@Arowyn
DuskShadowClawz -
First roll: 2
Second roll: 17
You get: a drabble about an item of high importance
The candles cluster around her.
Annoyed, she starts to push them away, one at a time, much like one might shoo away flies. This is what happens when she stays in one place too long - they start to manifest, floating and bobbing in a nimbus of pale, ghostly light. A curse of her profession, if you will; it could be worse, she has always assumed. It could be fish that she manifests. Or rocks. Moths, though, that might be interesting. Crows would be even better.
She squints down at the curved blade in her paws. Any reaper worth their salt takes good care of their tools, and so does she - no need to draw out death, when it’s the aftermath when the pain sets in. With a slow, measured motion, she draws her whetstone along the steel, taking candid, careful delight in the sound it produces.
Another candle drifts into view, and she frowns at it. Think carefully about the item you chose to represent your soul, they had murmured the first time she hefted her reaper’s scythe, about the terror it gives to your victims, about the impression it makes to your foes. And the candles - well, they had seemed perfect, at the time. Nothing more terrifying than losing your light in the dark crypts. Nothing more foreboding than the candle blowing out.
Around her, they burn impossibly bright for a long second - before suddenly flickering out of existence.
She tightens her grip on the half of the scythe, raises her head.
And, of course, they serve as a perfect warning as well.
DuskShadowClawz -
First roll: 2
Second roll: 17
You get: a drabble about an item of high importance
The candles cluster around her.
Annoyed, she starts to push them away, one at a time, much like one might shoo away flies. This is what happens when she stays in one place too long - they start to manifest, floating and bobbing in a nimbus of pale, ghostly light. A curse of her profession, if you will; it could be worse, she has always assumed. It could be fish that she manifests. Or rocks. Moths, though, that might be interesting. Crows would be even better.
She squints down at the curved blade in her paws. Any reaper worth their salt takes good care of their tools, and so does she - no need to draw out death, when it’s the aftermath when the pain sets in. With a slow, measured motion, she draws her whetstone along the steel, taking candid, careful delight in the sound it produces.
Another candle drifts into view, and she frowns at it. Think carefully about the item you chose to represent your soul, they had murmured the first time she hefted her reaper’s scythe, about the terror it gives to your victims, about the impression it makes to your foes. And the candles - well, they had seemed perfect, at the time. Nothing more terrifying than losing your light in the dark crypts. Nothing more foreboding than the candle blowing out.
Around her, they burn impossibly bright for a long second - before suddenly flickering out of existence.
She tightens her grip on the half of the scythe, raises her head.
And, of course, they serve as a perfect warning as well.
