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The Earth God's comments have been replaying in his mind, over and over again - he is torn. Torn between his hatred of the other species, and his desire to claim back the magic that was taken from him; how can he sit and play house with the scum he has spent eight years despising? He is a shallow man, closed-minded and judgemental, never stopping to consider the error in his flawed thinking when it comes to unicorns and pegasi. Yet, with all the plans the Regime have, he knows he needs his magic to be on a somewhat equal footing with the rest of Helovia. He cannot wander blindly and expect to win every battle here simply because he was a warmaster out in the wilderness; he is at a disadvantage here, and he will do anything to claim back some semblance of the power he is so used to. Even if he must consort with rats. The stallion's thick legs draw him without his permission to the beach; he hadn't even realised where he was going until he felt the familiar crunch of sand beneath his hooves. He looks down, a small smile playing at the corner of his muzzle as he thinks of his time in Isilme, and all the hours spent frolicking in the sea. It is far too cold for such things today - the winter sun is weak on his back and there is a distinct chill in the air - but he can at least enjoy himself tasting the salty sea breeze on his tongue and feeling it ripping through his mane. As he moves closer to the softly lapping water, he feels Cynder tense on his back, her claws rasping deeper into the thick flesh there; she hates water, knowing full well that submerging herself in it would be signing her death sentence due to the ever-burning flame atop her tail. As a result, the beast stops a good distance away from the ocean's edge, so as not to unduly trouble the green war-dragon. |
[ we are made of greed ]
[ the regime ]
