those who watch their backs get attacked from the front
NAME , fitz Brisk was the pace that the recently turned yearling walked. He strode in his favored form of two legs, though his body was devoid of clothing. The chill of the wintry air felt nice against his thickly-coated body, insured by his lineage that held german shepherd, coyote, and perhaps even bits of wolf if he were to investigate further back. His worn body showed signs of physical issues, such as the torn ears and scarred stomach. His brown body was littered with red streaks, something he’d had dyed. Fitz, despite his rather artsy demeanor was not a particularly artistic man. He did like to stand out, but when it came to paintings and sculpture, he was not a fan. A young adult of little patience, the hybrid was content with his rough and tough appearance and had little desire to dement it any further. His history was in fact uneventful. His scars held no particularly honorable histories, most of them resulting from provoked attacks, Fitz being a generally sarcastic and arrogant creature. His talents fell within the world of construction. With a love for buildings and structures of any kind, he was handy with woodwork and carpentry and could quite likely build a nice looking home if asked. His mind worked in funny ways, and he was an intelligent person beneath his immature-seeming exterior.
And so, as he reached the coast where the fabled pack of Inferni lingered, Fitz stopped sharply at the border, piercing blue eyes investigating the area, awaiting the arrival of anyone who could tell him just what it would take to be a member of these lands. |
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