SUNJATA
the flood
anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself
saving everybody else to save yourself
It had been a surprisingly busy day, the first in a while since Sunjata had started the Slagveld. It was always nice to have a partner or two for the boxing ring, better if there were more to continue to benefit from the ring as a means of learning to fight. Regardless, Sunjata wasn’t picky. It was being used, and that was the entire reason why he put it there – definitely not because of the space in the attic that had become his home since his last burned down, definitely not because of the secret guild that sat above everyone’s heads.
Today, however, as busy as it was Sunjata had used it as a distraction from most of his attempts at figuring out the layout of the government things he has planned. He’s stepped out of the ring, off to the side, the tattoos from Safrin along both arms have the stars and planets shifting subtly while he grabs a glass of water, heart thundering beneath bronze, scarred skin.
The sound of someone disgruntled, however, does capture the Flood’s attention – steel gaze lifting above the crowd to spot the boy as he runs out of the Slagveld. Unsure of what’s occurred, Sunjata slips closer toward the woman the boy had stood beside just prior – setting the glass down as he approaches, peering out the door once he’s reached her side. “They can be a bit of a handful at times.” He rumbles toward her, accented voice cutting through the air as he returns his gaze to her.
“What brings you to the Slagveld?” He asks, head tilting slightly, a crookedly feline smile lifting the edges of his lips. He peers down at her – watchful, patient, perhaps a small amount arrogant – though it’s no surprise, given the lightning scars that race across his chest and one of his arms, the myriad of tattoos that flesh out his shoulders and arms, the large burn scar that cuts through one of his feathered tattoos, the compass that sits on both sides of his neck, one over a heavy scar that trails down his neck, and the heavy dusting of silvery ascended scars beneath his ears.
He’s watchful for a reason, curious in as much as a cat is.
Aurelia
Today, however, as busy as it was Sunjata had used it as a distraction from most of his attempts at figuring out the layout of the government things he has planned. He’s stepped out of the ring, off to the side, the tattoos from Safrin along both arms have the stars and planets shifting subtly while he grabs a glass of water, heart thundering beneath bronze, scarred skin.
The sound of someone disgruntled, however, does capture the Flood’s attention – steel gaze lifting above the crowd to spot the boy as he runs out of the Slagveld. Unsure of what’s occurred, Sunjata slips closer toward the woman the boy had stood beside just prior – setting the glass down as he approaches, peering out the door once he’s reached her side. “They can be a bit of a handful at times.” He rumbles toward her, accented voice cutting through the air as he returns his gaze to her.
“What brings you to the Slagveld?” He asks, head tilting slightly, a crookedly feline smile lifting the edges of his lips. He peers down at her – watchful, patient, perhaps a small amount arrogant – though it’s no surprise, given the lightning scars that race across his chest and one of his arms, the myriad of tattoos that flesh out his shoulders and arms, the large burn scar that cuts through one of his feathered tattoos, the compass that sits on both sides of his neck, one over a heavy scar that trails down his neck, and the heavy dusting of silvery ascended scars beneath his ears.
He’s watchful for a reason, curious in as much as a cat is.
and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell
that's the story to tell
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.
