[Mini Event] Woods of the Rising Sun

DEIMOS Delivered from the blasts The Reaper didn’t settle himself on a blanket, didn’t curl or coil along the grass; stood amidst the thresholds and panels of haunting, dusky midnight, a tower amidst fragments and sparks, waiting for the night to turn to day. It reminded him of auroras, of hues and colors blending against a backdrop of onyx and sable, lending beauty amidst the heresy of the Basin and its kingdom of nefarious occupants, he the broken, darkened king of them all, leading them down into the heresy and revolution. He watched as it transformed and transfixed within the piercing, puncturing depths of his blue gaze; no glaciers or summits here, but different and appealing all the same: mysteries, enigmas, quandaries to be unearthed and fixated upon, monsters to be slain, roles and rituals to be altered. This one, unlike previous intervals and realms, didn’t seem to have the ability to stay invariable, consistent, stagnant – not since they’d arrived, one by one, trickling into the foundation and rattling its surface to the very core. What next? he pondered, a small smile flickering across his features, for the sun rising, for the moon falling, for all the glories and challenges he welcomed now with open arms. the last of a line of lasts