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06-21-2015, 12:14 PM
d'Artagnan
the
NightShade
[Not really important, just wanted to post his acknowledgement :3]
The Doctor watched, with mouth half open and one back leg propped up, the boxing match of words that slung from one party to another. In his head he agreed and disagreed, getting lost in the tirade of the heated spat before throwing an injured look to Ulrik, the metal fiddler, who aged him ten years in one sentence. He wasn’t that old yet surely?! The red brushed it off and happily let the thought of arthritis and lost marbles disappear into the pile of worry left in an ignored corner of his mind. Not that it mattered, the Engineer was already marching off after a rather disgruntled Arah leaving Deimos, the little pink spy and a gilded calamity in his wake. d’Artagnan eyed Thranduil properly for the first time, there was an almost arrogant shape to his neck and a sharp, angered gaze. He factored in the clear dislike that had rolled off of Ulrik’s condemnation and considered that he hadn’t often seen the crafter display an open animosity. He came to his own conclusion that the leaf-marked idiot was probably an ass who liked feeling magisterial and appeared to be easily angered when openly challenged. It left an unnerving feeling of friction within a once iron welded herd and the shade couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or not. In the end, his mouth snapped shut as a grunt rumbled up from his gut in the midst of proceedings, remaining silent in words even though the snide comments stacked up in his cantankerous mind.
d’Artagnan didn’t take an active part until his name wasn’t mentioned amongst the new Menders and a frown crossed his features. He didn’t get chance to question it either as Deimos swiftly named him in a different area, a more physically active area and the word ‘General’ echoed around his mind. General? Did that mean he was really being trusted with a bunch of soldiers at his back? For a moment, the red gave the dark Lord a surprised eyebrow lift with the thought ’really?’ written all over his gaze. Six years ago at the command of Mauja he had taken the role of Doctor and had never really shed the title, serving in the role for many seasons. However, with the heartache of Kou and the Plague lost in the memories of those old enough to remember, the change seemed quite fitting.
Just like that, d’Artagnan the Nightshade let go of his past life that echoed with terms of Mender and Doctor, filled with begrudging life saving and the odd slip of poison.
His gaze dropped down to the sparks at his hooves and he shakes his head in typical d’Art surliness whilst muttering incoherently in lament to the show-off God.
When the meeting adjourned, the General skulked off thinking of things he needed to do and those he needed to see.
The Doctor watched, with mouth half open and one back leg propped up, the boxing match of words that slung from one party to another. In his head he agreed and disagreed, getting lost in the tirade of the heated spat before throwing an injured look to Ulrik, the metal fiddler, who aged him ten years in one sentence. He wasn’t that old yet surely?! The red brushed it off and happily let the thought of arthritis and lost marbles disappear into the pile of worry left in an ignored corner of his mind. Not that it mattered, the Engineer was already marching off after a rather disgruntled Arah leaving Deimos, the little pink spy and a gilded calamity in his wake. d’Artagnan eyed Thranduil properly for the first time, there was an almost arrogant shape to his neck and a sharp, angered gaze. He factored in the clear dislike that had rolled off of Ulrik’s condemnation and considered that he hadn’t often seen the crafter display an open animosity. He came to his own conclusion that the leaf-marked idiot was probably an ass who liked feeling magisterial and appeared to be easily angered when openly challenged. It left an unnerving feeling of friction within a once iron welded herd and the shade couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or not. In the end, his mouth snapped shut as a grunt rumbled up from his gut in the midst of proceedings, remaining silent in words even though the snide comments stacked up in his cantankerous mind.
d’Artagnan didn’t take an active part until his name wasn’t mentioned amongst the new Menders and a frown crossed his features. He didn’t get chance to question it either as Deimos swiftly named him in a different area, a more physically active area and the word ‘General’ echoed around his mind. General? Did that mean he was really being trusted with a bunch of soldiers at his back? For a moment, the red gave the dark Lord a surprised eyebrow lift with the thought ’really?’ written all over his gaze. Six years ago at the command of Mauja he had taken the role of Doctor and had never really shed the title, serving in the role for many seasons. However, with the heartache of Kou and the Plague lost in the memories of those old enough to remember, the change seemed quite fitting.
Just like that, d’Artagnan the Nightshade let go of his past life that echoed with terms of Mender and Doctor, filled with begrudging life saving and the odd slip of poison.
His gaze dropped down to the sparks at his hooves and he shakes his head in typical d’Art surliness whilst muttering incoherently in lament to the show-off God.
When the meeting adjourned, the General skulked off thinking of things he needed to do and those he needed to see.
Poison is in everything, and no thing is without poison. The dosage makes it either a poison or a remedy.
yewrezz | larfsalot
on deviantart
my heart’s an endless winter
filled with rage
Use force at your own peril ;) please tag me!
