[He feels pathetic again. It was a snake that stole his secret to immortal life; it was snakes he hated and reviled forever thereafter. A foolish fear, to be certain, and the lizards in question are a fraction his size to begin with. For a moment, it's undeniable: he cowers a little behind Setsuna, but once it becomes clear they're not dealing with snakes at all, he sneaks back around him.
Withering turns to anger once more. Wielding his sword, he starts to slice at the skittering animals in broad strokes. Though they were strong against ice, once whipped into a whirlpool and denied a chance to breathe flame, it's easy enough to target them and take them out in large numbers. A few escape to hide themselves in cracks and nooks and crannies, but most are either ground into a fine paste thanks to Setsuna's bike or sliced to pieces by Gilgamesh's blade.
All in all, it's not too harrowing an experience; the lizardmen were far tougher foes. Gilgamesh counts himself fortunate, for what feels like the millionth time, that he did not come alone, that his party members were so serious—seriously dedicated to dispatching enemies whenever and wherever they might arise.]
That... may have been my fault.
[Gilgamesh admits it somewhat sheepishly. However, he refuses to fall into that same moody mire as before. He perks up:]
But we are all well! Let us hurry onward; we've played for long enough.
[So says the one who was doing most, if not all, of the playing. Party leader, indeed.]
no subject
Withering turns to anger once more. Wielding his sword, he starts to slice at the skittering animals in broad strokes. Though they were strong against ice, once whipped into a whirlpool and denied a chance to breathe flame, it's easy enough to target them and take them out in large numbers. A few escape to hide themselves in cracks and nooks and crannies, but most are either ground into a fine paste thanks to Setsuna's bike or sliced to pieces by Gilgamesh's blade.
All in all, it's not too harrowing an experience; the lizardmen were far tougher foes. Gilgamesh counts himself fortunate, for what feels like the millionth time, that he did not come alone, that his party members were so serious—seriously dedicated to dispatching enemies whenever and wherever they might arise.]
That... may have been my fault.
[Gilgamesh admits it somewhat sheepishly. However, he refuses to fall into that same moody mire as before. He perks up:]
But we are all well! Let us hurry onward; we've played for long enough.
[So says the one who was doing most, if not all, of the playing. Party leader, indeed.]