my, my, those eyes like fire, i'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre
come now, bite through these wires,
come now, bite through these wires,
Remade from fire and brimstone, Astaroth finds himself drawn to Apopo often when he comes to Torchline. However, he usually has so many more things to do that he has yet to indulge himself — until today, with nothing else going on, he decides now is as good a time as any, and so he’s been up here basking in the warmth of the volcano, not fully aware of the environment and the creatures around him.
He doesn’t have to be, anymore. Crows wouldn’t send him running any longer, so the butcher’s comfortable in his aimless wandering. Even going to far as to stumble across the pale arctic fox — familiar enough with them from his life in Halo. But it’s strange to see them here of all places, and he drifts closer with the curiosity of whether or not it were an Attuned. “Oh, hello there.” Comes the greeting as he approaches, deciding that the creature would run off if terrified, but it’s worth a shot anyway. He approaches a comfortable distance and crouches, tail sweeping across the dry ground and flicking lightly at the ashen tip.
He doesn’t have to be, anymore. Crows wouldn’t send him running any longer, so the butcher’s comfortable in his aimless wandering. Even going to far as to stumble across the pale arctic fox — familiar enough with them from his life in Halo. But it’s strange to see them here of all places, and he drifts closer with the curiosity of whether or not it were an Attuned. “Oh, hello there.” Comes the greeting as he approaches, deciding that the creature would run off if terrified, but it’s worth a shot anyway. He approaches a comfortable distance and crouches, tail sweeping across the dry ground and flicking lightly at the ashen tip.
Astaroth
i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired
