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He had come south with the herd of Kalona on their rampage. He had fought with them, and he had slain many as was his nature. He had been born for war and fighting. The scars on his back now had brothers, the marks of talons, hooves, and blades. In the end though, scars did not matter. They had still lost the war.

They had broken up into pieces and scattered across the Kawani lands to survive. Maybe there would come a time again when they would rise again with better plans to overcome the Kawani lands. This time they would not underestimate them, they would know who they were fighting so fiercely.

Since then, he had done odd jobs here and there as a mercenary. It was all he knew how to do. He was no herdsman, no grower or healer. He was the sword of death. It was not common for Soquili to travel down that path--so the job proved to be quite lucrative indeed.

The trinkets were buried away, enough to buy him the things he wanted. Perhaps, he had more than enough to live on for long months or years, but the urge to fight was too strong for him to rest. Instead, he kept to selling his skills. He liked the danger of it, how it called to him...

Charon was the name he had taken in the Kalona herd, his birth name lost from the tongues of others long ago. Ferryman they had called him, sender of souls. He had been delighted by it.

He had heard the whispers that someone was looking for him--a mare. It was why he waited here in the shelter of the trees for her to come. He knew that she would be close--sources had told him that. He would hear out what she wanted, though it really mattered little as long as he was paid.

Charon appraised her with cool blue eyes. She had come to him alone--either brave or foolish, perhaps a bit of both. He liked the boldness of it. He waited for her to finish speaking before he began, "I am. But your station nor your 'divine right' mean anything to me." He looked her up and down again, "What do you mean to offer me, and what do you want me to do?"

He had heard of her. Charon could probably guess at what she wanted--protection. It was doubtful that she wanted anyone murdered or enslaved, she'd think it was beneath her more than likely. The thought made him laugh, like anything was beneath any being. He'd seen the dark side of love and the deadly side of noble or virtuous. She would, in the end, be no different.

She had ignored some of his more "free" phrasing. It proved that she at least was not arrogant, good. Arrogant employers were bothersome, seldom worth the effort of protecting them.

Quickly, Charon summed her up. Young, collected--probably too trusting but honest. Honest people were easier to work for though far less interesting. He listened to her offer, weighing out her words as much as her offering of goods.

"A good fight," he smiled wickedly as he looked at her. "I'll take what you offer, and you'll have my allegiance. As long as I'm paid, I'm yours." He glanced past her, looking around.

This place had been good to him, but it held no memories--no reason for staying. Far away his items, his wealth were stored away. He would likely never come back here.

His eyes turned back to hers, "And what enemies do you have Daenarys? Do you know them? Or are they only shadows to you still, unnamed?" It would help to know who the enemy was if she knew.

Charon took in her words. Enemies across the sea, but they would come more often than not. Enemies never stayed where you wanted them to. "And this herd of yours? Full of mares and foals? Or are there fighters too?Are there others protecting you too?" He needed to know what he was getting into.

When she asked her question, he thought of summer a year or two past, and the claw marks that raked his skin and that of his two companions. He nodded down to the claw mark on his chest--his oldest scar, "I have." He eyed her again, "I have heard things about you Mother of Dragons, are they true?"

Charon followed her eyes to the sky. The dark black shaped mad lazy circles far above them--he could not tell quite how large, though he had heard that they were still small. This time, the rumours did seem to be true.

He glanced back at her, a small mare perhaps but she was shaping up to be something. There were whispers of her and they would become legend. He did not need the glory, he did not need the riches either--not really. There would be fighting though...and that, that he did enjoy.

"Shadows and whispers," he said as he looked back at her. "That's what I defend you against." A wicked smile broke over his face, "I like a challenge."

Charon looked around at the land that he'd stayed at for the past few months. He thought of the death of some of his friends, the breaking apart of the would be conquers. They had failed in that, and he had left that place behind. This place, it didn't matter. Or the place before. Or before. Not even home, which some put such stock in.

"I was only waiting for you here, I've been done here for days." He eyed the mare again, "I guess I should meet this herd of yours, and your dragons." His eyes drifted lazily back to the sky.

Charon gazed at the creatures in wonder. It was one thing to hear tales of a dragon, but to see one was something. To see three....He could not help but be impressed with the creatures that landed before him. Green, Red, and a large black all summoned by one command of their name.

They were small now, though as large as a familiar easily. They would grow though until they was so small that he could walk down their throats. How long would that take? Days? Weeks? Years? Even centuries? He hoped to live to see it.

"Mother of dragons," he said it kindly. "You've earned something from me that many have not nor ever will, my respect." He looked on her with new eyes, this was going to be an adventure--the kind to pale all the other adventures he'd been on before.

Excellent.