DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The Sword only briefly recognized the structures of the streets laden before them – having wandered here previously with Sunjata, but in the usual distortion of a new region for him – hadn’t known the precise location. Mentally marking it along the map in his mind, much like the one Sohalia had gifted to him, he directed his senses to each sight and sound. This portion didn’t seem has open as the Plaza had been; a juxtaposition to the cafes, bakeries, and sweet shops, a darker complexion with bars and gambling halls, and his brows furrowed, pondering over where exactly the Dragoon would be taking them.
If it was a brothel again, he’d be doing exactly the same as he had with the Flood, and avoiding it entirely.
But instead of leaving that up in the silence and air, he lifted his head at the aromas drifting along – a mingling of scents from a variety of food laden fixtures and stalls. “What do you recommend?” Belial hooted from beside the Warden’s boots, an echo of impending choices.
If it was a brothel again, he’d be doing exactly the same as he had with the Flood, and avoiding it entirely.
But instead of leaving that up in the silence and air, he lifted his head at the aromas drifting along – a mingling of scents from a variety of food laden fixtures and stalls. “What do you recommend?” Belial hooted from beside the Warden’s boots, an echo of impending choices.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
