HEROES MAY DIE

The sound of sloshing waters ahead of him suddenly stops, just a second after he had spoken. There was no doubt that he had managed to nab the attention of whoever this was, and that was only made more obvious when the grey turned to face him. His tone was nothing short of irritated, and for a moment, Destrier hoped that he was not the cause of such ill feelings. He, too, had simply ventured here for the sake of adventure, yearning to know more of this land he called home; however, this marsh was not sculpted to fit towering bodies such as their own.

Destrier had little more room than the stranger he had stumbled across, causing him to drop his head lower than it's natural carry, and every thorn and wayward branch one could imagine would hook and snag at the Friesian's crimped mane and tail. However awkward a position he was forced into, his noble expression remained, and his dark eyes met the grey's own. What on earth was he doing here in the first place? It was not his business, of course, but what reasoning was there to force oneself into such a bothersome landscape?

"I would be lying to disagree with you," he answered, twisting his head to the left as a skewed thorn got too close for comfort to his eye. "I beg your forgiveness in my asking, but what are you doing out here in this mess?" For honestly, the stallion thought he might stumble across a lost colt in this slop, looking tirelessly for his way back home, but instead he had found the bulky mass of this stranger.

But now, Destrier's attention shifted to the scaly dragon who had made home upon the stallion's withers. 'Bring back scales from three different dragons,' he recalled the words spoken by the God of the Sun clearly, '... And I will make you a fine set of armor.' Destrier had never been fond of asking favors from strangers, but with the rising and continuous threats against the World's Edge, he felt as if he were running out of time with each passing second. As awkward as it was for him, standing amidst the slop and brambles, there was no point in making in even more so.

"Pardon my bluntness, friend, but I am Destrier of the World's Edge, sent on a quest by the God of the Sun himself." A brief pause was given, as if the stallion was trying to gauge the other's reaction, before he continued on. Surely this wasn't so uncommon in a land full of magic, where one might ask another for help on a Godly quest? It sounded strange, but... "I must collect scales from three different dragons. Perhaps you can assist me?"

Even now the Friesian's expression remained genuine, awaiting patiently an answer. If he were turned down then so be it, or if the grey wanted something in return, Destrier would be more than ready to do what he was able. An eye for an eye, as Bran had always told him.

[Awkward post is awkward ;_____;]

BUT LEGENDS ENDURE