DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Even if the rank and title had changed, his head turned away from the wooden beams of the catapult and towards the familiar tones, arching a brow distinctly as Talyson made his way over. There were a few modest grumblings amidst the soldiers for a variety of reasons, and the Sword found himself snorting besides, eyes flicking back to the craft at hand as the courier made his way over.
While Belial suddenly swooped along the air (probably because he’d spotted the dragon) and landed in the basket of one of the weapons, more earth incantations replaced rotted and broken timber within. Patting the initial mended instrument of war, he nodded towards a group of warrior brethren, who instantly made a beeline for it, plying and playing with the mechanics for a moment.
Only then did he step back and give Talyson his full attention, gloves pulled back on as his gaze drifted from the messenger, to the bag…steaming. “Why…,” he intoned, mystified and bewildered, and very suspicious, before he did as instructed, settling along a stump.
While Belial suddenly swooped along the air (probably because he’d spotted the dragon) and landed in the basket of one of the weapons, more earth incantations replaced rotted and broken timber within. Patting the initial mended instrument of war, he nodded towards a group of warrior brethren, who instantly made a beeline for it, plying and playing with the mechanics for a moment.
Only then did he step back and give Talyson his full attention, gloves pulled back on as his gaze drifted from the messenger, to the bag…steaming. “Why…,” he intoned, mystified and bewildered, and very suspicious, before he did as instructed, settling along a stump.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
