DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Quiet, attentive, studious, the impassive, stoic features might’ve relaxed at the acceptance of his proposal, save for the other notions surrounding it. He nodded at the indication of Ru’in, of a boy he remembered from mountains, from worlds far apart, taken and mauled early on in their days here. The lantern itself might’ve presented a problem – for while he remembered the Sage carrying it around during LongNight’s reign, there’d been no sign of the guildmaster’s return. “Jigano journeyed elsewhere,” as far as he knew; and sometimes Deimos couldn’t even blame him for that. “Do you know of its location?” Would he still have it? The General presumed it was a treasured keepsake, and knowing the Loreseeker, he wouldn’t have left it behind. “Or can it be replicated?” The other notions and tasks were readily accepted – slaying a soul he’d known, find it within the dark, and do not go alone (tempting as it might’ve been – to not lead anyone else into a trap).
The information about the Ascended souls was merely to snag at what had been dictated to others – and while he’d briefly discussed it with Amalia already, he’d never met the other demigod. “Where would I find the daughter of Mort?”
The information about the Ascended souls was merely to snag at what had been dictated to others – and while he’d briefly discussed it with Amalia already, he’d never met the other demigod. “Where would I find the daughter of Mort?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
