@palespawn, sent in ... : [ STEADY ] the sender rests a hand on the shaken and panicked receiver's shoulder to steady and ground them.
ใ
คใ
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คFINGERS FLEX: ONCE, TWICE, THRICE ! in his hand rests a great sword, ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ blade and all. at his thigh a smaller blade that had yet to leave it's sheath, but was lined with different red colored jewels in it's hilt, rests; each cut jagged and sharp like even holding the knife MIGHT RESULT IN INJURY. he doesn't know where it had come from, only that he'd awoken with it, yet as he stands there ( still as ๐ผ๐ฝ๐ธ๐ท๐ฎ ) the urge to take the blade and drive it into the surrendered man's skull, echo in loud vibrations.
the visions he is seeing, the red that is staining his mind ... balefire wasn't afraid even when he'd awoken upon the nautiloid ( practically a new born babe )โ but this? this scared him. the joy, the excitement, the glee. murder, kill, but maim first; MAKE THE MAN SCREAM !
balefire stands as still as a statue, nearly unreadable, save to one particular soul who could perhaps see beyond the stone cold exterior the oathbreaker wore. for it is his pale hand THAT RESTS UPON THE BHAAL SPAWN'S SHOULDER, and it is his that anchors him when the fear attempts to wash away rationality.
murder, kill, maim. murder, kill, maim. murder, kill, maim.
slowly the voices quiet, the rush lighting his veins with adrenaline fueled sanguine halting.
โโโโ โ " go, now ... "
he says to the surrendered foe, watching with mismatched brown eyes, as the absolutist flees into the darkness of the shadow cursed lands, finding DEATH BY DARKNESS kinder than death by the hollowed out dog, that damn near wants to chase him into it.