the things we hold are always the first to go
"In the Woodlands, as well? That seems all too natural a place for a shrine to the Voice," Ronin remarked, his brow furrowing in a frown. Even so, he supposed in a place like the Hollowed Grounds, a place where the Voice had gathered her power, it made sense that there were fonts of power to pay homage to her.
Still, he was in agreement with Amalia about leaving, nodding emphatically and turning away - only for the shrine to have other ideas.
His shoulders squaring, back straightening, Ronin felt the hiss and buzz of life from within the black globe like it was a virus trying to crawl all over him. When he had been in the Underground with Sam it had been different - the focus had not really been on him. Now, though...
"You do not," he said stiffly, though he was aware of the power radiating from the shrine, and knew better than to let his mouth run away with him. (For now). "I would not have imagined a visit from the likes of us would draw your interest."
Still, he was in agreement with Amalia about leaving, nodding emphatically and turning away - only for the shrine to have other ideas.
His shoulders squaring, back straightening, Ronin felt the hiss and buzz of life from within the black globe like it was a virus trying to crawl all over him. When he had been in the Underground with Sam it had been different - the focus had not really been on him. Now, though...
"You do not," he said stiffly, though he was aware of the power radiating from the shrine, and knew better than to let his mouth run away with him. (For now). "I would not have imagined a visit from the likes of us would draw your interest."
