“My lord!” shouted a scrambling soldier, armor clanking against itself loudly and sudden sunlight harsh against Yuan Shao’s eyes. A flicker of anger was seen in his eyes, replaced immediately by casual carelessness. At the moment, Yuan Shao was seated atop a royal throne, strands of golden silk adorning bright emeralds and other jewels. A group dressed in yellow sat before him, discussing tactics on how to being even more glory to his family name; and conquer the land.
“Yes yes! Be quick, will you!?” Yuan Shao spat, pale hand flicking outwards to lash an incriminating index finger towards the frantic messenger.
“C-Cao Cao has returned! In fact, a messenger dressed in blue just spoke with me. Cao Cao is requesting your audience. He’s outside our gate! My lord, what should I do!?”
Silence. It was absolutely powerful. Cao Cao.. he was the only one that could ever make Yuan Shao’s blood boil lik this. Thin lips curled into a distressed snarl. At last, Yuan Shao spoke. “Grant him what he wishes, bring him directly into this tent.”
The man sped off, and Yuan Shao returned his gaze to the gaping strategists and sons of his. “What!? Be gone with all of you as well!”
In unison, the group nodded and bowed, then left Yuan Shao by his lonesome self.
And outside the gates to the encampment he was. Strewn with silken indigo threads lined in gold trimmings and defensive plates of armour, Cao Cao sat calmly upon Shadow Runner’s back. Without physically viewing the face of the noble Yuan, he could estimate how the conversation went and he could choose only one of two outcomes; Cao Cao was either turned away or accepted into Yuan Shao’s presence. Of course, he’d be a fool to turn him away at such a crucial point in time. Dong Zhuo’s fervent tyranny needed to come to an end and quickly. If Yuan Shao was to deny his company due to past misunderstandings and pride like the peacock he was, then Cao Cao was certain to make his grave mistake as publically humiliating as possible.
Luckily for Yuan Shao, however, his presence was accepted.
As the canary-clad messenger came running back out, he fell to a knee before the valiant black steed, lowered his head and pushed one of his fists into the palm of his hand respectfully. Relaying the positive news, a triumphant smirk splayed across Mengde’s lips.
His right foot slid out of the stirrup and swung over the back of the horse allowing him to successfully dismount with the reins still in his hands. Passing them off to one of his standby units, Cao Cao moved around the crouched herald and proceeded towards Yuan Shao’s tent. The guards before it stepped back and straightened up, though without a second’s delay, Cao Cao’s skilled hand lifted above his own head to push the flap out of the way to move into the tent. Ah, what a change of atmosphere. If the noble’s super-inflated ego wasn’t felt from the gate already—which it most definitely was—then it hit him in the face the moment he stepped into the tent. A throne specifically crafted for his royal behind on the battlefield. How like him.
“Old friend,” he greeted as his feet halted. For politeness’ sake, Mengde bent at the waist in a shallow bow, however there was a certain amount of mockery and cynicism in his voice with his initial greeting. “By now I’m sure you’re aware of the oppression at hand. Something must be done.”