"No hands are free of bestowing cruelty upon others," Agravaine uttered before a moment's pause, neck craned to gaze down upon his own large hand. Clawed digits curl tightly into his palm--- the force enough to break the skin of scars, old and new. Thick, rancid ichor oozes over obsidian flesh. "Mortals, immortals, gods."
"--- Especially gods."
@starlyht




