Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Returned from his latest designated, dangerous outing, the General had been busy in the bombardments missed – including some notices posted. In all honesty, he didn’t frequent the greenhouse enough; he’d helped in ensuring its success in previous quests from Frey, but setting foot in its midst rarely occurred. Which meant he’d forgotten how warm the place could get.
Stepping within, he immediately blanched, recalling the tropical climate of the Oerwoud, and quickly peeled away the layers of furs until he was down to his regular tunic, sleeves rolled along his forearms and some manner of complaint beginning to press over his features.
Ignoring Sah and Talyson’s banter, because he was already tired of it, he rolled his eyes, gaze sweeping slightly to the strange rustling somewhere nearby. Arching his brow, wondering if that was something normal or another multitude they were about to discover, the Sword applied his modicum of greeting with his habitual, routine rumble. “What do you need?”
