[Sound echoes there in liminal space, loud and catching, ricocheting off of buildings warped by weathered age. No more than a voice at first, panicked and fearful, and though Gabranth hardly holds right to intervene (is that not what he’s done all this time already? interfered in defiance, made folly of the gods own designs in the name of those innocents snared within them?) it is swift, his pursuit of that noise.
The snap of a blade drawn, cut sharp through the shadow poised over—
A man, perhaps. Marked and long and lean in ways that make him seem starved.]
On your feet. Quickly.
[He turns, his helmet sharply twisting as he scans dark surroundings, and the shapes of creatures given to pursuit.]
no subject
The snap of a blade drawn, cut sharp through the shadow poised over—
A man, perhaps. Marked and long and lean in ways that make him seem starved.]
On your feet. Quickly.
[He turns, his helmet sharply twisting as he scans dark surroundings, and the shapes of creatures given to pursuit.]
Can you fight?