DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
He followed after some of the curving paths, the cycle of kiosk and market stalls, none of the wares catching his eyes any longer. Focus was drawn inward, and his limbs matched and marked the cobblestones by habit and ritual, routine and respite, rather than anything logical or noteworthy. Belial conspired for more scratches, and the Sword offered them distractedly, listening to Kiada’s insights, and then the shake of her head. Forging beyond melancholy, and straight into the bizarre volleys of idiots.
“A lot of drama,” he snorted – perhaps the insinuation wasn’t necessary, given Sunjata’s previous, world-renowned antics. “Apparently a lot occurred over Deepfrost with his father appearing. Nate being captured. A mess.” But when were things involving the Flood not? The man had a habit, a reputation, of running headlong into events without the slightest bit of thought. Burnt houses, mobs, and still he managed to maintain some power over the threshold – in the Basin he would’ve been pushed down a summit and forgotten about. “After all of that was settled, Nate, Hotaru, and Sunjata had discussed having children.” He swung his piercing gaze back to Kiada, and he figured she’d understand the nuances behind those predilections; given Hotaru’s past, given her inclination towards offspring. “They were going to leave Safrin as a last resort, but he went to her the following night anyway. Meanwhile, Nate saw the Voice and became a demigod for her.” A shrug of his shoulders, a shake of his head, the interplay of deities and beacons forging a disarray he’d yet to fully delve into.
Deimos had come to appreciate chaos and bedlam in a battle-hinged sense – but none of these bizarre, and unnecessary, interludes. He persisted and continued while they walked, while they meandered. “Sunjata made a deal with Safrin. She would have his child, he would raise it, and become a soldier for her. In return, she would save Nate if the Voice was destroyed. Except, now it does not matter.” Dilemmas and dramatics; all for naught in the end. Perhaps they deserved one another, the fools, to mire about in their stupidity, a circle of transgressions and ineffectual schemes. “Which left Ru.” And here he paused, permitting the Harpy a moment to absorb it all.
“A lot of drama,” he snorted – perhaps the insinuation wasn’t necessary, given Sunjata’s previous, world-renowned antics. “Apparently a lot occurred over Deepfrost with his father appearing. Nate being captured. A mess.” But when were things involving the Flood not? The man had a habit, a reputation, of running headlong into events without the slightest bit of thought. Burnt houses, mobs, and still he managed to maintain some power over the threshold – in the Basin he would’ve been pushed down a summit and forgotten about. “After all of that was settled, Nate, Hotaru, and Sunjata had discussed having children.” He swung his piercing gaze back to Kiada, and he figured she’d understand the nuances behind those predilections; given Hotaru’s past, given her inclination towards offspring. “They were going to leave Safrin as a last resort, but he went to her the following night anyway. Meanwhile, Nate saw the Voice and became a demigod for her.” A shrug of his shoulders, a shake of his head, the interplay of deities and beacons forging a disarray he’d yet to fully delve into.
Deimos had come to appreciate chaos and bedlam in a battle-hinged sense – but none of these bizarre, and unnecessary, interludes. He persisted and continued while they walked, while they meandered. “Sunjata made a deal with Safrin. She would have his child, he would raise it, and become a soldier for her. In return, she would save Nate if the Voice was destroyed. Except, now it does not matter.” Dilemmas and dramatics; all for naught in the end. Perhaps they deserved one another, the fools, to mire about in their stupidity, a circle of transgressions and ineffectual schemes. “Which left Ru.” And here he paused, permitting the Harpy a moment to absorb it all.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
