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08-15-2016, 04:51 PM
He listened to the subtle change, to the sketches of history lodged in his father’s mind, in his throat, reverberating along the walls for Sjal’s benefit. There was pain glorified in there too, of a time and place where even someone named the Reaper could’ve done nothing to escape the feeling of complete, utter failure - but he remembered, knew all too well, that faltering and stumbling only burned, only ignited, only incensed those truly resolute. Deimos had risen, intact, just as the Basin had, thriving on the myths, demons, and embers of their prior defeat, smoking, fueled, inspired by the bestial slate of defeat. They’d become something because they’d seen their realm altered and skewed by others, taken from their claws, from their mouths, from their annals of treachery and deceit – what better way to motivate a barbarous group of mercenaries? He almost smiled, imagining the cloaks and daggers of their predecessors, marching and avaricious, toiling amongst graves and heathens, painstakingly devouring the rapture and reverie of another day when they would conquer and thrive. But instead, the youth remained tied and tethered to his section, eyes following lines of movement and motion made by Sjal, made by Deimos, made by the chronicles, memories, and sagas tucked and lacquered within their walls. The girl’s interest seemed genuine, kindled, sparked, just as he’d hoped, and despite her queries and questions, he knew he couldn’t answer them. They were for the Lord – the only one present who could’ve recalled the way numbers swayed, the expectancy of winning or losing, or the change in outcomes. The prince almost wondered why it mattered, because they couldn’t rewrite any of it; but then he pondered on pride, and if the girl strived to believe her mother incapable of fumbling.
But they all were – each and every one of them could stumble, could tip, could fall. How they managed to climb back up was always the soul of the story.
But they all were – each and every one of them could stumble, could tip, could fall. How they managed to climb back up was always the soul of the story.
Erebos
i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want
