Wick
Harbinger of Fresh Produce. Such as Cheese.
A few hours past, and Tartarus' senses began to clear up. He was slowly becoming more aware of what was happening around him. Had they forgotten to put him under this time? He sighed, and for the first time in a while, a small gust of frosty air billowed from his nostrils. He turned his head a bit, looking as a small group came into the dragon holding area, following a tall, slim, man in a dark grey trench coat, and a somewhat ripped fedora. Tartarus was going to simply blast them all with a wave of frozen breath, but something made him hesitate. The man gave off a sort of aura, it calmed Tartarus. Calmed him in a way that made him sit still and obey his will as the man approached him, eyeing him for a moment before nodding.
"This one." He began to move along, but through the muzzle, Tartarus made a short grunting sound that caused the man to stop and turn around again, looking at him for a moment. "Be patient. You'll be out to kill yet." With that, he turned back around and continued into a small tent a short ways away.
"This one." He began to move along, but through the muzzle, Tartarus made a short grunting sound that caused the man to stop and turn around again, looking at him for a moment. "Be patient. You'll be out to kill yet." With that, he turned back around and continued into a small tent a short ways away.
