i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell
He had known this day would come. He had known that Eight would come calling, ready to use Warship for the debt he undoubtedly owed him. Magicians didn’t grant immortality without something in it for them. Eventually, they would cash in their favor, for there was always a favor needing done. The black warrior had been dozing beneath the rock facings when the voice filled his ears his mind. No doubt Erebor and Straia were also asleep somewhere as well. Children could be exhausting, even ones like Erebor who needed nothing but the most basic care. Warship snarled, pinning his ears. Of all the times to come cashing in a favor, the damned magician came at night. Despite his snarling face and over all pissed off demeanor, he went towards the voice. Or where he supposed the voice was coming for. Damn magicians and their party tricks. He heads towards the Valley, wondering briefly if he should have waited for Straia, though he was certain she wasn’t far behind him. And if he knew her at all, her mood was probably similar to his. So he kept going, his ears flicking atop his head as the nighttime animals of the forest protested his late night travel. Finally, he crosses the border, shuddering as he passes through the magic, taking note at how is brand glowed much brighter here in the Valley, for it was closer to its creator. He didn’t head into the heart of the kingdom, at least not yet. He knew Eight would know he had arrived. “You called?” he said into the air.
warship
