DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
A stark clarity stung and spun over him as the herald’s words ricocheted through his mind – edges of bitterness, of a rancor never quite satisfied or content, and the weight of disappointment pressing down over his spine. Because he could hear that it was not to be, that Ru’in’s soul would not be joining Kiada’s, at least by his manifestations, and the appeasement of striving, of trying to do something for her wasn’t possible, plausible, or probable. For a few moments he only hung his head, controlling his breathing, leaning into one of the few aspects left in his composure, while the notions and semblances sunk in. While the reality bit into his shoulders, and cast one more painful edge to boundaries and fringes already consumed.
And in the end, somehow, someway, Jigano had screwed them all over again.
Eventually Deimos snorted, shaking his skull, a biting, lancing void cutting through his teeth and tongue. He’d never been able to truly sharpen his knives, blades, and or any munition on that foolish, selfish individual when he’d had the chance. He should’ve. He should’ve done something other than watch that smarmy, disingenuous, occasional waste of a human being wander around in his masquerades. But he’d tolerated. But he’d permitted. But he’d stood there and seethed silently, quietly, when things the Sage could’ve done never occurred. The tones that followed weren’t for anyone in particular, save for an outlet into the irritation, the nettles, the thorns brambling down his flesh and bone. “For a man with abilities and wisdom, he could be appallingly useless.”
Then there was only the semblance of Delphia in the Greatwood, of an individual to hunt down later. The Sword eventually lifted his head to gaze back at the deity, rendering a nod. “Thank you.” A pause, a reflection, a pondering; and if this wasn’t something capable either, he’d be on his way. “I have one last request. Would it be feasible to have communication devices created? We had similar ones once in the Grounds, some shells, and I believe these items would be beneficial here.” Given his own predilection for wandering into treacherous, dangerous pathways – and anyone else who traced equivalent trails.
And in the end, somehow, someway, Jigano had screwed them all over again.
Eventually Deimos snorted, shaking his skull, a biting, lancing void cutting through his teeth and tongue. He’d never been able to truly sharpen his knives, blades, and or any munition on that foolish, selfish individual when he’d had the chance. He should’ve. He should’ve done something other than watch that smarmy, disingenuous, occasional waste of a human being wander around in his masquerades. But he’d tolerated. But he’d permitted. But he’d stood there and seethed silently, quietly, when things the Sage could’ve done never occurred. The tones that followed weren’t for anyone in particular, save for an outlet into the irritation, the nettles, the thorns brambling down his flesh and bone. “For a man with abilities and wisdom, he could be appallingly useless.”
Then there was only the semblance of Delphia in the Greatwood, of an individual to hunt down later. The Sword eventually lifted his head to gaze back at the deity, rendering a nod. “Thank you.” A pause, a reflection, a pondering; and if this wasn’t something capable either, he’d be on his way. “I have one last request. Would it be feasible to have communication devices created? We had similar ones once in the Grounds, some shells, and I believe these items would be beneficial here.” Given his own predilection for wandering into treacherous, dangerous pathways – and anyone else who traced equivalent trails.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
