So there I was; seated at the kiddie table in the middle of Castle Exterra, resplendent in my full on bone armor and having temporarily cursed myself with with what was probably a good four decades or so of extra age so that I had my full-on dragon thing going.
Because to be perfectly honest people don't take you seriously as a dragon until you've got proper horns and wings, and they will persist with this delusion until you use your magic fire breath and set their gonads ablaze.
But after having Maleficent duty pinned on me by bitch queen faerie numero uno Rosie the Rapist I had to do my best to look the part. If I was going to have to suffer through this, so was everybody else.
Well, everybody above the age of majority. I may be a trolling asshole that just so happens to be an unwilling agent of the God of Evil Overlords, but I'm not going to cement myself as the sort of mustache-twirling, puppy-kicking Saturday morning cartoon villain that get their jollies by being a dick to children.
So after earning the scorn of the King with a very farty ketchup bottle I had managed to win a small battle in the war of hearts and minds by animating the roast pigeons, having them take up forks and knives as weapons, and work together to bring down the titanic spit-roasted boar.
