Astaroth
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
“Of course.” Astaroth hums with a dip of his chin. Should anyone wish to awaken them when they’d fallen into that slumber, Astaroth wishes anyone would know just on the off chance. Now, whether or not he needs to know any specifics (such that Kiada and the Sword have quite the relationship) is irrelevant.
The follow up question, though, is one that the butcher expects, and he settles comfortably, shifting his weight and bearing some of it on the cane between his hands as he watches the water ripple and move, before his dark gaze slips back toward the warden. “Far less interesting.” He admits with a soft hum of a laugh. “The Climb was larger, harbored so many of us that it was a treat if you got to see it.” And a threat, though he keeps that tidbit tucked away.
“Fashion and manners were more… old fashioned back then. I was quite pleased to see that particular shift.” He admits with another sharp smile. “Halo was different. Smaller and not as icy, but still quite cold. The Grounds didn’t exist.” He starts to list off the regions he knows now in reference to where they had come from.
The follow up question, though, is one that the butcher expects, and he settles comfortably, shifting his weight and bearing some of it on the cane between his hands as he watches the water ripple and move, before his dark gaze slips back toward the warden. “Far less interesting.” He admits with a soft hum of a laugh. “The Climb was larger, harbored so many of us that it was a treat if you got to see it.” And a threat, though he keeps that tidbit tucked away.
“Fashion and manners were more… old fashioned back then. I was quite pleased to see that particular shift.” He admits with another sharp smile. “Halo was different. Smaller and not as icy, but still quite cold. The Grounds didn’t exist.” He starts to list off the regions he knows now in reference to where they had come from.
// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //
