Mauja the FrostHeart
ice cold man watches earth die, eternal winter takes its reign

To his relief, Kou obeyed and pointed her horn in a less suspicious direction. It wasn't that he himself was naive and trusted just about anyone who happened to have a horn, just that, trespassing or not, they had no reason to decimate their own numbers. In fact, the pale King trusted very few - or, more like it, none at all. It was both a strength and a weakness, partly a comfort in knowing that he was invulnerable, and a weakness in that he stood alone. Sooner or later he hoped someone would earn his trust, but for now, he was a schemer who stood alone, not actively distrusting but never quite daring to lay all of his faith in someone. And so, he was not overly concerned with a brazen beast traipsing into his forest. If he wished to live here, he would learn to obey and respect, or be taught the lesson with violence. Mauja was no stranger to it, but preferred to rule with his mind - now, though, the brazen beast laughed, a sound that was quite unpleasant and dry. It was as if his entire presence stood there and whispered I am better than you which, Mauja thought, he most certainly was not. Compassion is an important skill, though he himself enjoyed subtly mocking others, so who was he to preach?

“You cannot see it?” he asked, and Mauja merely raised a cold 'brow at him. Deimos dipped his horn to indicate the ground, which hadn't exactly been an example of a flourishing meadow to start with, and proclaimed that everything he touched died. Everything? he wanted to ask, an interested glint in his eyes surfacing despite his desire to conceal it, wanted to assess the limits of the power - ask, even horses? It could be most useful, indeed... Still, he hadn't really asked the question with the intention of finding out if he was magic or not. That wasn't as important to him as racism and fighting skill, or a flair for politics and spying. "It was hardly alive to begin with," he said with an absentminded wave of his horn. "But it seems a little more dead than before you came here, I'll give you that, myrkurdýr." And he smiled, his own soft, wry little smile, as if to say don't be upset, this is just who I am. Mauja tilted his head, soot-stained forelock sliding off his forehead.

"It sure seems useful, but surely it's not the only thing which makes you desirable, hm? Do you know how to fight, are you loyal to the-" This time, the wave of his horn was much more deliberate, the motion small but precise. "- cause?" His eyes glittered in his worn face, the few burns mottling his dirty hide a testament of their recent hardships, but with each passing second he suppressed the exhaustion and became more and more of his usual self, albeit a tad filthier. Mauja forced down the desire to make a remark on Deimos' charming personality, and instead kept his eyes trained on his face, anticipating his reaction, hoping for recognition; hoping for another who believed in their purity, their dominance. That was the only kind of arrogance Mauja approved of, and one he wished this one held; he might be a bit awkward, and stank of sinister intentions and menace, but he could definitely be valuable... Unless Mauja's characteristic dismissal of his power pissed him off. But, oh well, that'd be his loss.