I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes
Danta has been very good for these past few weeks, in his humble opinion. He's gotten himself this tidy little establishment, set up an even tidier little backroom from which he can run this whole sorry region, and he's officially stamped his name upon it. Long live the Hollowed Grounds and its theocrat, huzzah, celebrations, and so on. And, see, this is where it all begins to fall apart.
Because he does deserve to celebrate, and that involves none of the sort of composure he's been showing thus far.
And so as he heads out of the front doors of the Dusklight into the (very empty, given the incredibly late hour) boulevard of the Last Whisper, he's neither sober nor paying attention. It's little wonder, then, that when a rough, filthy hand grabs him and slams him up against the wall, he gives about as much resistence as a ragdoll. "Now, now," he hiccups, partially because of the booze, partially because the air has been driven from his lungs, "we ask before we take. You can arrange for a good time at the front desk."
Because he does deserve to celebrate, and that involves none of the sort of composure he's been showing thus far.
And so as he heads out of the front doors of the Dusklight into the (very empty, given the incredibly late hour) boulevard of the Last Whisper, he's neither sober nor paying attention. It's little wonder, then, that when a rough, filthy hand grabs him and slams him up against the wall, he gives about as much resistence as a ragdoll. "Now, now," he hiccups, partially because of the booze, partially because the air has been driven from his lungs, "we ask before we take. You can arrange for a good time at the front desk."
Dantalion
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
