all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach
Smashing up everything inside the rage room isn't a terrible idea either, or so says the bright and wicked glint in Danta's eyes, and rest assured whatever flavour it takes when it comes to Flora burning off some extra energy (and/or lingering feelings), he's up for it. For now, though, he's more like bottled chaos, refined and willing to be directed under the will of the goddess who made him, and as Flora steps up beside him, he smiles to hear her speak. It's so unapologetically her that he can't imagine Dygra would ever disapprove.
"And thank you for your assistance in keeping the Hollowed Grounds safe," he continues, bowing his head respectfully. "More was planned between us, I know, but now that the threat has left Caido, perhaps we can turn our attention back to more interesting endeavours." Ones that might appeal to the core of what makes the Ancients who they are, rather than endlessly striving to be protected from an outside threat.
Smiling across at Flora, Danta raises his hand deliberately to demonstrate, reaching out to slice his fingers against the jagged shard of obsidian. He raises the bloody digits to his lips as if to offer a kiss along with his lifeblood, before allowing the crimson to drip along the slab of obsidian. Once, perhaps, he might have made a fine priest of Dygra. And if ever being a Theocrat loses its charm, the trouble he and Charlie could get into would be boundless.
"And thank you for your assistance in keeping the Hollowed Grounds safe," he continues, bowing his head respectfully. "More was planned between us, I know, but now that the threat has left Caido, perhaps we can turn our attention back to more interesting endeavours." Ones that might appeal to the core of what makes the Ancients who they are, rather than endlessly striving to be protected from an outside threat.
Smiling across at Flora, Danta raises his hand deliberately to demonstrate, reaching out to slice his fingers against the jagged shard of obsidian. He raises the bloody digits to his lips as if to offer a kiss along with his lifeblood, before allowing the crimson to drip along the slab of obsidian. Once, perhaps, he might have made a fine priest of Dygra. And if ever being a Theocrat loses its charm, the trouble he and Charlie could get into would be boundless.
Dantalion
don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
