DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Tal’s enthusiasm made his eyes widen, and then follow thereafter with a small laugh – for the Sword wasn’t used to those being excited by his presence. He gave a swift nod in return, glancing over his shoulder at Cordelia with a wry smirk that could’ve meant many things (probably planned mischief), as he grabbed a mug of coffee. "Thank you."
Listening to Tal’s proclamations, his piercing eyes glanced over the desecrated wake again. If given his preferences, the General would start entirely anew – but with circumstances and time, he understood why they’d be surveying for a building that still stood through dragon sieges. There was a strung sigh nestled in between his lungs that didn’t escape – recalling, remembering, assaults and shifting paradigms, somehow all of it bringing them back here once more.
Finishing off the remains of his drink, he inclined his motions towards the stretch of ruins to the left. “I will search this way,” and absentmindedly lobbed a snowball in Cordelia’s direction, before wandering off.
Long strides stretched and Zuriel was soon by his side, drifting close at hand. Belial careened along the skies with hardly a care in the world, following overhead, occasionally chasing down a stray ningo. But Deimos’ attention was solely on the standing proportions, limbs taking him past fallen shards and split timber, until he came to a wider structure.
The edifice had clearly been on the outskirts of dragon machinations, only vaguely scorched on the surface. Windows broken. A deck hastily built. The sod roof only missing some of its pieces. On his approach, he listened to the creaking of the wood in the wind, the bizarre laughter and fog filtering in, and hesitated. Perhaps it was from the previous bout with cannibals – the house they’d entered, the blood on the walls, the stench, the disastrous wake of so many gone and torn apart – that kept him outside for now.
--
Deimos throws a snowball at Cordelia for the lulz and then goes to find a building slightly less creepy than the others.
Listening to Tal’s proclamations, his piercing eyes glanced over the desecrated wake again. If given his preferences, the General would start entirely anew – but with circumstances and time, he understood why they’d be surveying for a building that still stood through dragon sieges. There was a strung sigh nestled in between his lungs that didn’t escape – recalling, remembering, assaults and shifting paradigms, somehow all of it bringing them back here once more.
Finishing off the remains of his drink, he inclined his motions towards the stretch of ruins to the left. “I will search this way,” and absentmindedly lobbed a snowball in Cordelia’s direction, before wandering off.
Long strides stretched and Zuriel was soon by his side, drifting close at hand. Belial careened along the skies with hardly a care in the world, following overhead, occasionally chasing down a stray ningo. But Deimos’ attention was solely on the standing proportions, limbs taking him past fallen shards and split timber, until he came to a wider structure.
The edifice had clearly been on the outskirts of dragon machinations, only vaguely scorched on the surface. Windows broken. A deck hastily built. The sod roof only missing some of its pieces. On his approach, he listened to the creaking of the wood in the wind, the bizarre laughter and fog filtering in, and hesitated. Perhaps it was from the previous bout with cannibals – the house they’d entered, the blood on the walls, the stench, the disastrous wake of so many gone and torn apart – that kept him outside for now.
--
Deimos throws a snowball at Cordelia for the lulz and then goes to find a building slightly less creepy than the others.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
