The old stallion continues to grin, bemused by the younger mans reactions and oddly charmed - charmed? - by his ridicule. That the words are heavy with truth is no concern to him, his sense of smell long dulled by age and perhaps having never been an impressive faculty in the first place, his sense of self that might have prevented such a downward spiral all but lost.

So he takes no offense from the gibe, merely exhaling through his nostrils in a silent chuckle. He might have said something witty then, or more likely something shocking and vulgar, but the sudden appearance of the Lady Tiamat draws his attention away, her bright, ‘hello!’ and tender gesture taking him wholly by surprise, the navy of her muzzle pressing gently against his black one before he even has time to react.

For a moment his haggard face is a picture of astonishment, his emerald eyes blinking slowly, his salt and pepper ears turned at opposite angles as the two carry on conversing without him, no special meaning or emphasis given to such niceties in their more civilized worlds, perhaps unable to grasp how large such little things become when you're old and unpleasant, accustomed to being alone and universally hated. He swallows, struggling to tune back in, his neck instinctively arching and the corners of his mouth tipping up as the antlered stallion edges closer.

From here he can see the branching tines of those antlers in close detail, including the unnatural blue that tips them and makes him wonder what magical effect they might have when wielded in battle. He can also see the slight dish in the white of the stallions face, the bold red of his eye markings flaring out on the white canvas of his skull like perfectly preserved butterfly wings. It's not exactly a picture of ferocity, but who is an old man to judge?

"Fighter of Champions." He chimes, recalling the indignant introduction he'd received more than a year ago, delighted that he still can remember such things, his mind in much better condition than his body. "He's served under Ktulu - supposedly." He tacks on, shrugging, catching himself vouching for the butterfly boy and not particularly wanting to admit to himself why that is.

If only he'd had wings instead of antlers.


"Talk."
OOC // @Ezital @Tiamat

Bah bah black sheep,
Have you any soul?