Deekin takes Enserric in hand, and the blade shimmers into a ritualistic-looking dagger whose blade is no longer quite real. His wings unfurl with the sound of a thousand fingers along a thousand wineglasses, and as he stands up from his seat he begins to sing.
His speaking voice is high-pitched and unimpressive. Put uncharitably, he talks like a living dental drill. Singing, though, he's a crystalline tenor, filling the air with wordless notes pitched in perfect harmony with the vibrations of the universe. He accompanies himself, somehow, with his wings; looking very closely, they seem to be slowly working along a suite of invisible violins, a ten-part harmony executed perfectly by every twitch of his body. The dagger in his hand works like a conductor's baton dictating the beat of a thousand inhuman hearts.
After some minutes of this, his eyes fill slowly with brilliant light, which flows across the divide into Callida's own. The music fades out; Deekin slumps, bleeding from his slitted eyes, and gropes around his pack for a potion of healing, which he knocks back to obvious relief. "Wooh. Fun... times."
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His speaking voice is high-pitched and unimpressive. Put uncharitably, he talks like a living dental drill. Singing, though, he's a crystalline tenor, filling the air with wordless notes pitched in perfect harmony with the vibrations of the universe. He accompanies himself, somehow, with his wings; looking very closely, they seem to be slowly working along a suite of invisible violins, a ten-part harmony executed perfectly by every twitch of his body. The dagger in his hand works like a conductor's baton dictating the beat of a thousand inhuman hearts.
After some minutes of this, his eyes fill slowly with brilliant light, which flows across the divide into Callida's own. The music fades out; Deekin slumps, bleeding from his slitted eyes, and gropes around his pack for a potion of healing, which he knocks back to obvious relief. "Wooh. Fun... times."