06-09-2017, 09:29 PM
The dead live among those of their kind. Ironic statement, that.
Deimos has died a handful of times, and having come back from Hell, and having no other places to be, Deimos has left the black forest and has hidden himself way in the trenches of the sand dunes of the Beach. It was quiet here. Usually.
But on this particular day, the son of Mars tipped his ears towards the wind, hearing a shriek that made his heart thump with glee. The sound of pain. suffering. The scent of blood upon the air. His tongue swelled up with the want of it, and his wings lifted him off the ground, outstretched towards where he knew it to be.
Longclaw, eat his heart out.
The sound of mangled flesh, and the growling of an angry stomach. With a thud, he lands like tank, standing off, on top of the dunes, seeing the dance of the blood as it made its way messily into the sands, covering the grains with the glory of war. Deimos looks upon the father and son, satisfaction in his eyes as he says nothing.
Approaching the body wordlessly, he looks down at the creature that was Lupei, a grim look setting upon his face. “Better you than me, friend.” he mutters. Before he shifts into a black wolf himself, with leathery wings and dragon scales upon his legs. His fur is mangled, oily and messy. Red eyes level upon the father, and he pumps his wings authoritatively watching him leave as quickly as Deimos had appeared. Watching him take off, he then turns his snout to the boy, settling in to gain Longclaw’s attention. The boy would not leave here alone.
“I see this is how you dispose of your elders? Nice touch. Saves the cost on nursing homes. I’m Deimos. And your name is Longclaw.”
DEIMOS
cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war…
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@[Longclaw]