DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The Sword couldn’t quite recall the last time he’d meandered around Whitebrim; most of it might’ve been on a curious whim. Cannibals presented an alteration of a stark, clear memory in his head – one of caves, frozen over, of the Flood ripping out a man’s throat, of dragons resting in their den before disturbances and more death. But the beast also had no inclination of permitting more to remain – and the notion of inspecting their little hold was only appealing in that regard. To ensure no more managed to find their way back.
He didn’t quite understand Neron’s place in all this. While Morgan had offered the Ascended as bait, the General couldn’t comprehend why the man would agree to such a thing. The confusion might’ve shown in the arch of his brow, or the slight tilt to his head as instructions had been laid out, a brief narrowing of his piercing eyes at scrutiny and bizarreness over the situation. But then the thoughts were no more as they arrived, and his own orders and commands were detailed.
A snort followed her last comment, uncertain if it was supposed to be a joke, a warning, or both. Then he nodded, confirming the outline. “I will let you know.” Zuriel snorted behind him, and he considered, weighed out the notion of snagging Belial to join him in the sky – but didn’t want that risk to the companion either.
Thereafter, Deimos shifted, gilded and sienna plumage, wings upon wings, before bracing into the sky, intending to hover and survey over the surroundings.
He didn’t quite understand Neron’s place in all this. While Morgan had offered the Ascended as bait, the General couldn’t comprehend why the man would agree to such a thing. The confusion might’ve shown in the arch of his brow, or the slight tilt to his head as instructions had been laid out, a brief narrowing of his piercing eyes at scrutiny and bizarreness over the situation. But then the thoughts were no more as they arrived, and his own orders and commands were detailed.
A snort followed her last comment, uncertain if it was supposed to be a joke, a warning, or both. Then he nodded, confirming the outline. “I will let you know.” Zuriel snorted behind him, and he considered, weighed out the notion of snagging Belial to join him in the sky – but didn’t want that risk to the companion either.
Thereafter, Deimos shifted, gilded and sienna plumage, wings upon wings, before bracing into the sky, intending to hover and survey over the surroundings.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
