03-14-2020, 02:44 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-14-2020, 02:45 PM by Jaxen Marveet.)
Aiden’s wasn’t an overreaction. Heat gripped Jaxen’s spine just thinking about the Atharim, but it was a smoldering heat, one contained where Aiden’s was flash-fueled recent. They knew pieces of the story, and Jaxen was happy to supply nuggets of information along the way. He wanted eagerly to catch the euphemisms flinging back and forth between the three men and bend it to an entertaining end. However, some of the plump of bravado leaked from his previous mood.
“The only good snake is a dead snake,” he said, pulling his collar down just enough to hint at the skeleton tattooed on his shoulder. It was an incredible piece of art. The ink alone rippled the illusion of movement with the barest flex of muscle. Saying the mantra conjured memories of Sora, though. The snake people that he surely hallucinated during some bad trip. Then there was that Atharim girl with the rainbow hair that was going to shoot him in his pretty face. He’d escaped somehow and ever since nightmares of giant talking snakes slithered into bed alongside him.
Revealing his experience with the Naga was not a secret he was willing to divulge at the moment. At the right time, perhaps. For now, all he did was smile proudly. “Who do you think melted the mansion?” He tapped himself on the chest. “That’s right. I was there. I escaped, surely others could as well. The basements were a maze. Likely to have many possible hatches to the outside world. I don’t remember seeing that guy though.”
To prove it, he summoned the digital versions of the documents he found in that exact place and shared with the two men. “The Atharim is who we have to thank for this little trip of ours. It seems they are the keepers of all the best secrets. It's best to assume we do not want them to know what we are up to.” Unless -- no. Not now.
“The only good snake is a dead snake,” he said, pulling his collar down just enough to hint at the skeleton tattooed on his shoulder. It was an incredible piece of art. The ink alone rippled the illusion of movement with the barest flex of muscle. Saying the mantra conjured memories of Sora, though. The snake people that he surely hallucinated during some bad trip. Then there was that Atharim girl with the rainbow hair that was going to shoot him in his pretty face. He’d escaped somehow and ever since nightmares of giant talking snakes slithered into bed alongside him.
Revealing his experience with the Naga was not a secret he was willing to divulge at the moment. At the right time, perhaps. For now, all he did was smile proudly. “Who do you think melted the mansion?” He tapped himself on the chest. “That’s right. I was there. I escaped, surely others could as well. The basements were a maze. Likely to have many possible hatches to the outside world. I don’t remember seeing that guy though.”
To prove it, he summoned the digital versions of the documents he found in that exact place and shared with the two men. “The Atharim is who we have to thank for this little trip of ours. It seems they are the keepers of all the best secrets. It's best to assume we do not want them to know what we are up to.” Unless -- no. Not now.