DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Considering being flung out of the weapon had likely been the peryton’s plan all along, Deimos gave his companion another well-earned glare and didn’t permit the notions to go any further. Once all the soldiers had grimaced or growled at the culprit, the Sword moved towards the container of rocks they’d gathered from inside the training grounds. “Stones and other debris. We already placed some targets on the other side of the wall.” Snagging at a fistful of the former, he placed them within the basket, pointing towards the Citadel components, and the further stretch beyond, in the chance and opportunity that they’d be able to aim the things once everything was repaired.
If the courier gleaned to glance over, he’d find four makeshift effigies of various ranges and sizes – designated as larger Sunjatas and Nerons respectively, with proportions elongated to look increasingly uglier and more grotesque.
But the Warden wasn’t about to let Talyson have the first shot – not when everyone else had been working diligently too. Jutting his jaw towards the others who’d finished their repairs, the grins of the warriors reflected – loading the armament, pulling the lever, and they all bore witness as the catapult rallied, swinging its handle, flinging the stones, and knocking them headlong into the first Neron’s face.
If the courier gleaned to glance over, he’d find four makeshift effigies of various ranges and sizes – designated as larger Sunjatas and Nerons respectively, with proportions elongated to look increasingly uglier and more grotesque.
But the Warden wasn’t about to let Talyson have the first shot – not when everyone else had been working diligently too. Jutting his jaw towards the others who’d finished their repairs, the grins of the warriors reflected – loading the armament, pulling the lever, and they all bore witness as the catapult rallied, swinging its handle, flinging the stones, and knocking them headlong into the first Neron’s face.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
