Astaroth
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
Never one to miss out on little cultural traditions, Astaroth is continuing his exploration before heading back home to the Grounds after the tournament. It’s the following day of it, and truthfully the movement helps with the soreness of Asta’s old bones (and whatever proclivities he’d gotten up to in the previous night, the thread hasn’t gotten that far along just yet), he has a handful of stones as he peers out to the still water.
It's warmer here than anywhere else (excluding the Climb of course), but the Ancient still stands tall with his tailored suit nicely placed, put together with the cane that rests in one hand that he leans on as he sifts through the colorful stones, horned head tilting as the sunlight glints along the prongs like oil fire. Choosing the deepest red out of the three, Asta flicks that one into the water, listening to it splash, and watches it sink as he makes his little wish.
It's warmer here than anywhere else (excluding the Climb of course), but the Ancient still stands tall with his tailored suit nicely placed, put together with the cane that rests in one hand that he leans on as he sifts through the colorful stones, horned head tilting as the sunlight glints along the prongs like oil fire. Choosing the deepest red out of the three, Asta flicks that one into the water, listening to it splash, and watches it sink as he makes his little wish.
// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //
