Blackfoot Forest all gods dispense suffering without reason

enchanting.

enchanting? she finds the idea of being in the presence of a warlord enchanting? who was she? nevermind that he's not a warlord ...but for all intents and purposes here and now he supposes he is. the tale's already been spun and all he has to do is follow the web that mephala weaves for him. he laughs. the sound is short but amused and jovial. you are strange. spoken in bewilderment and admiration; a compliment. most fear the title of 'warlord'. but then again she hasn't, for one moment, stricken him as falling into the category of 'most'.

he's not sure of the foreign words she uses but can piece together something of a rough translation by the sentences she uses them in and their placement. you think i'm captivating? it's less of a question and more of a teasing statement. how it flatters his ego. wintersbane's always been a vain beast and he would nourish himself on compliments like the nectar of the gods if they were actually sustainable. maybe i'm dangerous, he offers her with a lofty shrug of his broad shoulders, studying her reaction. there was no doubt that he was dangerous — fib about being a warlord aside.

...but then again, dangerous might just be exactly what you need in a bodyguard. there is a part of him that is all too eager to remind him that he's not a mercenary for hire anymore ...but that part is squashed. resolutely. he already knows he'll guard ...guide? her through the forest. she's intriguing, and there's something about her that strikes him as pure and damn it all if it doesn't draw him in like a moth to a flame. in a way, she reminds him of his dark priestess. not entirely, of course. but there must be something about this woman that calls to wintersbane the same way that relmyna does.

he doesn't think too much on it, instead shutting out his inner contemplations.