DEIMOS
They believe nothing can reach us
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
Success could only be measured in so many degrees: they’d completed their prior mission, but lost another individual in the process, behind fallen rocks and caved in lanes. There was a blight in the schism, concocting a catalyst for their return – and while he said naught about caverns and landslides, the experiences of a prior peril (but then – there’d been screams, cries, and voices to follow – earlier there’d been naught but the squeaking of rodents) made him pack differently. This hunt held a different priority, so his satchel wasn’t so weighed down by formidable weapons (those were tucked along his belt), but rope, food, water, and some leftover bandages. Zuriel remained behind him, silent but monitoring, not inquiring the reasons for their return. She likely already knew and understood.
A raven had managed to grip his shoulder with its talons too, and he maneuvered along the grounds as if this was perfectly reasonable, a normal circumstance.
Sword in hand, torch in the other, the Reaper and company wandered their way back to the same lines and Underground tombs, the stretch of dawn managing to break up the shadows. It was as if they’d never left though – the stench of blood and disaster riddled through the air. It didn’t bother him – numbed long ago to any pinnacle of such a sensation; the only thing occupying his mind was the liberation of the farm-boy, the one who’d been brave enough to first hiss at the Merciless.
Upon their approach, Deimos didn’t speak a word; a simple nod granted to Ronin and Roana, an indication he was another stalwart individual fervent to head back into darkened sepulchers.
A raven had managed to grip his shoulder with its talons too, and he maneuvered along the grounds as if this was perfectly reasonable, a normal circumstance.
Sword in hand, torch in the other, the Reaper and company wandered their way back to the same lines and Underground tombs, the stretch of dawn managing to break up the shadows. It was as if they’d never left though – the stench of blood and disaster riddled through the air. It didn’t bother him – numbed long ago to any pinnacle of such a sensation; the only thing occupying his mind was the liberation of the farm-boy, the one who’d been brave enough to first hiss at the Merciless.
Upon their approach, Deimos didn’t speak a word; a simple nod granted to Ronin and Roana, an indication he was another stalwart individual fervent to head back into darkened sepulchers.
They're wrong
