chaele
worship like a dog
This is the place they asked her to come to. This distant, alien arena has an almost sacred energy to it, an intensity that demands the fire of conflict and competition. It is, perhaps, a poetic contrast to their last meeting, however similar they are otherwise: land and sea, a clear night sky, a chill breeze.
Ash and salt fill the air, riding the steam that whispers from the shoreline. It obscures the ground somewhat, throes of thick mist tossing around their pacing boots. The platform moves ever so slightly beneath their weight. Some parts are warmer than others.
A machete in one hand and hunting knife in the other, Chaele swings their arms restlessly. Their head turns from side to side to see clearly, their vision compromised by the stag skull mask. But they are ready despite the handicap, and eager for the challenge.
Ash and salt fill the air, riding the steam that whispers from the shoreline. It obscures the ground somewhat, throes of thick mist tossing around their pacing boots. The platform moves ever so slightly beneath their weight. Some parts are warmer than others.
A machete in one hand and hunting knife in the other, Chaele swings their arms restlessly. Their head turns from side to side to see clearly, their vision compromised by the stag skull mask. But they are ready despite the handicap, and eager for the challenge.
at the shrine of my lies
