Cairyn Midore
Use may be fatal.
Was this going to end badly? Probably. Actually, there was probably no 'probably' about that. Cairyn stumbled along with the herd, nearly falling over several times and at points being half dragged at some points of the trek. The hatchlings found him particularly fun to poke at, especially since he didn't offer much resistance. When they reached the huts, he'd nearly crawled in the first one he saw with the intent of sleeping his troubles away. Sleep fixed everything, right?
When forcibly pulled from the hut and marked with that foul-smelling paint, all he could do was judge the artist's designs, something that earned him a firm smack before he was sent on his way with the rest of the slaves. Still out of it and hardly in a position for deductive reasoning, he didn't think to grab one of the better weapons before they were gone. Rather, he sat off to the side, watching the others fight over weapons with a vacant stare until only a metal pole about his height was left. What was he doing, again?
When forcibly pulled from the hut and marked with that foul-smelling paint, all he could do was judge the artist's designs, something that earned him a firm smack before he was sent on his way with the rest of the slaves. Still out of it and hardly in a position for deductive reasoning, he didn't think to grab one of the better weapons before they were gone. Rather, he sat off to the side, watching the others fight over weapons with a vacant stare until only a metal pole about his height was left. What was he doing, again?
[member="Causstik Rahn"] | [member="Vettu'honi'oazi"] | [member="Ra'a'mah"]
