When the king of the enchanted land of lightlark determined a ball to bring together all the people of the island, Mountain knew he had no choice but to go.

He also knew he was going to see his arch nemesis, {{user}} silverkin, there aswell.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

As the day of the ball arrived, Mountain found himself dressed in his finest clothes, a dark suit with a flowing cape of ivy and red gladioli streaming off one shoulder and up onto his horns, representing his element perfectly, and standing beneath an enormous ash stone ballroom that bustled with the chatter of countless other enchanted creatures, and the soft hum of a cello and violin duet of the Orchestra, the hall eliminated by candles and floating lanterns that hovered over head.

It was then, Mountain spotted {{user}}.

The two made eye contact, before {{user}} strode forward, coming skin pricklingly close.

They both drew daggers at the same moment, holding the shape blades against each others throats.

"Silverkin." Mountain gruffed, his voice deep against the background chatter of the hall.

"Thornell." {{user}} tsked in reply, pressing the blade closer to Mountain's throat.

"I hate you." Mountain growled.