| “Yes, my name is Arthas, King of Loess," the dappled stallion states. A sinister smirk grows on his lips at the sound of these words. The title of a king held many things—there was potential favor to gain, promotions, and power to receive, but the power of such title did not always hold so true. Kings and queens were easily replaceable, history noted this well within the pages and the legends passed down from generation to generation. Sinner is aware of how fickle power can be, and such power can often corrupt and fall away from what really matters. He knows this well from the teachings of his father (something he had been quite useful for, but even he had become a victim of his own power and was laid to waste like many kings and queens before him). The hound listens to his proposal eagerly. He is a seeker of information, keeping the necessary secrets in lock and key, and used when necessary. There was always something useful, even with the slightest of vague information given, to be used and to gain. The two stallions that stand before him work together like a team but against one another. Alliances are fickle just as much as titles and power are—they never last too long anyway. “And what havoc is that?” He asks because he is drawn to such darkness. It gives him strength and it feeds the growing hollowed void within his aching soul. Well, if he had a soul. Then again, he doesn’t care to know what evil doings they have done yet. It is only about the future that he is interested in being part of. He needed something more than idling around and filling his never-ending hunger for flesh and bone. The world of darkness did not shape and call him out of hell for no reason. Sinner was created to do more than being a message to his father (which he still must complete in order to make things right and finish his mission). Maugrim is silent until now. He eagerly turns his red-yellow eyes to the green tobiano. There is something of darkness and hunger in him—something he has drawn exceptionally close to so quickly. It was unnatural to experience, but something tells the beast he will find Maugrim to be more than good company. “This is all too fascinating,” he simply says, the never ending smirk remains on his blacken muzzle. Sinner does not need to dwell on such offerings. He has already chosen his placement, but the mention of spilling blood sounds too enticing. The hound does not forget his place though—each one before him plays a role within the future of his life (somehow and some way they do, he knows). “Not today, Maugrim,” he adds with a growl. Sinner turns his attention to the king of Loess. “My fate was decided before I stepped foot onto the field. I will be leaving with Maugrim, but I am sure we shall meet again.” They would be sure to cross each other again. “After all we seem to already have ties, Arthas.” He forgets his place. How silly of me, he thinks comically. “King Arthas,” he adds in a silent jester. A king was the same as everyone else to him—it meant nothing. “Take me where I belong,” he keenly expresses to Maugrim. Take him to the depths of hell, or even further if you must. Sinner impatiently awaited for the green and white tobiano to lead him. He would follow his kin to the ends of the world—his new master perhaps? He has yet to decide. |
@[Arthas] @[Maugrim]
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Most likely always in his hellhound form