if it doesn't burn a little
Halo probably wasn't that dangerous when it came to its people. They were too busy surviving to be too concerned with conquests or portal openings, with gods and mortals and everything in between. Though perhaps, given enough time and influence, that would change. The possibility simmers, given the Outlanders and the outsiders that trickle in, but give them a few Deepfrosts and maybe their ambitions would be chilled.
Out of the very gray sky emerges a small flying human. The soft thump of feet in snow is the first sound, and then a voice is the second. Weaver lets the fire drop only once the fae has spoken, finding that though the voice is not pleasant, it is not immediately threatening either. The fire still crackles merrily on its logs in front of her though, a quick weapon should she need it. Besides, there is a scythe on her back and knives in all manner of places.
Weaver looks at the woman, entirely uncertain of her age given the whole fae thing, but she assesses the spear gripped tightly in her hand and the almost defensive stance. Hmm, maybe not defensive, maybe offensive. Weaver, for her part, looks very unconcerned. ”My dead brother,” she says, sounding as unruffled as she looks. ”So probably the wind, really. But he died around here, a few years ago.” It was Leafchange, after all, a time to celebrate the dead. And so she does.
Out of the very gray sky emerges a small flying human. The soft thump of feet in snow is the first sound, and then a voice is the second. Weaver lets the fire drop only once the fae has spoken, finding that though the voice is not pleasant, it is not immediately threatening either. The fire still crackles merrily on its logs in front of her though, a quick weapon should she need it. Besides, there is a scythe on her back and knives in all manner of places.
Weaver looks at the woman, entirely uncertain of her age given the whole fae thing, but she assesses the spear gripped tightly in her hand and the almost defensive stance. Hmm, maybe not defensive, maybe offensive. Weaver, for her part, looks very unconcerned. ”My dead brother,” she says, sounding as unruffled as she looks. ”So probably the wind, really. But he died around here, a few years ago.” It was Leafchange, after all, a time to celebrate the dead. And so she does.
-- weaver
then what's the point in playing with fire?
