[Accidental Video]
[It's very late at night right now, Thor.
Very late. Most of you are probably asleep, falling asleep, or should be asleep, or, in truth, simply doing whatever you wish.
But not this torso that shoves its way onto the screen because the Guide has decided to be cheeky, the world, for the most part, around it black and dark, highlighting what would never normally be shared. A room, would be the proper deduction. The New Arrivals.
The torso maintains its position there, face unseen just above the range of the Guide's video while absent, dark strands of wavy hair curls over the upper torso that moves with practiced, even breaths. A towel decorated in white feathers lays precariously over the area where the neck probably is and right there is where the tattered remnants of scaled, green tinted armor and almost...fantastical archaic silks can be seen. But they are burned, butchered, a shadowy testament to what once was and never will be again.
There is a grunt from the owner of said unfanciful torso - note a rather hideously jagged, newly acquired, and as a result bright red, scar that seems to try to cut his abdomen neatly in half, the tapering edges suggesting to a trained eye that another blow was laid upon a first one, missing, of course, the whole point.
To kill.
The body adjusts and shifts and a white button up shirt, awkwardly but smoothly handled by rough, practiced hands covers up the display, moving quickly to hide.
A voice speaks, but not to anyone in particular, the voice faded and richly accented in what one would interpret, in the human worlds that associated to this sort of thing, British English. And very formal at that.]
It would seem the Gods have a most bland sense of humor... I shall not be deigning to death's whimsy despite the most fervent efforts of fellow Humes...
[The scarred hands rest unseen below the frame of the screen, the image slowly shifting as the man seems to adjust his weight.]
Venat?
[...]
Of course not. Only the Undying are granted immortal end....
[The Guide has had enough, and the feed blacks out.]
Very late. Most of you are probably asleep, falling asleep, or should be asleep, or, in truth, simply doing whatever you wish.
But not this torso that shoves its way onto the screen because the Guide has decided to be cheeky, the world, for the most part, around it black and dark, highlighting what would never normally be shared. A room, would be the proper deduction. The New Arrivals.
The torso maintains its position there, face unseen just above the range of the Guide's video while absent, dark strands of wavy hair curls over the upper torso that moves with practiced, even breaths. A towel decorated in white feathers lays precariously over the area where the neck probably is and right there is where the tattered remnants of scaled, green tinted armor and almost...fantastical archaic silks can be seen. But they are burned, butchered, a shadowy testament to what once was and never will be again.
There is a grunt from the owner of said unfanciful torso - note a rather hideously jagged, newly acquired, and as a result bright red, scar that seems to try to cut his abdomen neatly in half, the tapering edges suggesting to a trained eye that another blow was laid upon a first one, missing, of course, the whole point.
To kill.
The body adjusts and shifts and a white button up shirt, awkwardly but smoothly handled by rough, practiced hands covers up the display, moving quickly to hide.
A voice speaks, but not to anyone in particular, the voice faded and richly accented in what one would interpret, in the human worlds that associated to this sort of thing, British English. And very formal at that.]
It would seem the Gods have a most bland sense of humor... I shall not be deigning to death's whimsy despite the most fervent efforts of fellow Humes...
[The scarred hands rest unseen below the frame of the screen, the image slowly shifting as the man seems to adjust his weight.]
Venat?
[...]
Of course not. Only the Undying are granted immortal end....
[The Guide has had enough, and the feed blacks out.]