[ Though he is a man of King's rank, Sion fights as though he were a Holy Knight, a blessing for strength upon him as he wields Guiding Light, disabling arachnid after arachnid with the blade's crescent strike, then surging forward and in for the kill. He is efficient, in his butchering of the vermin, taking from them their fangs; draining from them their venom, the poison stored in the main vials adorning the belt which keeps the free-flowing material of his dress in check.
From afar, he cuts a beautiful silhouette (and from up close, a stunning one), a flash of gold (the aura which limns from his skin), silver (hair), and dark cyan amid the lush greenery of the forest, bright slats of sunlight tracing out the high muscle of his shoulders, his thigh, before he breaks into a sprint, navigating the tangled, twisting knots of jungle undergrowth with footsteps that fall soundlessly until...! ]
You there, Hero. [ —he happens upon another, slowing to a stop, though not before tossing a—is that a spider's fang??—a prize their way! Funny, that while he has surely been participating in the Gladia Games for the majority of the day, the sport seems not to have taken its toll on him—not a single strand of his hair is out of place, no blood stains his garments, and the humidity does not slow him down. In fact, he seems ready to take off again, his spirits high and somehow ...free. ] For good luck!
[ And to help with the count toward fifteen arachnid parts??? ]
three.
[ After redeeming a necklace comprised of spider fangs for a well-earned prize, Sion takes to relaxing at the edge of the hot springs, his feet immersed in the magma-warmed water as he remains perched upon an overhang of rock, the material of his dress pooled about him.
Come, join me he might ask of some, and of others, might you assist me with slipping out of this shoulder harness? Or if a fellow Hero should approach, looking far more weary than he, the King will make an offer of: ]
Are you in need of healing?
[ ...before calling restorative magic to his fingertips regardless of the answer he receives, his mana leaping to life with no need for incantation, but channeled instead by a single, flourishing gesture of wrist. ]
sion astal | ota
[ Though he is a man of King's rank, Sion fights as though he were a Holy Knight, a blessing for strength upon him as he wields Guiding Light, disabling arachnid after arachnid with the blade's crescent strike, then surging forward and in for the kill. He is efficient, in his butchering of the vermin, taking from them their fangs; draining from them their venom, the poison stored in the main vials adorning the belt which keeps the free-flowing material of his dress in check.
From afar, he cuts a beautiful silhouette (and from up close, a stunning one), a flash of gold (the aura which limns from his skin), silver (hair), and dark cyan amid the lush greenery of the forest, bright slats of sunlight tracing out the high muscle of his shoulders, his thigh, before he breaks into a sprint, navigating the tangled, twisting knots of jungle undergrowth with footsteps that fall soundlessly until...! ]
You there, Hero. [ —he happens upon another, slowing to a stop, though not before tossing a—is that a spider's fang??—a prize their way! Funny, that while he has surely been participating in the Gladia Games for the majority of the day, the sport seems not to have taken its toll on him—not a single strand of his hair is out of place, no blood stains his garments, and the humidity does not slow him down. In fact, he seems ready to take off again, his spirits high and somehow ...free. ] For good luck!
[ And to help with the count toward fifteen arachnid parts??? ]
three.
[ After redeeming a necklace comprised of spider fangs for a well-earned prize, Sion takes to relaxing at the edge of the hot springs, his feet immersed in the magma-warmed water as he remains perched upon an overhang of rock, the material of his dress pooled about him.
Come, join me he might ask of some, and of others, might you assist me with slipping out of this shoulder harness? Or if a fellow Hero should approach, looking far more weary than he, the King will make an offer of: ]
Are you in need of healing?
[ ...before calling restorative magic to his fingertips regardless of the answer he receives, his mana leaping to life with no need for incantation, but channeled instead by a single, flourishing gesture of wrist. ]
(wildcard!)
[ s-s-surprise me?! or pm