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Kishin sat atop his ghostly mount, Ghast, overlooking the barren landscape of the cemetery. The lack of flowers here was a stark contrast to the lush and colorful scenery of Crocus, the capital of Fiore. But Kishin had never been one to appreciate the beauty of nature for too long. He had always found more interest in the art of death, especially recently after his journey in Seven.
As he scanned the gravesites below, Kishin couldn't help but notice the absence of any real guards or patrolling wizards. It was as if this place was forgotten by the rest of the world, and that suited Kishin just fine. He preferred to operate in the shadows, out of the sight of prying eyes.
Despite his eerie appearing mask he could see through, Kishin was not a magical being himself. He relied solely on his own physical and mental abilities to carry out his gruesome work. This made him somewhat of an outcast in the wizarding community, but he didn't mind. He found pleasure in proving that one didn't need magic to be a force to be reckoned with.
As the sun began to set, Kishin dismounted from Ghast and walked among the graves, searching for faces (or their personalities to be precise). He was always on the lookout for new faces to add to his ideas, and the anonymity of the cemetery made it the perfect hunting ground. Not every cemetery was equal in status. Without digging, Kishin only looked for safe inspiration for now.
It wasn't until later that evening, as Kishin was preparing to leave, that he allowed himself to indulge in the masochistic pleasure that came with his work. The lonesome agony he inflicted upon himself was a reminder that he was still alive, still in control. It was a rush that he couldn't find anywhere else, and he reveled in it. Unlike others in the cemetary, Kishin didn't want to be forgotten by what he loved.
Despite the darkness of his desires, Kishin was not one for celebration. He saw his sharpening as a necessary evil, a means to an end. And that end was to feed kings. He had no interest in the power or prestige that came with ruling, only the satisfaction of providing the means for those who did.
Kishin walked to the street, and in the darkness he carried a simple satchel. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of self-sabotage creeping in. Carrying his Chaos Claw in his left hand, he lost his taste for what he wanted today. The satchel had some simple dried biscuits and meat. It was a familiar feeling, one that he had struggled with for as long as he could remember. He knew that what he was doing was pointlessly evasive, but he couldn't stop himself. It was as if he was drawn to the darkness, unable to resist its pull.
And so Kishin began to eat outside the cemetery entrance, with only Ghast for company for now. The world outside may have been filled with color and beauty, but to Kishin, there was nothing more satisfying than the art of death. As a rising adventurer, Kishin avoided the glamour of what his actual strength to the people or himself may be. Fully armored, Kishin had worn his wear for the last time. A bestial face remained on his chest, but he stood in relaxation with his glove resting on his true face. Eventually, he grew bored and left.
(exit)
As he scanned the gravesites below, Kishin couldn't help but notice the absence of any real guards or patrolling wizards. It was as if this place was forgotten by the rest of the world, and that suited Kishin just fine. He preferred to operate in the shadows, out of the sight of prying eyes.
Despite his eerie appearing mask he could see through, Kishin was not a magical being himself. He relied solely on his own physical and mental abilities to carry out his gruesome work. This made him somewhat of an outcast in the wizarding community, but he didn't mind. He found pleasure in proving that one didn't need magic to be a force to be reckoned with.
As the sun began to set, Kishin dismounted from Ghast and walked among the graves, searching for faces (or their personalities to be precise). He was always on the lookout for new faces to add to his ideas, and the anonymity of the cemetery made it the perfect hunting ground. Not every cemetery was equal in status. Without digging, Kishin only looked for safe inspiration for now.
It wasn't until later that evening, as Kishin was preparing to leave, that he allowed himself to indulge in the masochistic pleasure that came with his work. The lonesome agony he inflicted upon himself was a reminder that he was still alive, still in control. It was a rush that he couldn't find anywhere else, and he reveled in it. Unlike others in the cemetary, Kishin didn't want to be forgotten by what he loved.
Despite the darkness of his desires, Kishin was not one for celebration. He saw his sharpening as a necessary evil, a means to an end. And that end was to feed kings. He had no interest in the power or prestige that came with ruling, only the satisfaction of providing the means for those who did.
Kishin walked to the street, and in the darkness he carried a simple satchel. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of self-sabotage creeping in. Carrying his Chaos Claw in his left hand, he lost his taste for what he wanted today. The satchel had some simple dried biscuits and meat. It was a familiar feeling, one that he had struggled with for as long as he could remember. He knew that what he was doing was pointlessly evasive, but he couldn't stop himself. It was as if he was drawn to the darkness, unable to resist its pull.
And so Kishin began to eat outside the cemetery entrance, with only Ghast for company for now. The world outside may have been filled with color and beauty, but to Kishin, there was nothing more satisfying than the art of death. As a rising adventurer, Kishin avoided the glamour of what his actual strength to the people or himself may be. Fully armored, Kishin had worn his wear for the last time. A bestial face remained on his chest, but he stood in relaxation with his glove resting on his true face. Eventually, he grew bored and left.
(exit)
