He emerged from the darkness under the trees like a creature of the night itself, black and looming with moonlight dancing like pale flames over the back. The glowing rays leap and finger the pallid death-mask in uncanny curiosity, illuminating the vicious leer and deadly prongs and leave the rest of his features in shadow - unreadable, unseen. The hellion made a wise choice the day he chose to veil his thoughts in death and decay; surely the king that stood on high and looked down upon the gathering subjects would not have enjoyed the faint traces of loathing that twisted the handsome features of the big youngster, or taken well to the greed with which Morir approached the makeshift throne.

The words drifting from the toxic lips of the wasp queen as he settled in as close as he could to the ancient structure without actually climbing the snow-covered steps brought a smirk to his lips; dark and grim, amused in its gloating satisfaction - he didn't fail to notice how Confutatis refrained from consulting the dragon-lord before making this decision. It pleased him, but as much as he enjoyed this elevation in rank it wasn't enough. It would never be enough, as long as he was ranked lower than the racist bastard that dared to look down on him. One day that was going to change. One day it would be him who stood on high with moonlight fracturing through faceted panes, lordly and commanding while others bowed to the ground at his feet. One day that idiot of an equine would not dare to mock the shadow-spawned demon for fear of retribution, and he would no longer have to put up with cruel jokes and passes at his horns or his blindness....

One day.

But for now the gargoyle would bide his time. So he settled quietly among the ranks as far away from Tyradon as he could get, sparing nothing but a curt nod in appreciation towards his gruesome lady as she awarded him for his efforts. Then he waited with clipping ears and coiling tail for the court to convene - the very first gathering of the ranks of the Regime, and may all gods and spirits favor their ascent to greater heights. Morir prayed that the Raven would keep a blind eye for a little longer; there was much to do before those deadly wings descended upon him for the last time.