[ Ah, the war. The one he'd heard of, from both sides. The only two sides, really — there's little room for those who do not wish to be dragged into fight, or support for it. The whole thing strikes him of imagined enemies and manufactured foes, like the hatred the drow held for the people of the surface. Thousands of years of fabrication, to entice minds to hate that which they could not reconcile themselves with. For a moment, his ears droop, expression quieting. Shuttering.
The war. ]
What has it been like? To serve in that War?
[ He wonders for the health of those involved, for their wellbeing.
A glance at Liem's sunbeam tells him enough of his chosen side. He recalls being offered the same token, the image of the world he'd lost — but he finds, he cannot think of it when his companions await him in the afterlife. If they are not here, then he must go there. Weariness holds him like a weight, disappointment and sorrow heavy on his shoulders. Drizzt slips it away, as if into a pocket or a hole in the ground, covering it over for the time being for the long "winter" that is to come. ]
Is there room in Kenos for anyone who does not wish to fight anymore?
no subject
The war. ]
What has it been like? To serve in that War?
[ He wonders for the health of those involved, for their wellbeing.
A glance at Liem's sunbeam tells him enough of his chosen side. He recalls being offered the same token, the image of the world he'd lost — but he finds, he cannot think of it when his companions await him in the afterlife. If they are not here, then he must go there. Weariness holds him like a weight, disappointment and sorrow heavy on his shoulders. Drizzt slips it away, as if into a pocket or a hole in the ground, covering it over for the time being for the long "winter" that is to come. ]
Is there room in Kenos for anyone who does not wish to fight anymore?