DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
There was a crowd brewing and brimming on the sidelines as he careened through the target. The blade remained sturdy, crafted by himself some time ago, fitting into callouses and grooves, maiming the effigy with little effort. Perhaps there was some air of frustration, or relief, in the way it pressed into the fold, slung through the air, and blasted into the pieces. Before long, the faded target became just that – an old ruin of itself, arms and limbs fallen to the floor. A few smirks from fellow soldiers were delivered in his direction, but perhaps they knew better than to advance yet, and so he granted them in return.
However, another was bold enough to step out of the framework, and no sooner had he ceased in his motions, not yet picking up the remnants, did a voice echo along the grounds. The Sword shifted quickly, brows furrowing briefly, confused on how he’d receive a letter in the short interim he’d been here. His eyes flickered over the stranger briefly, maybe trying to place some familiarity, before accepting the envelope. “Thank you.”
Wondering if the haste meant something important, developing, or otherwise treacherous, he quickly sliced into the parchment, unfolding and unfurling it – gaze quickly scanning the document and its writing. There was a very brief smile, maybe the beginning of a laugh, before he turned back to the courier. Not intending to be rude, because some manners had been engrained since childhood, the rumble began again. “My apologies – I recognize you, but I do not know your name.”
However, another was bold enough to step out of the framework, and no sooner had he ceased in his motions, not yet picking up the remnants, did a voice echo along the grounds. The Sword shifted quickly, brows furrowing briefly, confused on how he’d receive a letter in the short interim he’d been here. His eyes flickered over the stranger briefly, maybe trying to place some familiarity, before accepting the envelope. “Thank you.”
Wondering if the haste meant something important, developing, or otherwise treacherous, he quickly sliced into the parchment, unfolding and unfurling it – gaze quickly scanning the document and its writing. There was a very brief smile, maybe the beginning of a laugh, before he turned back to the courier. Not intending to be rude, because some manners had been engrained since childhood, the rumble began again. “My apologies – I recognize you, but I do not know your name.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
