A Virtue (Gregor, Crow)

In the darkest corner of the ship, a dark ritual is taking place.

Shadows creep out, blocking the light from the moon. From the source it sat a shrouded figure. His face hidden but streaks of silver hair peak out from his hood.

There, hovering in front of him, was a jet black greatsword. From it a dark presence could be felt. Tendrils of darkness emerge from the sword and wrapped around the shrouded ones hands.

The tendrils pulse towards the shrouded ones hands, dark energy entering his body. Gradually the energy changes. It begins to feel darker, colder. As if the void is reavching out to him.

CLANK!

The shield was loudly propped against the wooden panels, enough to chip but not destroy it entirely. It was that time of the night when his equipment needed care and he preferred doing it at a place where he cannot be bothered so where else but the area where a brooding silver-haired man was summoning dark tendrils. It's not like this was the first time the Paladin ever saw a dark ritual that could potentially lead to foolish choices. With his armored hand, he grabbed for a chair.

Shriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikkkkkkkkk...

Went the two legs of the chair that skidded across the wooden panel.

Thud. Ka-chuk!

Now the paladin was seated with a rag in hand, his prized shield in between his legs and some mineral oil for polishing.

With a bang the sword disappears, and the shadows retreat back to the shrouded figure.

With his meditation interrupted the young aasimar slowly opens his eyes, reflected in them are the stars that dot the night sky.

The same eyes glare at the entity that disturbed him.

...How....rude....

Crow thought as he sat in another corner and began meditating once more.

Try as he might Crow could not get back into the state he was in before. The constant swishing of the cloth distracted him. He looked over the what the Paladin was doing and was pleasantly surprised.

His eyes locked on the shimmering shield.

.....How.....shiny...