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The Specter considers, as he waits for his subordinates, how little he has seen of his rank since his appointment by their monarchs. It blackens his already foul mood, for not only has he failed at the task set to him by his King, but he has failed to enforce the obedience of his spies. He is not used to failing, not when everything has always come so easily to him. It does not cross his mind that no one dares to show that they are better than the Prince, even if they are - instead, he assumes that he has simply always been better at everything than everyone. This position, this rank, it has been a test, one that he has failed miserably. For once, no one handed him the job on a silver platter, making it impossible for him to lose.
Zarina sighs softly as she wraps herself in his mane. She is aware of her bonded's thoughts and emotions, though she has long since become adept at separating them from her own. She has found that he is prone to fits of depression, mostly tied to his upbringing and his perceived failures in the modern day, and as her attempts to cheer him have always been met with a certain brusque irritability, she has given up. In fact, she has found that a good nap is almost always a cure for her half of his rages. It may not help him at all, but at least she doesn't have to listen to him anymore.
When the painted sleuth appears, the Specter shifts to face him, forcing a somewhat neutral expression onto his maw. "Hamaliel," he greets the stallion in a short bark, his restlessness showing even through his practiced courtier's facade. "It's been a while. Is there ought of interest in Helovia? I know of the floating island and the illusion of peace - but I fear there is war lingering on the horizon, as ever."
"more words."
Zarina sighs softly as she wraps herself in his mane. She is aware of her bonded's thoughts and emotions, though she has long since become adept at separating them from her own. She has found that he is prone to fits of depression, mostly tied to his upbringing and his perceived failures in the modern day, and as her attempts to cheer him have always been met with a certain brusque irritability, she has given up. In fact, she has found that a good nap is almost always a cure for her half of his rages. It may not help him at all, but at least she doesn't have to listen to him anymore.
When the painted sleuth appears, the Specter shifts to face him, forcing a somewhat neutral expression onto his maw. "Hamaliel," he greets the stallion in a short bark, his restlessness showing even through his practiced courtier's facade. "It's been a while. Is there ought of interest in Helovia? I know of the floating island and the illusion of peace - but I fear there is war lingering on the horizon, as ever."
"more words."
Quilyan
counting on the night for a beautiful day;
subtlepatterns.com | kaydeniro & larfsalot @ deviantart
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
