DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The contemplative silence followed, maneuvering like a wraith, a ghost, on the edges of his lungs, on the marrow of his bones. It was usually an element he corresponded too well, absorbing the sights, the sounds, keenly observing; but he didn’t like the way this one was strung together, haphazard, like waiting for another onslaught to fall. Perhaps her nods simply gave way so the quiet would persist, and he looked away, back down the row of chambers, choosing right, until it opened to a wider venture in the Burrows – some lizards slinking along the sides, then scurrying at their entry.
The question marked for him almost broke him out of the apprehension curling around his spine – a snort following through. “I always had,” he murmured. “I wanted to protect my loved ones.” The people he had left. And it’d been from a tender, young, early age that he’d asked for the shield and the might and the blade in the palms of his emboldened hands, offering to guard his land, his home, and then the community within it. But those stories were eternally bound to not remain victorious – he could’ve had all the power in the world and it wouldn’t have saved everyone and everything. Valuable life lessons that still hovered around him today, intermingling as specters and beacons.
As one who didn’t bother with subtle powers; because despite any stealthy prowess he’d managed to obtain, the man was far too monolithic to be hidden and tucked away, he tilted his head, curious and vague. “Have you met Mildew? She is a demigod in the swamps. Likes to deal with fortunes too.” He’d asked, out of good humor, about their reaches in Halo before then, when he’d been banished and exiled and adrift with plots and machinations in his head, but no way to grasp them. “Though she used cards.” Not kills.
His features didn’t seem to indicate anything other than brief speculation – as the Sword was just the sort of individual who believed he carved his own destiny – but inquisitive enough to humor her just the same. He wouldn’t be sacrificing any of the meat over his shoulder, but Belial might’ve snagged at another for them. With a single gesture to the peryton, the companion eagerly set aside his mangled crow, and unfurled his wings, setting off to pierce at the lizards who’d opted to stay, unfortunately, behind. With an arch of his brow once more, the General’s rumbles echoed against the columns and pillars. “And how do you see such things?”
The question marked for him almost broke him out of the apprehension curling around his spine – a snort following through. “I always had,” he murmured. “I wanted to protect my loved ones.” The people he had left. And it’d been from a tender, young, early age that he’d asked for the shield and the might and the blade in the palms of his emboldened hands, offering to guard his land, his home, and then the community within it. But those stories were eternally bound to not remain victorious – he could’ve had all the power in the world and it wouldn’t have saved everyone and everything. Valuable life lessons that still hovered around him today, intermingling as specters and beacons.
As one who didn’t bother with subtle powers; because despite any stealthy prowess he’d managed to obtain, the man was far too monolithic to be hidden and tucked away, he tilted his head, curious and vague. “Have you met Mildew? She is a demigod in the swamps. Likes to deal with fortunes too.” He’d asked, out of good humor, about their reaches in Halo before then, when he’d been banished and exiled and adrift with plots and machinations in his head, but no way to grasp them. “Though she used cards.” Not kills.
His features didn’t seem to indicate anything other than brief speculation – as the Sword was just the sort of individual who believed he carved his own destiny – but inquisitive enough to humor her just the same. He wouldn’t be sacrificing any of the meat over his shoulder, but Belial might’ve snagged at another for them. With a single gesture to the peryton, the companion eagerly set aside his mangled crow, and unfurled his wings, setting off to pierce at the lizards who’d opted to stay, unfortunately, behind. With an arch of his brow once more, the General’s rumbles echoed against the columns and pillars. “And how do you see such things?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
