I fail to see how. Plenty of civilizations were built in perfectly serviceable climes. Plenty are.
[ Whatever it is that lurks down here sounds as if it has more legs than it ought to. Hythlodaeus and his pity approvals; now, more than ever Emet-Selch is certain other are some creatures that should not have seen the light of day whatsoever. Two legs - four, maximum, are perfectly serviceable. ]
Yes, I would hate to take you out for enrichment and then deprive you of it.
[ It is, he admits, good to see Viktor so easily excited. To see him without the shroud of expectation and duty, as he actually is, how he would be, potentially, without Hydaelyn's corrupting touch. Freed from the need to be performative, to re-earn a mantle he's earned in blood, sweat, and death countless times over. ]
I would rather know now so if I snap them away, you are not - [ Oh, there he goes. Emet-Selch rolls his eyes to the ceiling, a wretched mix of weary and fond, and strides after him with a far more relaxed pace. ]
You had best be throwing daggers only; otherwise, I will make you rinse before entering the bath. The last thing I want is entrails floating amongst the salts.
[ A pause, to pull a face, lip curled in disgust at the too-many-legged creature skittering with Viktor trotting after it. He ought to let Viktor have his fun, but the idea of him covered in gore is not appealing and so the moment he's close enough, he snaps the creature out of existence here, and drops it and Viktor's embedded dagger somewhere else entirely. He has all of a moment to be smug before he sees a flicker of movement and several others bleed out from the shadows, all skittering legs and shiny carapaces. Emet-Selch sighs heavily, and summons a small bundle of daggers for Viktor, smacking them against his chest. In the tone of someone who knows he's lost an argument, and with a weary, lazy little wave of his hand, ]
no subject
[ Whatever it is that lurks down here sounds as if it has more legs than it ought to. Hythlodaeus and his pity approvals; now, more than ever Emet-Selch is certain other are some creatures that should not have seen the light of day whatsoever. Two legs - four, maximum, are perfectly serviceable. ]
Yes, I would hate to take you out for enrichment and then deprive you of it.
[ It is, he admits, good to see Viktor so easily excited. To see him without the shroud of expectation and duty, as he actually is, how he would be, potentially, without Hydaelyn's corrupting touch. Freed from the need to be performative, to re-earn a mantle he's earned in blood, sweat, and death countless times over. ]
I would rather know now so if I snap them away, you are not - [ Oh, there he goes. Emet-Selch rolls his eyes to the ceiling, a wretched mix of weary and fond, and strides after him with a far more relaxed pace. ]
You had best be throwing daggers only; otherwise, I will make you rinse before entering the bath. The last thing I want is entrails floating amongst the salts.
[ A pause, to pull a face, lip curled in disgust at the too-many-legged creature skittering with Viktor trotting after it. He ought to let Viktor have his fun, but the idea of him covered in gore is not appealing and so the moment he's close enough, he snaps the creature out of existence here, and drops it and Viktor's embedded dagger somewhere else entirely. He has all of a moment to be smug before he sees a flicker of movement and several others bleed out from the shadows, all skittering legs and shiny carapaces. Emet-Selch sighs heavily, and summons a small bundle of daggers for Viktor, smacking them against his chest. In the tone of someone who knows he's lost an argument, and with a weary, lazy little wave of his hand, ]
Well. Have at it then.