DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Nodding at Fox’s response, and figuring the Ancient would say much the same anyway, his attentions were thwarted between mentions of the guild he led, and the spiraling mess that persisted in front of them. Unbothered by the pelting rain himself, for he’d been through far worse, the ground seemed to have other ideas, and squelched, labored, under his efforts.
So he remained nonchalant and reticent, with narrowed eyes to segment his focus upon the earth, but the command from within his soul was far more demanding. A sense and semblance of power, of might, of coercion in mastery and his own level of defiance, the Sword persisted – determination never diminished.
--
Deimos tries to level the ground again with his Mastered Earth magic.
So he remained nonchalant and reticent, with narrowed eyes to segment his focus upon the earth, but the command from within his soul was far more demanding. A sense and semblance of power, of might, of coercion in mastery and his own level of defiance, the Sword persisted – determination never diminished.
--
Deimos tries to level the ground again with his Mastered Earth magic.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
