DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
To hear Fox talk sounded as though there was a sense of newness, foreign intricacies, along the notion of Ancients, even if he was one himself. Maybe he’d been recently changed? Altered? In need of guidance from other, more experienced sources? The Sword thought of Kiada, how she’d grasped at the next opportunity to live and breathe, and kept most of the notions to himself. “I have been through here several times, but I admit I do not know much about Ancients, or if they have specific landmarks.” A way of apology, perhaps, for the notions of ignorance about the primordial race, or unfortunately running into him, rather than one of his brethren.
Rolling his tunic sleeves further up his forearms, the Warden paused, briefly, to show the sketches and journal page of the guilds’ notions towards Fox – scant as they were, with a fixture of notes along the side. “Wanted to see if I could add some information about darklings for the guild.”
Rolling his tunic sleeves further up his forearms, the Warden paused, briefly, to show the sketches and journal page of the guilds’ notions towards Fox – scant as they were, with a fixture of notes along the side. “Wanted to see if I could add some information about darklings for the guild.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
