ISKRA
Iskra wanders the woods which have begun to grow familiar, Goose at his heel with a weaving pattern to his gait as he follows his nose towards any interesting flicker. Though his axes are with him, the one is holstered on his belt, and Ampere is affixed to his back, not intending to use either in this region. He's come specifically out here to do some shopping in the town, finding their wood working the most inspiring of all the regions, as they weave and grow it into shape while his is crudely carved out of something already dead.
The afternoon light filters through the canopy in dapples of shadow and gold, and Iskra pauses for a break in his travels to rest against a tree. He sets his basic pack of supplies down, slinging it off his shoulder. He rummages inside it for a moment, pulling up a bottle of water and box of matches. The former, he drinks from before putting it away, while the latter he uses to drag a match to flame. With acute focus on the dancing spindle of fire, Iskra works to weave it, trying to bend his mastery into something better than embarrassment.
The afternoon light filters through the canopy in dapples of shadow and gold, and Iskra pauses for a break in his travels to rest against a tree. He sets his basic pack of supplies down, slinging it off his shoulder. He rummages inside it for a moment, pulling up a bottle of water and box of matches. The former, he drinks from before putting it away, while the latter he uses to drag a match to flame. With acute focus on the dancing spindle of fire, Iskra works to weave it, trying to bend his mastery into something better than embarrassment.
Never felt a feeling of comfort
And all this time, I've been hiding
I'm at one with the silence
I found peace in your violence
And all this time, I've been hiding
I'm at one with the silence
I found peace in your violence
