i want to be outrageous

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

Breadths and breaths released, and then he pondered over refilling the glass again. Instead, something like a snort rumbled through him. Zuriel’s gaze landed along his features, and he could feel the weight of her stare, but shrugged that off too, brows furrowing all the more, features collecting themselves back together. He eventually dropped the glass, left it alone and vacant on the table, arms coming to rest on the sides of the chair, head lifting, gaze landing somewhere over the hearth.

Zuriel leaned heavily on Aisha’s shoulder, providing and presiding, while Deimos’ mind wandered. “First a soldier,” as if he’d ever be anything but – trained and honed and lifting a blade into the enemy without any semblance or sense of guilt. “Then General.” A few of his most coveted, prized moments, rising through the ranks, stretching out across the battlefield, rampaging, unleashing, unfurling until there was nothing left. “And then Lord.” But the end statement felt tired and fatigued; and they’d both be able to see the patterns there, the cyclical means he’d seemingly encountered again and again, no matter how he’d tried to avoid it. He had no intention of keeping this title though – the Warden mantle wouldn’t rest on his shoulders for long. The beast would keep his promise, and hopefully Morgan would do the same.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead