if you don't terrify people a little then what's the point
Combined efforts ensured a readied dummy: in between clothes, scents, and food, the makeshift effigy likely wouldn’t bear a striking resemblance to anyone, but to a wandering daemon, perhaps an individual worthy enough to attack. Staring at it, the Sword had to muffle a laugh, ensuring there were some painted on eyes and a haphazard, frowning mouth, before they sent it off.
He crouched once more, eyes back on the hills and barrows in the distance. “I can send it out,” he mentioned to Sah, “if you want to make its limbs move.” With air incantations in place, mustered quickly and efficiently, and Sah’s telekinesis, it sauntered forth.
A bit disheveled, jangled, and uncoordinated, the target had the makings of a newborn calf. Its legs bumbled and its arms fumbled along and sometimes its head shifted downward against its chest, but maybe, just maybe, it had the distinction of a wounded, or very lost soul, heading straight for disaster. Even watching it, Deimos once more had to hold back a snort – for it was truly a ridiculous sight.
They only had to wait a short while. It could’ve been the clumsy, blundering measures of motions. It could’ve been the smell of jerky, or the pretenses of wounds. It could’ve been simply its presence at all – but within a few moments, there was an abrupt change in the scenery. A figure dashed along the sanction, wings outstretched, unfurling, eerie, ethereal, ghostly, part of something otherworldly and catastrophic. “There it is,” he murmured in a low whisper, the mood abruptly shifting and changing.
Because within seconds, claws and fangs were upon the effigy, ripping and tearing into its surface without hesitation.
--
The daemon has made its appearance! What will you do next?
He crouched once more, eyes back on the hills and barrows in the distance. “I can send it out,” he mentioned to Sah, “if you want to make its limbs move.” With air incantations in place, mustered quickly and efficiently, and Sah’s telekinesis, it sauntered forth.
A bit disheveled, jangled, and uncoordinated, the target had the makings of a newborn calf. Its legs bumbled and its arms fumbled along and sometimes its head shifted downward against its chest, but maybe, just maybe, it had the distinction of a wounded, or very lost soul, heading straight for disaster. Even watching it, Deimos once more had to hold back a snort – for it was truly a ridiculous sight.
They only had to wait a short while. It could’ve been the clumsy, blundering measures of motions. It could’ve been the smell of jerky, or the pretenses of wounds. It could’ve been simply its presence at all – but within a few moments, there was an abrupt change in the scenery. A figure dashed along the sanction, wings outstretched, unfurling, eerie, ethereal, ghostly, part of something otherworldly and catastrophic. “There it is,” he murmured in a low whisper, the mood abruptly shifting and changing.
Because within seconds, claws and fangs were upon the effigy, ripping and tearing into its surface without hesitation.
--
The daemon has made its appearance! What will you do next?
DEIMOS
