DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
It would be easy to hide.
He’d always thought that – to become consumed by shadow and darkness, to unfurl into pieces, into shells, into minute, fringes of frayed strands. For a time in Helovia, he’d been devoured by the unrelenting contortions of darkness, and he’d been comfortable there in his desolation, in his indifference, in his apathy, striking out with savage intuition, drowning the wakes, the borders, in his chaotic abyss.
But here it was different and there’d been no way out of living and loving and cherishing – and he’d tried. They’d found him, time after time, and he’d let them all in –
And they kept leaving, dying, breaking.
Alongside the Oasis, because it was a favored haunt, because there was something calming in the stretch of water, because maybe no one would bother to look for him here, he sat along a massive rock and bowed his head. To nothing, no one, save for exhaustion, fatigue, and sorrow, building up through his shoulders and working its way down his back, coiling in the nestle of his spine, in the roots of his hands. The Sword didn’t even bother to look down at the clutches of his knuckles, the forming of magic in between his palms.
He just wanted to escape. To have one moment where he could breathe and everything wasn’t falling apart.
Cloth pooled in his hands, and he thought nothing of it, piercing eyes roaming further across the void, along the abyss, drowning on dry land, swallowed down by the wake of his anguish.
--
Deimos has made:
Invisibility Cloak: Ornate, detailed cloak, that when worn, renders the wearer invisible.
He’d always thought that – to become consumed by shadow and darkness, to unfurl into pieces, into shells, into minute, fringes of frayed strands. For a time in Helovia, he’d been devoured by the unrelenting contortions of darkness, and he’d been comfortable there in his desolation, in his indifference, in his apathy, striking out with savage intuition, drowning the wakes, the borders, in his chaotic abyss.
But here it was different and there’d been no way out of living and loving and cherishing – and he’d tried. They’d found him, time after time, and he’d let them all in –
And they kept leaving, dying, breaking.
Alongside the Oasis, because it was a favored haunt, because there was something calming in the stretch of water, because maybe no one would bother to look for him here, he sat along a massive rock and bowed his head. To nothing, no one, save for exhaustion, fatigue, and sorrow, building up through his shoulders and working its way down his back, coiling in the nestle of his spine, in the roots of his hands. The Sword didn’t even bother to look down at the clutches of his knuckles, the forming of magic in between his palms.
He just wanted to escape. To have one moment where he could breathe and everything wasn’t falling apart.
Cloth pooled in his hands, and he thought nothing of it, piercing eyes roaming further across the void, along the abyss, drowning on dry land, swallowed down by the wake of his anguish.
--
Deimos has made:
Invisibility Cloak: Ornate, detailed cloak, that when worn, renders the wearer invisible.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
