[ even when he'd woken from his imprisoned sleep some two hundred and fifty years after his time, the legend of the envoys had remained prominent enough in history for the world to have an idea of what it was. of course, in that time, it was the victors of the war against the envoys that had a say in telling their stories, biases that often came with the label of "terrorist".

it's rare for him to use his own words to describe who he was, who he is, and he pauses the turn of his fingers briefly to consider it. ]

The Envoys were a group of people who once tried to protect the world from greed — freedom fighters opposing the rich and powerful from steering the future of humanity. [ before they lost. he spins the threads tighter around his doll's arms, securing it as he ties it. ] We trained to condition our minds to have a better awareness of details, have improved analysis of the things around us, of people. It'd make us smarter, faster, stronger. Helps me to see the things others usually don't.

[ he suddenly frowns down at his doll, slightly lopsided but a decent replica of what marta had instructed him towards. holding it up to show her, he turns to look at her with pursed lips. ]

Not that it helped me with this guy. Shit really does look like voodoo.