[b]O'Menus[/b][hr]
[indent][indent]O'Menus was unaccustomed with company, be it divine or mortal, and even worse it appeared that battle had rattled something in him. The roar of far away fires seemed to sing in deep tones somewhere. He tightened his hand around the handle of the white blade, thinking for a long moment on what to say and what bothered him. He sensed, heard, and felt his surroundings in a way that fed his understanding preternaturally. From the axe-swing onto the fanatic soldier to the mute grieving of the mortal-priestess. [i]Flower was her name... right?[/i]

A light exhale left him, "This era's mortals have become more dangerous than any I've seen..." 

And that phrase drew a unexpected chuckle from him, one that became a hearty laughter. [i]Never[/i] ever in his existence had he believed he would consider [i]mortals[/i] of all things dangerous. As his rich crowing rolled through the sky and died out in the aether, the shape of his eyes were wet with humor, he turned to the priestess and finally addressed her. His tone was as kind as it has ever been, soft yet demanding in fact. "Dry your tears, Flower. For the sake of us Divines, explain the situation clearly... grieve as we move forward." [/indent][/indent]