Andlátkyn; Vandr Sanses unin Alagaësia

King of Cats, Fears of Futures

Werecats. They were here. Blue finally dared to wonder if werewolves in fact, existed as well. He briefly glanced at the others, noting each and every injury with concern. Nasuada seated in formerly Bradburn's throne, dressed in a green and yellow dress with a bandage around her left hand, her senior commander- Jörmundur- had a scratch beneath his right bracer, but thankfully Eragon looked unharmed. Unfortunately he could be hiding injuries elsewhere.

As he quietly cast about, mentally cataloguing injuries, he could hear the trio of humans muttering about how to gain the werecats' support, seeing as they didn't have enough gold to bribe. He considered Eragon's suggestion of cream to be a good start, he knew cat monsters who adored the stuff, though many were unfortunately rather lactose intolerant.

The conversation ended when three trumpets blared just beyond the hall, a nervous page dressed in the ceremonial attire and a staff entering, cracking the glorified stick on the floor and announcing. "His Most Exalted Royal Highness, Grimrr Halfpaw, King of the Werecats, Lord of the Lonely Places, Ruler of the Night Reaches, and He Who Walks Alone."

Blue hummed softly to himself, reaching out to GB behind him. Interesting titles, aren't they?
Fit for a wildcat. GB concluded. They're not domestic.
Most definitely. He agreed, watching as the small humanoid entered the chamber, each step carrying a grace of an untamed feline.

The king was intriguing, to say the least. He was the height of a dwarf, with a pointed chin and bushy eyebrows that were swept back, eyelashes flaring out like wings on either side of his vibrant green eyes, his black bangs nearly encroaching upon them, the rest of his ebony hair going down his back. All he worse was were a leather vest and rabbitskin loincloth, numerous skulls bouncing off the front.

The only weapon he had was a dagger sheathed in his belt, sticking out almost awkwardly. Apart from that, his nutty colored skin was on show, revealing hundreds of scars and missing two fingers on his left hand.

The five strode down the hall with great pride, ignoring the many figures standing along the path, up until they reached Angela knitting a tube sock. Grimrr paused, eyes narrowed as his mane lifted, baring his fangs in a snarl and hissing viciously at her. The herbalist looked up from her work then, regarding him almost in amusement before she spoke.
"Cheep cheep."

The werecat flushed as he faintly recoiled, still mutely snarling as his companions drew back as though ready to leap at her, the soft shing of many blades being half drawn in caution.
Finally, he hissed once again and turned to continue up to the throne, the four others following, though not without one of them batting at a loose strand of yarn.

Dust quietly snorted across from Blue and he glared, the other snickering quietly at the expression before he tugged his scarf up to conceal his mirth. He had it under control by the time the procession arrived before the throne, Grimmr inclining his head to Nasuada.

The voice that spoke was jarring in its depth, GB twitching at it as Halfpaw addressed the woman.
"Lady Nasuada."
She nodded. "King Halfpaw. You are most welcome to the Varden, you and all your race. I must apologize for the absence of our ally, King Orrin of Surda; he could not be here to greet you, as he wished, for he and his horsemen are even now busy defending our westward flank from a contingent of Galbatorix's troops."

"Of course, Lady Nasuada. You must never turn your back on your enemies."
"Even so… And to what do we owe the unexpected pleasure of this visit, Your Highness? Werecats have always been noted for their secrecy and their solitude, and for remaining apart from the conflicts of the age, especially since the Riders. One might even say that your kind has become more myth than fact over the past century. Why, then, do you now choose to reveal yourselves?"