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Character of the Season
Frail in body but dangerously quick of mind, Nikandr is the sort of character who proves that curiosity can be just as perilous as any weapon. A necromancer, inventor, and problem-solver with more ambition than self-preservation, Niki approaches the world like a puzzle box begging to be opened, even when what’s inside has teeth. Blunt, dry-witted, fiercely independent, and carrying a history best left partially buried, he has a knack for making even failure feel fascinating. Whether he’s raising the dead, moving across Caido to King's End, or experiencing a hangover for the first time, Nikandr brings a wonderfully strange spark to Caido, and we can’t wait to see what trouble his brilliant mind wanders into next.
Congratulations, Niki!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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On her way through the portal, she'd dropped a note for Asta at the Dusklight, at least letting him know she'd spoken with Maea and where to find her if he was curious to know - although she wasn't sure how helpful the information would be. The entire trip back to the Grounds had been quiet, her mind a numb current of emotions that she tried not to linger on. Every time her consciousness brushed against the rawness of loss, it recoiled, preferring to feel nothing rather than the embarrassing level of pain that sat there. She shouldn't be so upset over the separation; it wasn't like they'd ever truly gotten along, but against all reason, her words had hurt. For her to be cast aside to easily, misunderstood so thoroughly, and otherwise ignored....
She sits amongst the rivers of lava, her back against a glistening rock of igneous. In the hazy ashen lighting, she blends in amongst the landscape; dark hair, dark clothes, dark horns, dark tail, dark expression, and dark mood all making her look more like a rocky fixture of the environment than her usual fiery centerpiece. One knee's bent in front of her, supporting her elbow as she props her head, feeling the exhaustion of everything like a physical weight on her mind. The heat of the environment does nothing to warm the chill in her chest, but she stays close to the river of lava like it just might change something or at least rekindle the anger in her.
Losing feeling is getting old Was I made from a broken mold?
you see right through the lies in my eyes, and it's all underneath if you take the time to scratch the surface,
It’s strange, the way the note was written and left. So much so that the butcher doesn’t hesitate when he takes a break from his work and has a chance to read it. It’s one of those days at the Dusklight that has been nonstop from the beginning, an event of sorts to ring in Longheat. So he’s decked out in all the finery that was Danta’s choice for his outfit, leaving him far more dressed down than he otherwise would be. And with the note left that seemed to harbor a sense of urgency (whether it did or didn’t, he knows Thal, and he knows he shouldn’t just dally the time away).
So he leaves the Dusklight in the garb of the Dusklight. No cane in sight, fitted with fine black pants and black boots, with a shirt that’s closed in the front and rather modest with the back of his shirt wide open with a window revealing the gnarled scar tissue. His fingers bear silver and gold jewelry, the same color glinting from the chains winding around the tines of his horns, and a brilliant muzzle sat upon his face.
Prowling through the flame portal to the Climb, he belatedly realizes it’s still on once he spots her, looking like a gargoyle amongst the rocks. But she isn’t stone, and for that he breathes a quiet sigh of relief, coming into her vision as he reaches up to start to unbuckle the muzzle from his face. “I did not expect you to talk to her about me.” He rumbles softly once he’s gotten it off his face, letting it hang from his hand. “Forgive me for the judgement, but I assume it went poorly?” He comes to sit beside her, ashen tipped tail sweeping off to the side in front of him as he angles his head toward her.
The sound of approaching footsteps doesn't immediately rouse her, and Thal takes a moment to keep her hand pressed against her forehead, trying to push away the weak emotions before raising it. When she does, she blinks a few times to clear her vision in the reddish glow of lava so she might see Asta clearly. At first, she thinks it's the blurriness of her eyes that obscures the lower half of his face - her eyes having been closed for quite some time now - but then he very clearly raises his hands to remove the muzzle. Her blood runs cold for a moment, wondering if this would be his reality if Maea spreads his secret, if people would force him to be caged or muzzled to 'protect themselves.' Just the thought disgusts her, and Thal looks away as bile coats her tongue, swallowing back the fear she holds for him.
At his words, her face lifts in a self-deprecating sort of smile as she pulls her head back to rest against the stone. "Sorry. Per usual, I just couldn't leave it alone." She couldn't go on pretending to not know, pretending that everything hadn't shifted between her and Maea, pretending that she wasn't hurt or furious. And more than anything, she'd needed to know if she'd made a mistake - which was now achingly obvious.
Laughing through the bite of painful embarrassment, she shrugs her shoulders. "It was actually going better than expected, like she actually regretted things, like it was a genuine mistake, but then she kept talking..." Thal pulls her other knee close, settling both elbows on top as she remembers realizing why she sounded so remorseful and her face falls to something more somber and serious. She doesn't look at Asta, her eyes fixed on some point across the expanse of rock like it might as well be her. "Asta, she may say she's sorry, but Maea" her mouth sneers around the name, tasting bitter and necrotic, "will never change. She just wants to clean away the blemish on her consciousness." Unless he wants to hear all the repeated notions of her dislike for cannibalism, Thal won't make him suffer through Maea's misguided opinions all over again.
Her eyes find his, hoping he might understand why she'd struggled to salvage the relationship even if she couldn't fathom it. "Despite that, I thought perhaps we'd reached a point of mutual understand at one point - that you would be an off-limits topic, that we would just never see eye to eye on that even if we remained friends; but then she got up on her high horse again and said she should just avoid the entire race to keep from compromising her morals..." Ones she still can't understand. Ones that Maea is willing to push everything else away to protect. Ones that make her wonder if anyone can live up to.
Ashamed of how much the next part hurts, she gives him an empty smile, unable to help the glimmer of pain in her eyes. "And I'm very much a source of 'compromise.'" She flicks the igneous black of her horns like she'd seen Maea do, feeling the vibration run into her skull like a death knell on their friendship - or whatever they'd had. It silences her, the smile on her face melting away when remembering all the ways the pale Ancient seemed to misjudge her despite so much time spent together, and to so easily dismiss her when she'd tried to leave the door slightly ajar... Thal bites her cheek against the flood of emotions, wondering why she'd even bothered with it all.
Losing feeling is getting old Was I made from a broken mold?
you see right through the lies in my eyes, and it's all underneath if you take the time to scratch the surface,
His image is far from something he’s imagining could be his reality. It’s an intimidation factor, like he would be able to shred through whatever came his way were the muzzle not in place with its intricate metal details. But it hangs limply from his hand as he watches her, the smile that graces her face seems strained at best, and for her apology, the butcher simply shakes his head lightly. “It is alright.” He murmurs softly. He couldn’t and wouldn’t blame her for bringing it up, not when it seemed to be such a deriving factor for them at the present moment. He wouldn’t begrudge her for wanting to ask the questions she sought.
But she shrugs, and the butcher’s dark gaze flits from her to the rivers of lava in the distance, the flock of gore crows that no longer harbor any detrimental reactions from him, before he nods and finds his attention swinging back to her when his name falls from her lips. “I know, darling.” His accented voice rumbles, softer, selfishly pleased that others have seen the error and it wasn’t just him parroting it back and forth. It’s partially the reason he hasn’t gone to see her, because he knows it would be pointless. Futile. Exhausting. Having his words warped around and manipulated in such a way to make the pale ancient feel better, regardless of what he felt.
He lets her continue without interjecting, imagining if the weight on her shoulders was as heavy as it seemed to be weighing her down, that letting it out would at least offer some respite for the time being. So he nods, the thin chains glinting the reflection of the lava and the sun emerging from the clouds along each tine, weaving in the motion that his head has taken. Yet when she announces that she was part of the compromise, well, the butcher’s frown tugs at odds with the typical smile lines etched into his face, watching the way she flicks her horns as the butcher recalls Maea had done in the past.
“I’m sorry, Thal.” Comes the genuine and soft rumble, while he draws up a leg toward his chest as well, exhaling a soft sigh. Shifting slightly, he lifts his arm and after a moment of hesitating (a moment of is this okay), he winds it around her shoulders for some semblance of companionship. “As far as I understood it, even if no one else partook in my preferences, she would still consider it condoning if they were… mm, at the very least, friends of mine. While you clearly do not, she will pit you the same as me.” A small scoff of a laugh leaves him, the frown replaced with a tired smile. “It must be exhausting. I do not envy her.” The butcher murmurs, letting the laughter die down for a slow exhale through his nose. “I am truly sorry, though. I did not wish to become a wedge in your friendship.” Even if it was one sided. He'd only wanted what was best for Thalassa, even if it meant questioning an already rocky relationship.
In the near distance, around another bend and of caverns, a roar can be heard – loud, potent, powerful. And were those flames, rounding along the corner?
That could be a black dragon: a pernicious beast of legend, ready, willing, and able to defend its home for little to no reason.
Maybe it would be best to go another way?
You’ve encountered a Black Dragon. This counts as an uncommon creature encounter for the purposes of levelling, but does not count as a Random Event for levelling or MP. There will be no further admin/re intervention. If you choose to follow this creature, you do so at your own risk, however, just having it in this thread is enough to satisfy your levelling requirements. (You may not kill this creature without admin permission. )
Black Dragon (uncommon/mythical) - Black dragons of average size. Highly aggressive with fiery breath that can instantly melt most substances.
His soft rumbled words and easy presence pull at the already weakened walls of her heart, and Thal lets the smiles fall away. It doesn't feel like she needs to pretend to be unbothered. He sees it all anyways and doesn't mock her for it, doesn't judge her or ask questions of why. Instead, he offers an arm that wraps around her like a warm blanket of reassurance.
Thal might have otherwise tensed at the contact, her body going rigid at the idea of needing comfort from anyone, but the truth is that she does want comfort. She wants someone to share her misery with, someone to agree with the painful truth, someone to tell her that Maea's wrong about her. Because for all the sharpness and rough edges of her personality, she doesn't want to be a bad friend, and the way she'd been so easily discarded makes her feel very much like she'd failed.
So, as Asta's arm settles over her shoulders, Thal doesn't stop the urge to lean into him, to rest her head closer to his chest to listen to his words. Her head nods carefully in agreement with every statement. She doesn't say it aloud, but the truth of the matter had been a choice that she hadn't wanted to make: between Maea and Asta. As much as she'd wanted to believe that her relationship with the woman meant something, they'd had too many fights and disagreements where neither felt heard, and that's what ultimately drove them apart, even if the nail in the coffin was Thal's new bond with the Butcher and Maea's willingness to swing the hammer.
There's no fire in her as she mulls over the exhausting mental gymnastics of the pale Ancient. It's such a sad point of view, and Thal hums to confirm Asta's own suspicions. "She thinks the world is going to turn on us..." 'Us' being the whole Ancient race, simply because they don't publicly ostracize one man and his preferences. It makes Thal pity her for having such a dark, scared view of everyone; to think they might be so quick to judge as she is.
His apology is met with a shake of her head, her hair shifting limply around her face. "That's just it, I don't know if it ever was." A 'friendship,' that is. After a moment of silence, she finally says the part that hurts the most, the part that she'd have hoped she always made abundantly clear in her words and actions. Her voice nearly cracks around the admission, pulled tight by pain. "Asta, she thought I would hurt her. What kind of friend is that?" As if lamenting in her suffering, a roar sounds in the distance, and Thal pulls her legs tighter towards her, feeling those same insecurities rear their heads. Because as angry as she's been, she's never wanted to actually hurt someone she cares about.
Losing feeling is getting old Was I made from a broken mold?
you see right through the lies in my eyes, and it's all underneath if you take the time to scratch the surface,
He doesn’t judge her. Just as she doesn’t judge him. She can be as fiery and as closed off as she wishes to be and he might playfully pry at the iron bars that surround her if only to join in her misery so that she isn’t alone. It’s what he often needed when his mind would run away with itself, reminded of nightmares and people’s utmost worst intentions. Relieved from it now with the bracelet on his wrist, he’s full and present with her in whatever state she happens to be in. Ready to leave should she want him to. Ready to pull her in should she want him to.
His half hug is accepted, at least. And when she leans into his chest, she’ll feel the bumps and ropes of hardened scar tissue, long past the point of healing smoothly, left like rough bark on a tree against his skin. He doesn’t mind it, though, curling toward her a touch to give her more of an even surface to press against, so that he might share some of the burden of pain she feels.
Thal will feel the soft rumble of a laugh that leaves him with Maea’s worry, the vibration shorter before his accented voice follows it. “Let them.” Comes the dark vow, the brief moment of a hiss, a deep rumble of conviction that says if he did (whether it was because of him or other reasons), that he’d not go down without a fight. “They will not get far.”
It’s a vow. It’s a promise.
Life would not move on if everyone was perfect. There would be no room to grow or advance, no will to learn more and improve, no variety or spice in life. As far as Astaroth is concerned, he’s here as a reminder. All is not what it seems, and yet? Life moves on. Improvements can be made. Sure, he could have stayed the illiterate boy from Halo, scarred and unable to communicate well. But he wasn’t okay with that, just as Maea wasn’t okay with staying dead.
And yet he isn’t campaigning a notion to change everyone into cannibalism. He isn’t trying to sway opinions. He has been good. He has stayed in his lane, made his deals, kept mostly quiet.
Ah, but then Thal says she isn’t sure if it was a friendship at all, and his heart yearns for her. For the pain that realization must have caused, like tossing salt into a wound that’s been torn open far too many times. Her voice cracks and his arm grows a bit tighter, his other arm shifting from his leg to pull her in a bit closer, the metal muzzle clinking against his rings in the process as the dragon soars above and roars its approach.
The butcher bares his too sharp smile up at it, before looking down to Thal. This close, he smells of whiskey, smoke, and the low underlying thrum of blood stained iron. “It does not sound like a friend at all.” He confirms her insecurities with a regretful sigh, his hand soft where it runs along her shoulder gently, a friendly and almost paternal touch. “You are not a monster.” He tacks on gently, his accent dripping a bit thicker.
If anything, he’s the monster, albeit for different reasons than Maea would think. “I can assure you of that.”
Thal hasn't felt safe many times in her remembered life, but she likes to think that it feels something like Asta. He's soft but solid like the scars against her cheek, while giving a warmth that reaches deeper than the surface to fight the chill that had settled there. His voice is a gentle hand against her aching heart with all the right words to banish her worries, and the smell of whiskey and smoke fill in the rest of the holes that might make her want to collapse.
She knows she should be scared of the feeling, scared of being so close to someone, of possibly losing them - especially after everything with Maea - but Thal can't find it in her to care right now. In fact, her lips twitch in the barest ghost of a smile at his laughter. "That's what I told her." And any other day, she might have flared the fire near them, putting on a flash of fangs for any who might have the guts - the audacity - to stand against them. She'd growl it in the face of whoever dared to suggest otherwise, threatening bodily harm and other means of suffering.
But today, Thal lets the more serious nature of the topic quell the anger. She momentarily leans a little more into him and glances up briefly so he might see the concern there, for the trouble that may be on the horizon. "I just worry for your sake that she won't stay quiet." Even if people don't come for the Grounds with pitchforks and guillotines, glaring eyes and sharp words can be just as painful to endure; and short of killing Maea (which, despite every reasonable thought, she doesn't want to do), Thal doesn't see a way out.
The tightening of his hold anchors her, reminds her that they're not living in some dystopian fantasy that Maea's imagined, and she's not alone. Even so, she shrugs her shoulders, watching as her hands fidget with the sleeves of her blouse. "Maybe not, but she definitely knows how to make me feel like a terrible person and a worse friend." She pauses, trying to puzzle through where she might have gone wrong. "No matter what I did for her, or how I tried to support her - protect her - she didn't care. She said she'd rather be alone than with me..." Just like she'd said she'd rather be dead than be like Asta. The woman knew how to hit just the right buttons, knew how to burn bridges like it was an artform.
Losing feeling is getting old Was I made from a broken mold?
you see right through the lies in my eyes, and it's all underneath if you take the time to scratch the surface,
She won’t lose him. He’ll be the thorn in her side that she wishes she could rid herself of, yet still remain. So when she says that she told Maea that, a low hum is all that’s offered for the consensus, for the dark vow the butcher promises Thal. One that will continue as her next worry fills the small expense of air between them.
His tail flicks idly, the ashen spaded tip brushing against the lava rock. “I will be fine whether she does or does not.” Though a worm of a thought starts to creep in, of whether or not he might take Maea up on the offer of her ‘apology’ if only so he can maybe convince her to shut up about it. The only one making it a threat to their race was her and her loose lips, anyway.
He feels her shoulders shrug beneath his embrace, even though he keeps them just as tight. “She does, yes. She has this innate ability to manipulate your words to say exactly the things you do not mean.” He sighs heavily, rolling his eyes a little despite how she likely wouldn’t be able to see it with how they’re angled. Instead, he tilts his head after, the chains on his antlered horns clinking lightly against the gemstone they’re made of. “Then she shall remain alone. You, in comparison, have gained since then, yes? You have me. Danta.” He hums the last part with a small smile. “Who was a fan of the echo shark adventure, as far as I heard.” He squeezes her shoulders lightly again before loosening his hold a fraction, rubbing his hand along her shoulder again, soothingly.
She isn’t alone, despite losing Maea’s friendship.
She wishes she could be as fine with it as he is, just accepting that Maea might continue spreading his secret to any who would listen like a harbinger of bad news that might one day bring him misery. It makes her that much angrier on his behalf, enough that it shines briefly through her melancholy mood, a low simmer of heat coloring her words. "You're a good person, Asta. I just wish she could see that." To not feel a need to drag his name through the mud, or make people choose whether being his friend is worth the risk that she poses.
But just as before, he knows exactly what to say to soften the pain, a balm against the raw wound that Maea had left. It reinforces her feelings that it's not her but Maea who's the problem. She isn't the one pushing people away, and Asta is more than evidence of that, his form curled around her as if he has no plans of leaving anytime soon.
Danta's name surprises her a little, not having marked him as a 'friend' just yet, but she doesn't contradict him, hoping it may be true with a little more time. She likes his unhinged and unapologetic vibrancy, how he struts about with all the confidence she pretends to have. She likes how happy he makes Asta. He's certainly someone she wants to spend more time with, and possibly develop that bond; so, to hear that he enjoyed their little excursion makes her hopeful, and a hint of her fiery mischief returns. "That's good. I would hate to disappoint." A small quirk is on her lips, the hold on her legs loosening as she releases some of the pain she'd been clutching close.
As she finally looks up at Asta, she watches the shimmer of metal chains clink against his pretty crystalline red horns. They're a nice touch, although just like the muzzle, it's not something she's seen him in. It reminds her that this wasn't exactly a planned trip, and he might have been in the middle of something. Her eyes soften with a bit of guilt, even as she tries to play it off as teasing when she says. "I hope I didn't pull you away from anything important. I would have been fine if you were busy." 'Fine' being relative, but she would have survived until he had the time.
Losing feeling is getting old Was I made from a broken mold?
you see right through the lies in my eyes, and it's all underneath if you take the time to scratch the surface,
Perhaps he might have been more worried about it in the past. But for now? So far those she has told that have talked to him have been less than caring about the information. So the butcher has no reason to believe it’ll change in the near to immediate future. So as she lets her anger bloom, he can hear the tendrils of it in her voice when she tells him he’s a good person, snorting softly at it because he could be good, to those who have earned it. “I do not think she will ever consider me a good person.” Regardless of what he did or didn’t do. The fact was that he did do unsavory things on occasion and that was enough to wipe any good deeds away from memory. “I do not mind.”
And he doesn’t.
But as he speaks next over those around her that do care about her, that do care to be her friend, the butcher finds that the sorrow she’d wrapped herself in slowly shifts toward the familiarity of mischief. Of playfulness. “You? Never, darling.” He teases her, meeting her halfway in the playful mischief.
His embrace loosens so that he can stretch a long leg out, keeping one arm around her shoulders while the other plucks the muzzle back into his hand away from her as she takes him in, the glimmer of fiery hues within the obsidian of his horns, adorned with shiny trinkets of jewels. “I was not doing anything so important that I could not ensure my friend was alright.” He informs her simply, glancing over at her with that sharp smile, an angle of his head that makes the chains clink. “There is a big party at the Dusklight to ring in Longheat. I was working, hence the outfit.” Gesturing with the hand clutching the muzzle to his torso and pants, it rises shortly after in a mock attempt at putting it on. “Quite dashingly terrifying, no? It is one of Danta’s favorites.”
Being one of the few people who gets to see the softer, kinder side of the Butcher, Thal knows that most people would (rightly) disagree with her statement, but that doesn't change what she sees. She doesn't feel like a preference for blood and violence makes someone a bad person - otherwise she might have to reassess her entire existence. No, how someone treats those they care about and stands up for them is something she's always valued, and Asta has proven to be the kind of friend that supports her in every facet of her emotions. It makes her all the more confident when she says, "She's an idiot, and that's her loss." Because - despite everything - Thal thinks they could have been friends if Maea had given it a chance. Instead, there will always be a divide between them, one that she'd had to straddle until now. Perhaps she should be grateful that she didn't have to walk on glass anymore, to tiptoe around the topic. Now she had closure, even if it didn't feel like it yet.
His returning tease makes her smile a little more, the worries slowly releasing their hold so they might come another day - when the threat becomes more solid and realistic. For now, she's content to let his reassurance perk her mood like the glow of firelight through the dark unknown. She dips her head in appreciation of the confidence as well as his concern for her. The words 'thank you' are almost on her tongue, but she knows that he understands without her needing to say it, and she finds comfort in not having to voice them.
With their postures relaxing, Thal pulls away just enough to stretch out her legs, trying not to laugh when they reach the top of his shins. She hasn't really slept since the fight - too busy traveling - and the taxing of emotional turmoil makes her more than a little exhausted, so much so that she doesn't immediately jump at the prospect of a party. Her head just tilts in consideration, taking in his attire with a grin. "Must be quite the party." Especially as he raises the muzzle to his mouth, her eyes scanning the accessory with ambivalence. He doesn't seem bothered by it, if anything, he seems to find it humorous, so she doesn't let it bother her.
Chuckling softly, she lifts a hand to tap against the metal cage. "It certainly makes an impression. Anyone stupid enough to act up tonight?" It's hard to believe when Asta's working, but she's curious, nonetheless. If he's out here, she wonders if his name alone will be enough to keep the troublemakers at bay.
Losing feeling is getting old Was I made from a broken mold?
you see right through the lies in my eyes, and it's all underneath if you take the time to scratch the surface,
“You are correct.” The butcher hums without a second thought to the confidence in Thal’s voice. If the pale ancient wished to live alone in whatever delusion of a perfect world she had without getting anywhere near it, the butcher was content to keep that bridge as long as possible. But for now? Now he focuses on his friend as she starts to come back into herself, as Asta focuses on her wellbeing and the improvement of her mood already. The worries begin to dissipate and the butcher watches as she dips her head in appreciation, letting his smile bloom a touch wider on the corners, filling in those smile lines of his face.
Her legs stretch beside his, coming up quite short in comparison, not that Asta minds. He knows he’s ridiculously tall, even if he thinks it adds to his charm. And so his tail resumes its idle flicking, snorting as he nods before placing the muzzle in a haphazard attempt back onto his face. “It is. Booming.” He drawls with all the flares of dramatics he can manage.
The muzzle remains against his face as she lifts her hand to tap against it – and the butcher remains completely unbothered. It had been a usual fit for him to sleep, after all. Not that he thinks Thal knows that. “Not when this outfit is on.” He boasts a little proudly, playfully, his brows bouncing a little before he lowers the muzzle again and snorts. “It is quite fun to see them squirm regardless, though.” A fond sigh accompanies the response, before he straightens a little.
Thinking for a few moments after, he inclines his head toward her. “Would you like to return to your home or come back to the Dusklight with me?” He asks, letting his dark gaze flick along her face for whatever kind of reaction she might harbor with the idea of it. He doesn't mind either way, but something tells him that if she wanted some place warm to relax in without having to take the entire trek to Levinsward to her home, that the Dusklight could provide it.
She smiles at the dramatics, knowing that any party at the Dusklight will always be 'booming'. That's one of the reasons it's so popular - although being owned by the Theocrat definitely helps.
Regardless, it's nice to see Asta in his element, the pride and fulfillment hard to miss on his features. It's something she's happy to fuel, a mock serious expression on her face as she nods her head. "As they should." His sharp teeth and towering figure have never truly scared her, but she can understand why others might want to practice caution in his presence, and she shoots him a wink of respect.
But then his question makes her pause, her expression falling for a moment as her head tilts in consideration. There's a faint reluctance to be alone that she swallows back, even as she knows Asta won't judge her for it. "I think... it might be nice to visit the Dusklight for a little while, see you in action." To be around people - around their people despite the exhaustion pulling at her limbs. Thal flashes him a playful grin, hoping to summon some of her usual confident swagger as she says, "Although I might need a shower and change of clothes. I don't think I'm dressed fancy enough for this 'booming' party." She glances down at her usual outfit - the one distinctly dusted with travel and ash. Unlike his intimidating uniform, Thal gets the sense that it would have the opposite effect on her reputation.
Losing feeling is getting old Was I made from a broken mold?
