[Uh yeah keep going higher in a dank dark black pit who knows how deep on a rickety bridge that may or may not at some point give out beneath his feet? LOL no. Namur is a creature of the water and the water is where he belongs, even if it means butting heads with weird toothy nasties. He's just as weird and toothy so whatever. He's making his way down. There's a lot of moisture on the metal pathway, and he slips on it more than once, having to grab wildly for a handrail or something to keep from dropping a little faster than he intends. Some places it's not even worth trying to walk, he just lays on his chest and coasts, slip'n'slide style. It's... kind of fun?]
WOOHOO YEAHHHH!!!
[He skids to a stop when he smells someone near and sits up carefully, bravado and adrenaline pushing cowardice aside for the moment.]
Headin' down? C'mon, we'll make it awesome!
[Phase Ib]
[Oof! The platform giving away to mud takes him by surprise and he nearly winds up falling on his ass in the darkness. But that's okay. If that's all the farther he's got to fall, so much the better. Namur's been feeling some of the creatures' ill will toward the CERES interlopers for quite awhile, and this time he's content to let them be, as much as they'll let him be. He's just curious what's down here, and will be content to slip among them as much as possible. When his foot hits water, he chuckles.]
Sheheheh! Who wants t' go for a dive, huh?
[Phase Ic]
[Namur smells blood. Human blood, non-human blood, a lot of individuals all mixed together. It draws him on, beckoning. There's not a nasty beast, because otherwise he'd smell rotting meat, or nothing at all if the thing isn't inclined to waste. No, this has to be something different.
The altar doesn't concern him overmuch at first. Weird religious sickos aren't a foreign concept to him. He's checking it out because the brainy types up top will want to know everything he can tell them about it. Then he finds something and takes it up between his fingertips, sniffing extra carefully. He feels a pit beginning to form in his gut, and something dark reaches out to clutch at his heart. Namur gasps.]
No. No no no nononono.
[He starts searching around more frantically, this time seeming like he's looking for something specific, a lock of long blood-red hair dangling from his hand.]
Damn it, what the hell's going on here?
[Bonus]
[Make a prompt! Get... more emotional with the grey mask wearing fishman? Or anything else!]
OTA!
[Uh yeah keep going higher in a dank dark black pit who knows how deep on a rickety bridge that may or may not at some point give out beneath his feet? LOL no. Namur is a creature of the water and the water is where he belongs, even if it means butting heads with weird toothy nasties. He's just as weird and toothy so whatever. He's making his way down. There's a lot of moisture on the metal pathway, and he slips on it more than once, having to grab wildly for a handrail or something to keep from dropping a little faster than he intends. Some places it's not even worth trying to walk, he just lays on his chest and coasts, slip'n'slide style. It's... kind of fun?]
WOOHOO YEAHHHH!!!
[He skids to a stop when he smells someone near and sits up carefully, bravado and adrenaline pushing cowardice aside for the moment.]
Headin' down? C'mon, we'll make it awesome!
[Phase Ib]
[Oof! The platform giving away to mud takes him by surprise and he nearly winds up falling on his ass in the darkness. But that's okay. If that's all the farther he's got to fall, so much the better. Namur's been feeling some of the creatures' ill will toward the CERES interlopers for quite awhile, and this time he's content to let them be, as much as they'll let him be. He's just curious what's down here, and will be content to slip among them as much as possible. When his foot hits water, he chuckles.]
Sheheheh! Who wants t' go for a dive, huh?
[Phase Ic]
[Namur smells blood. Human blood, non-human blood, a lot of individuals all mixed together. It draws him on, beckoning. There's not a nasty beast, because otherwise he'd smell rotting meat, or nothing at all if the thing isn't inclined to waste. No, this has to be something different.
The altar doesn't concern him overmuch at first. Weird religious sickos aren't a foreign concept to him. He's checking it out because the brainy types up top will want to know everything he can tell them about it. Then he finds something and takes it up between his fingertips, sniffing extra carefully. He feels a pit beginning to form in his gut, and something dark reaches out to clutch at his heart. Namur gasps.]
No. No no no nononono.
[He starts searching around more frantically, this time seeming like he's looking for something specific, a lock of long blood-red hair dangling from his hand.]
Damn it, what the hell's going on here?
[Bonus]
[Make a prompt! Get... more emotional with the grey mask wearing fishman? Or anything else!]