DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Loren wasn’t a surprise; there’d been a cyclical stance to their impacts and roles along the Grounds once too, back and forth in responsibilities, in abilities to help or hinder. The Sword nodded, the slightest of smiles etching its way in the corners of his mouth at the congratulations, not certain he’d earned it by normal means and modes. “Thank you.” But he’d do his best to ensure it wasn’t an error on Morgan’s part for offering the position, or on his portion for accepting it. Another joined, a stranger (which would be common for him; he hadn’t stretched his way through this earth yet), and he offered a hand, in respect, in unknown ramparts of potential camaraderie. “Deimos.”
And then he shifted his attention to listen to the task ahead, falling into line as they walked around the perimeter, eyes riveting, mind speculating, the steady maelstrom of machinations, calculations, and prowess reviving, returning, resurging from their break during ailments and afflictions. Secret plans, protection during Deepfrost, and digging a ditch – his brow arching on the furtive notions of it. An oath and assurance of specious emblems, another classified and confidential aspect melding into his skull and going no further. At the insinuations of what they held or contained, the beast could answer readily. “I have earth magic.” Or a shovel, if brawn executed it better than incantations. In display, a portion of the loam nearby receded, and then he placed it back, carefully, meticulously, concentration honed and refined.
--
Deimos shows that he has earth magic.
And then he shifted his attention to listen to the task ahead, falling into line as they walked around the perimeter, eyes riveting, mind speculating, the steady maelstrom of machinations, calculations, and prowess reviving, returning, resurging from their break during ailments and afflictions. Secret plans, protection during Deepfrost, and digging a ditch – his brow arching on the furtive notions of it. An oath and assurance of specious emblems, another classified and confidential aspect melding into his skull and going no further. At the insinuations of what they held or contained, the beast could answer readily. “I have earth magic.” Or a shovel, if brawn executed it better than incantations. In display, a portion of the loam nearby receded, and then he placed it back, carefully, meticulously, concentration honed and refined.
--
Deimos shows that he has earth magic.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
