[Fal-Il turned slightly, shading his eyes unnecessarily as he peered about in an exaggerated manner... before finally looking down.]
Oh! [A flash of shark-like teeth as he grinned obnoxiously.] There you are. Damn, you're a tiny one. Hold on, let me come down to your level. S'only polite, isn't it?
[And... yes, he does actually does adopt a sort of hunched posture: bowed at the waist, knees bent, and still towering over his unexpected companion despite his best (?) attempts. Truthfully, he found this posture quite comfortable, since he had to scramble around like this while dodging the boyscouts best attempts to blow his head from his shoulders. It he really wanted to he could run swiftly on all fours, but even Fal-Il had standards.]
To answer your query, my tiny friend, 'regimented' is putting it very, very, very mildly. We were all part of a psionic network with a very strict pecking order. At the bottom, you had the expendable grunts who didn't even have the capacity for individual thinking. [Until they did, but that was his sister's problem, not his.] Then you had their managers, and then their managers, and yadda yadda yadda, you get the point... but near the top, in the penultimate tier, there was me (and my siblings.).
[The Chosen. A child of the Gods! A chained dog frantically gnawing off its own leg to escape. Either or.]
I had near full access to all flow of information in that network... and now there's nothing. My prime time entertainment, gone! Do you know how hilarious it was, watching the grunts flail around in confusion since the central intelligence that governed tactical manoeuvres was removed? Truly comical. They honestly have nothing in those skulls of theirs except pure devotion to the cause. But alas, I am now a singular entity amongst a sea of other singular entities, so I must find my entertainment elsewhere.
disaster
Oh! [A flash of shark-like teeth as he grinned obnoxiously.] There you are. Damn, you're a tiny one. Hold on, let me come down to your level. S'only polite, isn't it?
[And... yes, he does actually does adopt a sort of hunched posture: bowed at the waist, knees bent, and still towering over his unexpected companion despite his best (?) attempts. Truthfully, he found this posture quite comfortable, since he had to scramble around like this while dodging the boyscouts best attempts to blow his head from his shoulders. It he really wanted to he could run swiftly on all fours, but even Fal-Il had standards.]
To answer your query, my tiny friend, 'regimented' is putting it very, very, very mildly. We were all part of a psionic network with a very strict pecking order. At the bottom, you had the expendable grunts who didn't even have the capacity for individual thinking. [Until they did, but that was his sister's problem, not his.] Then you had their managers, and then their managers, and yadda yadda yadda, you get the point... but near the top, in the penultimate tier, there was me (and my siblings.).
[The Chosen. A child of the Gods! A chained dog frantically gnawing off its own leg to escape. Either or.]
I had near full access to all flow of information in that network... and now there's nothing. My prime time entertainment, gone! Do you know how hilarious it was, watching the grunts flail around in confusion since the central intelligence that governed tactical manoeuvres was removed? Truly comical. They honestly have nothing in those skulls of theirs except pure devotion to the cause. But alas, I am now a singular entity amongst a sea of other singular entities, so I must find my entertainment elsewhere.