Life, Grim decided suddenly, was more trouble than it was worth. His judgement was possibly clouded by the fact he'd just spent the last four hours in state of utter panic while one of his enemies played a game of hide, seek, and cause as much physical and mental torment as she could before she got bored. As per usual, Grim was on the recieving end of it all. It wasn't much to ask for a quiet existence, was it? One which didn't involve massive amounts of pain and torture? The unfortunate quetzal would have liked to spend the rest of his days quietly trying to find The Artist and hoping that there was some way to bring the sanity back to the rest of the Laughing Pantheon. He was assumed to be as mad as the rest of them, everyone thought so. It was a rare person that would vouch for the sanity of the god of war.
After a moment or two of being slumped against one of the black stone buildings of he gingerly pushed himself up, wincing as pain shot through him. This hadn't been a good day as far as days went, tortured, cast aside like an over-used voodoo doll, having to pick up the pieces and drag himself back to the old forgotten library where Arrats usually was. The oracle was the only person he could turn to nowadays. His followers were all but gone and the ones that weren't were after his blood, and the rest of Inkling thought him as mad as the rest of the gods. It wasn't an admirable situation to be in, really. Now, if he could only figure out how to move without falling over...
(Failish as per usual. Just trying to get some short RPs out there to help my muse~ ;3)