| Hidden Account atk: 5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5 |
| Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 9 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Mongrel :: Common Kitsune :: Dark Illusions
wanda |
She awaits his surely splendorous reaction eagerly, though she shows not the stirrings of excitement in her breast; Mongrel, too, leans forwards, ears unwavering from the unicorn stallion's direction, but he is full of precarious doubt, teetering on the canyon edge of uncertainty, for he is wise and clever in his persuadings whereas Confutatis has become coarse and unrefined. Can he dare claim to know of a turndown? Alas, no, and so they await a favourable reaction (one doomed not to come) with hearts that thunder loud in their ebon chests. For what does he do? He not only refuses them, but with sardonic sarcasm, a toxic mouth of ruinous proportions, and she recoils from this blind man, silent in her s h o c k and soundless in her rising rage, for who is he to dare turn down their offer, to LAUGH in their faces? He is blind- facing down a warrior, a queen, Lady Death, the very incarnation of gore and murder? Idiot, to be tempting fate- to be tempting her, with her quickening heartbeat and rising pulse, until her mongrel wraps himself around her mind, soothing the nettling prods of such foolery.
Her temper running foul, she bites back remarks which would serve to inflame the the situation. "Would you rather be part of something that is meant for success, or have what you want crumble away?" The hellion asks, her voice quiet and rusty, hoarse and sharp with indignation.
The stallion beckons with his reigning crown, and caught halfway between reluctance and amusement (he thinks he can order her around?) she follows, gray hairs flicking over flanks, amber eye lost in thoughts of war and battle, the smack of meaty flesh. Would he be so brave if she were to have him cornered up against the wall, the acid of her magic dripping onto his corroding lips, poll, withers? Would he be so witty when he started shrieking in pain? No, he would not, she was confident of that; equines would do anything to slither free of pain, just as she would in their position. She swallows the toxicity of her saliva, skin giving a slight quiver, and falls in step beside him, not allowing him to run free of her nor lead.
"I meant no offence," Confutatis states, the rusted blade of her voice ringing iron calm, "by speaking so freely. But do you not see the value in a unified..." army, she wants to ask, but she refrains. "front? These times are dark and poisonous to those not strong of heart and mind; the dead do walk, and I am afraid not many will last long."
Nostrils flare in her exhale, as Mongrel darts ahead, to check for a clear path. "As I have told you, I am Confutatis, one of the many daughters to Oblivion the DemonKing. I am nine, emblazoned with his skull upon my head, eyes of amber and coat of shadow. It is my hope that one day Helovia will be united under Tyradon and I's rule for the betterment of it; problems can be handled as appropriate, life will be safer without worry of trespass or fighting between herds, those who may need help will get it." She watches his march west, the wrong direction, and she lets a vile little smile curl her lips. Perhaps she could make an example... no. Containing an undead such as him would be a pity.
Her crown swings to Amani as the little girl turns tail; she had forgotten about the child-mare. No matter; the prize of this outing would be the unicorn, and she could use the loss of a guide as advantage.
"You walk in the wrong direction," she snorts. "In the west, and north, and east, and south, the dead are moving among the living. If you wish to reach safety, you must go south, where you can access the Underground. And seeing as you have lost the child guide, it seems it might be wise to follow me."
CONFUTATIS
and when you meet me, you at long last acquaintance yourself with death in all its magnificent glory.
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