<div class="floatleft">(http://www.theshiznit.co.uk/media/2015/April/AvengersGrimm1.jpg)<br/><strong><strong>Character Name/Alias</strong>: Rumplestiltskin<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Eastern Continent, Mideast Desert Region<br/><strong>Current Action(s)</strong>: Overseeing aftermath of a victory<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Snow White (via magic mirror)</strong></div><br/><div style="text-align: right;">The desert was hot. Irritatingly so. Even for someone of his level of power, it was a source of annoyance. As a Djinn such things were trivial, not bothersome in the least. His freedom had changed so much about him. The amount of power he could wield was so limited, it felt like an addiction trying to find more sources. Anyone wishing for the slightest thing was instructed to come directly to him if the amount of magic he would expend to grant their request would be less than the amount generated by the sealing of their deal via enchanted handshake.<br/><br/>He stood atop a massive sand dune and watched as the surviving soldiers of his new army he had built up from those either too afraid to oppose him (afraid for their families he had threatened if not for their own lives) or those who saw his power and envied it, wishing to serve what they saw as the winning side in this war. Whatever opposition had arrived and stood in their path had met their end, either by the swords of his vassals or, when he was dissatisfied losing so much of his cannon fodder that he depended upon for recharging his own power, he would cause a tidal wave of sand to engulf them, or rain down fire upon them if he wasn't in the mood to be stingy with his reserves of magic. The displays of his wonders would either wipe out the enemy or make them fall to their knees in surrender. He was merciful to a point; those that could prove useful to him as warriors and of course willing fonts of deal-making energy were spared, though not until after their eternal devotion was burned into their souls with a deal. Those who led the armies against him, unfortunately, whether they turned out to be cowards or not, had to be made an example of and so when Florian, Snow White's beloved, attempted to run him through, Rumplestiltskin caught the tip of the sword between his fingers and magically caused the blade to reverse out through the hilt and impale the brave warrior through his chest.<br/></div>Florian's body could not even be recovered to be given a proper burial or funeral. He was unceremoniously rolled into a mass grave Rumplestiltskin had ordered his soldiers-slash-slaves to dig. He had them dig it deep, too, because this was the desert and a sandstorm could either unearth or bury further a mound of bodies, and he didn't want them ever emerging from the ground again. Those who stood against him were to be forgotten, so that all thought of resistance would be encouraged to cease.<br/><br/>The desert now belonged to him. It was almost sinfully easy to make deals out there. If a thousand peasants asked for rain, he could expend a trivial amount of power to bring on a monsoon and placate every single one of them in one go. It actually served his purposes well; he wanted a dark cloud to announce his presence everywhere he planned to march his armies. Where should he conquer next? The Southern region? The North? But then, this was still only the Eastern continent. There were three other major land masses to make bend at the knee. But this would require assistance. He knew his limits. If he ran low on magic at a critical moment and ran up against opposition of great magic power...such would be an embarrassing end to his campaign. He needed help, from more than these cowardly mortals that had no special skills or power to offer. He would build his power base here, he decided, on the Eastern continent until you could not overturn a rock on a piece of it that he did not own. Word had already gotten around about him, the army from the West had proven that they understood his intentions, but not his capabilities. He knew there would be stronger, more prepared foes to face him. In fact...<br/><br/>He felt as though a pair of eyes were burning holes in his back. Someone must have been viewing him remotely, either through the eyes of a spirit familiar like a hawk, or...oh, of course. He had just killed her beloved, after all. It had to be Snow White, that infamous little minx that took possession of her wicked stepmother the queen's magic mirrors. He turned in the direction he felt the eyes were coming from and gave her a playful grin, winking to let her know he was on to her. He wanted to communicate with her, honestly. If he was to be a King, after all, he ought to have a Queen by his side. And she was quite legendary for her beauty. She would make quite the trophy.