DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The General eyed the fire scorching, in efforts to stave off the chill, and he motioned towards the barracks themselves, where’d he already started flames and conflagrations in their proper place. “We can move inside,” and he followed along his own directions, Zuriel swiftly roaming forward, ensuring she arrived to the hearth first, claiming her spot and curling up along the rug.
He was thankful Jigano didn’t pry anymore into the fold of incantations, how they’d immersed, revolved, or sunk into his veins. The beast had nothing else to go off of other than the simplistic awareness that they existed. No one else in his family had air plunging or pervading. No one else had earth tendencies. All part of the mystique of Caido itself, uncertain if they’d ever receive the answers they craved.
The bard adhered to his request, the smallest of grins working their way along his mouth, mostly out of tangible predictions, and while the Sage spoke, he took off his gloves, putting them along the table in the center of the front room, and the letter with it.
He wasn’t certain what to do with the information once he had it though. Another goddess, a lesser herald, adorned in elemental wakes of rime and glaciers, capricious and harsh (weren’t they all?). “Sounds like something else to avoid then,” he noted on a sigh, never having been an individual who sought out entanglements with deities (save for Safrin, and a majority of the time it had been seeking out a benefit to others). There were some other schemes involved here, either unwritten through Kiada’s letters, or frankly, unknown.
He was thankful Jigano didn’t pry anymore into the fold of incantations, how they’d immersed, revolved, or sunk into his veins. The beast had nothing else to go off of other than the simplistic awareness that they existed. No one else in his family had air plunging or pervading. No one else had earth tendencies. All part of the mystique of Caido itself, uncertain if they’d ever receive the answers they craved.
The bard adhered to his request, the smallest of grins working their way along his mouth, mostly out of tangible predictions, and while the Sage spoke, he took off his gloves, putting them along the table in the center of the front room, and the letter with it.
He wasn’t certain what to do with the information once he had it though. Another goddess, a lesser herald, adorned in elemental wakes of rime and glaciers, capricious and harsh (weren’t they all?). “Sounds like something else to avoid then,” he noted on a sigh, never having been an individual who sought out entanglements with deities (save for Safrin, and a majority of the time it had been seeking out a benefit to others). There were some other schemes involved here, either unwritten through Kiada’s letters, or frankly, unknown.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
