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Oh, the simple pleasure of befuddling another living being - he watches as the abomination tastes the air like a snake, as though to compensate for his lack of sight. The warlord continues to rasp his hoof against the ground, then darts forwards a few steps and prances on the spot, daggers creating an echoing din on the stone below. Cynder soars around, shrieking her enjoyment and rasping her claws even more frantically against the walls of the cave, the screech setting Tyradon's teeth on edge. This is persecution. This is bullying. This is fun. He barely notices Confutatis' approach, so focused is he on his hedonism. Her words cause his massive head to turn, thick skull pivoting to focus his frigid grey gaze on her, a wicked smirk continuing to flex at the corner of his muzzle. It slips only as the mare reveals that the blind man is with her, and the expression shifts to be replaced with disgust. "If you insist on recruiting vermin, could you not have at least refined your search to able-bodied ones?" His voice is calm, unemotional, almost amused. He shoots a filthy look over to the unicorn, barely noticing the familiar stings of Cynder's claws as she crashes into land upon his muscular back, her svelte jade neck extending to peer between his ears at the commotion. His demon queen introduces the blind stallion as Morir, and the warbringer wrinkles his nostrils as he looks down his scarred nose at the horned one. "A pleasure," he rumbles, sarcasm dripping through his clenched throat and yellowed teeth. She mentions another name - Veil, and the hellion's ears pivot with interest. "Veil?" Another recruit, perhaps, and ideally one devoid of the protuberances of lesser species. The blind thing himself speaks then, and Tyradon's eyes narrow to feral slits. "I'm rather talented at crushing horned skulls, as well," he hisses, and Cynder bugles her agreement. |
[ we are made of greed ]
[ the regime ]
