who we are and all that we're trying to be
Despite the liberation and freedom from LongNight’s grasp, obligations still settled their way through the core of him, an enduring, infinite quality tied and bound to his motivations. He hadn’t been always present in the Guild he belonged to; frequenting it for either events or to bother Remi, tethered in militia lines, and other conflagrations, missions, torn into a variety of goals, aspirations, and ambitions. Items made and sculpted were often delivered or created right in front of the receiver; he didn’t even really have a kiosk for any wares – they were concocted in the moment, a press of gilded hands and golden palms and something attempting to match an accord of individuals.
So out of a semblance of duty, the mountain meandered along the market, a bucket in his hand, eyes narrowed, watching, waiting, and then chasing the inevitable down – the memory mud’s impact on the stalls, and along the outskirts of the hall, had left intriguing, interesting wakes. Unfortunately, the patterns and juxtapositions of the muck and mire weren’t entirely desired, footfalls and treads sticking into its ambience, bizarre, almost eldritch formations brimming on their existence, before the puddles seemed to meander and wander on their own accord. He’d bend down when one managed to cease and desist its motions for a moment, granting him an opportunity to snag and drop it into the container, closing the lid, and then continuing the effort, quiet and hushed, as if hunting, chasing, voracious things.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
