IC INBOX ( KENOS ).

[redsoil]

█ To Commune with Set is to stand barefoot in an endless, scorching desert. The sun illuminates all, scalding the shadows themselves out from underneath whomever enters his dominion; the arch of gentle, distant, waves of sand mask the precarious chasms, towering dunes akin to mountains. The sense of vastness, timelessness, is of particular notice, lending itself to the alien, eldritch quality of his mind. There is a dark storm in the distance, and you know intimately that this divine being is far from benign. You cannot bargain with a force of nature. You can only survive it. COMPATIBLE WITH: Exalt, Iconoclast REPELLED BY: Advocate

♠

Comments

action. Before. Things.

[prizeneck]

[It’s very fitting to Mamoru, that there’s a deity that is the god of War and Sand equally. Even though sand is but a humble and unassuming tool, often overlooked by those who seek grandeur in arcane rituals or mystical enchantments, it is still something that ancients would use to sharpen their blades. Bladesmiths honed the edges, stripping away impurities and imperfections, and repetitive motion became symphony, resounding with the essence of their purpose. The sand is a conduit, a bridge connecting the weapon to the vast expanse of the battlefield.

In a way, the swordsman wishes to be no different from the sand. It tested the metal's mettle, wearing away impurities and revealing its true potential.

The invitation couldn’t have come at a better time.]

Set.

[It’s not a question. Mamoru knows he’s there.]

[redsoil]

[ Though his domain is beyond that of simply sand ( it is the desert itself, and he personifies that realm; the embodiment of all that is the antithesis to life and order ), Set is as mutable in personality as he is in body, in shape and form, and the sand he carries with him — while only his body's weight in volume — was intensely deadly because of his ability to shape, reshape and utilize it in creative ways.

He has always wanted to face Mamoru again. Not as wrathful and stricken as he had been when they first grappled in the Coliseum, but of his own will and volition. It is why he forms in a soft whirl of that sand, positioned a leap away from Mamoru in the dark of the alley. The shape of his divine mask atop his head already. ]

Hijikata Mamoru. [ His voice is rough, rasping. But, oddly fond. ] I will fight you with all I currently have, so I hope you are prepared.

[ aka he's coming at mams with all the force of his godhood allotted to him atm ]

[prizeneck]

[Everything feels so strikingly cold, the scent of petrichor coating the back of his throat, compared to what the Coliseum had been.

A cool-headed, divine-touched Set seems terrifying, even more so than the bloodcurdling mania that he had exuded in the fighting ring, and Mamoru's breath hitches, his lips tugging up, a flurry of something hitting the inside of his ribcage.

It's a shame that they chose a place with such a narrow space. Even if Mamoru wished to christen his newest blade, a naginata, he knew he'd be at a high disadvantage if he used it.

Instead, the latch on his walking cane clicks. There's no mop to use this time, no makeshift weaponry, no hollering outside the arena.] I always am.

[Come at him, Set.]