Lyste prefers the quieter outskirts of Utopia - not quite near the barrier, but certainly away from the noise. Right now, he is seated beneath a sizable tree, its giant leaves blotting out the sun. Birdsong fills the air.
He himself is rather preoccupied with caring for his equipment.
What coin he has earned so far goes to the maintenance of his armor and weapons alike: The curved throwing blades - Vim & Vigor, his liege had called them - rest in his lap against his tabard. He runs a polishing cloth against the gleaming metal, whistling a quiet tune to himself as he works.
The AI says they’re to fight for the right to live upon this planet, this Terminal. To be perfectly honest, the thought excites him; it fills him with a shameful delight to know that his talents will be put to use. A mage-knight can only play with the water for so long before wanting to know just how swift his ice bolts are.
“There we are. Good as new.” He raises Vim towards the sky before realizing that he ought to step out from under the tree to get a better look at his blade. As he rises, he hears a twig snap in the distance and turns. “Is someone there?”
@fatesrevxlution
