SUNJATA
i'm drowning in all these voices in the sea
and meeting all my vices in the ring
and meeting all my vices in the ring
He was a wraith. He always had been – a shadow trying to make a name for himself that was entirely him. Not what he shitty father wanted him to be, not what everyone else tried to make him into. And even as he tried to do everything on his own, it would backfire. He’d get too close to someone, he’d love someone, and they’d die anyway. So he’d spent time boarding himself up, keeping the jagged edges of his soul from stabbing everyone else because they couldn’t get close enough for it to pierce.
Until that got too lonely, and after his betrayal of Safrin and his love of Frey, they helped to guide him into a new path – one where he could focus on helping everyone else however he could. And apart from the infection, he’d certainly done his best to give people a refuge. So, to hear as Iskra mentions that it seems like he’s still trying to figure out where home is? He isn’t wrong, and it’s with a lopsided smile thanks to the scar that bisects his mouth that the Flood nods. “I’m hoping I found it.” And he doesn’t have a goddess forcing him to leave, like Safrin had, because she wasn’t okay with his choices.
Frey let him do whatever it was he wanted or needed. He was thriving as much as he could.
His ink, though? The smile remains as he glances down to his arm and of course in the back of his mind, thinks about the compasses on his neck and the wings that make up the majority of his shoulders. “Mm, some of them I got in my old world. I got the wings as my first one because I was finally free. The compasses came later. I got them for my girl at the time so that when I’d always look at her it was like she was my true north.” In hindsight, not a great thing, but with how he’s currently sitting, it angles those compasses right at Iskra. “I got my arm done when I was here, though. Waves. I loved the ocean and I’m known as the Flood, so, I guess it kinda fit. Used to have my other arm the same and stars would move in them, but that was when I was still good with Safrin.” Before Frey had to tear her from his soul and scrub her name from his bones. “Now it’s just covered in lightning scars.” From grabbing that stupid lightning rod Deimos had handed to him from miscommunication.
But he’d lived through it.
“What about yours?” He asks, appraising Iskra anew.
Until that got too lonely, and after his betrayal of Safrin and his love of Frey, they helped to guide him into a new path – one where he could focus on helping everyone else however he could. And apart from the infection, he’d certainly done his best to give people a refuge. So, to hear as Iskra mentions that it seems like he’s still trying to figure out where home is? He isn’t wrong, and it’s with a lopsided smile thanks to the scar that bisects his mouth that the Flood nods. “I’m hoping I found it.” And he doesn’t have a goddess forcing him to leave, like Safrin had, because she wasn’t okay with his choices.
Frey let him do whatever it was he wanted or needed. He was thriving as much as he could.
His ink, though? The smile remains as he glances down to his arm and of course in the back of his mind, thinks about the compasses on his neck and the wings that make up the majority of his shoulders. “Mm, some of them I got in my old world. I got the wings as my first one because I was finally free. The compasses came later. I got them for my girl at the time so that when I’d always look at her it was like she was my true north.” In hindsight, not a great thing, but with how he’s currently sitting, it angles those compasses right at Iskra. “I got my arm done when I was here, though. Waves. I loved the ocean and I’m known as the Flood, so, I guess it kinda fit. Used to have my other arm the same and stars would move in them, but that was when I was still good with Safrin.” Before Frey had to tear her from his soul and scrub her name from his bones. “Now it’s just covered in lightning scars.” From grabbing that stupid lightning rod Deimos had handed to him from miscommunication.
But he’d lived through it.
“What about yours?” He asks, appraising Iskra anew.
so step inside, i ain't afraid to bleed
there ain't a casket strong enough for me
there ain't a casket strong enough for me
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
