DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Were he not constantly grieving, Deimos might have done something other than portray features of utter stoicism and indifference towards the ridiculous joke – repressing an eyeroll, and merely shaking his head for the statement. It reminded him briefly of Jigano, and the emotions intermingled with that thought weren’t bothered with either.
Based on lantern light, and shifting his eyes into feline proportions, the blackened mass ahead warranted the choice of direction had been a poor one. Nonetheless, the beast wasn’t deterred – he’d dealt with a multitude of caverns, rocks, and their associated cave-ins a hazardous amount in his lifetimes here. “Hang on.” A series of incantations contorted to life – and it felt like ages, like primordial vestiges, to suddenly have them back in his control, rather than unfurled and exposed in his sickness. The earthen wares conspired together to maneuver, to deter, to motion the assemblage of rock, soil, and loam to shift off to the side, restructuring along his mind as he grew closer and closer, intending to bend it to his will.
Based on lantern light, and shifting his eyes into feline proportions, the blackened mass ahead warranted the choice of direction had been a poor one. Nonetheless, the beast wasn’t deterred – he’d dealt with a multitude of caverns, rocks, and their associated cave-ins a hazardous amount in his lifetimes here. “Hang on.” A series of incantations contorted to life – and it felt like ages, like primordial vestiges, to suddenly have them back in his control, rather than unfurled and exposed in his sickness. The earthen wares conspired together to maneuver, to deter, to motion the assemblage of rock, soil, and loam to shift off to the side, restructuring along his mind as he grew closer and closer, intending to bend it to his will.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
