The figure wore all black, a grey cape circled his shoulders and hung nearly to the ground. Grog, one of the first residents of Ciandian to set foot on Britannia's soil, and now very nearly the last left on Britannia. He had a necklace with a jewel that could be used to summon a portal home. He wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't used it yet. He longed to see the streets of Tyrantopia once again. He also wanted to find out how his rogues were doing.
As the last rays of sunlight died, Grog realized why he hadn't left yet. "I'm not done yet, not by a hunt's time. I followed the WarLord's orders, stayed with the Guards. But they're gone, oh, some still are here, but they're all Britannians." The last word was said with a sneer. "No Britannian could ever really be a Black Guard. Ah, but Grog, you forget yourself. There is one thing that Britannians excel at. They make the finest scum found anywhere. Certainly you could become a prince of this land with their aid. This vacation is certainly looking up."
Grog turned on his heel and survived the grim monolith behind him. "I've no attachments to this place. The Guards can have it for all I care."
And with that. The Lord of Rogues was gone.
...
The Rules - Free broken kneecaps for all violators
The Story Thus Far
Friends and Enemies - Which is better to have?
