Astaroth
i think i'm the devil in disguise, here's my state of mind
The butcher is very lucky that Deimos doesn’t choose to utilize ice magic against him – even if the water that suddenly douses the flame is really fucking cold. He can feel the splash of it as it leaves naught more than steam behind where his wall of fire had been, revealing the butcher crouched behind, knife from his leg in hand and the cane absolutely nowhere near where he’d hoped it would be.
“Fuck,” comes the curse, without all the formality, without all the proper tones leaving his lips. Instead, just a thicker Whitebrim accent left behind on the edge of snarl as he’s soaked with enough force of the chill that he’s losing his balance, stumbling back onto his ass as his tail whips with frustration. Not at Deimos or his ability to master the magic, but at himself for being so predictable.
It's this moment that has him wondering whether or not he should refrain from utilizing the bloodbane, if he’s already looking like a drowned rat with the way the water crests over him, ruffling and dampening his clothes and wetting the volcanic earth beneath him. If nothing else, he can explain to Danta after, right?
“Apologies in advance.” He drawls when he finally gets a chance to breathe, because while it likely wouldn’t cause too much damage to Deimos – it was a direct attack at lessening the brunt of everything (and perhaps making him feel a bit better about the fact he’s soaked and likely has a bruised tailbone), hoping he might lessen up on the water magic. The knife begins to move, carving a red, bloodied line into the smooth skin of his inner forearm – blending and melting away into the water that continues to streak as the bloodbane is utilized with a quiet hiss and a clench of sharp teeth.
Magic: Bloodbane | Can injure themselves for mastered damage to weaken others at a 1.5x their mastered level with a range of 30ft.
Type: Dark | Rank: Mastered
“Fuck,” comes the curse, without all the formality, without all the proper tones leaving his lips. Instead, just a thicker Whitebrim accent left behind on the edge of snarl as he’s soaked with enough force of the chill that he’s losing his balance, stumbling back onto his ass as his tail whips with frustration. Not at Deimos or his ability to master the magic, but at himself for being so predictable.
It's this moment that has him wondering whether or not he should refrain from utilizing the bloodbane, if he’s already looking like a drowned rat with the way the water crests over him, ruffling and dampening his clothes and wetting the volcanic earth beneath him. If nothing else, he can explain to Danta after, right?
“Apologies in advance.” He drawls when he finally gets a chance to breathe, because while it likely wouldn’t cause too much damage to Deimos – it was a direct attack at lessening the brunt of everything (and perhaps making him feel a bit better about the fact he’s soaked and likely has a bruised tailbone), hoping he might lessen up on the water magic. The knife begins to move, carving a red, bloodied line into the smooth skin of his inner forearm – blending and melting away into the water that continues to streak as the bloodbane is utilized with a quiet hiss and a clench of sharp teeth.
Magic: Bloodbane | Can injure themselves for mastered damage to weaken others at a 1.5x their mastered level with a range of 30ft.
Type: Dark | Rank: Mastered
give me destruction, tell me i'm scrumptious
i'm a fucking delight
i'm a fucking delight
