DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
His brow arched as they walked, head tilted to watch, to listen, as connections were orchestrated by means of land, of bounty, of convictions and furtive notions. Perhaps he couldn’t quite fathom it – no runes marked the landscape of his flesh, save for the scars whittled and carved and measured there by the grace of survival and the diligence of fortitude, of might. He gave a light smile by way of striving to understand the complexities; but all he’d ever known was the surge of the incantations brimming beneath the surface of his skin, rising with the pulse and beat of his blood, ever reliable, ever constant. “No. You do not,” for his worlds had been all about endurance, resolution, grit, and the steadfast determination to not fall apart.
Belial careened along, in step with his stride, brandishing his wares this way and that in justifiable enthusiasm, with feathers falling upon the stone, and the Sword was half-inclined to take the entire thing away from him, were he not distracted by the set of other words and motions. His eyes narrowed by brief fractions and factions, kindling the nuances of something she wouldn’t be able to have. “Life drain is not compatible with the healing of other mages.” Maybe they repelled one another – vicious and vehement, and the other mending and assuaging; taking and giving, too opposing to be held within one frame. “But a unicorn’s healing ability works.” And maybe the demigods, or the deities, if they felt the need. Or perhaps the other semblances she’d gathered – mending herbs and assuaging balms.
Belial careened along, in step with his stride, brandishing his wares this way and that in justifiable enthusiasm, with feathers falling upon the stone, and the Sword was half-inclined to take the entire thing away from him, were he not distracted by the set of other words and motions. His eyes narrowed by brief fractions and factions, kindling the nuances of something she wouldn’t be able to have. “Life drain is not compatible with the healing of other mages.” Maybe they repelled one another – vicious and vehement, and the other mending and assuaging; taking and giving, too opposing to be held within one frame. “But a unicorn’s healing ability works.” And maybe the demigods, or the deities, if they felt the need. Or perhaps the other semblances she’d gathered – mending herbs and assuaging balms.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
