Solrentorro stomped his way through the jungle. He wanted his presence known, demanded it, indignant of his own death and wanting the world to feel the anger he felt at the injustice. The plant beast would never admit Golve Dorath won the challenge to his throne fair and square, but the intentional murder of both him and Aguipua disqualified him from any respect or dignified death of his own. What good did reincarnation do if he couldn't seek revenge on the one who got him killed?
It had taken him a moment to notice the peculiar beast that watched the duo, and he found himself staring back in silence in confusion and fascination. His face was scrunched up in a mix of both his anger and curiosity, likewise studying them as the foreign thing they looked. What was this strange fabric attached to their epidermis? Where are the flowers or bark or thorns or anything plant-like upon them? What was he looking at?
The curiosity strewn on his face dissipated the moment the creature spoke, its question blunt and unbecoming, “Where I come from, people address me as Your Highness, and introduce themself before they even think of asking questions. Regardless of what kind of creature they are,” he hissed. Bad-mannered it was, too. His head was high, the full regality of his petaled mane on display, despite half his mane being crimpled from his lay upon the ground, and the dirt that clung stubbornly to that same side of his body.
"Your Highness?" Sol would lean down to listen to Aguipua's whispered words, though he didn't take his eyes off the creature before him, "Perhaps it would be a good idea to be nice to the locals for more information?" “Oh, black water to that!” Sol rose back to his proper height, “I am a King, King Solrentorro, and it will address me as such. Or it gets nothing,” he says almost challengingly. Or I will be again once i get my paws on Golve Dorath.
He waits for the other's response.