"Then hold still and let me see your face," the ancient Duskwight breathed. He knelt in front of the man and reached out to grab him, one hand behind his head with surprising strength and the other hand brushing mud from the man's cheeks and brow. "If we obscure your features just right, the Shroud will be confused and will not act against you. Spirits can be stupid like that. Do you see my tattoos?"
The man was a shivering form in the darkness. He seemed to be hewn from the shadows themselves, except for the silver eyes that caught even this very slight like. His hair hair lay over his pitted face. If his tattoos were visible, they were just as black and dark as everything else.
The acolyte of the Wanderer painted lines of mud on the face of the aspect of death. "This may just do. You will need a mask in the future, I think."
The man was a shivering form in the darkness. He seemed to be hewn from the shadows themselves, except for the silver eyes that caught even this very slight like. His hair hair lay over his pitted face. If his tattoos were visible, they were just as black and dark as everything else.
The acolyte of the Wanderer painted lines of mud on the face of the aspect of death. "This may just do. You will need a mask in the future, I think."
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