DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
There were worse things out there besides Belial, but given the nature of the exchange, Deimos kept that to himself. For now. The notions of the Ancient not being within the Climb before struck a curious note in the Sword; mostly because he presumed all of them ventured there, a far more common accord with the pressing heat and penchant for fire. Perhaps he utilized Torchline’s beaches instead. “A peryton,” he explained in his brief accord, head tilting vaguely. Though Belial’s proficiency in guardianship wasn’t the foundational level – he’d been working quite hard on being a noteworthy spy.
It would help if he wasn’t so loud.
Maybe that would come with age and time. Besides, there were other inquiries to muster. Advancing along, long strides intending to sweep around the next interval of the cave, his voice rumbled and echoed along the vast halls. “Are you looking for some part in particular?”
It would help if he wasn’t so loud.
Maybe that would come with age and time. Besides, there were other inquiries to muster. Advancing along, long strides intending to sweep around the next interval of the cave, his voice rumbled and echoed along the vast halls. “Are you looking for some part in particular?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
