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,
“A solid plan, my dear.” Whatever it took to get them back home without turning to stone, at least. Full and content and with the warm buzz of the alcohol that helps keep the furnace that they were alight in their chests. He doesn’t mind making it a quick walk on the way home, even if his bones would protest the next morning, because without having some kind of teleportation, this was the best he could do.
Murmuring his own accented thanks alongside Danta’s, they step out into the cold with a shiver that races down the butcher’s spine and has his arm tightening around Danta’s as he picks a steady and quick pace, the click of his cane dampening with the occasional snow drifts. “In Whitebrim we would often create a variety of jerkies to keep us sated because it would snow so heavily that we could not leave our homes.” Perhaps that tradition, paired with the butcher’s very active Leafchange, also makes it a challenge to feel up to nearly anything this season.
Either way, the butcher picks the swiftest path toward the Dusklight, leaning into the warmth that exudes from Danta and the addition of the little flames that dance around the long dark tines of his horns like a halo of hellfire, at least until they've reached the brothel's door.
Murmuring his own accented thanks alongside Danta’s, they step out into the cold with a shiver that races down the butcher’s spine and has his arm tightening around Danta’s as he picks a steady and quick pace, the click of his cane dampening with the occasional snow drifts. “In Whitebrim we would often create a variety of jerkies to keep us sated because it would snow so heavily that we could not leave our homes.” Perhaps that tradition, paired with the butcher’s very active Leafchange, also makes it a challenge to feel up to nearly anything this season.
Either way, the butcher picks the swiftest path toward the Dusklight, leaning into the warmth that exudes from Danta and the addition of the little flames that dance around the long dark tines of his horns like a halo of hellfire, at least until they've reached the brothel's door.
Astaroth
i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired
