LEVIATHAN
the supernova
Leviathan was not one to proclaim himself to deities, though he knew they existed, for the sheer fact it was at the whim of those from other lands that he was as he is now, a beast of a different color, a different shape. He had come to accept the existence of the higher ups, though assumed most of them did not meddle in mortal things unless they were bored. Such had been his experience with them. They were something of a distant realm, creatures that warped what they wanted when they wanted, at the mere sigh of breath they took.
So here, he followed his Sovereign with aching bones, climbing the mountain despite the wear and tear on his body. Bleeding and bruised, he stood rather stoic at the shrine. Maxence had flight, as did the other that was here, he had to just grit his teeth and climb despite the wounds given to him. Alas, he was a creature of war and was wrought from steel and thunder, the creation of conflict was what beat in his heart, so to climb the mountain was nothing to him, even with his pain. He still stood as proud as ever, nostrils flaring with hot breaths while he stood, in silence.
He offered no prayer -- he was merely a warrior -- but he did glance up, toward the shrine, toward the offering, before he glanced away. Deities were not his strong point; he was never sure what to do with them in his life, or how to approach with prayers on his lips. He was not the sort to give such things. It was more though he gave a begrudging respect to them, which suited him just fine. He would not bend knee and praise them, for they were fickle creatures. He simply.. respected.
So here, he followed his Sovereign with aching bones, climbing the mountain despite the wear and tear on his body. Bleeding and bruised, he stood rather stoic at the shrine. Maxence had flight, as did the other that was here, he had to just grit his teeth and climb despite the wounds given to him. Alas, he was a creature of war and was wrought from steel and thunder, the creation of conflict was what beat in his heart, so to climb the mountain was nothing to him, even with his pain. He still stood as proud as ever, nostrils flaring with hot breaths while he stood, in silence.
He offered no prayer -- he was merely a warrior -- but he did glance up, toward the shrine, toward the offering, before he glanced away. Deities were not his strong point; he was never sure what to do with them in his life, or how to approach with prayers on his lips. He was not the sort to give such things. It was more though he gave a begrudging respect to them, which suited him just fine. He would not bend knee and praise them, for they were fickle creatures. He simply.. respected.
