I'm just a poor boy. I need no sympathy.
( because I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low )
It isn't like him to stray from the land of murders and phsycos but, even he himself, the bringer of discord grows bored amongst the blood stained earth of his home country. His son, Imperial was far too young to delve into the skillful and satisfying art of inflicting excruciating pain upon another weak waste of flesh upon this land. His son's mind is too feeble, and simple, and innocent for such skills needed to dive into the dirty work. He needed, a boy someone young and strong and no longer innocent.
So he decides, to wander, to stray. An where otherwise to go, when looking for a prodigy than the den of the weak, and forgotten. Concealing himself he enters the den, like a snake, prowling, lingering in the shadows, a silent predator. His crimson gaze falling upon the pitiful youth, a scrawny girl, a dormant boy, and then a defensive colt. Waylan watches as the boy shoos, away mare after mare with such a precise movement, so skillful, and so strong. Just what he needed, a strong companion to lessen the weakness within his own son.
So he goes forth towards the defensive child, remaining concealed, hidden, a walker within the shadows. Until he reaches the boy, he allows his pair of ruby gems to be revealed, as he towers over the heavy built boy.
A crooked grin forming upon his dark lips, "Are you lost?" He whispers, disappearing into thin air, his body circling the small child like a shark circles it's unsuspecting prey. Allowing his frame to flicker before coming into view. "Your strong." he comments, the volume of his rough vocals growing louder but remaining scarce within the wallowing atmosphere. "I could teach you how to use that strength of yours, boy." He adds, his tone hinted with a malicious intentions.
waylan
any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me