<strong>Name:</strong>Malchovitch Pain<br/><strong>Location:</strong>: Great Plains<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open<br/><hr/><br/>Ah, the open fields of lush, green grass, always a light breeze to make seem inviting and relaxing. Truly, it had to be the most peaceful place to rest one's head on the ground. Well, that was when there wasn't a war going on upon it, anyway. Even so, Malchovitch Pain found himself lying on his back against the grass, arms folded behind his head as he looked up at the clouds, forgetting for a while that he was in a war. Ever wary, though, he kept a dagger close to his side, and another sheathed at his side, though he had hoped not to find a use for them.<br/><br/>While watching the various clouds drift by, his mind reflected about his status and duties to house Schwarchen. He was a warrior, first and foremost; he would never forget that. Yet what else was he? He liked to have fun, for one thing, and he liked to at least attempt to woo the ladies, though he never truly did put much effort into it. Was he a killer? Sure, he had to do it before, but they were always criminals within his country's own borders; did that count? Most people seemed to think not, but it was always up in the air for him. He had to think then and there whether or not he truly would plunge his dagger into that of a Weiwyrm soldier if he had to. Perhaps, as a warrior, that was not his choice, but the choice of a superior.<br/><br/>Whatever the case would be, Malchovitch figured that he should ponder about it at a later time, lest he brood for too long and forget where he was. Closing his eyes for just a few moments, he opened them back up, and swore he saw the figure of the Red Eyes Black Dragon within one, but maybe it was just his imagination. Slowly, he sat up and bent his knees, resting his arms upon them as he looked down at the dagger on the ground next to him. He didn't quite want to rise to his feet, as he didn't have anywhere he was ordered to go, and relaxing just felt too nice.