[div style="width: 45%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]He had explicitly stated that he would make a visit to the group entitled Tanglewood as part of his spreading awareness of the Styx River Order, and he was certain to make good on his words. Toxicwaste was intrigued by the concept of visiting a strange territory, anyway—but he was aware of the fact that Tanglewood was not necessarily the most welcoming group out there. But he wasn't here to strike up immediate friendships. He was here to tell others about the Order and to perhaps initiate a bit of trade to get the ball rolling.

Indeed, he was quite fascinated, his mind running with ideas about the domain of the group...until he stepped into a little puddle of mud that lay...everywhere. Hmm, not the most clean habitat, but he wasn't going to complain. People lived the way they desired to live. The twisting tangles of the marsh was not the place Toxicwaste would reside in, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't the least bit interested. A home was a home, but he was waiting for its residents to take note of his presence. Perhaps the scent of the few mini muffins he held in his jaws would tempt a local to arrive.

[div style="width: 45%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]Often his size was used to his advantage—many believed him to be a puny fighter, and predators barely considered him a meal. However he was somewhat proficient with a sharp dagger, being strikingly precise in a jab. In spite of this, he preferred to talk things through rather than rush in blindly. He was a peacemaker more than he was a vicious warrior, and he believed that perhaps his words would cut deeper than any blade could in his paws. Please, I'm a snack. Just not the one you'd like to eat.

The feline's eerie green gaze settled upon figures in motion, figures that formed what he presumed were the residents of this Tanglewood place, the dark and dank marshlands. Excellent, excellent. Gingerly he would set down the little container of the mini muffins; a gift was a gift, and perhaps these people liked sweet treats. "Hello there. I'm Toxicwaste. Toxicwaste Daremo. Consul of the Styx River Order. That's, eh, the leader." In spite of his resolve and drive to build his mere concept into a potentially successful group, he still felt butterflies in his stomach whenever addressing himself as a dominant. Perhaps because he was never regarded as one, ever.

"I'm here on the Order's behalf to express our state as a new, neutral trading faction. That being said, we don't really take allies in the sense...only business partners." He stopped himself before he would say "or enemies," for then he would be lying. Sure, the Order made enemies...it was expected. But they were not the bloodthirsty ones—rather, they sought to bring about an end to such barbaric groups. "It would be a pleasure to do business to get the ball rolling. If you have anything to offer, of course," the feline went on, a soft smile upon his maw as his weight shifted from one gray paw to another. He looked composed, professional. Yet he was anything but. His support was...crumbling easily, and he feared that he'd have to run the Order alone. Persistence, persistence!

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[div style="width: 45%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]The feline cracked open his jaw to respond to the female's inquiries until his almost hollow hues shifted to those who appeared, in which he shut it slowly and listened to their input. While quite venomous (albeit very true) words were spat at him, his smile was unfading, and he forced himself to hold back a quite amused chuckle. Well, these were warbounds, after all. What else did he expect from these people? A tea party? No, no. And business wasn't his primary reason here—he was here to let them know that there was a new face. In all seriousness, was he really going to initiate trade with...swamp people?

"Ouch, so harsh!" he drawled, rolling his shoulders as he spoke. He looked and sounded like a brat, but often Tox chose not to address his infuriating god complex, a part of him that landed the bastard into countless amount of trouble before, even with mercenaries. Perhaps because he didn't even realize he had one—he was the goddamned Holy One! But of course they wouldn't know who he was. "I'm not going to bore you all any further with details you'll surely ignore. To clarify, my purpose here was not to...strike an offer. Rush in blindly into a swamp to be buddy-buddy with its residents. I was here to announce our presence and begone, out of your hair." So much for the mini muffins. These ungrateful pricks. "I'm not here to ask for any favors from Tanglewood. I'm sure you may understand, eh? Oh, dear, I've...wasted your precious time here, haven't I? Well, don't leave me to drain you of your will to live anymore."

Without another word, the feline promptly turned and began to march out, leaving the mini muffins behind. It was a laughable situation, one that proved just how pompous he was and would be. But the interaction proved nothing to Tox. If anything, it made him stand even a little taller.

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