Astaroth
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
He’s heard that it had gone on for centuries – of monsters in the night, crawling and clawing at doors, pretending to be loved ones. Yet he is eager to hear what the Sword has to say, dark eyes glittering in curiosity as the story is told to him – however much he’s willing to share, given everything. “I see.” Astaroth murmurs, head cocking slightly as his gaze takes in the moving ripples of the water within the proximity of the Sword, gaze flicking back up toward his face. “I have not heard much of the Voice either.” A quiet admission, though his body language suggests that if Deimos doesn’t want to share tidbits on the New God, he didn’t have to.
“I had heard there had been a war, however, between the Old Gods and New Gods.” His tone takes on a curious tone toward the end – nose wrinkling under the thought. Though, for him, Dygra was the only goddess that mattered and who cared. Astaroth was content to continue to think so, even in a world surrounded by heralds and other big gods. They had never answered him before, yet Dygra had welcomed him with open arms.
“I had heard there had been a war, however, between the Old Gods and New Gods.” His tone takes on a curious tone toward the end – nose wrinkling under the thought. Though, for him, Dygra was the only goddess that mattered and who cared. Astaroth was content to continue to think so, even in a world surrounded by heralds and other big gods. They had never answered him before, yet Dygra had welcomed him with open arms.
// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //
