09-21-2018, 03:12 PM
Leilan
a dragon who couldn't be hurt on the outside
could have so many ragged holes inside
could have so many ragged holes inside
He's been sticking around for a few days now, like he promised. Though he still has to find his mother (she lives here, he'd never thought it could be that hard but he supposes that maybe she doesn't want to be found), he had at least found Breckin. So that was a good thing, he supposed, all in all, and in fact, he finds that nothing can shake the golly mood. Which makes him act maybe just a tiny bit like an idiot, but he always was one, so he supposes that's not too different - anyway.
The point is, he's still here, and nosing around the kingdom a bit. His scales don't carry scents so much, but the (tangled by the spring winds) mane on his neck do, and he carries a weird mix of scents that perhaps isn't exactly Nerinian but also can't be described as not-fitting-in; a fading scent of Ischia that will probably still cling to him for the rest of the season, since it's been his home so long, but just might fade if he stays long enough. That all depends on Breckin - the second most notable scent that he carries and isn't entirely his own. So he supposes he's recognizable enough, as one that belongs in here. Even with the Nerinian smell not entirely ingrained.
Like the scent on the giant white he finds today; he's easily spotted (as easily as Leilan himself is, scales reflecting spring sunlight, but even in the shade the metallic gold of his mane and tail don't care to be ignored), and as he approaches, he realizes that wow-this-guy-is-big. Now, Leilan isn't all too fragile himself; squarely built though slimmed down by Friesian and mixed-breed-quarab-like heritage, and standing at a good 16 hands, he could be considered slightly above average in terms of height-comparison. But this is new to him, must be one of those rare breeds that perhaps hail from really violent landscapes?
Blinking at this new discovery, he stops in his tracks and cocks his head at the male. He knows names of Nerinians and their ranks, in theory - but not their faces, and he wonders where this one belongs in the mental list. There aren't that many males holding ranks here, perhaps... oh. Oh, of course. He's such a stupidhead sometimes. Good thing Breckin isn't here to read his thoughts (she couldn't, he's not that emotionally upset right now, but he just likes to exaggerate).
"So. You're what's standing between threats and my loved ones?" He doesn't make introductions at this rate, approaching openly, looking the man over. He's probably capable, at least if there's no magic involved. Circling the big white as if inspecting his scars and muscles, the scaled bay roan snorts in amusement as he finds the clumps of hair on the ground not too far away. "You ánd the fluffy little beasties." he adds, just for entertainment, and watches them as if they'll start moving any second. His eyes a striking emerald green - to anyone who's paid attention in the last month, a clear indication that he's just kidding around and means nothing by it, but yeah. Ardashir doesn't really know him, does he?
The point is, he's still here, and nosing around the kingdom a bit. His scales don't carry scents so much, but the (tangled by the spring winds) mane on his neck do, and he carries a weird mix of scents that perhaps isn't exactly Nerinian but also can't be described as not-fitting-in; a fading scent of Ischia that will probably still cling to him for the rest of the season, since it's been his home so long, but just might fade if he stays long enough. That all depends on Breckin - the second most notable scent that he carries and isn't entirely his own. So he supposes he's recognizable enough, as one that belongs in here. Even with the Nerinian smell not entirely ingrained.
Like the scent on the giant white he finds today; he's easily spotted (as easily as Leilan himself is, scales reflecting spring sunlight, but even in the shade the metallic gold of his mane and tail don't care to be ignored), and as he approaches, he realizes that wow-this-guy-is-big. Now, Leilan isn't all too fragile himself; squarely built though slimmed down by Friesian and mixed-breed-quarab-like heritage, and standing at a good 16 hands, he could be considered slightly above average in terms of height-comparison. But this is new to him, must be one of those rare breeds that perhaps hail from really violent landscapes?
Blinking at this new discovery, he stops in his tracks and cocks his head at the male. He knows names of Nerinians and their ranks, in theory - but not their faces, and he wonders where this one belongs in the mental list. There aren't that many males holding ranks here, perhaps... oh. Oh, of course. He's such a stupidhead sometimes. Good thing Breckin isn't here to read his thoughts (she couldn't, he's not that emotionally upset right now, but he just likes to exaggerate).
"So. You're what's standing between threats and my loved ones?" He doesn't make introductions at this rate, approaching openly, looking the man over. He's probably capable, at least if there's no magic involved. Circling the big white as if inspecting his scars and muscles, the scaled bay roan snorts in amusement as he finds the clumps of hair on the ground not too far away. "You ánd the fluffy little beasties." he adds, just for entertainment, and watches them as if they'll start moving any second. His eyes a striking emerald green - to anyone who's paid attention in the last month, a clear indication that he's just kidding around and means nothing by it, but yeah. Ardashir doesn't really know him, does he?
@[Ardashir] A wild Any appeared! Any uses annoyance!
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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