DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Denizens of manners tipped his head in her direction, placing the name not upon a face, but the skull, in the back of his calculating mind for future references. The mist rolling through meant his focus strayed though, studying as it seemingly flickered, sauntered, and then left as quickly as it had arrived – a notch in a clenched jaw following suit. Unyielding and unbending, guarded, reserved, and too haunted by too many experiences, he made no angle to maneuver after the fog and abyss, the bizarre roll of laughter. Instead, his gaze remained locked on various locations, clearly watching, waiting, for something vicious, vile, and vehement to appear.
Only snorting when it dissipated into nothing at all.
That she would be apt to rally after the strange semblances didn’t surprise him – though the question of why pressed behind his teeth. There were times he’d done the same; but that had been on the echoes of dying peoples’ screams, on the fringes of striving to save.
And then she countered once more in an alteration that had his brow arching. “That is where I came from,” and he pointed in the direction of the sweeping caverns he’d meandered through by curiosity and exploration, Belial chirping diligently by his knee. Winds beyond that promised a frigid, ferocious cold, that always made him lift his head into the gale. “I can lead you back through, but I promised some meat upon my return.” Even observations of another world prospered dual purposes, and he was rarely a man to settle into the unknown simply for its own sake. Certain she would catch his meaning, he turned to ramble onward, in pursuit of committing the walls to memory, and finding something to hunt.
Presuming she’d follow, or his voice would reverberate through the stone chambers, he measured another inquiry. “Do you live here?” It wouldn’t be the first time someone inhabited a place known for treachery and hazards. Or had they stumbled through the portal, taken away by whims and mercurial efforts, to land amongst the obsidian and fire?
Only snorting when it dissipated into nothing at all.
That she would be apt to rally after the strange semblances didn’t surprise him – though the question of why pressed behind his teeth. There were times he’d done the same; but that had been on the echoes of dying peoples’ screams, on the fringes of striving to save.
And then she countered once more in an alteration that had his brow arching. “That is where I came from,” and he pointed in the direction of the sweeping caverns he’d meandered through by curiosity and exploration, Belial chirping diligently by his knee. Winds beyond that promised a frigid, ferocious cold, that always made him lift his head into the gale. “I can lead you back through, but I promised some meat upon my return.” Even observations of another world prospered dual purposes, and he was rarely a man to settle into the unknown simply for its own sake. Certain she would catch his meaning, he turned to ramble onward, in pursuit of committing the walls to memory, and finding something to hunt.
Presuming she’d follow, or his voice would reverberate through the stone chambers, he measured another inquiry. “Do you live here?” It wouldn’t be the first time someone inhabited a place known for treachery and hazards. Or had they stumbled through the portal, taken away by whims and mercurial efforts, to land amongst the obsidian and fire?
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
