Sonneillion's glorious feathery wings were excellent at grabbing attention, but they also served a more functional purpose. The Bitch Queen fluttered his wings and rose off the ground. Roman commented "You know I can't keep up with you when you do that. Just call me to you when you get there."  As Sonneillion flew away, Roman muttered "And on behalf of the imperial city thanks for deciding to fly around wearing a robe and that black lace thong..."<br/><br/>Sonneillion was eager to partake in the preliminary celebration, but he also craved a new project. He had a habit of taking men that caught his eye, enticing them with a few vague promises and honeyed words, then tearing their psyche apart until there was nothing left but the need to serve. From there he would keep them at his side until he had a place to put them, after which they would be deposited and forgotten. Many of the places his cult and retainers were started with just a few cast off toys told to do a job that they would not work toward until the end of their lives. Now, things had improved. He had little need to hide his control over others, and even the dragon blooded were on the table.<br/><br/>While he flew to his destination, Sonneillion kept an eye on the streets below for a choice candidate. He looked for strength, a handsome exterior and come appearance of capeability. Warriors were preferred, and a long dragon blood might be a particularly worthy prize, but he had been known to go for the occasional able-bodied farm boy with a youthful ambition in his eyes. The idea that a farm boy could desire more than his life would likely give him both amused and sickened The Bitch Queen.<br/><br/>If nothing presented itself he would continue on to his destination, certainly he could find a choice prize there. He doubted he would have to wait that long though.