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FIRE AND BLOOD! They stand, a marauding pack of wolves waiting to lure something into their trap; an intricate spider's web, and the stickhead coming towards them is naught but a fly. One twitch and he will be paralyzed, a slave to their wicked whims, entangled and helpless. The bastard has to admit that, for all his flaws, Morir is good at capturing their enemies - perhaps it's because he is blind and looks so innocent and harmless, or perhaps it is just that there is a particularly keen and sly mind behind those broken eyes. Either way, Tyradon has to reluctantly admit that the kid has his uses, as irritating as that is. His ears momentarily pin as he's given orders, but with a gruff grunt he aquiesces. He moves to the other side of Veil, splitting off from Confutatis' boy and circling around their unfortunate victim. For once Cynder isn't with him - she flies high above, where her flaming tail cannot give them away. His mind aches with her absence, but she's close enough to be recalled if the situation calls for it - for now the bastard moves as silently as his massive frame will allow, trying to tread carefully over the fog-laden ground. In the distance he can hear Morir making as much noise as possible, which hopefully covers Tyradon's occasional clumsy stumble as he breaks a twig - stealth has never been his strong point. He can hear singing as well, and rolls his eyes at the idea of another individual with singy-healing-magic. Well, if it works... Slowly he begins to advance slowly forwards, trying to keep out of ear and eyeshot of their prey, as well as making sure the wind blows in his face to keep his scent away - he doesn't want to reveal himself just yet and cause the unicorn to bolt, not before the others have gathered to seal their net together with their hapless captive stuck inside. |
[ we are made of greed ]
[ the regime ]
