DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
For some reason, he didn’t expect the next bout of words. Not many had said them, really, beyond close friends, allies, and loved ones. His features softened a tad, unfurling a snort, intending to unleash something self-deprecating, instead of looking inward, instead of wondering if those things could be true anymore. Instead though, in some manner of growth, or having to acknowledge an instance of self-worth, the Sword nodded, and permitted a smile. Touched, really, that anyone thought of him that way. “Thank you. Likewise.”
With the invisibility cloak possibilities placed back into the forefront, the soldier began to roll up his sleeves, adhering to the manner of stipulations quickly. “I offered,” by way of reminder, an arch to his brow as he worked and listened all in the same fluid motions. It’d been a long while since he’d embarked into anything along the lines of these incantations, probably not since Noah’s last gift of the bow, but it uncoiled rapidly and with an unrelenting, gilded haze. In between his hands began to conform and detail, outlining a cloak rendered not unlike his own, but embroidered and ornamented differently; scaled by ways of mountains and bears, reflected on blackened hues.
Meanwhile, he could piece together his concentration into joint efforts. His brows furrowed, but it was difficult to tell if it was from consternation or focus. “Do you mean to destroy them?”
With the invisibility cloak possibilities placed back into the forefront, the soldier began to roll up his sleeves, adhering to the manner of stipulations quickly. “I offered,” by way of reminder, an arch to his brow as he worked and listened all in the same fluid motions. It’d been a long while since he’d embarked into anything along the lines of these incantations, probably not since Noah’s last gift of the bow, but it uncoiled rapidly and with an unrelenting, gilded haze. In between his hands began to conform and detail, outlining a cloak rendered not unlike his own, but embroidered and ornamented differently; scaled by ways of mountains and bears, reflected on blackened hues.
Meanwhile, he could piece together his concentration into joint efforts. His brows furrowed, but it was difficult to tell if it was from consternation or focus. “Do you mean to destroy them?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
