Hjalbir seated himself at his borrowed stool, watching the festivities around him with no interest whatsoever. He was like the mountains of his homeland; grand and majestic, burning cold in aloofess, and supremely glacial in his sheer indifference. His star-metal eyes had the iron glint.
He turned to Lycus.
"The Legion's standards had fallen low, obviously," Hjalbir rumbled, his voice cold and ruthless like a Skyrimese avalanche.
"Gone were the days where every nation quaked from the marching steps of the Empire's red warriors. Now... no use ruminating upon this matter, Lycus. Are you still along for this hunt or will you strike off on your own?"
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I wanna slap people and tell them I love them
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