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ARE WE WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO SAVE US FROM BURNING TO DUST? SHOULD YOU BUILD ALL YOU HAVE OUT OF NOTHING BUT ANGER AND LUST? He takes a moment to scrutinise her, searching her body for possible explanations for what happened in the fight. An injury, perhaps; a tendon hanging by a thread, a fractured bone, a lingering illness. Anything that could possibly explain why she took one blow from Aithniel then crumpled, anything that he could use as an excuse. He finds nothing. She does not look her usual radiant self, but she is certainly fit enough to fight. The assessment causes a sad sigh to drift from his mouth, and his ears flop downwards slightly. Volterra. She says his name, and his ears prick again. They jerk towards Hobgoblin as he issues a loud hiss in his general direction, and his eyes crease into a confused frown. Vérzés ceases his excited chirps towards the rougarou and instead erects his spines like heckles, eyeballing his friend in confusion. "Why hiss at my bonded?" his body language clearly says. He edges a few steps down the branch, an expression of abject betrayal ghosting across his draconic features. After sparing Hobgoblin a lingering glance, Volterra's gaze travels back to Sikeax. Terrible, she says. "Of course I've noticed," he rumbles, another sorrowful sigh escaping the confines of his jaws as he looks at her. This isn't how he thought it would end. He'd thought her reign would be glorious, and that he would rise up to rule by her side one day; alas, that is nothing more than the shattered remnants of a dream now. Finally, he can stem the burning question no longer. "What happened, Sikeax?" he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Why didn't you fight?" |
@Sikeax
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
