Starr Redmaw
03-13-13, 12:27 PM
Closed to Pepita.
Starr Redmaw did not like cows. Granted, it was hard for Starr to like anything that was not a goblin, an excuse for war, or the familiar surroundings of his woodland home. It was very difficult, then, for the shaman to appreciate the subtle illusion that surrounded him.
“Fucking animals…,” he grumbled, spitting fever root and scuffing his feet over the furrowed earth as he did so.
The Arena had spawned a pasture all around the withered creature, eager to test his every patience. The Ai’bron monks had smiled when Starr had requested a place to haunt his soul – they had seemingly peered straight into his darkest nightmares. That nightmare had four hooves, and came in a herd.
Behind him, there was once a door, now closed, and faded from view. The pasture was flat, half ploughed, and half planted with turnips. On the verge of the arena, perhaps where the dome stood, the aforementioned terrors grazed lazily, tails flicking away flies in the resplendent of a spring morning. On the far side, another door, through which Starr’s opponent would brazenly stroll.
“For the woods and hearth,” he sighed.
Starr spat, and with a sticky phlegm-riddled cough, he was ready.
Starr Redmaw did not like cows. Granted, it was hard for Starr to like anything that was not a goblin, an excuse for war, or the familiar surroundings of his woodland home. It was very difficult, then, for the shaman to appreciate the subtle illusion that surrounded him.
“Fucking animals…,” he grumbled, spitting fever root and scuffing his feet over the furrowed earth as he did so.
The Arena had spawned a pasture all around the withered creature, eager to test his every patience. The Ai’bron monks had smiled when Starr had requested a place to haunt his soul – they had seemingly peered straight into his darkest nightmares. That nightmare had four hooves, and came in a herd.
Behind him, there was once a door, now closed, and faded from view. The pasture was flat, half ploughed, and half planted with turnips. On the verge of the arena, perhaps where the dome stood, the aforementioned terrors grazed lazily, tails flicking away flies in the resplendent of a spring morning. On the far side, another door, through which Starr’s opponent would brazenly stroll.
“For the woods and hearth,” he sighed.
Starr spat, and with a sticky phlegm-riddled cough, he was ready.