Edonden of Gilneas
Jan 25, 2018 19:53:55 GMT -5
۞ KAT ۞ AKA Red Viper and Shari'Adune Forestsong like this
Post by Stoat on Jan 25, 2018 19:53:55 GMT -5
The first thing you notice about the rather short beast is his mangled looking face. It’s a shock to see so many scars on one person. Criss-crossing and zig-zagged across the beast’s eyes and head, it’s a surprise to see that his muzzle has missed the brunt of whatever happened. One of his dull, yellow coloured eyes is obviously missing, leaving behind only an empty socket, though he seems to have taken well care of it since the loss. Where his ears were long and pointed as many of his kind, they are ripped into tatters, ribboned into nearly nothing. They jut out maybe a few inches from his head, but no longer. It doesn’t seem to affect his hearing too bad, that you can notice, though you sort of wonder if he’s just gotten good at making up for it.
When he speaks to you, it sounds as if he were gargling a small handful of gravel. Although somewhat difficult to understand when he speaks fast, the hardest to decipher sometimes is the seafaring vocabulary he tends to use. He is generally blunt with his words, and often speaks to you seemingly without thought, only correcting himself after the fact according to the reactions received.
Though most of the worgen that you’ve met have been massive - taller than even most elves that you see - this one seems rather runty, if you were to be honest. Not that he isn’t taller than you, small human, just that he’s short for a worgen. Standing at least a head shorter than most worgen, the beast doesn’t even hit seven feet tall - especially as he slouches around the world. He is about as broad as any other worgen that you’ve seen, though he seems to be less filled out; he tells you that a life at sea doesn’t necessarily put the brawn on the bones, but you can sense a little bit of deprivation that he hides behind a friendly smile.
As your eyes travel down from the poor beast’s head, you begin to notice the raggedy look of the rest of him. Though his worn leather traveler’s look doesn’t scream the same message as his face, it doesn’t seem to be in the best of shape either. The leather looks like it once might’ve been a beautiful dark colour, years of use at sea - and who knows where else - seem to have taken their toll. Faded and soft, they look as if he hasn’t even managed to wash anything off in a long while. Though most of it seems to match, there are patches in what he would consider the most well used areas and even, if you look close enough, mismatched items - such as the two different ‘boots’ that he wears above his lower paws.
You do notice, however, the pair of swords that hang from his skinny hips are quite out of place, compared to the rest of him. They’re a nice set of matching swords, and well kept to boot. Sharp and practical while also beautiful. When you ask about them, he simply brushes you off, a quick and suspicious mention of heirlooms and family generations having them.
He looks like he hasn’t seen a full, hot meal in ages - nor the comfortable side of a bed - in a long time. But his scent is what catches you the most off guard. He claims not to have been a, ah, ‘sailor’ for a few years, and yet he smells of the ocean. It’s as if the salty breeze and touch of fishy essence as just as much a part of him as the swords hanging off his hips. It seems to cling to the worgen’s fur, his armour, his very being.
When he speaks to you, it sounds as if he were gargling a small handful of gravel. Although somewhat difficult to understand when he speaks fast, the hardest to decipher sometimes is the seafaring vocabulary he tends to use. He is generally blunt with his words, and often speaks to you seemingly without thought, only correcting himself after the fact according to the reactions received.
Though most of the worgen that you’ve met have been massive - taller than even most elves that you see - this one seems rather runty, if you were to be honest. Not that he isn’t taller than you, small human, just that he’s short for a worgen. Standing at least a head shorter than most worgen, the beast doesn’t even hit seven feet tall - especially as he slouches around the world. He is about as broad as any other worgen that you’ve seen, though he seems to be less filled out; he tells you that a life at sea doesn’t necessarily put the brawn on the bones, but you can sense a little bit of deprivation that he hides behind a friendly smile.
As your eyes travel down from the poor beast’s head, you begin to notice the raggedy look of the rest of him. Though his worn leather traveler’s look doesn’t scream the same message as his face, it doesn’t seem to be in the best of shape either. The leather looks like it once might’ve been a beautiful dark colour, years of use at sea - and who knows where else - seem to have taken their toll. Faded and soft, they look as if he hasn’t even managed to wash anything off in a long while. Though most of it seems to match, there are patches in what he would consider the most well used areas and even, if you look close enough, mismatched items - such as the two different ‘boots’ that he wears above his lower paws.
You do notice, however, the pair of swords that hang from his skinny hips are quite out of place, compared to the rest of him. They’re a nice set of matching swords, and well kept to boot. Sharp and practical while also beautiful. When you ask about them, he simply brushes you off, a quick and suspicious mention of heirlooms and family generations having them.
He looks like he hasn’t seen a full, hot meal in ages - nor the comfortable side of a bed - in a long time. But his scent is what catches you the most off guard. He claims not to have been a, ah, ‘sailor’ for a few years, and yet he smells of the ocean. It’s as if the salty breeze and touch of fishy essence as just as much a part of him as the swords hanging off his hips. It seems to cling to the worgen’s fur, his armour, his very being.
Founded April 26, 2005