12-29-2010, 10:36 PM
OOC: Yay! ^_^ (Word Count: 384)
IC:
Border patrol calmed the nervous coyote. She walked along easily, dressed casually in one dyed fur piece, a single top that matched her hair. Originally a dusky brown doe pelt, Saraqael had tinted the entire thing green. Pleasant mossy hues now intrigued the eye and a careful one would note that the color became brighter as the skin became paler. It still had some fawn spots on it and every one was precisely filled in with a vibrant blue. The garment tied simply around her neck and at her back in a bikini style, hiding her already barely visible breasts. The rest of her was unclad and uncolored save for her cropped mane.
When she picked up the scent of a foreigner, Saraqael's pace slowed to a halt. The ghostly girl sniffed tentatively but could not recognize the particular odor. It didn't matter – she was only hesitating, delaying the moment when the stranger would have to meet her, obviously Inferni's most ferocious and feared protector. At four feet and ten inches and skittish as a mouse, she worried that someone, specifically a wolf, would perceive her as weak and make to assault their lands, not to mention her frail form. There was not room for cowards in Inferni, though, as she had gathered from their bold statement of gruesome border decorations. This in mind, she approached the stranger with care.
He was not at all what she expected to find. He sat silently, a docile, living statue looking chilled on the snowy scape. As she approached she could see that his hands worked surely, weaving some sort of fabric into a large sheet, perhaps a rug. He was not bearing weapons and his mount was tied, peacefully grazing on bits of grass that had persisted through the snow. Most peculiar were his chosen adornments, a copious collection of feathers that stuck out from him as though he himself were somehow partially avian. The beads and threads that rooted them there were the only things to give them away. She could spot them as tiny specks of vividness in an otherwise unspectacular sea of brownish gray. She appreciated his flare immediately as she neared she called to him in her tiny voice. “I am Saraqael of Inferni. Do you have business here?”
IC:
Border patrol calmed the nervous coyote. She walked along easily, dressed casually in one dyed fur piece, a single top that matched her hair. Originally a dusky brown doe pelt, Saraqael had tinted the entire thing green. Pleasant mossy hues now intrigued the eye and a careful one would note that the color became brighter as the skin became paler. It still had some fawn spots on it and every one was precisely filled in with a vibrant blue. The garment tied simply around her neck and at her back in a bikini style, hiding her already barely visible breasts. The rest of her was unclad and uncolored save for her cropped mane.
When she picked up the scent of a foreigner, Saraqael's pace slowed to a halt. The ghostly girl sniffed tentatively but could not recognize the particular odor. It didn't matter – she was only hesitating, delaying the moment when the stranger would have to meet her, obviously Inferni's most ferocious and feared protector. At four feet and ten inches and skittish as a mouse, she worried that someone, specifically a wolf, would perceive her as weak and make to assault their lands, not to mention her frail form. There was not room for cowards in Inferni, though, as she had gathered from their bold statement of gruesome border decorations. This in mind, she approached the stranger with care.
He was not at all what she expected to find. He sat silently, a docile, living statue looking chilled on the snowy scape. As she approached she could see that his hands worked surely, weaving some sort of fabric into a large sheet, perhaps a rug. He was not bearing weapons and his mount was tied, peacefully grazing on bits of grass that had persisted through the snow. Most peculiar were his chosen adornments, a copious collection of feathers that stuck out from him as though he himself were somehow partially avian. The beads and threads that rooted them there were the only things to give them away. She could spot them as tiny specks of vividness in an otherwise unspectacular sea of brownish gray. She appreciated his flare immediately as she neared she called to him in her tiny voice. “I am Saraqael of Inferni. Do you have business here?”