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 This time Deimos devised a more strategic, amusing plan for the incoming vegetables. While murder, desecration, and absolute oblivion had its own fair share of entertainment, the mercurial wiles of his mind fought over different channels and avenues. He couldn’t spend his entire time destroying the gourds – though testing weapons on their rinds and cores was gratifying too – without altering and morphing the arrangements and procedures. After some time, and a few bored, half-hearted kicks, he was reminded of a game in his childhood, where he and his fellow youths would race across meadows and fields, each team vying to score more than the other. There’d been triumphant shouts and raucous arguments, no referees tending to keen, blunt knocks and jabs, and where the first sense of conquest, victory, glory, or defeat would howl through their beings. It’d required a fair amount of fitness, back and forth, back and forth, and a lighter ball; but he would make do with what he had. {COME PLAY PUMPKIN SOCCER. <3} |
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary