i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide
being pulled by the moon in a high tide
It wasn’t ideal, of course. But the fact was that it wasn’t that different from the scars that littered his body – each with a memory associated with it that proved to him how far he had come. He had lived under Safrin’s thumb for so long that when he’d demiid for Frey it had been taken as such a terrible slight that the sky lost its stars for the night. And if that was any signal that he was someone once upon a time, well, he can live with the memories of such events.
As for the scars, as he sinks down into the warm heat of the hotsprings again and his attention finds Sohalia once more, his lips twist in a small soft smile, nostalgia hitting in ways he doesn’t quite know how to explain. Whether or not they bother him, though, his head shakes immediately to say no. “They don’t.” He begins, lifting his lightning scarred hand to peer at the raised pale lines that decorate his skin. “Where I’m from, scars were like… Trophies. They were encouraged. The more you had, the more you had endured. It was like a warning to others.” He pauses slightly. “There are a few, of course, that have less than ideal memories, but none that I would change or get rid of.” Lifting that lightning scarred hand to his face, gesturing to the half glasgow smile that curls into his face, Sunjata finds Sohalia’s gaze again.
“This one, for example, was from my father when we fought in Torchline. I endured, nearly drowned, but won my fight with him. And while it can be a large pain in the ass sometimes, it reminds me of what I did accomplish.” And therefore, the Flood keeps the memory with the scar.
As for the scars, as he sinks down into the warm heat of the hotsprings again and his attention finds Sohalia once more, his lips twist in a small soft smile, nostalgia hitting in ways he doesn’t quite know how to explain. Whether or not they bother him, though, his head shakes immediately to say no. “They don’t.” He begins, lifting his lightning scarred hand to peer at the raised pale lines that decorate his skin. “Where I’m from, scars were like… Trophies. They were encouraged. The more you had, the more you had endured. It was like a warning to others.” He pauses slightly. “There are a few, of course, that have less than ideal memories, but none that I would change or get rid of.” Lifting that lightning scarred hand to his face, gesturing to the half glasgow smile that curls into his face, Sunjata finds Sohalia’s gaze again.
“This one, for example, was from my father when we fought in Torchline. I endured, nearly drowned, but won my fight with him. And while it can be a large pain in the ass sometimes, it reminds me of what I did accomplish.” And therefore, the Flood keeps the memory with the scar.
the flood
that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?
am i a villain or a saint?
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
