| There is a deeper darkness here than he thought of. He can sense it, feel it within the air. The hound inhales the air, it suffocates his lungs, clinging to the very chemicals that give him life, that make him breath. It wants to kills, it wants to destroy. This darkness corrupts, it manipulates, and it is wild. It gives him a high he has never felt before—a pathway he follows so willingly without question. He knows he is not alone within the forest for too long. The predator senses of this world have shaped him to be sensitive to his surroundings, but it is the darkness that he senses even more. When he has no master he is more aware than ever. The hound is more desperate to find his calling (to find his hunt, to destroy). They are predators like him. Hiding within the shadows, carefully waiting and watching for the right moment to strike. But they are not hunting each other for a meal, they are simply learning about each other in the way they only know how—the only way predators always do. There is a right moment for everything, a moment that must be calculated and action that has to be taken at the correct time. He does not need to call them out. The black wolf waits for them, coming to a halt nearby where the alien waits within the shadows, watching. The clown king is surely around another corner—just a little closer and he will be there surely to reveal himself. It is within a couple moments of his standstill that she reveals herself, a creature of the night, a creature of not this world. She is something quite different from them all (a completely different species, perhaps a god of some sort). He does not feel fear from her, not even the knife-tail that flicks around her heels casually. A wolfish green appears from ear to ear across his jowl. “Marvelous,” he says with admiration. He cannot help but admire such a thing that she is—a thing he has never seen before, a thing he cannot help but wonder what sort of power she can possess and the things she can do. But then there is he, the prowler of the forest that has yet to come out. He turns his gaze away from the xenomorphic. The hellhound does not fear his life will be hindered in the presence of the alien (at least not now). His red-yellow eyes scan the forest surrounds. “Come out, come out,” he calls. |
@[Modicum Mortem] @[Nexu]
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Most likely always in his hellhound form