Vasha "Charles" Hadun
Death's Hand
"Assassin of the Night,
Keeper of the Bar,
People try to live honest,
But they don't get far"
Vasha sighed and shook his head. It seemed Lot had given up on his little plan rather quickly....well atleast he wasn't dumb enough to try to keep up the charade any longer. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Zidane sneaking around the gardens, skirting along the very edge of the perimeter to make sure he wasn't spotted. Turning his attention back to the mass of worms Vasha groaned and face palmed
"ok first of all...nasty....secondly...WHY ARE YOU TELLING US YOUR PLAN!? There are like 3 of us here, two of which who have wings! Do you know how easy it would be to just go warn everyone about your plan now? because you just explained it step by ******** step!? and third your plan sucks! Not only does it assume you could defeat us...well...defeat me! Your also assuming that one princess, ON HER OWN, would be strong enough to simultaneously go to war with, and defeat, all of our home countries, despite the fact the whole reason we're even here is because this kingdom is too ******** weak to survive on it's own!" Vasha ranted
"your plan is stupid! you're stupid! STOP BEING SO STUPID!....ughhh!" Vasha raved, his annoyance suddenly brimming over into full on rage for some reason. Normally he expected amateurs like Lot to have idiotic plans, so why was he so angry all of a sudden?
With a sigh Vasha shook his head, trying to clear his mind of whatever had come over him, before turning his attention back to the mass of worms writhing on the ground. As Lot spewed his...worm juice...all over the place Vasha quickly dashed forward, the juice flying straight through him. As he approached the writhing humanoid mass Vasha leapt up into the air and reached into his vest, pulling out a porcelain flask full of alchemist's fire. As he cleared over the creature he tossed the flask down, which shattered on contact, and as the liquid inside touched the air it erupted in a small, blazing inferno.
"present for you a*****e" Vasha taunted, noticeably waiting until
after his attack had already landed to do so, as not to give away his intentions. The alchemist's fire burned hotter smelted iron, and the strange liquid had a bad habit of clinging tightly to whatever it touched like glue (essentially medieval napalm). As Vasha landed he took a few tenative steps back and looked up at the angel who was carrying the queen's sister up and away
"hey a*****e! get back here with the princess!" the jester called out, still not trusting the other suitors.
"So grab a tank a mead,
raise you're favorite flask,
and give three cheers
to the man in the mask!"
"Everybody loves the Jester,
Everybody loves the Bard!
But be careful,
one slip up and you'll fall down hard!"