SUNJATA
the flood
anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself
saving everybody else to save yourself
Oh he doesn’t realize that he isn’t alone – the shock of it the second he hears their voice feels more akin to the lightning that had danced up his spine so long ago in Torchline. He straightens immediately, gaze narrowing to slits as he scans the mist and fog, the bank, before it falls upon the skull and a satchel, before following the ripples of the water toward a somewhat veiled face. His own isn’t quite as veiled. Most of his face visible aside from the shining black armored plates that he wears around his neck and chest like a turtleneck, his face framed by a couple sets of curled horns.
The slit steel drifts momentarily back toward the spines and obsidian shards, the way it somewhat resembles a shrine – a space he’s been frequenting more and more lately. As for the unknown person in the mists and warmth of Frey’s Breath, Sunjata tries to figure out whether they’re asking him what he wants from them or whether they’re some kind of spirit, drawn to this place time and time again.
“Nothing from you. A bit of water for Frey, that’s all.” His accented voice rumbles out, snagging on some of the vowels, punctuated on some of the consonants. He doesn’t take any steps further to encroach on their space, just draws a glass jar from the pack at his side, waving a tattooed arm glinting with a ring of a crescent moon as he draws up some of the warm steaming water to slip into the jar, keeping mostly to himself unless otherwise acknowledged.
The slit steel drifts momentarily back toward the spines and obsidian shards, the way it somewhat resembles a shrine – a space he’s been frequenting more and more lately. As for the unknown person in the mists and warmth of Frey’s Breath, Sunjata tries to figure out whether they’re asking him what he wants from them or whether they’re some kind of spirit, drawn to this place time and time again.
“Nothing from you. A bit of water for Frey, that’s all.” His accented voice rumbles out, snagging on some of the vowels, punctuated on some of the consonants. He doesn’t take any steps further to encroach on their space, just draws a glass jar from the pack at his side, waving a tattooed arm glinting with a ring of a crescent moon as he draws up some of the warm steaming water to slip into the jar, keeping mostly to himself unless otherwise acknowledged.
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.
