Sheol'Var was cross. Not often these days was he so terribly irritated, nor itching to bash something's head in. His rider, Orionas, had sent him to investigate the fliers that were posted all over the city, this mysterious "Order of Beruth". Not only had she sent him alone, she sent him in human form!! He swore that woman would be the end of him, and judging by the presences he sensed in the temple ahead, he figured that day could be the very day of his reckoning.
He kicked a loose rock the size of his fist absently as he approached the temple entrance, sending it sailing high into the sky and over the temple. He was a proud Dragon, even if only a fledgling: he could demolish that temple with a single stroke of his crystal talons were he in dragon form, but he was unable to shift by himself: an unfortunate curse of the form Orianas forced upon him. Behind Sheol, a long trail of several inch deep footprints ominously mark the way he'd traveled, despite his stature of less than six feet tall, his incredibly long, bushy, void-black mane billowing in the wind, nearly as long as his body.
He strode into the temple, the wind ceasing, and his hair settles around the curved, white crystal horns protruding from his head, only one thought on his mind: This had better be entertaining.
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