Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-27550231-20170522170711/@comment-25808351-20170527170114

"Is that a fact?" Ahead of Praetor is Marcus, sitting on a stump. He smirks at Praetor as a cirgar hangs from his mouth, burned down to a stub. His sword is planted in the ground not a few inches to the left. The Wardog's eyes are not hostile, but his stare doesn't bring comfort either.