DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos watched the selection process with his habitual perusal. He knew which he would’ve chosen – much like any Attuned, or warrior, seeking out an adversary weak at first, easy to cull from the field. One down without much effort, and then onto the next. A framework tidy and neat for the battlefield, and though it wasn’t always easy to achieve, it stood out in the forefront of his mind.
Tal seemed inclined into a suitable mindset, picking and choosing a larger and slower mass. If it were a lumbering ursur, it could’ve been a problem – for some of such stature held power and dominion – but since it was merely bits and pieces of debris from a fake Sunjata’s features, the Sword would give him the benefit of the doubt. It was the strike he was examining anyway. “Better,” he announced, after the wood cracked and fumbled under the assault. It flickered into smaller pieces, and instead of joining its brethren, fell to the stone of the barracks. "You knew your capabilities, and what would suit you best."
Therein, a notion began to stir, about defenses, and if the courier would remember earlier sentiments. “Now, what if you are under assault, while attacking another?” How many times had soldiers used such a technique? It wasn’t fair, but it was opportunity, and many took full advantage of such moments. Conforming some of the smaller pieces into a larger frame, so they worked in unison, the monolith encouraged one to barrage Tal’s left side, while another came at his front.
Tal seemed inclined into a suitable mindset, picking and choosing a larger and slower mass. If it were a lumbering ursur, it could’ve been a problem – for some of such stature held power and dominion – but since it was merely bits and pieces of debris from a fake Sunjata’s features, the Sword would give him the benefit of the doubt. It was the strike he was examining anyway. “Better,” he announced, after the wood cracked and fumbled under the assault. It flickered into smaller pieces, and instead of joining its brethren, fell to the stone of the barracks. "You knew your capabilities, and what would suit you best."
Therein, a notion began to stir, about defenses, and if the courier would remember earlier sentiments. “Now, what if you are under assault, while attacking another?” How many times had soldiers used such a technique? It wasn’t fair, but it was opportunity, and many took full advantage of such moments. Conforming some of the smaller pieces into a larger frame, so they worked in unison, the monolith encouraged one to barrage Tal’s left side, while another came at his front.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
