DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
New responsibilities failed to keep the Sword away from the barracks (not much would). Still believing Halo’s militaristic might to be an encouraging and growing platitude, he deigned points of his duty to be continually structured around the sway and practice of the warriors. And perhaps, in some part, it was where he was the most comfortable – a home amongst weapons and shields, targets and climbing walls; safety for safety, shelter for shelter.
Today was an encouragement in ensuring the catapults were still in working order. It’d been a long time since they’d been utilized, and dragging them out along the range of the Citadel wall (where he intended for their group to fire them over the ramparts and see the residual span and scope) wielded several paces of inspection. Before long, some measure of rot was discovered amidst the wood, and repairs were firmly established between himself and the more mechanically inclined of the combatants.
Earthen incantations roamed along frames of timber, carving their nuances into newly reformed proportions – and that was where anyone roaming by the soldiers and Sword alike would spy them – tools at their feet in the snow, gloves tossed aside, and banter flickering back and forth amidst the work.
Today was an encouragement in ensuring the catapults were still in working order. It’d been a long time since they’d been utilized, and dragging them out along the range of the Citadel wall (where he intended for their group to fire them over the ramparts and see the residual span and scope) wielded several paces of inspection. Before long, some measure of rot was discovered amidst the wood, and repairs were firmly established between himself and the more mechanically inclined of the combatants.
Earthen incantations roamed along frames of timber, carving their nuances into newly reformed proportions – and that was where anyone roaming by the soldiers and Sword alike would spy them – tools at their feet in the snow, gloves tossed aside, and banter flickering back and forth amidst the work.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
