Suddenly got this idea of Bumaro, at some point during those long centuries spent alone traveling across the continent in search of pieces of his god, taking to mending his tattered clothes with his own hair—well, with the least corroded strands that is.
Just, this visual of him in great disrepair, clad in tattered clothes mended with the least corroded strands of hair that had once been shining steel. And he just goes on like this for countless years that just blur together.




















