[Seasonal Event] For Gourd's Sake

Deimos the Reaper You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this long and lonely road to hell the throne must be such a sad and lonely place Death and massacre was a habit, a reckoning, a motivation. The Gourds kept him entertained at the very least – destroying them was something to do besides wallowing, brooding, or pondering over which inept folly would strike him down next. He’d spotted them in the forest several times, and had relished in kicking them across pathways, against bark, delighting in their anguished thud, in their brutal collapse, in their untimely demise. On some occasions he’d come up with more barbaric devices, taking a sharpened stick or two and seeing how far he could land one in the spine or ripples of a pumpkin’s side, harpoon a few down the lanes when their eerie gazes flashed his way. They weren’t the most spine-tingling of enemies, but they were a diversion. The intonations of another nearby sparked his curiosity, and he followed the wayward lines of gourd chasing to the shouts of threats, then quiet muttering. The woman was kneeling nearby, either inspecting her latest kill (for he clearly wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the zeal, the rush, the kindling sensation of annihilation; it resurged and made him remember childhood days of destruction and mayhem for the simple relish of amusement) or divesting it of any usable materials. The Reaper’s gaze swept over the nearest portions of a latest kill, only a long branch sticking out of its side, and plucked the entirety of the sanction by its stem, treading quietly towards the stranger, and holding the fallen ware out to her. “Do you require more?” It was a proffering of assistance in his detached, nonchalant way; no reason or note for pleasantries, for an exchange or reciting of the weather – action in its blunt, keen eloquence.

_{Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary}
Also brief mentions of Wessex ;D Captain Clueless continuing to report for duty.