DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
So they dispersed, each trying to grapple with some kind of clarity over the situation. Iskra approached Frieda and her toddler, her features clearly torn between despondent, irate over nothing, and an inner rage that held no bounds. The youth noticed the dog though, screeching at the top of his lungs “PUPPY!” before dashing towards Goose, and before Frieda could start talking to the Abandoned about leash laws or something else, she rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. There’s been tons since the last war!” She waved her arms in a general direction, which wasn’t incredibly helpful. Huffing a breath, she squinted, gesturing back to the barrows in the foreground. “There was at least one of those dragons, I swear it, all mystical and ghostly. I just wanted to pay my respects to one of the graves further down, but it wouldn’t let me pass, and I wasn’t about to go tromping through there on my own. I’ve got other mouths to feed, y’know,” as if it was Iskra’s fault.
Jack ’s advance upon Crentist, who was meandering through his own market stall and trying to decipher if any business was to be had today, glanced at the smuggler with no change in his expression. “Whole lot of mess,” he started. Jack would be able to see the layout of images within the man’s head – an assemblage of griffins around a family plot emblazoned with Walton – ghostly, ethereal, and full of wrath. “More in the middle there,” he offered, pointing north. “There was one biggun though. Maybe it’s the leader of somethin’. I wasn't about to stick around to find out."
Which left Deimos with the nervous, twitchy man. The Sword bit back a level of irritation, and took some large strides towards Albert Smith, who’d already started to glance back and forth, looking as though he might bolt at any moment. Funneling in all the patience he could muster, Deimos nodded his greeting, striving to appear non-threatening, despite every ounce of his demeanor, stature, and figure exemplifying the usual. “Hello, sorry to bother you – we are attempting to gather information on the daemons, have you seen any-,”
At which Albert screamed, hands raised. “The daemons! Yes! Nasty brutes! There was a dragon, I swear it!” Before the Warden could persist with more questions though, the merchant begun spewing out all sorts of random tidbits. “Everywhere!” His fingers, slightly mangled, pointed towards the north yet again, indicating there might now be a pattern, instead of random bits of gossip. "Have you heard what they can do to someone? I’d be careful if I were you!”
--
Come share information with your group, or pester the NPCs for more info!
Jack ’s advance upon Crentist, who was meandering through his own market stall and trying to decipher if any business was to be had today, glanced at the smuggler with no change in his expression. “Whole lot of mess,” he started. Jack would be able to see the layout of images within the man’s head – an assemblage of griffins around a family plot emblazoned with Walton – ghostly, ethereal, and full of wrath. “More in the middle there,” he offered, pointing north. “There was one biggun though. Maybe it’s the leader of somethin’. I wasn't about to stick around to find out."
Which left Deimos with the nervous, twitchy man. The Sword bit back a level of irritation, and took some large strides towards Albert Smith, who’d already started to glance back and forth, looking as though he might bolt at any moment. Funneling in all the patience he could muster, Deimos nodded his greeting, striving to appear non-threatening, despite every ounce of his demeanor, stature, and figure exemplifying the usual. “Hello, sorry to bother you – we are attempting to gather information on the daemons, have you seen any-,”
At which Albert screamed, hands raised. “The daemons! Yes! Nasty brutes! There was a dragon, I swear it!” Before the Warden could persist with more questions though, the merchant begun spewing out all sorts of random tidbits. “Everywhere!” His fingers, slightly mangled, pointed towards the north yet again, indicating there might now be a pattern, instead of random bits of gossip. "Have you heard what they can do to someone? I’d be careful if I were you!”
--
Come share information with your group, or pester the NPCs for more info!
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
