DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Familiarity in tradition eased him along the winter wakes, forgoing the gnarled irritation in their denial of pursuits. It simply meant they would have to find other ways, methods, means, and measures, an alternate route and path, segmented by primordial lore and capable hands. There’d been mixed sentiments of these procedures in his years here – the first hailed the Spark Bird, proud and ignited, bringing LongNight to its conclusion (but not without death and destruction before flared wings and tangible cinders). The second, despite their trials and tribulations, had signified nothing.
So this year, in their determination, mettle, and grit, they would try again.
Deimos had already gathered the necessary tools, placing them along the bakery walls, waiting for the rest to join, sign-up in their positions, where they craved and yearned to help. It felt like there was some sort of greater need this time around, and he couldn’t fathom why, when there were less to worry about. Maybe it was just the consternation rumbling along his chest. Maybe it was foreboding from the experience of it all.
He heaved a sigh and roamed forward, nodding at those who arrived, pleased to see a growing crowd milling around already. A brow arched in Aisha’s direction, the lightest and slightest of smiles. “Taking those opportunities, I see,” per their last conversation, as she aimed to join his crew. She’d yet to back down from any challenge, so he was content with her presence in the mold, and only stifled a snort at Jigano’s approach. “It would be most appreciated,” acceptance with another nod of his head. Considering the amount of creation contortions he’d have to undertake, even with his skills, the fatigue and exhaustion could be wearing towards the end. It’d be best to have more than just the Sword enacting it all. Then they would only need one more.
So this year, in their determination, mettle, and grit, they would try again.
Deimos had already gathered the necessary tools, placing them along the bakery walls, waiting for the rest to join, sign-up in their positions, where they craved and yearned to help. It felt like there was some sort of greater need this time around, and he couldn’t fathom why, when there were less to worry about. Maybe it was just the consternation rumbling along his chest. Maybe it was foreboding from the experience of it all.
He heaved a sigh and roamed forward, nodding at those who arrived, pleased to see a growing crowd milling around already. A brow arched in Aisha’s direction, the lightest and slightest of smiles. “Taking those opportunities, I see,” per their last conversation, as she aimed to join his crew. She’d yet to back down from any challenge, so he was content with her presence in the mold, and only stifled a snort at Jigano’s approach. “It would be most appreciated,” acceptance with another nod of his head. Considering the amount of creation contortions he’d have to undertake, even with his skills, the fatigue and exhaustion could be wearing towards the end. It’d be best to have more than just the Sword enacting it all. Then they would only need one more.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
