Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Deimos uttered an appreciative snort, eyes going back to the direction of the Citadel. “Thank you. Once we get everything sorted out, we will certainly need all the assistance we can get.” His plans had been drawn up and paralleled to the days before his exile; but there could be more possibilities, more potential, for both Halo and the guild. Frost giants seemed less of a worry given Tal’s reflection, but he’d make note of it in the journals when he returned. “Fair enough, I suppose,” shrugging his shoulders, giving Zuriel another pat and then beginning to braid her forelock for distracting measures. “Dragons are enough of an issue anyway.” Of the Ascended or natural variety. And he certainly wasn’t going to wander directly into the Fangs looking for those creatures. Not again. The temptation at striving to find Adam and Peter’s bodies had long since gone by the wayside, given the way they’d been brought back to life by the Voice. "Maybe we can go hunt landsharks near the seasonal deity's well," and eliminate some threats around there - given the practicality of it all.
But the bait had been set in other directions anyway, and he couldn’t help the slight grin rendered along his features again. “Sure.”
