#ryjack

Ryjack boasted about his weapon collection, like it was supposed to impress you. It wasn’t until you felt a clawed hand on your shoulder did you stop tuning him out. You spun around. 

“Careful now, don’t want you impaled on my horn,” Ryjack chuckled. He was referring to the golden one mounted on his chest. 

Like the ones on his face aren’t noticeable. 

“You’re a pretty good warrior, eh?” 

“Yes.” I like to think so.

“Then you’ll make a fine addition to my collection.” 

Cold metal pressed against your nape. Before you could react, the collar closed around your neck. 

“I am here to serve,” you announced, genuflected.