DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos left his marks in weaponry and armaments these days, it seemed, shaking his head and laughing, jotting his notes down beside hers in his neat, refined script. “So an armory room as well?” A vague smile lifted from the corner of his mouth, and then he proceeded to write a few more indications – maybe crossbows, maybe more long range notions, depending on what these skilled hunters were pursuing, stalking, and insisting upon rendering hostile or nothing at all. When he was finished, he slid the paper back to her, to put in amongst her other collections, adornments, thoughts, and notions. “You have quite a list now.”
Then he leaned back once more, partaking in the snacks and drinks, considering, contemplating. But if any of them were emboldened enough to complete these tasks, drive their motivations into the world, it was Aisha. Even with the curse over her form, there were still the pieces and portions of upheaval, sedition, and obstinance, and the Sword was glad to see that underneath the beckoning claws of cold, she was still the same. Still there. Still Aisha. “When are you going to get started?”
Then he leaned back once more, partaking in the snacks and drinks, considering, contemplating. But if any of them were emboldened enough to complete these tasks, drive their motivations into the world, it was Aisha. Even with the curse over her form, there were still the pieces and portions of upheaval, sedition, and obstinance, and the Sword was glad to see that underneath the beckoning claws of cold, she was still the same. Still there. Still Aisha. “When are you going to get started?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
