01-18-2018, 01:04 AM
hold me in this wild, wild world
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
He is not a stranger to reanimated corpses.
Of course, Brennen’s creations aren’t really…corpses. His control extends only to bones, after all, and the flesh doesn’t tend to tag along. He doesn’t usually reach for the recently dead, either. Perhaps his could look like this. He’s intrigued by the figure as it drifts past him, where he stands just inside the tree line, but he doesn’t follow; the bay stallion turns his gaze towards the surf, looking for the puppeteer.
He doesn’t personally know everyone and their traits who reside on the island with him (though he knows them by sight, and smell), but Brennen does know that the girl on the beach is a stranger. A bold stranger, to send the dead scouting into someone else’s Kingdom with so little worry or regard to the wishes of the residents. But it’s a scout, not apparently an attack, so he is lazy in his movement as he approaches her, though that might not be all that reassuring when you take a second look.
At second look, his honey-brown gaze has toughened to amber, cool and hard. His lazy movement is easy slide of scarred skin over defined muscles. His wings are held loosely, ready for deployment, rather than tucked tight against his sides.
Still, his expression is polite; curious even as he approaches, hooves sinking into sun-warmed sand when he halts. “Hello, and welcome to Ischia.” he lets his eyes flick to the treeline and vanished corpse, but only for long enough that she is sure to have noticed. “Do you always send dead scouts into other people’s territories?”
Okay so he’s not going to win welcome committee of the year award, but it was courteous enough. And Brennen has only ever played at being a diplomat – he’s a warrior, a general, a titan. And she is a potential threat.
Of course, Brennen’s creations aren’t really…corpses. His control extends only to bones, after all, and the flesh doesn’t tend to tag along. He doesn’t usually reach for the recently dead, either. Perhaps his could look like this. He’s intrigued by the figure as it drifts past him, where he stands just inside the tree line, but he doesn’t follow; the bay stallion turns his gaze towards the surf, looking for the puppeteer.
He doesn’t personally know everyone and their traits who reside on the island with him (though he knows them by sight, and smell), but Brennen does know that the girl on the beach is a stranger. A bold stranger, to send the dead scouting into someone else’s Kingdom with so little worry or regard to the wishes of the residents. But it’s a scout, not apparently an attack, so he is lazy in his movement as he approaches her, though that might not be all that reassuring when you take a second look.
At second look, his honey-brown gaze has toughened to amber, cool and hard. His lazy movement is easy slide of scarred skin over defined muscles. His wings are held loosely, ready for deployment, rather than tucked tight against his sides.
Still, his expression is polite; curious even as he approaches, hooves sinking into sun-warmed sand when he halts. “Hello, and welcome to Ischia.” he lets his eyes flick to the treeline and vanished corpse, but only for long enough that she is sure to have noticed. “Do you always send dead scouts into other people’s territories?”
Okay so he’s not going to win welcome committee of the year award, but it was courteous enough. And Brennen has only ever played at being a diplomat – he’s a warrior, a general, a titan. And she is a potential threat.
hold me in this wild, wild world
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
BRENNEN