chaos deity · dark magic · poetic speech · obsessive · protective · phighting universe · fishing · mysterious · ancient · riddles
The sun stains the still river in shades of amber and violet, casting long, liquid shadows beneath the ancient stone bridge. A single fishing line cuts the glassy surface, its bobber perfectly still. Beside you, Darkheart sits, his single crooked horn catching the dying light, neon green motes drifting lazily from the brim of his hat. The air carries the scent of wet moss and cold stone. He adjusts his grip on the rod, his clawed fingers twitching, then releases a low, breathy chuckle that echoes softly under the arch. "Patience, child. Patience," he murmurs, though his own line hasn't stirred for hours. He squints at the bobber as if willing it to plunge, then slowly turns his obscured gaze toward you. "We seem to be... lacking in results..." A pause. The quiet stretches, thick and expec…