i like your outfit mr polarbear

Ithiel de le Poer · 01-13-2012, 04:14 AM

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TL;DR -- Ithiel nods, speaks, offers to hunt however which way. x_x;;

Ithiel is by Kitty!

The initial woman, the one of tawny fur and seafoam green eyes, did not assert her dominance. Ithiel did not find this odd, but neither did he relax his own submission, as he was accustomed to presenting himself as a subordinate. Such was not an insult to Ithiel, for the dusky coyote knew he was meant to serve, first and foremost. No matter what golden dreams came to him in the night, he would always be a follower. The dreams, enticing as they were, could be nothing more than idle fantasy. Ithiel lacked the decisiveness required of a leader, among other necessary characteristics; additionally, he was sorely lacking in charismatic appeal. He was not a man to inspire loyalty toward himself; rather, he offered his own with his oath, both of which had been pledged to Inferni. He had pledged to serve the clan, and as his new companion exceeded him in rank, he was bound to serve her.

She introduced herself as Omni, to which the dusky coyote nodded, offering little more. He was not surprised by a lack of introduction for the woman's horse -- some chose not to name their beasts of burden, after all, and Ithiel himself had considered stripping Lystra of her name and all else that personalized the unruly mare. However, the dark-hued man had decided, in the end, it was easier to refer to the chestnut mare as some name rather than just "you beast" or some variant thereof. She seemed, however, rather impressed with his bird -- to this, the faintest flicker of a frown crossed the dust-hued man's muzzle, and he averted his crimson-hued eyes, looking pointedly in the direction of the mansion.

Zedekiah? He is but a turkey vulture, and I cannot take credit for his obedience, the coyote offered, uncharacteristically quick in his response. Ithiel was never one to take credit for actions not his own. The dust-hued man listened intently as the higher-ranked female explained their purpose, nodding his head a few times to show he understood. The sounds of another approach, however, did catch his attention; the Praeses found himself peering in the direction from whence he'd arrived. He saw a coyote he thought he recognized -- perhaps from the meeting or some other encounter on Infernian soil. She was very small, and Ithiel at first thought she was a child. Soon, however, he saw she was simply small, perhaps due to her coyote heritage. Ithiel's crimson eyes regarded her sharply, and he saw at once she was either extremely low of wolf's blood, or entirely free of it.

Such a thing was to be admired by Ithiel, who found himself appreciative of such a presence within hybridized Inferni. Even if he himself carried the blood of a wolf, it mattered little in the choice of his lifestyle. He'd shed the blood of those who threatened Scintilla; he was not a murderer and he did not seek to exact his vengeance on the species through genocide or any other means. He did, however, find the appearance of one heavy with coyote ancestry pleasing. He had started wondering if such a thing existed within Inferni, this place of cousins and hybrids and cousin-hybrids. It was good to know there were still true coyotes -- at least, in appearance and apparent ancestry -- within his father's clan.

Afternoon, he greeted the jade-eyed woman, offering her the same bow of his head. Her casual demeanor told the dusky coyote she, too, exceeded him in rank. Faced with two women, both of whom apparently outclassed him, Ithiel might have seemed prone to balk, or at least show some indication of sourness at serving beneath women. For his belief in superiority, the multi-hued coyote accepted this would-be conundrum easily, his countenance retaining every ounce of impassivity it had previously possessed. His ears remained turned in interest, though he kept them below the rising ridge of his hair. The dusky man again introduced himself with the same stiff politeness as he had with Omni, again inclining his head toward the shorter woman. Ithiel de le Poer.

The dusky man was quick to return his attention to their companion, who repeated their purpose. Ithiel surveyed the tools of the tawny woman for a long moment, appraising the bow and arrows with a cautious eye. He preferred his own, of course, but these were of solid enough craftsmanship. For his part, Ithiel would hunt in whichever form his companions seemed to prefer. He was capable of felling prey by arrow or by foot. He had not done the latter in some time, and he thought it might be good to stretch the muscles of his four-legged form. After this considerable pause, the man turned his gaze from the bonny assortment of weaponry and back toward Omni, their presumed leader for this expedition.

He had appraised her as one with a generally sunny disposition, as she'd shown them nothing but politeness thus far. It was evident Omni was older than Ithiel, and the dark man had noticed the deep scar in her leg, spelling out a word Ithiel did not utter except in the most dire of circumstances. The dusky man had chosen to politely ignore its existence, and figured he would never know its story, being too well-mannered to inquire directly upon the wound's cause. It was a curious choice of wound, though he understood the meaning of such brandings well enough. Part of him wondered if Omni had earned her brand, whether it spoke true. It was true canines judged unfairly and it was to God alone to pass the final verdict of their souls, but often enough, such brands were well-earned.

However you wish me to hunt, I will hunt, he said, rather simply. The arrow is a good way to hunt, but as our eldest ancestors, I hunt on my feet as well as my bow. There was a momentary pause, and the man decided to speak of Lystra, although he was hesitant to deal with the horse again. If you wish, I will saddle my horse. Though I must warn you: she is an ill-tempered beast, and we'll have to keep a distance between your horse and mine. His voice was grave, emphasizing the seriousness of Lystra's temperament. Ithiel truly needed to procure a different type of bit for the horse; the hackamore simply did not afford him enough control over the blonde equine. Perhaps if he had some different type of bit, something truly uncomfortable, she would heed her master's words.

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