Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
“It depends,” he rumbled, shrugging his shoulders, taking another sip with one hand as he marched in pursuit of dessert. “Some want to create a neutral area. But how long can it last?” Given his experiences on the battlefields – he knew better. There were always domino effects, twists and turns that effected and impacted the world far more than just isolated lands. Kingdoms falling, crushed under the weight of another. Sovereigns collapsing, making way for another. Lands surging, persisting, remaining, despite the agonizing brutality hailing at their doors. But this was one more embedded into gods and deities – the chess pieces motioning across boards at a rapid, unrelenting pace. Or maybe it was because he knew where he’d be – immersed right in the threads and daises, striving to ensure others weren’t dragged to their demise.
The Sword paused momentarily in the hunt to gaze down the sweeping turns of kiosks and stalls, before spotting the one he’d chased after; a smaller line forming at the booth. At the question, he glanced back at the shaman, shaking his head, allowing for a short bark of laughter. “No. I just want one.” Leaving Chaele the option of meandering along, more than welcome to follow once more, the General hastened towards the next set of queues, permitting himself, like so many here, an opportunity for amusements.
