sit down now for some ground rules, thank you
do you think you can handle that much?
do you think you can handle that much?
“I do harbor the scars to prove otherwise.” The butcher hums, flashing Thal a smile that seems to suggest that while he is usually arrogant and cocky, this was an equally sensitive subject for himself. Not that he had any qualms with showing her, of course. But the memories and the fact he can’t even hunt with Danta in his most soul-like shift because of it really dampened one’s life. “And when she saved me, it felt as though she unlocked a part of me I did not realize I had so dearly missed.” Though, he’d needed a long healing process to the point that the other Ancients had given him the name everyone knows him by now – his original name long forgotten in the confines of cannibal clans past.
Now he was just the Butcher of Whitebrim.
Of a place that no longer existed anymore, either.
At least her comment over her choice of profession and requirements of being warm and inviting harbors a low and deep chuckle to leave the butcher as he inclines his horned head. “I do suppose that is true. Better to be fearsome, mm?” It’s a playful tone he takes, though he knows the reality of it. He’d been on her ship once, he recalls the way everyone looked to her. She had a certain image she needed to keep, and the butcher understood that more than most.
Shifting his attention to the firestarters and organizing them before the ancients of the grounds drift by, Astaroth hums a note in response to her inquiry. “Unique chaos as in.. Well, you can see I can be – mm, what did Danta mention it as? OCD? Whatever that means.” Shrugging a shoulder, the butcher flashes her a smile that truly suggests he’s not that familiar with the term to know whether it was true or not. “I have my fun with hunts or with those that overstep boundaries. Or, by creating something beautiful only to destroy it a second later.” Origami, as it turned out. Crafting beautiful little creatures made of paper only to burst into flame shortly after. "Perhaps unique is not the correct term, but rather... Creative."
Now he was just the Butcher of Whitebrim.
Of a place that no longer existed anymore, either.
At least her comment over her choice of profession and requirements of being warm and inviting harbors a low and deep chuckle to leave the butcher as he inclines his horned head. “I do suppose that is true. Better to be fearsome, mm?” It’s a playful tone he takes, though he knows the reality of it. He’d been on her ship once, he recalls the way everyone looked to her. She had a certain image she needed to keep, and the butcher understood that more than most.
Shifting his attention to the firestarters and organizing them before the ancients of the grounds drift by, Astaroth hums a note in response to her inquiry. “Unique chaos as in.. Well, you can see I can be – mm, what did Danta mention it as? OCD? Whatever that means.” Shrugging a shoulder, the butcher flashes her a smile that truly suggests he’s not that familiar with the term to know whether it was true or not. “I have my fun with hunts or with those that overstep boundaries. Or, by creating something beautiful only to destroy it a second later.” Origami, as it turned out. Crafting beautiful little creatures made of paper only to burst into flame shortly after. "Perhaps unique is not the correct term, but rather... Creative."
Astaroth
i've just come back to life, i'm here, i'm your little ray of sunshine
