chaele
worship like a dog
Chaele nods at the mention of neutral portions, a quick sort of gesture which both accepts and suggests. “I have dissuaded them from settling in places where they would be disruptive. No waters will be diverted in the Feverlands, no trees felled in the Oerwoud. King’s End will suit their needs, and its spirits will protect it from their expansion.”
The cup, though only half finished, is set aside with a gentle scraping of ceramic on wood. It is no longer steaming, its warmth lost to the cold air or maybe the evaporating tension between them. Chaele’s hands instead find the edge of the table itself, the splintering patina on the weathered planks. It is a corpse they are touching, dressed for use just like the bones in the talisman on their chest. There is no need to protect the living from death, as long as that death serves a purpose. Perhaps it is fitting that such a man as Deimos should think of service in terms of protection.
“The land can protect itself. It has existed before me and will persist after me. It is my duty to simply see to its interests. To do what I can to keep it whole, as all pieces of the whole do. Perhaps my role is to be its diplomat.” Their voice falls flat with the last few syllables, a sort of disdain masked in honor and pride. Then their hands fall from the table and they avert their gaze, eyeing the stalls which contain their needed items as they inject their words with that same old drollery. “In which case it is surely doomed.”
The cup, though only half finished, is set aside with a gentle scraping of ceramic on wood. It is no longer steaming, its warmth lost to the cold air or maybe the evaporating tension between them. Chaele’s hands instead find the edge of the table itself, the splintering patina on the weathered planks. It is a corpse they are touching, dressed for use just like the bones in the talisman on their chest. There is no need to protect the living from death, as long as that death serves a purpose. Perhaps it is fitting that such a man as Deimos should think of service in terms of protection.
“The land can protect itself. It has existed before me and will persist after me. It is my duty to simply see to its interests. To do what I can to keep it whole, as all pieces of the whole do. Perhaps my role is to be its diplomat.” Their voice falls flat with the last few syllables, a sort of disdain masked in honor and pride. Then their hands fall from the table and they avert their gaze, eyeing the stalls which contain their needed items as they inject their words with that same old drollery. “In which case it is surely doomed.”
at the shrine of my lies
