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Character of the Season
Once known as the Butcher of Whitebrim, he's now The Butcher of Dygra, stepping forward as the first created demigod of the Ancients. There is no question that Astaroth casts an intimidating silhouette. Tall, domineering and dangerous, if looks could kill you'd be dead already, but to get up close and personal with the Grounds' resident cannibal tells a much different story. Dripping with charm and clad in only the finest attire, Asta is a gentleman monster, as polite as they come and committed to his role as security for the Dusklight and those who have earned his loyalty. Be careful of that smile, though - those teeth are sharp.
Congratulations, Asta!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
After snagging at the pods near the Suvahasi, and any meetings that needed to be attended, the Sword took to the skies. It’d be a long stretch of mileage from the desert to where he wanted to go, but his thunderbird form was a comfortable wave of movements over thermals and rushes of plumage. And eventually, he’d arrive to the outer portions of the Barrows, bordering upon the range of void infestation on the other side.
Swooping downwards, he landed and shifted, snagging at the bag of holding that had once been clutched in his talons. Placing it along his shoulders now instead, his long strides swept along the range, attempting to find a decent location.
In between two of the narrower barrows, he crouched, beginning to unfurl his Mastered Earth, parting over soil, loam, and terrain, intentions clear and precise.
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
OUT OF DARKNESS INTO THE LIGHT
IF YOU WANT ME GONE
Places like this always overwhelmed the nomad. Rolling hills (or barrows or whatever the hell you wanna call them. Tombs? Boxes for the dead? A waste of time?) made it tough for him to know which was he was going, where he would end up. Michael thrived in flat spaces with chaotic craigs and uneven horizons that were low to the sky. Hak Etme was GRAVELY (yes, Michael, we see what you did there) missed, and the longer he was apart from it, the more he wanted to go back to it.
But, strange things were happening there… and everywhere else. Giant trees with seed pods, The Family, void bullshit, invasions. He’d had just about enough of it, and every choice he made to try and ‘help’ or ‘survive’ only exhausted him more.
Didn’t actually make him feel better or offer him any sense of accomplishment.
And yet, here he was. Cresting the top of one of these god damn mounds so he could look down. See what he could see. If he looked far enough, he could see the purple haze in the distance. He squinted, wrinkled his nose. Made one hell of a FUCK THIS face, then glanced down.
And saw someone there.
A man crouched. Soil shifting, moving in front of him. No purple. No ‘notice me’ monotone voices. He side eyed him before he slowly made his way toward him. His own seed pod still crushed in a pocket. Hopefully he hadn’t completely destroyed it.
“Hey… you planting one of those seed pod things from the giant ass tree in the desert?”
He could hear the person well before they’d made themselves known; Attuned senses sharp and honed and mercurial. He had half a notion to ignore another’s approach entirely, continue on his task, then simply leave – but the inquiry notched its way over the surroundings, and he turned his head over his shoulder to survey the other individual.
Deimos would like to think he knew multitudes within Caido, based on how long he’d been here (and despite his inherent need to be reclusive; leading a region had thrown this entirely out the window). But the man standing amidst the Barrows wasn’t recognizable at all; and he’d simply have to make do with the bizarre and impending speech – nodding at the question, his gaze scrutinizing and surveying before a rumble parsed through anything. “Yes. Figured it was close enough to the Greatwood,” and he jutted his jawline in the direction of the infested lands. Eventually his brow arched, breaking the reticent and impassive mold of his features into something more curious – or striving to see the purpose behind the correspondence. “Are you?”
we exhume our enemy's bones we are battling, hungry beasts
