As the blackness of her keen, beady eyes sweep around those gathered within the blue tent, Imogen is well aware of how different she is from the rest of those who share her rank. They are all towering, horned (brutish) men—and she, at the eye of their assembly, a petite woman with perhaps more grace and elegance than the rest of them combined. She finds herself holding back a simper. More than strong enough to hold her own against a swarm of stallions, the pegasus holds herself proudly, regally, with the line of her jaw rigid and her eyes piercing.
What a motley crew we have here, the huntress thinks wryly to herself, her gaze roaming over each of the males while they absorb Rikyn’s instruction. From a man nearly as effeminate as herself, draped in colorful silken fabrics that complement his lustrous blonde locks, to an elderly stallion who could be as old as time itself, with his scraggy figure disheveled and his red hair knotted and unkempt. There is a third man, plain and unassuming, though perhaps Imogen’s stony eyes linger upon him the longest before her attention flickers back to her unwitting comrade.
He continues after a long pause (not out of hesitation, it would seem, but rather by the simple lack of a certain confidence that comes with previous leadership), and enlightens the rest of them about the structure in which they stand. So it is an enchanted tent. Imogen finds herself genuinely surprised by this bit of information. With a new spark of curiosity highlighting the sculpted lines of her face, she glances around at the painted blue fabric.
The huntress still has many things to learn about Helovia, its customs, and its people. What of the magic here? And what of their gods? Naturally, the pegasus is highly skeptical of the Helovian deities—or any deities but her own, for that matter—because there is no gospel truer than that of the Old Religion. It is a doctrine which she, as the last High Priestess, must uphold. With this thought, she can’t help but narrow her eyes, just slightly, as she looks around at these dastardly lowly unicorns. It is here, in the northern mountains, that she will begin to find answers to her many questions.
“Speech.”
imogen
Nothing but lies and crooked wings
open your wings, evil angel
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
