DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The Sword had never been truly far away. Not from the aspects of what constructed and contorted in his veins: a soldier through and through, even if the title had been stripped from his name. The bones had still been forged in warrior prowess. The veins still pulsed with vehemence. The mind still grasped at machinations, tactics, and vigilance. He’d been tucked in corners and left to his own devices, but not now. Not any longer.
Like stepping into home, the barracks front parlor remained the same; a comfort with the fire in the hearth, with roaring flames, with maps he’d left in place, rolled underneath the desk in the corner. The apartments were still there, to be tended to when he moved back in, the Shields themselves busy at hand, either giving him a wide berth, entirely uncertain, or flickering straight back into a routine, a normalcy, befitting people capable of enduring change.
So his first few hours were maintained in inspection, a massive side-eye to the state of the armory (again), the targets (some battered beyond recognition), the catapults outside (needing repairs) and down to portions of wood outside, doorframes clearly nibbled on by passing vampire gourds.
Ordinarily, Deimos would adhere to doing things by himself; but it would take a matter of days, with portions of time that should’ve been set aside for trainings, instruction, routine patrols around the Citadel, and defensive maneuvers. Opting for assistance and so he didn’t burn himself out in the first week back into the role, he left a notice on the board for anyone interested in helping, and then set out the tools.
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This is an open PQ to refurbish the barracks (and regain Deimos’ profession check)! Feel free to come on in and we’ll move things along when we have two others to join!
1.
2.
Like stepping into home, the barracks front parlor remained the same; a comfort with the fire in the hearth, with roaring flames, with maps he’d left in place, rolled underneath the desk in the corner. The apartments were still there, to be tended to when he moved back in, the Shields themselves busy at hand, either giving him a wide berth, entirely uncertain, or flickering straight back into a routine, a normalcy, befitting people capable of enduring change.
So his first few hours were maintained in inspection, a massive side-eye to the state of the armory (again), the targets (some battered beyond recognition), the catapults outside (needing repairs) and down to portions of wood outside, doorframes clearly nibbled on by passing vampire gourds.
Ordinarily, Deimos would adhere to doing things by himself; but it would take a matter of days, with portions of time that should’ve been set aside for trainings, instruction, routine patrols around the Citadel, and defensive maneuvers. Opting for assistance and so he didn’t burn himself out in the first week back into the role, he left a notice on the board for anyone interested in helping, and then set out the tools.
--
This is an open PQ to refurbish the barracks (and regain Deimos’ profession check)! Feel free to come on in and we’ll move things along when we have two others to join!
1.
2.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
