DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Fangs and grins and a muffled snort from himself, tilting his head vaguely to gaze over at what she seemed to be perusing. Trinkets, baubles, and a variety of clothing, and he permitted a slow smile to unfurl in the corners of his mouth, while he slid over to the kiosk nearby, opening up his bag. While he and the seller bartered over prices and selections, Belial took it upon himself to dart towards Kiada – for there was no competition with Zuriel tending to the soldiers in the barracks – beelining for her knees in a somewhat affectionate bump of antlers.
By the time he’d finished, procuring some fair trades of venison and other fowl for the ningo, the Harpy had already flickered towards his side. An arch of a brow solidified over his features as he looked down at what she’d draped over his arm: a scarf, embroidered in deep emerald hues, and then varnished with deer motifs. The monolith laughed, shaking his head in amusement rather than argument, placing the rest of his wares back into the satchel and over his shoulder, while his hands plucked at the newfound garment. “Thank you,” came along another deep rumble, Belial making some other grumbling noise nearby. While they walked and wandered forward, because he thought he’d seen the glint of some weaponry nearby, he wound the scarf around his neck, tucking it along the coat and furs. “Trading some game.”
Falling step into step, and meandering closer to that particular glinting kiosk, his eyes fixated upon the Ascended once more. “What have you been up to?” The Sword imagined some guild prosperities and knowledge exchange with Aisha, considering how the inn was coming along, or some other multitudes with Chuy.
By the time he’d finished, procuring some fair trades of venison and other fowl for the ningo, the Harpy had already flickered towards his side. An arch of a brow solidified over his features as he looked down at what she’d draped over his arm: a scarf, embroidered in deep emerald hues, and then varnished with deer motifs. The monolith laughed, shaking his head in amusement rather than argument, placing the rest of his wares back into the satchel and over his shoulder, while his hands plucked at the newfound garment. “Thank you,” came along another deep rumble, Belial making some other grumbling noise nearby. While they walked and wandered forward, because he thought he’d seen the glint of some weaponry nearby, he wound the scarf around his neck, tucking it along the coat and furs. “Trading some game.”
Falling step into step, and meandering closer to that particular glinting kiosk, his eyes fixated upon the Ascended once more. “What have you been up to?” The Sword imagined some guild prosperities and knowledge exchange with Aisha, considering how the inn was coming along, or some other multitudes with Chuy.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
