Aye! [ Despite knowing there will be nothing to see, Viktor still glances over his shoulder. Heedless of stealth, as though eager to let every creeping thing know right where he is, he calls back, ] And all the good adventure gets scooped up right quick.
[ This hypothesis, of course, hinges on the incredibly subjective meaning of "good adventure" and the preferences of the man defining it. A man who still looks back on his first trek into the Aurum Vale with fondness - who wants for nothing more than to delve into places rarely seen to have his mettle tested, to forge stronger bonds with those dragged into danger beside him.
Viktor skids to a stop when the vilekin disappears, disappointment dragging his ears down. He scoffs and turns. ] You speak of depriving me of enrichment and in the very next breath! Honestly. [ Not cross exactly, but certainly the sort of heatlessly fussy he hasn't had the time or luxury of being since Fandaniel erected the first of his hellish towers on the Source. He juts a finger toward the space where the arachnid used to be. ] That one still counts as my k-kill.
[ Emet-Selch presses knives into his hands, and Viktor laughs. ] Come now, d'you really think I'd get viscera on these robes? [ He would. Besides the point. He juggles the bundle of knives to his right arm, unbothered by the scurry of too many legs coming closer. ] You'll just be s-snapping them away, then? [ Viktor takes a single knife in hand. Channels aether into the blade until it's near impossible to look at straight on, brightening the passageway enough to illuminate the mob of creatures rushing forward. ] Tsk. tsk. Hardly s-sporting.
[ He flings the blade hard as he can, grinning when it slices into the encroaching mob of creatures. Like pulling a string, Viktor tugs his fingers back and turns, shielding his eyes from the gross incandescence that explodes behind him. What isn't shattered by the tear of Light through the air is stunned to stillness by the magical shockwave.
Viktor gives his head a shake. ]
This is your fault, you know. You could've cultivated a sh-shard where all they did was opera or epic p-poetry. Fewer spider-ridden p-passages, then. And we could be doing some thing you l-like.
no subject
[ This hypothesis, of course, hinges on the incredibly subjective meaning of "good adventure" and the preferences of the man defining it. A man who still looks back on his first trek into the Aurum Vale with fondness - who wants for nothing more than to delve into places rarely seen to have his mettle tested, to forge stronger bonds with those dragged into danger beside him.
Viktor skids to a stop when the vilekin disappears, disappointment dragging his ears down. He scoffs and turns. ] You speak of depriving me of enrichment and in the very next breath! Honestly. [ Not cross exactly, but certainly the sort of heatlessly fussy he hasn't had the time or luxury of being since Fandaniel erected the first of his hellish towers on the Source. He juts a finger toward the space where the arachnid used to be. ] That one still counts as my k-kill.
[ Emet-Selch presses knives into his hands, and Viktor laughs. ] Come now, d'you really think I'd get viscera on these robes? [ He would. Besides the point. He juggles the bundle of knives to his right arm, unbothered by the scurry of too many legs coming closer. ] You'll just be s-snapping them away, then? [ Viktor takes a single knife in hand. Channels aether into the blade until it's near impossible to look at straight on, brightening the passageway enough to illuminate the mob of creatures rushing forward. ] Tsk. tsk. Hardly s-sporting.
[ He flings the blade hard as he can, grinning when it slices into the encroaching mob of creatures. Like pulling a string, Viktor tugs his fingers back and turns, shielding his eyes from the gross incandescence that explodes behind him. What isn't shattered by the tear of Light through the air is stunned to stillness by the magical shockwave.
Viktor gives his head a shake. ]
This is your fault, you know. You could've cultivated a sh-shard where all they did was opera or epic p-poetry. Fewer spider-ridden p-passages, then. And we could be doing some thing you l-like.