[b]O'Menus[/b][hr]
[indent][indent]There was a moment of serious confusion where O'Menus had readied himself for battle. Flames peaked off his skin but as recognition swayed into familiarity, meager as it was, he loosened the tension around his sword-hand and glanced over at whom he assumed to be Oren. The pin-pricked soldier that slumped at the very maw of the Gods' once-graveyard. 

That made him consider the sword. The white blade was swiped from Oren's grasp and obviously would serve better in O'Menus' hands but even mortal warriors deserved to die with their weapons. Gaze fixed on the mangled soldier: Oren, he slid from the commotion once more and strode over to the dying or dead mortal. As a God, he respected the rarity of an honorable death, so he paused three or four feet from him. He stabbed the white blade into the ground, placing his palms over the pommel and shutting his eyes. 

Words slipped from his lips in a deeper, elegant tone. "For stardust you are, and unto stardust shall you return. Greater Mortal, comfort unto your soul." 

An important moment of silence followed his words before O'Menus plucked the sword from the ground and turned his back to Oren, eyeing the carnage infront of him. Truly torn bodies littered the ground; armor and flesh respectfully, whole bodies and parts and pieces, charred grass and red-dewed greenery shared the land equally. 

"What a mess we have uncovered," he thought aloud, finding a sense of duty somewhere in his heart. "To right this will take a mighty being and resolve. The mortals and false gods must be punished and dispersed, so that balance can be returned." [/indent][/indent]