Ronin Taliesin
but they haven't seen the best of me
Ronin Taliesin has been a king. He’s been a captain of an army. He’s died, for fuck’s sake, and he still manages to nick his hand on the knife. It’s not deep, and it barely even hurts, and he’s still extra as all fuck about it. ”I’m blaming you for this,” he informs his astral projection, dismissing it out of spite and using one of the bandages to wrap up his pitiful cut. That done, he glances around and spots everyone... pretty busy, actually.
So naturally, Ronin does what Ronin does best: he gets up to shitfuckery.
Sunjata, being his closest friend out of this bunch of ruffians, is the unfortunate lucky receiver of his attention, and he jostles the Arbiter as he pads up behind him. ”You can do it, Jata!” he pipes up, giving his shoulders an encouraging rub, like a coach before a boxing match.
Ronin runs out of things to do, so he goes to bother Sunjata and cheer him on.
So naturally, Ronin does what Ronin does best: he gets up to shitfuckery.
Sunjata, being his closest friend out of this bunch of ruffians, is the unfortunate lucky receiver of his attention, and he jostles the Arbiter as he pads up behind him. ”You can do it, Jata!” he pipes up, giving his shoulders an encouraging rub, like a coach before a boxing match.
Ronin runs out of things to do, so he goes to bother Sunjata and cheer him on.
