ready now, not waiting for the afterlife

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

With nothing more the Sword could do for his friend, the only thing he could lend and bend into was discussion – a forging of ideas and ruminations, at the very least. So his brow furrowed while the thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, a mercurial onslaught nearly handpicked for Noah’s own. Vi’s presence being known, and perhaps regaled, power within the Grounds, and bettering the region in three ways. The infirmary would certainly benefit, and considerations began pooling in the Warden’s mind for the thousandth time that week. “I built a barracks here years ago. It may need some repairing as well. Though this season will make it rough, something to do with farming could also help.” A way for the Grounds to utilize all this fertile soil – the way they hadn’t been able to before. “Evie and I would assist if you needed it.”

As for stone golems, no, they weren’t an unusual sight. “You will find them often in old buildings.” In the dark, huddled amidst the shadows, taken in by the twist and turns of nothingness, content within the thresholds of darkness. “They are weak to daylight.” Though perhaps the Forsaken had found that out for himself already.

But the hesitancy was what threw Deimos – because he’d known Noah for a long while, and never seen him so tentative, ambivalent, or faltering; especially when it came to the god he proclaimed as his own.  “Is something else holding you back?”

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead