on their own. During meetings and discourse, they held the capability to spew out any and every thought they ever possessed (over such ridiculous things: where to put metal, why wolves couldn’t be utilized for treachery and security), but when it came to action, when it came to tasks, when it came to responsibilities, they skirted and slithered back into shadow. Those who held their own motivations and aspirations were to be commended for their efforts (and it often showed as they adhered and grew to new positions, as they drifted from lower realms to the hierarchy); and maybe he’d believed they could all administer to their own trials and tribulations for too long, trusting in their power, in their dominion, in their might – and now witnessing it all implode. He stared at the soldier who awaited a mission, as if he’d earned it by some divine right, as if he were entitled to wield a herculean, monumental force after disappearing into the void for months at a time. Do your job, he wanted to say, he felt compelled to proffer into the icy aperture. Was a warrior’s ability, duty, function, or role a difficult thing to possess? Was it too arduous, strenuous, or burdensome to wander the halls of his homeland, ensure their security, their safety? Was it too exhausting to practice sparring with his fellow soldiers, mastering the art of their craft, honing savage, barbaric, brutal skills? Did someone have to hold his hand to ensure anything was executed? If all of their militia acted as Caleb, wandering and waiting for someone to tell them their next action, they were all headed for ruin. |
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@Caleb