[center][h1][b]Brim Gehenna[/b][/h1][img]https://i.imgur.com/EBe9mWm.png[/img][/center] 

The battle ended on softer notes, as the eyes of a Gehenna broached through the foliage, a devilish transformation. 

His lack of thrill, of prurience, of astonishment, of any sort of distinct interest, began to arouse a more severe distrust of Hymn, as the shapeshifter’s felicitous pretense of maculate origins spawned Ardiane. A Potemkin bard bred of crocodile tears, standing as an Archimago, full of mawworms and newspeak over the panting rogue. Was she both a Goneril and Regan, falsely professing love in efforts to inherit a king’s trust, leering over an eventual inheritance? Or, better yet, a vicar of Bray, hiding as a sanctimonious hypocrite? A pharisaical step-son disguising animosity as philanthropy, in order to seduce her, or was it, [i]his[/i] next victim. The sorcerer felt utterly incapable of playing the part of ignorance properly, any longer. 

He was afraid to try. 

Certainty accompanied ready-made suspicions now, viewing her previous politeness as a deviant and aberrant phenomenon. And yet how else could he now receive him? Or was it her? Not heartily! Impossible due to the psychological betrayal. His only objective, to stave his mind from further inquiries, was to watch a little longer. 

Brim knew Hymn. Didn’t he?

Another provoked, point-blank question. From its novelty and its surreptitious nature, punctilious courtesy prompted the manner best calculated to restrain the lanky, smelly man. There stood the apathetic taciturnity of a beautiful Cleopatra, now empathic to a mortal betwixt her. The danger of his confidence in the Tiefling, now turned half-elf, infringed through his facial defenses, fetching a flattering reality, bluntly. His frown, audible to only pregnant nerves, alarmed to contract unnaturally, to such a writhing avidya.

A direct lie. For moral reasons. 

The struggle of identity savored a similar occupation with the composer of stone’s history. The burly, wet mage hurriedly brushed past the safety of the leaves, conjuring slowly, meticulous graves for the goblins, crypts of gravels suitable to bury those without names, and now, futures. After sealing the earth once more over their collective corpus, strangely enough, the giantkin no longer was disconcerted by the mysterious similitude of the young musician’s oblique approach.  

She evidently cared for Kiki. And that was enough for the goliath.

[b]"I leckon we thould move befo’ mo angly gobwinth thow up.” [/b]

[hider=Mechanics]
Brim uses [i]Mold Earth[/i] to dig graves for gobbos.
[/hider]