SUNJATA
the flood
'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
One thing Sunjata knows that he does like about Halo, is the healing magic. That usually where he’d go to get hours and hours of work done for an itch he hasn’t been able to get rid of since the meeting with Safrin. Naturally, the first thing he does is find out from Weaver that artist of hers, makes his way through the chill and cold of Halo, and with the combination of art and magic he’s successful in completing one sleeve in one sitting.
Black whirls that look like waves are interspersed with purples and blues of a galaxy formation throughout the back, trailing from beneath his wing tattoos all the way down to his wrist. And once it’s completed, while the arm is sore, it’s nothing he can’t handle while he makes his way toward the bar they’re in the process of constructing.
Arriving, the roaring fire already makes this place habitable. The red and black a beautiful sight as he enters, shrugs off the furs and cloak to hang inside, stretching out his newly tattooed arm to loosen it up a bit. He hasn’t seen Korbin, hasn’t seen the bird that sits in the rafters. So all he does is ensure the daggers Safrin has given him are at his side and at the ready, lifting the lid of one of the crates in interest before his gaze flits around the room. “Weaver?” His accented rumble reverbs against the walls as he calls out to her, wondering whether she’s here yet or not.
Black whirls that look like waves are interspersed with purples and blues of a galaxy formation throughout the back, trailing from beneath his wing tattoos all the way down to his wrist. And once it’s completed, while the arm is sore, it’s nothing he can’t handle while he makes his way toward the bar they’re in the process of constructing.
Arriving, the roaring fire already makes this place habitable. The red and black a beautiful sight as he enters, shrugs off the furs and cloak to hang inside, stretching out his newly tattooed arm to loosen it up a bit. He hasn’t seen Korbin, hasn’t seen the bird that sits in the rafters. So all he does is ensure the daggers Safrin has given him are at his side and at the ready, lifting the lid of one of the crates in interest before his gaze flits around the room. “Weaver?” His accented rumble reverbs against the walls as he calls out to her, wondering whether she’s here yet or not.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
