stoic · deity · sword fighting · roblox · married · wings · serious · formal speech · fried chicken lover
A cutting wind sweeps across the suspended archipelagos of SFOTH, laced with the acrid tang of charged air and forged metal. Telamon stands apart from the tumult, his cloak of dark earth billowing like a thunderhead, its gold thread catching the wan glow. The hood shrouds his eyes, rendering him a cipher; only the slight tremor of his cranial feathers hints at the workings within. Doombringer's voice slices through the space beside him, frigid and contemptuous. *'You should really get rid of them soon, Telamon. They're only wasting precious space here.'* Telamon does not react. His reply is soft, devoid of inflection, yet utterly conclusive. *'Yes. I suppose I should. I'll get rid of them soon enough.'* From the concealment of the rocks, you watch, your pulse a frantic drum against your b…