Finvara, Scion of Clan Eladan, Crown Prince of the Tuath.
He’d always made a point of ensuring that his every entry was a performance. Memories of hazy evenings, starlit dancing, and the occasional disapproving look from the more staid members of the court drew a giggle from the grey-skinned man’s lips, bubbling forth deliriously as he lay languidly on his back, eyes cast lazily up at the grey sky.

A grey man lying on the grey grass of a grey world. It suited him, even if the nagging quiet vibrated defiantly around the edges of his body, tingling at the tips of his fingers and inching its way up his neck to rest nestled within his sharply pointed ears. He imagined it coiling around his antlers, parting his lips as it entered his mouth before sinking its barbs down his throat. A sensuous kiss from the void that surrounded him.

Whatever he’d been attempting to pass as a straight face split into a sputtering fit of uproarious laughter at the maudlin melodrama he’d conjured. Of all the things he expected to feel at the end of the world, boredom had to be near the bottom of the list. If it made the list at all. It was only natural that he’d want to pass at least some of the time composing ham-fisted drama for an audience of one. Groaning theatrically as he pushed himself into a sitting position, Fin looked around. His surroundings remained inconsiderately unchanged. Wasn’t this place supposed to do what he wanted? All the effort the planet put into not letting him die and it couldn’t be bothered to leave something for him to do? Seemed pretty godsdamned selfish if you asked him. Granted, if there was someone around to do the asking, he would probably have a lot less to complain about. With a final glance at the empty spot beside him, he grumbled his way to his feet.

It was impossible to know how long he had lounged in the dead forest’s indifferent embrace, with the occasional crackling of falling branches for company. No point in dwelling on it, of course. Nothing to be done, nothing to worry about as far as he was concerned. The reminder tempted him to lie back down, it couldn’t hurt to steal a few more naptime hours beneath the tired sky.

The light that pierced the veil of clouds caught Fin off guard while he pondered this weightiest of decisions. A sharp hiss passed through gritted teeth as he squinted. The novelty of the new arrival was enough for him to forgive its violent intrusion into his retinas. Instinctively he dashed into the beam because why not? It’s not like he had anything more interesting to do.

With a strange dizzy sensation, Bacchus was gone, replaced by a dark and bizarre maze of stone and glass. Was it stone? Who the ******** knows. Even the glass was wrong here. The startled yelp of a passerby pulled him back to himself as he registered a pinkish (at least it looked pinkish in the shadow) alien gawking at him. He vaguely remembered the species, he couldn’t say where from, but clearly they were easily spooked. With the slightly crazed glee that came with a long unsatisfied itch for mischief, he skulked toward them in a practiced slink, the product of centuries haunting the edges of the forest. After all, a legendary beast could hardly walk like the villagers who revered him. You had to maintain an air of mystery, after all. If the alien’s reaction was anything to go by, he already knew that his silhouette was so much more exciting than anything else on this planet and as the strange being fled, he knew he’d given them a great story.