R I C C I A R D O
The Sandman.

The heat of the afternoon was a defining feature of what was ultimately a significant day for the flame-kissed brute. His average features were hiding a calculating mind that was bustling with thoughts. So many things he wanted to achieve, yet there was so little time in his opinion. It had occured to him that having a place in the Edge was a tricky one to uphold, but nonetheless wanted to rise high in the ranks. He wondered what he had on his side. He possessed no real magic as such, yet he did have the mind and skills of a craftsman; it was common knowledge the powers that sand gave you to craft things. Being a Sandman himself, he derived from a herd that was well equipped with the talent to craft from the sands that lay beside the open salt waters of the ends of the earth. He had pondered the idea of setting himself the task of convincing Mauja to trial him in a position, if there was one. Ricciardo was not yet at one with the rankings and positions that herd contained, but he was sure there was a need for skills like that. Glass was after all, a deadly weapon. A smile spread across his bronze velveteens as he was growing evermore ambitious.

He paced slowly up the area where the noise of the salt waters crashing and whooshing nearby grew louder and louder. It was like music to his ears. There was nothing better than being able to feel the breeze coming off the waves, the smell of the salt that tingled the senses and the feeling of sand against the pelt. Though the list mist clouded his eyesight slightly, the brute still determinedly scanned the horizons across the edges of the cliff. It was soaked up by his mind that emitted memories from his long dead herd. Whatever had happened in the past was immediately put back into the back of his mind; he would not upset himself. I must live for now. Slow turning back round the sand coloured orbs nestled in fairly handsome crown caught sight of something rustling in the forest. The frondescence was dry with thirst and the breeze was causing some stirring, but this was too strong to be caused by the wind.

Gradually setting into a dance of daggers crashing against the terra firma, he quickly entered the edge of the forest, keen to know what it was that had disturbed his thoughts. With his ears pricked and his pillars doing double-time, he came to the place where the disturbance had initially come from. With a kick of his hind burly pillars, he lifted himself off the ground to pounce on whatever it was; his horn was braced for an attack from the flame-kissed beast. "What are you doing?!" Ricciardo bellowed at the disturbance, blatantly angry that his scheming had been put on hold.