Herbalists' Cache sleeping mist

since he arrived in saatsine, he has been a bomb ticking.

tick.

tick.

tick.

now, he erupts. an explosion, one of fury. of emotions pent up. of anger he has fought to swallow in the name of peace. hours ago, he had resigned himself. but now, standing before this man, as he spews his delusions, blackfell can no longer delude himself.

he hears the roar of his amounting anger. he can see the wrath of his kin looking out into
the world from him. blackfell’s teeth clench; lips curling, vibrating with the depth of the snarl that shakes his bones. do you loathe it? he asks, unflinching as sun eater invades his space. if a fight is to come, so be it.

itching, he had been, to flay sun eater’s hide from him while he still drew breath. does it bother you that your wife, his voice does not rise but lowers, a menacing croak, a woman, he spits, holds more respect than you? in the heart of your own clan? his laughter is bitter, and then he snaps his jaws. he dares. he dares sun eater.

attack. bite. let them come to blows. does it grate upon what is left of your tattered ego?

he breathes air.

you are a small man, sun eater. he looks down, past a scarred snout, with burning ruby eyes, upon the eyeless, arrogant scum. you cannot even properly protect your children. so they will not need you.