Now the ashes of tomorrow sing your sad song
Remi grins after him, wings steady as he glides along the lower air currents like he’s out for an afternoon sail rather than a hunt. "I’m not just a pretty face, you know," he calls sweetly.
Above, Ronin is poetry and violence, all golden light and crackling air, and it’s no wonder the void messengers start to multiply in earnest—summoned by the racket or outraged by the desecration of their eerie roost. They spiral down from the cracks and crevices in droves, their oily wings blotting patches of violet-glow like soot through fog. Croaks turn to shrieks as they dive, too late to realise they’ve brought rage to a maelstrom.
Remi hums again under his breath, low and idle like he’s listening to a favourite song. He doesn’t interfere, but he does cast out his magic to ensure that no errant blow actually strikes his husband. For the next few moments, the Bastion remains lazily airborne, sea-glass eyes following the arc of Ronin’s axe like a man admiring art in motion.
Above, Ronin is poetry and violence, all golden light and crackling air, and it’s no wonder the void messengers start to multiply in earnest—summoned by the racket or outraged by the desecration of their eerie roost. They spiral down from the cracks and crevices in droves, their oily wings blotting patches of violet-glow like soot through fog. Croaks turn to shrieks as they dive, too late to realise they’ve brought rage to a maelstrom.
Remi hums again under his breath, low and idle like he’s listening to a favourite song. He doesn’t interfere, but he does cast out his magic to ensure that no errant blow actually strikes his husband. For the next few moments, the Bastion remains lazily airborne, sea-glass eyes following the arc of Ronin’s axe like a man admiring art in motion.
the bastion
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
