| He slips through the bends and twists of the forest. The forest has become a familiar place to him, perhaps it was a place he might considered to be a home. Often it has become a hunting ground as well, but he finds himself lingering towards the outer edges of the forest now and into other common lands. It is the hunger that drives him outwards, to fill his aching hunger. It is the hunger now that he scavenges through the forest. He takes on a familiar form—but it is no wonder he does not linger in his equine form. Sinner had been born in the form of a hellhound pup. He had been an omen, a message from hell for his necromancer father, Rodrik. It was a warning to return to his ways—the dark master never forgets his little puppets ever. The hellhound holds his form, shape and shifting into a wild beast. It is an instinct that is ever nonetheless natural to him. He is black as the night with red and yellow glowing eyes—always craving blood, flesh and bone. The belly of the hunger is never entirely fed—often it is more than meat it craves, but chaos and discord of the world. Thus, when he sets eyes upon the sandy-colored wolf, he feels a sense of kin-ship. It is natural for him to feel a bound towards others. The pack always finds one another (something he has grown accustomed to from the beginning of his time here), but he also has a tendency to serve others that hold closer to the dark side of the world. After all, he is simply a slave to the masters that harbor darkness and destruction. Sinner lets out a low growl to the sandy creature. It is a greeting more than anything, letting the other one know he is there. Some hounds were more territorial. Sinner had found that out, but he had been the winner in the end of the brawl. “Well, well,” he says with a large smirk crowing across his black muzzle. A wolfish grin appears from ear to ear now. “What do we have here.” His tone is callous as always, and it is no different when speaking to the wolf. |
@[Crevan]
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Most likely always in his hellhound form