SUNJATA
the flood
anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself
saving everybody else to save yourself
He isn’t sure where to begin, really, though he is careful to keep his gaze away from them – the slit steel focusing on the water he pulls on with his magic, slipping it into the jar with a bit of room to the top, before he lets it fall back into the mist. In this time, though, it’s allowed them to don their mask again, to catch his attention briefly as their question is aired in the space between them.
The Flood then moves to slip the cap onto the jar, figuring out the best way to respond. Did he mention the safe haven so swiftly? Or should he decide to explain to this stranger that he’s their demigod first? He swaps between them briefly before he tucks the jar of water into his pack, lifts his horned head back to Chaele as they approach, an easy sort of candidness crossing his face as he offers them a small crooked smile, one that tugs on the corners of his half Glasgow smile. “I’m creating a safe haven with them. It’s part of the ingredients they’ve asked for.”
There, easy, not too up front yet up front enough.
The closer they get, however, the more scars they’ll find carved into his skin. The one on his face, puckering up the side, the other that carves a line through his eyebrow, ones that meld into the scales along his neck to show pale carvings down each side of his jugular. And the hand that still hovers over the pack covered with pale veins of lightning scars.
He appraises them anew, however, sparing a slit glance toward the shards and skeletons briefly before it returns to them.
The Flood then moves to slip the cap onto the jar, figuring out the best way to respond. Did he mention the safe haven so swiftly? Or should he decide to explain to this stranger that he’s their demigod first? He swaps between them briefly before he tucks the jar of water into his pack, lifts his horned head back to Chaele as they approach, an easy sort of candidness crossing his face as he offers them a small crooked smile, one that tugs on the corners of his half Glasgow smile. “I’m creating a safe haven with them. It’s part of the ingredients they’ve asked for.”
There, easy, not too up front yet up front enough.
The closer they get, however, the more scars they’ll find carved into his skin. The one on his face, puckering up the side, the other that carves a line through his eyebrow, ones that meld into the scales along his neck to show pale carvings down each side of his jugular. And the hand that still hovers over the pack covered with pale veins of lightning scars.
He appraises them anew, however, sparing a slit glance toward the shards and skeletons briefly before it returns to them.
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.
