Lion Head Mesa (ap) I wish you nothing but the gentle kiss of yellow piss.

The crimson beast was back. He had grown in volume to a belligerent bellow. It was clear that he demanded the attention of all who would lend it.

Arsenio moved, hackles bristling, to stand in the path between the drunken stranger and the gold-touched Pharaoh of Akashingo. Shoko was there, emboldening the Greek with his sturdy presence. The blue-eyed wolf was pleased that he had managed to bring the loner into their fold, pleased that he had another there that he did not feel so strange around. In that moment, Arsenio was pleased that he had the brawn of another warrior beside him.

The redstone figure drew his head up. His lip curled up, revealing his fangs to the drunkard.

You’ll stop your shouting now. You want to keep your throat, hm?

Arsenio felt sorry for the fool.

Come to the Pharaoh now, come on. Quietly.