// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //
“Some of our fellow citizens have deemed this as the Grounds’ mountain.” Astaroth muses thoughtfully and a touch sarcastically, making the trek up the expanse of the side of the hill. A bag is slung over his shoulder and he isn’t wearing the multitude of clothing that had been his go to during Deepfrost. Instead, a deep maroon silken shirt is worn, buttoned up to nearly the very top – dressed down enough that the first button is unbuttoned and his sleeves are rolled up neatly (but it still is certainly tucked into his pants), it’s paired with a pair of black slacks and his usual, well taken care of leather boots.
The sun casts his and Dantalion’s shadow in a long stretch before them and the butcher’s tail waves contently behind him as he continues to speak on the earlier subject, finding amusement in such a topic as this. “I will say it is at best a large hill.” He wasn’t even breaking a sweat making this trek (not that it’s warm or anything). Snow melts in wet droplets around the grasses and the flowers poking through, but it’s warm enough for him to be quite content to make it to the top of this hill to see what all the excitement is about.
The sun casts his and Dantalion’s shadow in a long stretch before them and the butcher’s tail waves contently behind him as he continues to speak on the earlier subject, finding amusement in such a topic as this. “I will say it is at best a large hill.” He wasn’t even breaking a sweat making this trek (not that it’s warm or anything). Snow melts in wet droplets around the grasses and the flowers poking through, but it’s warm enough for him to be quite content to make it to the top of this hill to see what all the excitement is about.
Astaroth
// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //
