01-27-2016, 10:25 PM
Under the reign of Vanquish and Yael the Deserts had always been a sleeping, grumpy giant. Only clambering down the mountain from their slumber when roused or provoked. The Deserts had become hungry and bare-boned beneath the two queens gifted the crown in his death – but they would be fed full soon. The Deserts had never quaked beneath the threat of another kingdom, nor had they ever balked when left to choose between idealness or action when faced with a friend’s enemy. But Vanquish had been gone long enough for his first-bones to turn to bleach white and frail and so treaties had to be renewed on vow and tongue and alliances re-forged.
When the stallion comes, ripping at the grass alongside him, the titan merely grunts a dragon’s grunt at the comment about the sweetgrass. After a few more unceremonious mouthfuls he lifts his thick neck and grins a grass-lipped grin at the smaller king, “then you must come to the Deserts and let me show you to my cactus fruit patches.” He indicates to his swollen sides, “after they’ve grown back of course,” he adds with a heavy laugh. “It is good to meet you, Mast of the Gates.” He says, with a dip of his gothic face, wings shifting at his sides, “I know Yael has already assured you of our support but I felt it important I introduce myself and offer my condolences on your kingdom’s misfortune.” War was brewing, hot and slow in the north – but soon it would boil over and burn its way down, “are you ready?” He asks candidly, as if the two were old friends and not strangers who wore intangible crowns.
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vanquish
black king of the deserts
