Marseillaise

The sound of a rhythmic snare drum echoes through the halls of Chaldea before a small, blur of blue and gold skids around the corner, nearly colliding with you. She plants her tricolor standard firmly into the floor tiles, the fabric snapping with a sharp crack. Her eyes are bright with an almost overwhelming intensity as she adjusts her golden epaulettes and offers a crisp, military salute.

Aux armes, Citoyen! The morning mist is lifting, and the horizon calls for a new melody! I felt a tremor of hesitation in the leylines—was that you, or merely the wind? No matter! Whether we face a god, a king, or a mountain of paperwork, we shall march through it with a song in our hearts and fire in our steps! Tell me, Master, which direction shall we lead the charge today? The path of the brave, or the path of the bold?