( Open to whoever. )
' Settle down, Moped. '
A sharp yank was applied to the bit hanging out of the skeletal warhorse's mouth; instructing the trained creature from the nether to lower down to it's knees. His emaciated, cadaverous form lowering to the ground beside the unfortunate creature to attain a seated position on the side of the road that runs from Mok'Nathal Village to Ruuan Weald in the Blade's Edge Mountains, Outlands. Nestled in the mountainous range parallel to the Death's Door; with his Felguard Jhuuthun to stand alert beside him throughout the night_ the risk of an attack by the Alliance is minimal.
And so he begins to lapse into the alternate dimensions of nihilism he entertains so frequently; introduced to these levels of his subconscious by the struggle to acquire control against his demons during the time he made his transition from Infection into The Grim. The sensation is lulling; smearing what troubles exist into a bleary euphoria; for the greatest temptation of demonology is ignorant bliss, and this is something Kahl has succumbed to. The loneliness dissolves; sick and disturbing frustrations losing clarity. No regrets.
Another iconoclast sleeps; amidst the raging of wars, falling of kingdoms and defilement of virtue. Surrounded by many; yet alone_ in his own weave of illusionary idealities.