Astaroth
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
It helps that Astaroth has other means to know who Deimos is – given those he surrounds himself with. And with watching the tournament, the pieces just fall together too perfectly that he can’t help but to have to offer congratulations and respect where it’s garnered. Deimos was a champion, as far as he was concerned, and not someone that Astaroth was inclined on getting into trouble with.
Not that he has any reason to get into trouble with the Warden, but anyway.
“You’re welcome.” He offers chipperly, sharp teeth flashing an easy smile as he settles, planting the cane between his feet, hands coming together to clasp above it on the handle. “I am Astaroth.” He says, inclining in a little bow of greeting, before he draws back up to his full height and perfect posture. “From the Climb, now the Hollowed Grounds.” As evident by the oily sheen of horns sprouting from his head as well as the tail that flicks idly behind him.
Not that he has any reason to get into trouble with the Warden, but anyway.
“You’re welcome.” He offers chipperly, sharp teeth flashing an easy smile as he settles, planting the cane between his feet, hands coming together to clasp above it on the handle. “I am Astaroth.” He says, inclining in a little bow of greeting, before he draws back up to his full height and perfect posture. “From the Climb, now the Hollowed Grounds.” As evident by the oily sheen of horns sprouting from his head as well as the tail that flicks idly behind him.
// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //
