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 THE PLAGUE
CROWLEY
Time was growing precious for the Weaver. After the meeting, Crowley had promised to himself and to his brethren to scour the Threshold as often as possible. They needed more able bodied individuals to bring home and into the Plague, although racist unicorns in the Threshold were not always the most easy thing to find. However, he had not yet done this, and today, he planned to free up some of his commitments as well as a certain prisoner.
"Lana!" His voice was clipped as he called out, approaching the lines of caves that lie nestled against the great mountainside, his golden eyes scanning for the form of the dark winged mare. Whether she was tucked away in the comfort of one of these caves or not far from them, he was not entirely sure, but he was almost certain she'd come hurrying out at the sound of his voice. Drawing to a halt, the brindle awaited her appearance with impatience, and only when she finally did come forth did Crowley speak. "You are free to go," he said by way of explanation, eyeing her carefully as he said his next words. "But let it be known, filth, that if you utter one little word of this, I will find you again and rip those wings from your back. You and everyone you know." A sharp look was given to the feathered appendages, and then a scowl marred his face. "Go now, before I change my mind. I'm done with babysitting." [Derp post is derp] SPY  |
The Weaver's Workshop
HP: 45
