Things were so different in this world making it feel almost as if he were living in a dream. Most seemed kind and trustworthy very muck unlike those of his past homes, what made such a difference here? Battles did not seem to start over simple matters whereas home was a constant war zone that you never knew would would have your back and who would be stabbing it. In his first week on this planet there had only been three fights and it had all been because of their gods that had followed them here. In a way he partially felt responsible for their appearances, if he had just been there earlier maybe he could have stopped them from causing so much destruction. Those here did not seem hardened to the blood and gore as he was, no one could watch someone die without shedding a tear, these Helovians were not like those of our planet but rather the farthest thing from it. When that crocodile had given its last breath they all seemed relieved yet saddened in some way, shape or form. What was this emotion that tied them all together, what made them care?

Troubled by the many questions he seemed incapable of answering the golden stallion hung back away from the rest of the crowd. Resigned to be the follower rather than the keeper, no one could understand that world they came from nor did they seem to want to. He had seen the disgusted looks in others eyes as anyone of the rift escapees passed by, he was not blind nor stupid but he did have the sense to know right from wrong. Well he thought he did.. They did not belong here, they would never fit in, but then why would their gods burden them with playing host to the misfits? Wading slowly into the waters the stallion easily made the swim to emerge on the other side where everyone seemed to pool around this Earth god they spoke of. Did he not care what danger he was fiddling with by bringing more riftians here? He had even heard a few telling the god about the past battles and their resulting consequences. What business did he have here if he was not aware of the happenings in the land he created. Though if he knew already that just made those bringing the news a group of morons who had lost their souls to the temptation of power. Power was not something to be wielded by such ignorant, self concerned individuals, it was the responsibility that should be taken on only by those capable and worthy to the crown. Blood meant shit to him, no one had ever gotten anywhere by just passing along such an important title. It was not until they looked outside the royals would they find someone truly worthy of the crown.

Slipping silently through those who had gathered he refused to be intimidated by them so keeping his head held high and his perfect frame taught he had nothing to prove to anyone. He did not answer to anyone but himself if they had a problem with that then they could go shove it.

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Summary:
Tags along with the group to see what was all going on. Moves off to the side not caring of others had issues with him being there or not.
Mentions: none

“We who are immortal, we are chained to this life by a chain of gold, and we dare not sever it for fear of what lies beyond the drop.”