KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
He dug his fingers into the sand. Sifted it between his fingers, and shuddered at the dry earthiness left behind on his fingertips. Korbin gazed out into the dark as he listened, chewing on the message. Any other time and he would have scoffed at it, rejected it but... after having felt what went on behind that casual, arrogant expression, he had to believe that the Flood knew what he was talking about. No doubt he'd tried everything already.
"Alright... What do I do with the anger, then? Fighting never actually helped..." Weaver might get something out of it, but to Korbin it only made things worse. And he was seething, all the time these days. Bubbling, boiling, with things that just wouldn't leave no matter how he worked, trained, hunted or sparred.
A ferocious energy somewhere on the border between fury and despair.
"Alright... What do I do with the anger, then? Fighting never actually helped..." Weaver might get something out of it, but to Korbin it only made things worse. And he was seething, all the time these days. Bubbling, boiling, with things that just wouldn't leave no matter how he worked, trained, hunted or sparred.
A ferocious energy somewhere on the border between fury and despair.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
