05-09-2019, 07:37 PM
Since ambassadors aren’t functioning positions anymore, and since Crow Roux was an unambitious milksop, Leroy made the voyage out of his own will.
The islanders of the Typhoon were the last bunch of fools around here that the mongrel held any shred of respect for - save his swampy home of Tanglewood, of course. It was because of this, that he left the comforts of his foul-smelling irradiated bog and daringly ventured to the lush isles that the Typhoon claimed as their own. Numbers were scarce, and any amount of companionship amidst the two, even by the most minimal degree, would be greatly appreciated.
In the past, the Rosebloods proved themselves to be callous murderers. No matter the sheer amount of effort that a certain dragon is putting into clearing their group’s name, the handful of Tanglers who had their lives abruptly cut short by Rosebloodites won’t be forgotten. Thus, the Rosebloods could not be considered potentially worthy allies.
Elysium, on the other hand, brought nothing to the table. Literally nothing. The guardsman could not recall a single achievement in recent history made by those philanthropists. Hence, it was impossible to see Elysium as a potentially worthy ally.
The Pitt was an obvious no. As far as the hound understood, Tanglewood was victorious in their last bout with the Pitt. The desert-dwelling psychopaths surely desired a second round, putting Tanglewood at risk of a surprise attack. But, as long as the Pittians sucked as much as they did last time, any assault launched by them wouldn’t have that large an impact. The Pitt were undoubtedly incapable of being potentially worthy allies.
But everybody hated the Pitt, right? Hence, as long as both tribes followed the age-old enemy of my enemy demographic, his creed and Goldenluxury’s cronies could learn to get along nicely.
Once he assumed that his coordinates were well inside the Typhoon’s boundaries, the male’s towering figure collapsed into a seated position neath the shade provided by a tall plant. Heavy panting replaced the usual shaky breaths, whilst heavy eyelids dropped lower and lower; a swamp’s climate drastically differentiated from a tropical island’s. Sunbeams burnt whatever spare energy his body generated, and as a result, a zealous, gung ho canine devolved into a fatigued, sleepy-ass mutt.
Maybe, if he just shut his eyes for a little bit...
As long as the islanders followed the unfamiliar scent of marshland (and shoe polish) that Leroy brought with him, he’d be fine, and all might go nicely. It would also be swell if they didn’t steal that dainty straw basket of goodies laying beside the slumbersome canine; the wicker hamper was meant for them, after all.
The islanders of the Typhoon were the last bunch of fools around here that the mongrel held any shred of respect for - save his swampy home of Tanglewood, of course. It was because of this, that he left the comforts of his foul-smelling irradiated bog and daringly ventured to the lush isles that the Typhoon claimed as their own. Numbers were scarce, and any amount of companionship amidst the two, even by the most minimal degree, would be greatly appreciated.
In the past, the Rosebloods proved themselves to be callous murderers. No matter the sheer amount of effort that a certain dragon is putting into clearing their group’s name, the handful of Tanglers who had their lives abruptly cut short by Rosebloodites won’t be forgotten. Thus, the Rosebloods could not be considered potentially worthy allies.
Elysium, on the other hand, brought nothing to the table. Literally nothing. The guardsman could not recall a single achievement in recent history made by those philanthropists. Hence, it was impossible to see Elysium as a potentially worthy ally.
The Pitt was an obvious no. As far as the hound understood, Tanglewood was victorious in their last bout with the Pitt. The desert-dwelling psychopaths surely desired a second round, putting Tanglewood at risk of a surprise attack. But, as long as the Pittians sucked as much as they did last time, any assault launched by them wouldn’t have that large an impact. The Pitt were undoubtedly incapable of being potentially worthy allies.
But everybody hated the Pitt, right? Hence, as long as both tribes followed the age-old enemy of my enemy demographic, his creed and Goldenluxury’s cronies could learn to get along nicely.
Once he assumed that his coordinates were well inside the Typhoon’s boundaries, the male’s towering figure collapsed into a seated position neath the shade provided by a tall plant. Heavy panting replaced the usual shaky breaths, whilst heavy eyelids dropped lower and lower; a swamp’s climate drastically differentiated from a tropical island’s. Sunbeams burnt whatever spare energy his body generated, and as a result, a zealous, gung ho canine devolved into a fatigued, sleepy-ass mutt.
Maybe, if he just shut his eyes for a little bit...
As long as the islanders followed the unfamiliar scent of marshland (and shoe polish) that Leroy brought with him, he’d be fine, and all might go nicely. It would also be swell if they didn’t steal that dainty straw basket of goodies laying beside the slumbersome canine; the wicker hamper was meant for them, after all.