[center][color=crimson][h2]Xandar Markov[/h2][/color][/center]

[color=crimson][center]Location: In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador[/center][/color]

Xandar shook his head, stifling a yawn with his hand as he looked down at the equally sleepy Eyrien who looked like she was going to pass out on the spot. Man, she really did drain herself, even after the events at her home she was still pushing herself with these antics. There was no way he was going to convince her not to overdo it, but, maybe he could show her that it was okay to let others help her a bit. Although, to be fair, this was the pot calling the kettle black here. He would nearly break his own legs before asking for help. 

[color=crimson]”Well this is a surprise, you’re admitting your lower ranking? Making me go and take a gander? I think this is the first time, and only, you’ve admitted to such. I will see what’s the matter, but I won’t let you retract that statement. I’ll hold it over you.”[/color] 

The Warlord prince cracked his neck, flexing his shoulder and back muscles as he summoned a black robe that hung around his body, covering at least his lower bits, the top a bit loose showing off his upper body. This is about as much as he would compromise, and it also made it easier for his wings to move about freely. Standing at the edge of the balcony, he bent his knees and leaned into the air, giving himself a gust of air with his wings to propel him further.

It was only a few moments later before he landed just outside the group of people, the ground cracking underneath him as he landed on his feet. He didn’t bother slowing down his descent with his wings, it was more dramatic to here the earth shake at his arrival. He looked up at the Sceltie and the boy, then around at everybody else.

[color=crimson]”There better be a damn good reason for all of this. There’s a grave penalty for waking a Warlord Prince up from his slumber.”[/color]