11-26-2006, 04:38 AM
He shivered.
It wasn't quite what he'd expected, but here he was amidst a joyous brigade that featured a noteworthy selection. They were a force to be reckoned with as they were, even if they were busy among the murmor of conversation that floated about. Easily discernable amongst the fray, King Cold marched alongside his allies. His thoughts, however, were still stuck somewhere between a circle and fire. The sun had descended, something that the changeling took note of as they continued their trek across the plains. It dipped below the mountain range, taking its precious light with it. The oncoming obscurity left King Cold to his ponderings as they continued marching as the buzz of lively conversation.
The fire crackled before him, dancing with a brief significance to the changeling. They say the warmth for the night, the only thing that would keep them from growing sick and having an epidemic spread throughout their company. Cold saw the hellfire's that he would be forced to return to.
"Stand still, I'm gonna put this collar around your neck." Someone stated, taking the changeling back to Heartforged Keep. He was in a room filled with soldiers, rifles trained on him. Not because he was an immediate threat or anything, but because he'd arrived in an explosion of hellfire on the Dante grounds. To prove that he wasn't a spy for the enemy armies ("there're more than one?" Cold retorted to this) Cold submitted to join the Dante army. "The collar should not be underestimated. The collar tracks your location, gives audio and visual feed to the producers, and more importantly one false move and it goes boom. Ever heard of Head & Shoulders? Dandrum shampoo? Well--let me not get too into details what'll happen if you tamper with it."
"You may also find that you're at a handicap when it comes down to certain things. The collar does that too." It was one who droned on, nearly mechanically as he oversaw the man fitting the brass collar to Cold's neck. It fit snugly. "Gotta keep 'em in line this time around. You know how they can get. After you've done your bid you can return to the Hells from which you came. Although this is an official last-minute draft it would be best if you kept the fact that you've just gotten out of Hell to yourself. People don't really take kindly to that."
Although he sat atop the log in a slump, he could switch his demeanor with the swaying of the breeze and there was a bottle of wine shoved into his hands. Cold scrutinized the bottle, which someone had the courtesy of wrenching the cork from and taking a generous swig. He brought it to his lips as someone else shoved a second bottle into his hands and then they fell into a story of tryst and conquests that had gone past. Cold soon fell into this talk of domination, bursting out with laughter as stories were told of the seemingly impossible situations people would get themselves in just to get their own satisfaction.
"Yeah, so I was under the bed for about an hour and they still were going at it. And--you know Trent was in the closet, so we were text messaging each other and..." It just went on and on, everyone with their own accounts to add to the melting pot of morale.
A burly man leaped over the log and landed in the free seat next to Cold, who shoved the untouched bottle of wine into his hands. Well, he'd thought it was untouched, but apparently he'd tested half of it between taking sips off his other. He recognized the man as one of their commanders, his thick and poorly groomed hair one of his more prominent features. Cold chuckled softly, "Taking it down here with the soldiers, commander?"
Not a bad way to start the first night of warfare, chumming it up with you commanding officers.
It wasn't quite what he'd expected, but here he was amidst a joyous brigade that featured a noteworthy selection. They were a force to be reckoned with as they were, even if they were busy among the murmor of conversation that floated about. Easily discernable amongst the fray, King Cold marched alongside his allies. His thoughts, however, were still stuck somewhere between a circle and fire. The sun had descended, something that the changeling took note of as they continued their trek across the plains. It dipped below the mountain range, taking its precious light with it. The oncoming obscurity left King Cold to his ponderings as they continued marching as the buzz of lively conversation.
The fire crackled before him, dancing with a brief significance to the changeling. They say the warmth for the night, the only thing that would keep them from growing sick and having an epidemic spread throughout their company. Cold saw the hellfire's that he would be forced to return to.
"Stand still, I'm gonna put this collar around your neck." Someone stated, taking the changeling back to Heartforged Keep. He was in a room filled with soldiers, rifles trained on him. Not because he was an immediate threat or anything, but because he'd arrived in an explosion of hellfire on the Dante grounds. To prove that he wasn't a spy for the enemy armies ("there're more than one?" Cold retorted to this) Cold submitted to join the Dante army. "The collar should not be underestimated. The collar tracks your location, gives audio and visual feed to the producers, and more importantly one false move and it goes boom. Ever heard of Head & Shoulders? Dandrum shampoo? Well--let me not get too into details what'll happen if you tamper with it."
"You may also find that you're at a handicap when it comes down to certain things. The collar does that too." It was one who droned on, nearly mechanically as he oversaw the man fitting the brass collar to Cold's neck. It fit snugly. "Gotta keep 'em in line this time around. You know how they can get. After you've done your bid you can return to the Hells from which you came. Although this is an official last-minute draft it would be best if you kept the fact that you've just gotten out of Hell to yourself. People don't really take kindly to that."
Although he sat atop the log in a slump, he could switch his demeanor with the swaying of the breeze and there was a bottle of wine shoved into his hands. Cold scrutinized the bottle, which someone had the courtesy of wrenching the cork from and taking a generous swig. He brought it to his lips as someone else shoved a second bottle into his hands and then they fell into a story of tryst and conquests that had gone past. Cold soon fell into this talk of domination, bursting out with laughter as stories were told of the seemingly impossible situations people would get themselves in just to get their own satisfaction.
"Yeah, so I was under the bed for about an hour and they still were going at it. And--you know Trent was in the closet, so we were text messaging each other and..." It just went on and on, everyone with their own accounts to add to the melting pot of morale.
A burly man leaped over the log and landed in the free seat next to Cold, who shoved the untouched bottle of wine into his hands. Well, he'd thought it was untouched, but apparently he'd tested half of it between taking sips off his other. He recognized the man as one of their commanders, his thick and poorly groomed hair one of his more prominent features. Cold chuckled softly, "Taking it down here with the soldiers, commander?"
Not a bad way to start the first night of warfare, chumming it up with you commanding officers.