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Summary
She glares at the warden who put her in this god forsaken situation, this is like denying the deities plans for a faction by being hotter than Lost Temple's temperature.
Banhammer looks away, avoiding eye contact on all of his eyes. Clearing his throat and sipping the even hotter coffee he has, “W-whatcha’ glarin' fo'?” Banhammer almost chokes on his coffee.
“Whatcha' think? Banhammer, Warden o' Banlands?” She grumbled with a low voice before sighing and throwing her head back.
Or
I post this scythehammerspace fic I deleted a year ago out of embarrassment because it's incredibly ooc, but fuck it hahahgshahaha
