now i am the violence, i am the sickness
won't accept your silence
won't accept your silence
“Meet at the Outer Brambles by the scarred lightning tree.” Had been in the letter Asta had sent to Thal – dressed down a touch more than he otherwise usually would be – no need to keep the heat of his wool suit jackets on. This time, the captain is met with a very comfortable looking butcher – with a dark black silken shirt with details designed in a grey thread, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of black pants and boots. He waits by the tree with a knife in hand, one of his favorites that he sharpens as he bides the time.
The sun beats down heavily, about midafternoon, casting barely there shadows but it doesn’t seem to matter all that much with the large one the butcher makes, looking as though it’s sat on the tree and inspecting his work. His hands move, the sun casting their own little shadows on the scars his arms and hands have withstood – plenty lacing up and down his forearms (likely from the multiple uses of bloodbane), but there’s two scars that stand starkly against his wrists from the shackles of the torture he’d sustained in the Climb, completely encapsulated around each wrist. Only one is hidden partially by the Dygra blessed bracelet, blood stained and raven black.
His tail flits idly behind him as he hums a jaunty little tune, sunglasses slipped up against the dark of his hair to nestle against the first tine of his antlers as he waits.
The sun beats down heavily, about midafternoon, casting barely there shadows but it doesn’t seem to matter all that much with the large one the butcher makes, looking as though it’s sat on the tree and inspecting his work. His hands move, the sun casting their own little shadows on the scars his arms and hands have withstood – plenty lacing up and down his forearms (likely from the multiple uses of bloodbane), but there’s two scars that stand starkly against his wrists from the shackles of the torture he’d sustained in the Climb, completely encapsulated around each wrist. Only one is hidden partially by the Dygra blessed bracelet, blood stained and raven black.
His tail flits idly behind him as he hums a jaunty little tune, sunglasses slipped up against the dark of his hair to nestle against the first tine of his antlers as he waits.
Astaroth
beg me for forgiveness
