by Sin was hopelessness. It was darkness, despair, and all the melancholy in between. It was a place where no new life could grow, and yet old souls wander the wastelands, eternally wondering when they'll reach the sunny shores of Earthland, and yet their doubts and cries everexpanding. Sin wasn't a country—it was a No Man's Land. It was a place no one really desired to be in, and it was where the wicked or the weak found solace. Of course, these were only bedtime stories. The only thing you'd be sure to find in Sin was a sky that was never blue—only grey with volcanic ash and cinders.
A portal opened, casually stretching into space like a tear in the world itself, and stepping out of it was a man who was so decked with white, dapper clothing that he looked distinctly out of place with the ancient, muted colors in his forgotten surroundings. His face was unblemished and smooth, and his ruby lion-eyes were sharp and bold. His white-blonde hair was that of silk itself as it draped down one side of his face and was neatly slid back on the other. As he stepped into that wasteland, a small but confident smirk fell on his lips, and yet no one was there to see it. He knew as soon as he stepped foot into that dirt that he had arrived in the place no one wanted to go. Prada had arrived.
He stepped into what could only be considered a graveyard, looking around attentively. Although corpses and bones littered the horizon and probably stretched out for miles, he kept on looking for something... specific. Something large, discreet, and full of secrets. He was looking for the "Sin City", as some of his sources of intel coined it, but really it was nothing more than the pathway to indignant visionaries—a bunch of unfortunate fools blinded by their insignificant cause, whatever it was. Prada cared little for their purpose, but ever since their attack on Fairy Tail, he couldn't help but remember the name of their Master with a certain fondness and anticipation. Janet Cindersomething—a rat who liked dragons and made a name for herself as a Warlord. If she was worth her salt and his time, he'd leave today with something of interest to him.
"Ah—there you are." Prada perked up as he caught a glance of the tusked skull of an animal, with its skeleton sprawled over the mounds of dirt, "So my intel was right, huh? How embarrassing." he blew air out of his nose in a silent chuckle, stepping into the skull as it led him further underground than it might have led you to believe.
He walked in darkness for a few minutes before light touched his eyes again, but it was dim and far. When the silver-haired man stepped into the light, he greeted with an interconnected system of pathways sprawling across the terrain, creating something of an underground city. Well, he thought of a city in the most minimum of aspects. There were homes and buildings and sections which he considered to be that of what you'd find in a town stricken with poverty. It was darker than he preferred, and he felt it was as pathetic as the means in which they hide.
He wasted no time in gazing over the dark horizons and crevices that made up this city. In fact, he spared no more than a glance if only to find the path that would lead to a more obvious base of operations, and when he did, he vanished into the darkness once again. Ambling through the thin, wet pathways only lit by torches and lanterns, he finally made his way to a much more... grandiose entrance. It was like a fortress embedded into the wall of stone and dirt itself. Daunting and magnificent, and yet Prada gazed upon it with a conquerer's eye. Whatever this structure was, it was nothing like the city, and surely someone was listening.
"Normally, when a guest arrives, you come and greet them—especially me. Are you listening, Janet? I'm summoning you. And if you're anything like I think you are..." Prada continued, still smirking triumphantly as he pulled out a small, blue lacrima. It glowed a small, blue light when he pressed his fingers against the crystal shape, another small portal opening up just enough to reveal what was inside. It was something as big as a hog, but oval in shape and adorned with a mixture of warm and cool colors, "...you'll greet your guest swiftly."
It was the egg of a dragon.
WC: 770 | Total WC: 770 | WC Needed: ??? @Janet Cinderfeild "" —
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Ah, there she was, Janet Cinderfield in her prime! Or, so he assumed. Being a Warlord, her name was no secret, but her face could be troublesome to point out in a crowd if you asked Prada. That seemed to be such a case for many of the country's villains, many of which basked in the shadows and found joy in being unknown. It was one of the reasons why most people would never end up quite as exceptional as Prada because by choosing to remain secretive, there had to be a conscious acknowledgment that what they were doing was wrong—and even if they were, what was even worse than being wrong was being afraid of the consequences. If you didn't have the guts to face the product of your actions, why make them at all?
