Cry “Havoc!” and let slip the dogs of war
08-24-2015, 11:28 PM
He entered the land of Alacritis chuckling and nudging Fyre's shoulder, they where not brothers by birth, but they where in every other way and nature, and the word “Brother” fell easily from the Bandit's tongue. He was still amusing himself over their latest spoils, the memory of tearing apart an empire from the inside out. Fyre's plans always seemed to pan out so perfectly, and Silysk was good at playing the parts his brother gave him. He enjoyed befriending the wolves they where about to tear apart, it was easy to join in as a comrade, to speak of shared tales of warfare and its terrors, become one of the gang before slitting their throats in the night. Basilysk did it for the thrill, for the ladies, for sheer power of winning. And he turned easily to his brother, his smile dark, and sinister. The lighter shaded boy always stood on his brothers right, and a step behind, like any true commander to their leader would. It might strike any other as a surprise to see one who so enjoyed power to hand it over so easily, but he respected the force they created together, and the place Fyre took in their hierarchy. “Why this land brother? We haven't finished painting the last one red” he joked easily, his voice smooth, pleasant, like he spoke of the time of day and not the deaths of many. "Talk" "You" Think |
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