I carried my own ashes to the mountains
The Sword wasn’t familiar enough with Astaroth to notice anything new; he would’ve believed scars came from fights and onslaughts, of which most Butchers were privy to at all hours. The one thing he did recognize was the jacket, and he muffled a snort, briefly amused but content to see it had already found a natural place for the Ancient’s travels. Nodding at the response, because it’d been mostly in form of greeting, his head tilted at the inquiry, casually opening his bag of holding to show off the recent bounty of wares. “Yes, figured some would be open to trade. Might as well keep the masses entertained during LongNight,” with the pelts, feathers, and yarn anyway; a slight inclination to banish the doldrums that often surrounded the previously haunting thresholds. He didn’t think he’d ever quite being able to avoid pacing the floors at given hours.
Thereafter though, given his own requirements for impending boons to his incantations, and one Ancient standing right there, his gaze roamed from wares and back to Astaroth, not wanting to interrupt his business, but figuring the security enforcer would see the appeal. “Would you be up for some sparring? I am working on strengthening my fire magic.”
Thereafter though, given his own requirements for impending boons to his incantations, and one Ancient standing right there, his gaze roamed from wares and back to Astaroth, not wanting to interrupt his business, but figuring the security enforcer would see the appeal. “Would you be up for some sparring? I am working on strengthening my fire magic.”
DEIMOS
