Deimos
Were it not for a complaint from merchants and travelers alike rambling through the Tar Pits, Deimos would’ve avoided the place entirely. The Feverlands had never boasted anything fun or uplifting; if memory served correctly, most of his hours spent here had been spent fighting monsters of some ilk, which, given the circumstances of the day, he’d be doing much the same at present.
He wasn’t alone though, with Belial accompanying and hovering skyward with occasional complaints about the mist. The Sword shook his head at the usual, commonplace antics, before extending another bout of Air and Water magic cast around himself and Zuriel; ensuring they stayed dry. To anyone else, it might have appeared as though the rain was cast simply away from them, evading the bombardments.
Sighing as they maneuvered around another set of oozing tar, he wrinkled his nose. While not wholly bothered with massacring the massive, blind rats, he half-hoped they’d wandered into the pits on their own and perished for the rest of the masses. “We can head this way,” he nodded to Zuriel, who stepped lighter, sniffing and snorting at the alternating path.
He wasn’t alone though, with Belial accompanying and hovering skyward with occasional complaints about the mist. The Sword shook his head at the usual, commonplace antics, before extending another bout of Air and Water magic cast around himself and Zuriel; ensuring they stayed dry. To anyone else, it might have appeared as though the rain was cast simply away from them, evading the bombardments.
Sighing as they maneuvered around another set of oozing tar, he wrinkled his nose. While not wholly bothered with massacring the massive, blind rats, he half-hoped they’d wandered into the pits on their own and perished for the rest of the masses. “We can head this way,” he nodded to Zuriel, who stepped lighter, sniffing and snorting at the alternating path.
you're all bronze and bite
all venom and fistfight
all venom and fistfight
