[Victory is within Meridian’s grasp now, Liem is sure. It’s almost close enough for him to taste, drawn nearer inch by inch with trickery and guile and betrayals and gruelling, unfaltering dedication. Some of the effigy’s items are already within Meridian’s grasp; they just need to collect the last, and finally an opportunity has presented itself for them to do just that.
Long nights and “days” in this greenhouse of giants has made Liem nearly unrecognizable. The tidy suit he arrived in has been soaked, stained and rumpled from days upon days of hard, uninterrupted use. Slashes running up the back allow for long, black wasp’s wings to slant elegantly behind him, emphasizing the strange, fae cast to his features and the unfamiliar, angular construction of his body. In the shadows, he seems to melt away and almost disappear; under the moonlight, he glitters with the gentle glow of camaraderie, motes of light sticking to him like dewdrops. He little resembles the patient, mild-mannered priest of Abadar known in Springstar and Alenroux alike, instead seeming more like a capricious mongrel of a fairy, every bit the native of this shady patch of garden.
But his familiar dagger is sheathed at his hip, and his precious, ancient crossbow is held in his claw-like hands, and the golden key with his sunbeam set into the bow finally hangs safely around his neck. He is certainly still Liem, and his dedication to Meridian’s victory in this contest remains as unwavering as ever.
They are almost at their destination when he pauses to cast a bit of magic upon himself, and upon his companion, if she will allow him; an invisible, shimmering shield around the body, magical armour that will help resist and deflect attacks when they meet with resistance — which they surely will. It will last less than a quarter-hour, so they must hurry on their way: first to incapacitate the guard at the camp’s perimeter, and then to retrieve the fairy wing itself, to escape with it before any troublesome interference arrives.
He will follow Hayame’s lead in this endeavour, accompanying her like a second shadow (or a third, given that there are two moons overhead), his pale fingers clutched firmly around the stock of his weapon. And though he keeps to the shadows, when she makes contact with the enemy, he will be sure to accompany her own longer arrow with one of his own.]
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Long nights and “days” in this greenhouse of giants has made Liem nearly unrecognizable. The tidy suit he arrived in has been soaked, stained and rumpled from days upon days of hard, uninterrupted use. Slashes running up the back allow for long, black wasp’s wings to slant elegantly behind him, emphasizing the strange, fae cast to his features and the unfamiliar, angular construction of his body. In the shadows, he seems to melt away and almost disappear; under the moonlight, he glitters with the gentle glow of camaraderie, motes of light sticking to him like dewdrops. He little resembles the patient, mild-mannered priest of Abadar known in Springstar and Alenroux alike, instead seeming more like a capricious mongrel of a fairy, every bit the native of this shady patch of garden.
But his familiar dagger is sheathed at his hip, and his precious, ancient crossbow is held in his claw-like hands, and the golden key with his sunbeam set into the bow finally hangs safely around his neck. He is certainly still Liem, and his dedication to Meridian’s victory in this contest remains as unwavering as ever.
They are almost at their destination when he pauses to cast a bit of magic upon himself, and upon his companion, if she will allow him; an invisible, shimmering shield around the body, magical armour that will help resist and deflect attacks when they meet with resistance — which they surely will. It will last less than a quarter-hour, so they must hurry on their way: first to incapacitate the guard at the camp’s perimeter, and then to retrieve the fairy wing itself, to escape with it before any troublesome interference arrives.
He will follow Hayame’s lead in this endeavour, accompanying her like a second shadow (or a third, given that there are two moons overhead), his pale fingers clutched firmly around the stock of his weapon. And though he keeps to the shadows, when she makes contact with the enemy, he will be sure to accompany her own longer arrow with one of his own.]