ISAR
Arm yourself
A clean slate, huh. Soldiering or whatever he wanted. Isar thoughtfully plucked a strand of withered grass and put it between his teeth. It tasted of like nothing he'd known before, raised as he was in a culture of carnivores - out of necessity as much as preference. Smirking at Thalassa and Astaroth, he wiggled it at them and raised a suggestive brow. "Maybe I'll take up farming," he drawled, like it was the most scandalous thing.
And he supposed that to a race that worshipped a goddess of entropy and chaos, the kind of order and stability necessary for growing anything really might be blasphemous.
And he supposed that to a race that worshipped a goddess of entropy and chaos, the kind of order and stability necessary for growing anything really might be blasphemous.
Because no one else here will save you
