DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos, given past expressions of destruction, was only wary of the potential disaster to someone else in their circle, and the repercussions thereafter. “Worth asking,” he nodded, agreeing to the notions and ideas, as a driving force, as a battering ram, but with all the apprehension underneath. There could’ve been multitudes layered alongside it – intertwined with semblances of Kiada, and then misgivings associated with actions lacquered with too much calamity on the other side. "Even if it does not deter them, it can at least distract them." Would they spend their time rebuilding? Would they leave it be, and scuttle back to the Grounds? Maybe it wouldn’t matter, with the war swiftly approaching; because then everything would fall to pieces anyway. But they could wait, approach it methodically – another interval in the game.
Withholding information from Sah made his jaw feather as it tightened, and he glanced downward at the sand, easing a long, slow breath from his lungs. “I doubt he will lead us there without knowing why. But I understand your concern.” While the Abandoned had seemingly made a choice, he was also quick to assume, impulsive, and the Sword wasn’t certain how he’d react to the idea. A frown began to whittle its way along his features, if only because the frustration had begun to etch and sketch through his mind again; roadblock after roadblock fumbling through. “I would like to talk to whoever is left in Halo.” Those who’d chosen to stay. Who held more loyalty to their land, than the leader. “See what we can do there.”
And with the addition of the notice board, it might be able to plant the figments deeper into the minds of the people – but he glanced upwards, permitting one round of laughter, a deep rumble even as his arms crossed over his chest, at the ludicrous picture of Noah’s floating head. “Thank you. Hopefully it will serve you well.”
Withholding information from Sah made his jaw feather as it tightened, and he glanced downward at the sand, easing a long, slow breath from his lungs. “I doubt he will lead us there without knowing why. But I understand your concern.” While the Abandoned had seemingly made a choice, he was also quick to assume, impulsive, and the Sword wasn’t certain how he’d react to the idea. A frown began to whittle its way along his features, if only because the frustration had begun to etch and sketch through his mind again; roadblock after roadblock fumbling through. “I would like to talk to whoever is left in Halo.” Those who’d chosen to stay. Who held more loyalty to their land, than the leader. “See what we can do there.”
And with the addition of the notice board, it might be able to plant the figments deeper into the minds of the people – but he glanced upwards, permitting one round of laughter, a deep rumble even as his arms crossed over his chest, at the ludicrous picture of Noah’s floating head. “Thank you. Hopefully it will serve you well.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
