(Untitled)

[thepizzalord]

A man enters the Nexus, clad in futuristic black armor, a small golden hexagon over his heart. A collapsible shotgun and pistol are slung across his waist and hip respectively, and a gleaming silver sword is strapped to his back alongside a long, rune-carved stick. The full-sized staff in his hand is topped with strange symbols that blaze a faint

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[evillurks]

A tall old man dressed all in black frowns over the question. While the only marks visible on his face are the lines of age, there is yet something of a battle-scarred veteran about him. "There's no good side to be on, in a war."

[thepizzalord]

Harry's eyebrows scrunch up. "Well, no, that's... not really what I..." He sighs, a little frustrated with trying to articulate exactly what it is about Cerberus that pings his Bad Touch radar. "It matters why you're fighting, though. Doesn't it?"

[evillurks]

"Certainly, as an individual. Why matters almost as much as how." He calmly watches the moment of frustration with a piercing, steady blue gaze.

[thepizzalord]

"How? You mean like pistols at dawn as opposed to carpet-bombing civilians?" He's not even going to bring magic into the equation yet.

The gaze may be piercing, but Harry never looks anyone directly in the eyes. Soulgazing is... not pleasant, most times.

[evillurks]

"There are alternatives to those, but yes..." Magic would hardly surprise him, nor would psychic powers, as he possesses those himself. He does not expect to have his gaze met, however, for other reasons.