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07-21-2014, 11:12 PM
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"You spin me right round, baby." Being Legatus is hungry work, you note, as you eat your fill on the green grass that your home has provided you. Much better than the stupid swamp you started out in, and marginally better than the dry nettles that had coated the floor of the Dark Forest when you had been forced to move there. It's still no match for your beloved Locoweed, but your stores are growing dangerously thin and they aren't really meant to give you all the sustenance you require anyways. You note to yourself, as you nose through your bag, that you'll need to return to the oceanside soon. A shame, really, that it's so far off. But everywhere is far from the sands of the ocean, so you suppose that your currently home will have to do. If only you could transplant some here... You ponder the idea and then make a mental note to find the healer of the land and see if she knows anything of plant growing. It certainly would make your life easier. As a call breaks over the gentle rolling of the waterfall, a constant sound here, you lift your head with curiosity. They come in peace? How drab. You frown your disappointment and consider staying where you're at, but change your mind at the last moment. If you can beat the drunk to the non-threat at the border, it will lend some weight to the claims you made to the golden stallion- the ones about helping the herd or whatever you said to him. Like you can remember. But either way, they've given you some sort of recognition for your obvious superiority over the rest of their herd, so you suppose you should keep him and the glass horn amused. Ambling your way their, you arrive just after the two leads. As you stop and breath deeply, your ribs press against tight skin. Even years of training cannot overcome the weight loss caused by your drug. But what you lack in fat, you make up for in muscle. Affecting a pose that will keep you standing even if you happen to sway back and forth, you begin to survey the crowd before you. One in particular stands out. You eye her coldly, eyes narrowing at the memories of the pain that had plagued you after your interactions with her. Colic. You're 98% certain that she caused it. “Well, if it isn't the cu-” You stop short. Not that word... you pick a new one. You'll play nice for now. “Cute little mare that tried to help me once.” Still, the malice in your tone is unavoidable. Somehow, you manage a whisper that may or may not reach the words of one or both of your leads. “She's abysmal at her job.” But you leave it at that for the moment. For now you consider what it would be like to smash her pretty head, all the while presenting yourself as a drooling mess to the other two strangers. Yeah... maybe somebody should have told you to stay out of the realm of politics and peace negotiations. But hey, somebody has to be the evil henchman. |
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Oxy at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing him.
Please do not tag Oxy unless it is in an opening post
Please do not tag Oxy unless it is in an opening post
