1. By the sword I mean the night; By the word I mean the dead Bash finds himself in a shadowy corner as things begin to go down, slipping into it and going partly invisible a splotch of black in the grey. But as people come near him--people he knows, people he thinks he can trust, they may find themselves given a simple sword made completely out of a slice of shadow, sharp as a whisper and just as deadly.
2. By the sword I mean a sigh; By the word I mean the end Once he's exhausted his capacity for shadow crafting, Bash steps out of the shadows again, one last sword (more like a machete, really) in his own hands. He is no fighter, no warrior, no demigod of war and chaos. But his is to stand between the realms of life and death, and tonight his duty will be a bloody one.
Walk like them, until they must walk like you.
He's dressed as his ancestor, a murderer and bandit, a black sorceror whose grave is still a site of worship. He needs that energy, if he's going to face everything to come. He needs that energy, if he's going to do things he'll struggle to forgive himself for, later.
Come at him, ghosts. Tonight he's not Bash, or even St. Expedit, patron saint of efficiencies. Tonight he wears the mantle of Simicoudza Simicourba, Sitarane, and he will not be merciful.
OTA
Bash finds himself in a shadowy corner as things begin to go down, slipping into it and going partly invisible a splotch of black in the grey. But as people come near him--people he knows, people he thinks he can trust, they may find themselves given a simple sword made completely out of a slice of shadow, sharp as a whisper and just as deadly.
2. By the sword I mean a sigh; By the word I mean the end
Once he's exhausted his capacity for shadow crafting, Bash steps out of the shadows again, one last sword (more like a machete, really) in his own hands. He is no fighter, no warrior, no demigod of war and chaos. But his is to stand between the realms of life and death, and tonight his duty will be a bloody one.
Walk like them, until they must walk like you.He's dressed as his ancestor, a murderer and bandit, a black sorceror whose grave is still a site of worship. He needs that energy, if he's going to face everything to come. He needs that energy, if he's going to do things he'll struggle to forgive himself for, later.
Come at him, ghosts. Tonight he's not Bash, or even St. Expedit, patron saint of efficiencies. Tonight he wears the mantle of Simicoudza Simicourba, Sitarane, and he will not be merciful.