06-15-2009, 08:44 PM
[html]
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b171/ ... /free1.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
ooc: Hey there, welcome to 'Souls! Love your intro! 
Jacquez was once again wandering the perimeter of his new land, letting his sensitive nostrils seek out the faint trails of those who had come sniffing at his borders. There were several recent trails, some from neighboring packs, some from the homeless vagabonds that drifted all along the coast. Still, he was surprised that after organizing his first few members, no newcomers had come forth at all. Were the wolves here so set in their ways that they would not follow him, despite being miserable with the parasitic structures of their society? Pah.
The lean Optime strode fluidly along the border, coming to the copse of forest that marked the edge of his kingdom. They did not have a lot of trees in their territory, but there was enough of the woods to warrant prey, squirrels and deer and such. As the King, he did not often hunt, but desperate times called for desperate measures. The muscular collie-dog let his dark eyes sweep the trees, his one arm tucked neatly behind his back. Folded ears twitched at the sound of a growl, a whine, a shout - some noisy canine was playing in the forest, and he did not recognize the voice. There were only two males beside himself in this newly formed royal court, and the stranger was not as gruff as Leroy, nor as youthful as Haven.
Fearlessly, the one-armed canine strode towards the source of the vocalizations, his noble muzzle arched high to look down upon his newest subject. A spy, an attacker, they would not be so loud and careless so as to stub their toes against a tree's trunk. It had to be a visitor, or even better, a prospective joiner. A wicked smile lit up his fiery russet-furred muzzle as he saw the newcomer, a shorter male with a beet-red mane and violet eyes. A rebel, perhaps, to colour his hair such? Just his kind of guy.
"Bonjour, monsieur," he crooned, light accent colouring his foreign words. He was not a fluent Frenchman, but it was still his habit to greet others in the more suave tongue he had picked up from his homeland in the South. The taller dog-hybrid let his dark gaze wander, greedy eyes lingering on the colourful bangle adorning the man's slim wrist. He liked colours, and he liked shinies even more. "Welcome to my kingdom, the Cour des Miracles, where the beggars and cripples find their true freedom in companionship. That is a lovely toy you have, on your arm..." His short attention span darted back from his grand entrance through the trees to the multicoloured band. It was hard to believe that he was the leader of this ragtag pack...
.
.
.
Jacquez was once again wandering the perimeter of his new land, letting his sensitive nostrils seek out the faint trails of those who had come sniffing at his borders. There were several recent trails, some from neighboring packs, some from the homeless vagabonds that drifted all along the coast. Still, he was surprised that after organizing his first few members, no newcomers had come forth at all. Were the wolves here so set in their ways that they would not follow him, despite being miserable with the parasitic structures of their society? Pah.
The lean Optime strode fluidly along the border, coming to the copse of forest that marked the edge of his kingdom. They did not have a lot of trees in their territory, but there was enough of the woods to warrant prey, squirrels and deer and such. As the King, he did not often hunt, but desperate times called for desperate measures. The muscular collie-dog let his dark eyes sweep the trees, his one arm tucked neatly behind his back. Folded ears twitched at the sound of a growl, a whine, a shout - some noisy canine was playing in the forest, and he did not recognize the voice. There were only two males beside himself in this newly formed royal court, and the stranger was not as gruff as Leroy, nor as youthful as Haven.
Fearlessly, the one-armed canine strode towards the source of the vocalizations, his noble muzzle arched high to look down upon his newest subject. A spy, an attacker, they would not be so loud and careless so as to stub their toes against a tree's trunk. It had to be a visitor, or even better, a prospective joiner. A wicked smile lit up his fiery russet-furred muzzle as he saw the newcomer, a shorter male with a beet-red mane and violet eyes. A rebel, perhaps, to colour his hair such? Just his kind of guy.
"Bonjour, monsieur," he crooned, light accent colouring his foreign words. He was not a fluent Frenchman, but it was still his habit to greet others in the more suave tongue he had picked up from his homeland in the South. The taller dog-hybrid let his dark gaze wander, greedy eyes lingering on the colourful bangle adorning the man's slim wrist. He liked colours, and he liked shinies even more. "Welcome to my kingdom, the Cour des Miracles, where the beggars and cripples find their true freedom in companionship. That is a lovely toy you have, on your arm..." His short attention span darted back from his grand entrance through the trees to the multicoloured band. It was hard to believe that he was the leader of this ragtag pack...
.
.
.