[ The fight? Inconsequential, in the end—the creature had been but pale shadow of the horrors which Sion had once combated in the Other Realm—though it had been good to flex his sword arm again; to move to purpose after sitting at the head of an army for so, so very long.
His companion? Breathtaking, beyond compare, and riveting where contention with the sea-serpent hadn't been: Krieg is a beast of his own kind (humans, they are truly the most beautiful of creatures), forged of muscle memory learned from hunt and from battle, his foundations a chronicle of violence which Sion can only wonder at as the serpent, freshly felled with blood slicking the canoe, becomes dead weight, the great stretch and bulk of its body coiling back down, into the sea...!
And dragging Sion, in tow.
He might have ceded his grasp upon his blade (buried, yet, in the serpent's clouded eye) were it not the last relic of the world he'd once known, but the gilded sword yet holds meaning, and so...! There'd been no cry of surprise, no startled gasp as he'd entered the water, his blade serving as both shackle and chain, only a spash! and its resulting ripples, slowly fading into nothing.
Nothing, until a seal of green light emanates from the water's deep, and in its wake, an eruption of earthen spikes, each rising from the seafloor with a spray of salt-water and foam cresting through waves. The serpent's body? Held in elegant suspension between each lance of sediment and stone. And Sion himself...?
Perched neatly upon one of the spikes, having ascended from the sea like some glittering mermaid on account of the gold-touched aura which shrouds him. In hand? His sword, newly reclaimed, and upon his lips, a laugh and shake of his head: ]
no subject
His companion? Breathtaking, beyond compare, and riveting where contention with the sea-serpent hadn't been: Krieg is a beast of his own kind (humans, they are truly the most beautiful of creatures), forged of muscle memory learned from hunt and from battle, his foundations a chronicle of violence which Sion can only wonder at as the serpent, freshly felled with blood slicking the canoe, becomes dead weight, the great stretch and bulk of its body coiling back down, into the sea...!
And dragging Sion, in tow.
He might have ceded his grasp upon his blade (buried, yet, in the serpent's clouded eye) were it not the last relic of the world he'd once known, but the gilded sword yet holds meaning, and so...! There'd been no cry of surprise, no startled gasp as he'd entered the water, his blade serving as both shackle and chain, only a spash! and its resulting ripples, slowly fading into nothing.
Nothing, until a seal of green light emanates from the water's deep, and in its wake, an eruption of earthen spikes, each rising from the seafloor with a spray of salt-water and foam cresting through waves. The serpent's body? Held in elegant suspension between each lance of sediment and stone. And Sion himself...?
Perched neatly upon one of the spikes, having ascended from the sea like some glittering mermaid on account of the gold-touched aura which shrouds him. In hand? His sword, newly reclaimed, and upon his lips, a laugh and shake of his head: ]
I simply could not let your kill escape!