[Center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/743b264c-e31f-479c-a78a-46fd18fa794b.png[/img]
Witch / 401 / Male
[b]Location[/b]: The South Field [b]Tags[/b]: Mark, Ismael[/center]

"Please, just Ceobes is fine." He had hated when the elders before him had enforced such titles. He wasn't a knight or a lord, not by any stretch of the imagination. He nodded at the man's response. "I understand. I believe the modern term is "info diet"?" He gave a dry chuckle. "It's dangerous of them to leave you uninformed like that, especially given our past with these savages." 

Being left in dark could make people turn to other sources for information. Ceobes had resented his coven for giving him the same treatment many years ago. To this day, he still didn't understand it, nor approve of it. 

"If I find anything out, I'll be sure I won't leave you out of the loop."

He happened to glance over at a nearby tree just as a crow landed and looked back at him. Ceobes gained a mischievous smile. "Would you like a quick lesson in transfiguration, Marcus?" 

Ceobes struck his arm out, and a crackling stream of fuschia flew from it and hit the crow square in the chest. It immediately turned into a black chicken, who clucked indignantly and flapped clumsily to the ground. The chicken quickly shifted into Ismael, who dusted himself off.

"You're hilarious," He griped at the witch.