The Minotaur stood in the shadows at the back, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible – how successful he was in that goal was up for debate, what with being a pretty damned conspicuous nine-foot tall horned monster and all – and tried not to let the crowd of would be heroes nervous energy get his blood pumping too fast. It was a pretty well known fact that getting a Bull ‘Taur like him too excited was like to end in tears, and though he’d gotten a better handle on things of that nature in his old age it still didn’t do to tempt the Gods. And seeing as he’d somehow managed to get the attention of not one, but two divine beings, he’d decided it would pay to be careful.
Careful. Lot of that going around apparently. A goodly more than half the room had upp’d tails and left at the kings words, no doubt remembering that discretion was the better part of valour. Cowards, some would call them, but not Gentle. No, he was too long in the tooth to be throwing words like that around when people were showing good sense. Hell’s, he just wished he could join them. Instead he watched the young, the able, the smart and the strong line out of the hall, and pondered just how desperate the king and the God’s had to be for them to have to rely on an old, demonstrably-past-his-best-that-wasn’t-even-all-that-good-anyway bull like him. Though he supposed that Torvelt was a desperate country, so he guessed they were in the place for it.
His attention slowly shifted to those wannabe-worthies who hadn’t been dissuaded by the kings words.
First was the serious looking half-elf, she who moved like a chimera. The way those swords sat upon her hip; easy, free, and always within an easy pull, he was willing to bet she was almost as deadly as a chimera too.
After her was a second half-elf, uncommon to see two at once in Koprust. She didn’t move quite so assuredly as the first, though if she spoke true and she did make her living out of the forests of Torvelt then she would be more capable than most. Dangerous things lived in those woods, would take one cold-eyed killer to survive them.
Following them was – rarest of rarities – a Dragonborn. He had an incongruously gentle voice, and a calming demeanor about him that seemed at odds with his reptilian visage, but if the stories of his race where to be believed then it would be a damned fool that underestimated him.
Then there was the dwarf. Didn’t seem like much to Gentle, but then to him most dwarves were barely knee high. He supposed
Solveig looked fit enough, for a midget. Smelled like a condemned brewery though, which wasn’t ideal.
Behind the dwarf there was a human. He looked worn. Battle-worn, age-worn, world-worn, just worn. For a moment Gentle had the uncomfortable thought that if he’d been born human he’d probably look something like the man in front of him. Besides that he didn’t think much of Stur. Humans brought little to the world in his opinion. They weren’t graceful as the elves, sturdy as the dwarves, or strong like the ’Taurs. More like a hells-spawned plague than...
The old Bull felt his blood getting hot and took a breath to calm himself. Probably not all that surprising that even after all this time living among the frails he could still fall back into his old prejudices so easily. Shows that some shackles are harder to break than others.
Stur was stepping back now, sending a wary glance Antraro’s way – showing good sense or displaying common human racism, Gentle couldn’t decide. Regardless he sensed that the time was now upon him to introduce himself. He took a few lumbering steps forward towards the throne, though didn’t bother with the bowing. He’d stopped bending the knee to frails in crowns a long time ago.
Besides, he wasn't as limber as he used to be. If he got down he wasn't all that sure he could get back up again.
“Call me Gentle,” his voice came out like a distant rumble, thunder rolling across far off mountains,
“The God’s have tasked me with finding your boy, so . . . I’m doing it, I guess.” He almost shrugged, slightly embarrassed that he couldn’t have found fancier words. Everyone else had fancy words, even the bloody dwarf. If Apollokeos and Minoas really were watching him he was guessing they were hucking it up right now.
Damage done, he was keen to get out. He cast around and spotted the two half-elves making their way out the door.
“Reckon I’ll follow them.” That rumble of a voice sounded a touch less impressive now as he made after the women, more sheepish than bull.
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GreenGrenade,
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Shin Ghost Note,
Hillan,
Rosellangel,
Lord Wraith
