(no subject)
His hair was still wet, his tie along with a few buttons of his shirt were left undone, but not being impeccably put together was a far off concern once Asher stepped out of the basement dorm room.
A little over a year ago he'd woken up with a full set of fangs shoved back in his mouth; no other symptoms of the virus, just teeth. It pissed him off at the time, knowing that this place could alter something like that on a whim, but at least it had gone the subtle route. What were a few enlarged canines when compared to a dozen or so standing sheets of glass?
Asher knew what they were on sight, didn't need or want to get any closer to them to confirm it. Encased in each sheet of glass was a scroll, worn and tattered with age; on each scroll was a combination of cuneiform script and bold, blocky glyphs not much different than the one on his wrist. All of it was written in blood.
The last time he's seen writing that old was down in that subterranean death-vault they'd pulled Drake out of, and the last time anyone had seen the Book of Erebus whole was before Deacon Frost was put out of his stupidity by the Daywalker.
Good times.
His buttons were done up quickly as he took the steps out of the basement two at a time, just wanting to put distance between himself and the pages. He should have guess that walking away was just too easy a fix.
In the hall, the kitchen, the rec room -- smaller clusters of the pages seemed to crop up at every turn. Being as big as it was, the pages in the rec room were a lot less intimidating than the the other groups. Asher still kept to the end of the room furthest from them, though, glaring at them as if they'd just gone and insulted his mother.
Nothing good had ever come from those pages, but at least being stuck on that fucking island guaranteed that it couldn't possibly get him into any more trouble.
[ooc: Set to earlier today. Pages from the Book of Erebus look like this. Okay time to meet him, even if he's a bit on edge.]
A little over a year ago he'd woken up with a full set of fangs shoved back in his mouth; no other symptoms of the virus, just teeth. It pissed him off at the time, knowing that this place could alter something like that on a whim, but at least it had gone the subtle route. What were a few enlarged canines when compared to a dozen or so standing sheets of glass?
Asher knew what they were on sight, didn't need or want to get any closer to them to confirm it. Encased in each sheet of glass was a scroll, worn and tattered with age; on each scroll was a combination of cuneiform script and bold, blocky glyphs not much different than the one on his wrist. All of it was written in blood.
The last time he's seen writing that old was down in that subterranean death-vault they'd pulled Drake out of, and the last time anyone had seen the Book of Erebus whole was before Deacon Frost was put out of his stupidity by the Daywalker.
Good times.
His buttons were done up quickly as he took the steps out of the basement two at a time, just wanting to put distance between himself and the pages. He should have guess that walking away was just too easy a fix.
In the hall, the kitchen, the rec room -- smaller clusters of the pages seemed to crop up at every turn. Being as big as it was, the pages in the rec room were a lot less intimidating than the the other groups. Asher still kept to the end of the room furthest from them, though, glaring at them as if they'd just gone and insulted his mother.
Nothing good had ever come from those pages, but at least being stuck on that fucking island guaranteed that it couldn't possibly get him into any more trouble.
[ooc: Set to earlier today. Pages from the Book of Erebus look like this. Okay time to meet him, even if he's a bit on edge.]