.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
Although often stern and formal, Volterra knows how to let his hair down. How could he forget the three times he'd allowed himself to get out of hand on fermented apples? Each time he'd ended up with a mare beneath him, albeit not quite in the way he'd intended in Roskuld's case (that memory still makes him burn with shame). Each time he'd found his inhibitions thoroughly lowered and his body relaxed, but at the cost of waking up the next day with a banging headache, heart palpitations, and a sense of anxiety and guilt that he just couldn't shake. Tonight, he's vowed to be a lot more careful with his intake. The Sultan of the Throat, hardened warlord and soldier king, cannot be seen to be a drunkard. The dragons, of course, find Drunk Volterra to be the height of hilarity, and they softly egg him on inside his head. "Dooooo it," croons Vadir from her perch in a nearby tree, her crimson eyes fixed on her bonded like the devil upon his shoulder. "Show herd your fun side." The beast shoots his golden queen a dark glare. Not a chance. To embarrass himself in front of the herd - imagine! As he ambles towards the gathering, he carries his own offering in his mouth. He'd used his golem magic in the same way as he had to create himself and Isopia that time, but instead he's forged a rudimentary copy of the Sun God. The doll is a decent size, with impressive wings and horns in the same shape as the herd's patron deity, made of hardened but hollow clay. He places this upon the other offerings, grinning broadly at the other gathered horses, especially Reichenbach and Pippigrin. "You have my thanks for organising this. Sometimes, we need to forget the darkness around us and simply revel in the light." Which the titan fully intends to do once more people arrive. "!!!” |
[ 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 ]
