[Vander has a smirk of his own emerge upon hearing Childe’s quip, glad for a bit of levity to counteract that ominous burning in his chest, the oppressive darkness surrounding them. His eyes scour the thicket, wary of every twitching branch in the breeze, every flicker of shadow cast by the scant sliver of moonlight.
But the sound is what truly catches his attention. It takes him a moment to realize that it is in his head, that it’s Communion relaying the pained chorus of voices straight to him without any interference. The sound of it makes his hair stand on end, and it’s when he tries in vain to block it out that he realizes he recognizes some of the voices—one in particular belonging to someone he’d encountered here in the forest not all that long ago.
That… isn’t a good sign.
He squares up, tries to shake off the uneasy feeling that’s beginning to build in the pit of his stomach as the glow of the creature brightens and the roots begin to shift into a more solidified form.]
Can’t give it time to pull itself together.
[And it feels like one hell of a risky gamble, but it’s one Vander feels like he needs to take—moving forward with quick steps, gauntlets raised, to bring himself into striking range. One arm up to maintain his defensive posture, he’ll rear the other back and take a swing, whether to attempt to disrupt that solidifying mass of an arm or to simply throw the slow, lumbering thing off balance.]
no subject
But the sound is what truly catches his attention. It takes him a moment to realize that it is in his head, that it’s Communion relaying the pained chorus of voices straight to him without any interference. The sound of it makes his hair stand on end, and it’s when he tries in vain to block it out that he realizes he recognizes some of the voices—one in particular belonging to someone he’d encountered here in the forest not all that long ago.
That… isn’t a good sign.
He squares up, tries to shake off the uneasy feeling that’s beginning to build in the pit of his stomach as the glow of the creature brightens and the roots begin to shift into a more solidified form.]
Can’t give it time to pull itself together.
[And it feels like one hell of a risky gamble, but it’s one Vander feels like he needs to take—moving forward with quick steps, gauntlets raised, to bring himself into striking range. One arm up to maintain his defensive posture, he’ll rear the other back and take a swing, whether to attempt to disrupt that solidifying mass of an arm or to simply throw the slow, lumbering thing off balance.]