DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The Warden had no comparison; save for perhaps his alterations into Attuned proportions, or gaining multiple companions. He’d never been without his own senses, but simply gained access to more; an avaricious gleam in the back of his mind. Predacious antics. Zuriel and Belial inclusions. Souls shared, rather than some factions muted. He presumed Fox had made the right decision for himself, much like Kiada, it was either linger on as an Ascended with no means of support, or veer towards the primordial semblances. Other notions and curiosities continued, and since the other seemed willing to put up with them, he persisted, though far lighter in his intrigue. “Did you acquire a shift as well?”
Deimos had once attempted to not ostracize any of the Ascended; but with the war, sides drawn, and actions taken, he’d had little choice in the manner. Kiada had been given as much as he could offer, and the efforts upon the Draig had been in their own scale and legion. He wouldn’t treat the Ancient as enemies or adversaries unless they gave him a reason to do so. Confirming the notions of letters and journals sent with another nod, his head tilted vaguely at the other action. “Is it for the festival?” One upcoming that he would likely be wary and apprehensive of again, due to past circumstances. “I do not mind.” He might snag some for himself later on; though he gave a wrinkle of his nose and a furrowed brow at the depiction of the Spire. “Understandable.” Maybe one day the damned tower would just fall down.
Deimos had once attempted to not ostracize any of the Ascended; but with the war, sides drawn, and actions taken, he’d had little choice in the manner. Kiada had been given as much as he could offer, and the efforts upon the Draig had been in their own scale and legion. He wouldn’t treat the Ancient as enemies or adversaries unless they gave him a reason to do so. Confirming the notions of letters and journals sent with another nod, his head tilted vaguely at the other action. “Is it for the festival?” One upcoming that he would likely be wary and apprehensive of again, due to past circumstances. “I do not mind.” He might snag some for himself later on; though he gave a wrinkle of his nose and a furrowed brow at the depiction of the Spire. “Understandable.” Maybe one day the damned tower would just fall down.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
