DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The usual suspects arrived; he arched a brow, gave a singular smile to both, inhaling a massive breath that spoke of something like undertakings, rather than any emotional forbearance. “I am all right,” he mentioned to Sah; because he was – this was right, this was sure, perhaps this and this alone in his blood. “There is simply much to be done,” and if it was overwhelming, overbearing, he didn’t show it – not in the breadth of his chest, of his shoulders, or anything else. Deimos wasn’t carrying the world, but he would hold Halo above all else, including the people. “And you?” Reflecting upon the Abandoned’s feelings after the latest meeting, the gathering of souls who either agreed, remained neutral, or stood firmly rooted in their disagreement.
His eyes flickered over toAino, in her usual brusque, abrupt mannerisms – and maybe he was grateful for it. Straight to the point, rather than wallowing any further. He muffled a laugh, but the grin remained, standing taller, straighter, spine and columns of bone upright, rather than a bent, bowed head. “Thank you both for coming. I would like to start with the armory and the targets.” Inclining his cranium in their direction, he started down the hall, presuming they would follow, until they came to the room filled with weaponry.
While he’d been running things previously, it had been in a constant state of organization; a part of a soldier’s every-day tasks: to place their armaments back where they belonged, to shift armor into place, cleaned, ready for the next day or the next interval. Any of the Shields needed to know where to find a specific piece for their impending movements and motions. But now, either due to no one properly leading them, laziness, or it’d been deemed unimportant, the armory was in a state of disarray. Blades were laid haphazardly, crossing over boundaries of other types, armor and chainmail strewn everywhere, and some precious tools clattered upon the floor. A deep sigh was maintained, closing his eyes for a moment at the frustration warring over him, before he had to release it, let it go into the void. It would be taken care of soon enough. “As you can see, it needs quite a bit of help. Mostly organization and cleaning. Two of us can likely accomplish that quickly.”
Thereafter, the other task suited them further into the threshold of the training arena itself. The Sword made his way over to a pile of targets that were either too emblazoned with holes to go on, disfigured immensely (heads cut off, but never sewn back on, arms dangling, legs flailing), or merely needing a fresh coat of paint. “And one for refurbishing the targets.” His eyes flickered up to several Shields watching them instead of accomplishing their tasks. “You can recruit several of them as well,” jutting his chin towards the fellow soldiers.
--
Pick your tasks! Deimos will fill in the remaining spot.
1. Two for organizing the armory
2. One for fixing the targets (and you get to order some NPCS around)
His eyes flickered over to
While he’d been running things previously, it had been in a constant state of organization; a part of a soldier’s every-day tasks: to place their armaments back where they belonged, to shift armor into place, cleaned, ready for the next day or the next interval. Any of the Shields needed to know where to find a specific piece for their impending movements and motions. But now, either due to no one properly leading them, laziness, or it’d been deemed unimportant, the armory was in a state of disarray. Blades were laid haphazardly, crossing over boundaries of other types, armor and chainmail strewn everywhere, and some precious tools clattered upon the floor. A deep sigh was maintained, closing his eyes for a moment at the frustration warring over him, before he had to release it, let it go into the void. It would be taken care of soon enough. “As you can see, it needs quite a bit of help. Mostly organization and cleaning. Two of us can likely accomplish that quickly.”
Thereafter, the other task suited them further into the threshold of the training arena itself. The Sword made his way over to a pile of targets that were either too emblazoned with holes to go on, disfigured immensely (heads cut off, but never sewn back on, arms dangling, legs flailing), or merely needing a fresh coat of paint. “And one for refurbishing the targets.” His eyes flickered up to several Shields watching them instead of accomplishing their tasks. “You can recruit several of them as well,” jutting his chin towards the fellow soldiers.
--
Pick your tasks! Deimos will fill in the remaining spot.
1. Two for organizing the armory
2. One for fixing the targets (and you get to order some NPCS around)
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
