DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Inscrutable, save for the puncturing weight of his stare, the monolith waited for the judgment to pass, the scrutiny to oblige. Whether he was surprised or not by the alterations, he said naught – Zuriel aired a snort of frustration, an evident toss of her head, a haughty, arrogant, directed look towards the Wraith, while he began to make changes. “So the crossbow will be the one containing the magic,” he extended, ensuring he had an understanding of what she wanted. The arrows, nor the quiver, would matter – save for the wooden mechanism itself. He placed the paper down on the table, little scratches made over details, new notes rendered in corners, labels on the push and pull of the notch. “Any arrow placed within will be ignited.” A pull of a string. A firing of a trigger.
He offered the notations back, the adjustments and modifications rendered – waiting for the final verdict, so that he might complete what they required.
He offered the notations back, the adjustments and modifications rendered – waiting for the final verdict, so that he might complete what they required.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
