09-13-2017, 10:11 AM
Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry,
feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
Tell us your name. Tell us your powers. Tell us about how you murdered your grandfather and ate his heart.
Longclaw wonders what they would think. Instead of admission, he tips an ear towards Dhamer and allows his eyes to rove aimlessly over the gathered troupe. Ledger he knew (if you could count one nighttime encounter as ‘knowing’ someone) and to him alone he offers a mischievous wink, should the grizzled old palomino happen to turn that stoic eye his way. The other, rusty-colored stallion he had yet to meet but now is as good a time as any so he lingers briefly over the pattern of criss-cross scars, takes note of those mismatching eyes (involuntarily he shudders, thinking of another horse who sported the same characteristic) and ends the inspection with a short nod.
Dhamer has the jist of it: they’d be spread thin without communication. The fall of Taiga has left the young stallion conflicted. On the one hand, he knew that some of his distant relations had called the place home, but on the other it seemed superfluous information - Taiga was gone and there was no use trying to tie strings together where they didn’t belong. There’s also the pressing matter of his personal interests, whom he’d brought with him after odd trips to the common areas. Ajatar was close at hand, enjoying the new sights for all he knew, but he feels the duress of Femur (perhaps soon to join him, too?) and Diorae on his conscious.
Steps on a ladder of chaos.
It comes as no surprise, then, that he’s the first to push forward and introduce himself. “My name is Longclaw. I hail from Nerine, where my dam Heartfire still holds rank.” The blue-lipped confessions come easily enough (it’s almost too natural to avoid mention of his father) but when the time comes to speak about his powers, he feels a sense of unease. They’re waiting, the three of them, for him to finish and all he can manage is the tepid blink of his eyes.
With a quick sigh he submits. “I’m an animal shifter; wolf. I also possess white fire manipulation.” Longclaw provides. “Think regular pyro, just a different color and much hotter.” The fanged man quips, a smirk transforming his features with the double-meaning behind his short speech. Silence masters his tongue now and with a backwards step, the floor opens up for the next in line.
Longclaw wonders what they would think. Instead of admission, he tips an ear towards Dhamer and allows his eyes to rove aimlessly over the gathered troupe. Ledger he knew (if you could count one nighttime encounter as ‘knowing’ someone) and to him alone he offers a mischievous wink, should the grizzled old palomino happen to turn that stoic eye his way. The other, rusty-colored stallion he had yet to meet but now is as good a time as any so he lingers briefly over the pattern of criss-cross scars, takes note of those mismatching eyes (involuntarily he shudders, thinking of another horse who sported the same characteristic) and ends the inspection with a short nod.
Dhamer has the jist of it: they’d be spread thin without communication. The fall of Taiga has left the young stallion conflicted. On the one hand, he knew that some of his distant relations had called the place home, but on the other it seemed superfluous information - Taiga was gone and there was no use trying to tie strings together where they didn’t belong. There’s also the pressing matter of his personal interests, whom he’d brought with him after odd trips to the common areas. Ajatar was close at hand, enjoying the new sights for all he knew, but he feels the duress of Femur (perhaps soon to join him, too?) and Diorae on his conscious.
Steps on a ladder of chaos.
It comes as no surprise, then, that he’s the first to push forward and introduce himself. “My name is Longclaw. I hail from Nerine, where my dam Heartfire still holds rank.” The blue-lipped confessions come easily enough (it’s almost too natural to avoid mention of his father) but when the time comes to speak about his powers, he feels a sense of unease. They’re waiting, the three of them, for him to finish and all he can manage is the tepid blink of his eyes.
With a quick sigh he submits. “I’m an animal shifter; wolf. I also possess white fire manipulation.” Longclaw provides. “Think regular pyro, just a different color and much hotter.” The fanged man quips, a smirk transforming his features with the double-meaning behind his short speech. Silence masters his tongue now and with a backwards step, the floor opens up for the next in line.
Longclaw
![[Image: sScEgld.png]](http://i.imgur.com/sScEgld.png)