Domination and supremacy, shattering skulls and demonic impulses, taut muscles and undulating recoils, a curl of manifested smoke and intimidation, blistering, billowing, barbaric maelstroms and minstrels. He pulsed and paced through the bestial, anarchic whims and mercurial mayhem, pervading the intriguing manifestation of glacial walls, of summit peaks, of crowns and turrets boiling and seething from the inside; he fed the sedition, stoked the insurrection, and fueled the licentious boughs and all-consuming fields. Only when a summon drove from the icy borders did he maneuver away from his pressing onslaught of terror and horror, narrowing his eyes, pressing and swiveling his ears to catch the whistle against the wind. The Lord paused for brief moments, snaring, snatching, the words off the summer vestiges, of a newcomer tossed into their chilling entanglements (the golden one - which could only be Thranduil), and then the overtures of quiet, twisting silence, the solemn unknown. He followed the pathway of the syllables and phrases, once more nestled in the stead of sentinels, beneath the wake of monsters, the gathering of behemoths (little would she know if she tread any further how many she’d truly meet, beasts of Tartarus, gathered in a masque, a throng of hidden, clandestine barbarians searching, seeking, the ruin, the destruction, of so many things, of so many empires). His approach was a slinking, predatory march, too much iniquity melded, molded, and sculpted into the archaic, warrior sway of his movement and motions (like death, like demise, like a carnivore tending to his favored opus, the slide of a knife, the tip of a blade), and the Reaper stared at the presence of the mare faltering in their threshold – if his eyes widened just a mere portion, it was only due to her vivid coloring, her intriguing rapiers. He could see why the Thief would appreciate her, for there was gilded qualities wrapped and emboldened all over her sanction, but warped and mixed with idle blue, a trident slipping into the water, an eagle pressed into the sky; the horns were another story altogether, curved and encased in a multitude. He’d like her for a soldier just to simply watch her lacerate a carcass with the might, the prowess, of those swords. The demon nodded once, the only notion of amiable qualities he could abide, before encasing introductions to the stranger. “Welcome to the Basin.” The piercing depths of his gaze regarded her in rapt examination, then his head tilted a fraction, curious, inquisitive, a predator’s cunning scrutiny. “I am Deimos, Lord of the Basin. Why are you here?”

@[Keera]

Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.