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[Video] Action welcome
Feb. 17th, 2016 09:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
transitioner[It's a bright day in Haven, despite the snow on the ground. Snow? In Haven? ...yep. People seem to expect "the normal" seasons, so somehow they tend to happen even on a planet where they shouldn't be possible as such. The chaos energies of the Miasma, maybe?]
[A figure walks the streets, black cloak a stark contrast to the white snow. More shifting shadows than solid matter, the lone walker seems almost ponderously heavy despite the bone-thin frame - "skeletal" frame, even. The robed figure seems half-skeleton, half-something mechanical and old, rusty and corroded. For those who know the entity, yes, it is Death - Haven's first Guardian - walking the streets of the city. Does he search for someone? Is he just making the rounds as he is wont to do semi-frequently? Maybe he's just enjoying the snow.]
[He pauses as something seems to catch his attention, the blackness in the skull's sockets seeming to deepen further as a focus. The entity stoops, blade-claws on the ends of bone-and-metal fingers delicately picking a pair of sunglasses out of a snow drift. The glasses are turned over, studied . . . and finally donned. Because why not?]
[Straightening and seeming quietly satisfied, Death continues on his way.]
[A figure walks the streets, black cloak a stark contrast to the white snow. More shifting shadows than solid matter, the lone walker seems almost ponderously heavy despite the bone-thin frame - "skeletal" frame, even. The robed figure seems half-skeleton, half-something mechanical and old, rusty and corroded. For those who know the entity, yes, it is Death - Haven's first Guardian - walking the streets of the city. Does he search for someone? Is he just making the rounds as he is wont to do semi-frequently? Maybe he's just enjoying the snow.]
[He pauses as something seems to catch his attention, the blackness in the skull's sockets seeming to deepen further as a focus. The entity stoops, blade-claws on the ends of bone-and-metal fingers delicately picking a pair of sunglasses out of a snow drift. The glasses are turned over, studied . . . and finally donned. Because why not?]
[Straightening and seeming quietly satisfied, Death continues on his way.]
