Fortu glances across to Sir Briedefel, the armoured knight facing off against the tiny 3/4ling.
He is distracted by the memory of the last night in the centaur camp; he'd woken from another blood drenched dream, where the face of his dead foe was again that of Lord Briedefel. To find himself standing over the sleeping lord, the urge to smash his entitled face nearly overwhelming. Drawing a calming breath he'd backed out of the tent and returned to his own pallet, trembling he'd lain awake the rest of the night scared of where his dreams might lead him.
This is a class war and I'm not sure which side of the line Arowe will fall :o
ReplyDeleteSounds like preparing your excuses in advance for a psychotic attack on poor, sweet, innocent Sir Briefadel.
ReplyDelete🥺🤣
at least i'm planning this one one, not just a hack n slash i'm proud moment....
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