February 07, 2017, 04:06 PM
tagging for reference! :-)
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It is not often that Arturo leaves his Ravensblood Forest for he has little need now that his nightingale, @Lotte, is by his side. Yet, he feels the pressing need to venture out to search for those who he might be able to recruit. He is confident his wife is with child and Teaghlaigh’s dwindling numbers and the pressure of Olive’s litter as well leaves Arturo with an unyielding restlessness. Before he left he was sure to inform both Lotte, @Chusi and @Olive of his departure trusting the lands to his red herring, heir and his wife though he does not expect nor want them to take unnecessary risks. Lotte and Olive are both a bit worse for wear (though Lotte was thankfully improving) but though Chusi was healthy he does not want to come home to find her in a similar state. He leaves them with the information that he will be gone for a few days South and though he does intend to linger long he has to see what he can do.
Arturo Fearghal is not an idle man and he has turned to make recruiting to The Family a high priority. He travels the winding river as it carries him east of his home, though he reaches a larger portion of the River and stops. Already he has travelled a day, perhaps two and he does not deign to be too far from his Teaghlaigh, nor from Lotte. He spends his nights under the stars and missing her with an ache in his chest though he knows she is not too far and that once he has done what he can — even if it is to at least spread the word — he will return to her side once more. For now, he pauses, the mid-morning sun warm upon his back as the gangster gives pause at the river’s bank, it’s water shallow here, to bow his head and lap at the cool, inviting water.
[/td][/tr][/table]Arturo Fearghal is not an idle man and he has turned to make recruiting to The Family a high priority. He travels the winding river as it carries him east of his home, though he reaches a larger portion of the River and stops. Already he has travelled a day, perhaps two and he does not deign to be too far from his Teaghlaigh, nor from Lotte. He spends his nights under the stars and missing her with an ache in his chest though he knows she is not too far and that once he has done what he can — even if it is to at least spread the word — he will return to her side once more. For now, he pauses, the mid-morning sun warm upon his back as the gangster gives pause at the river’s bank, it’s water shallow here, to bow his head and lap at the cool, inviting water.
wreathed in iron and in fire
i bare my bloody teeth
and only pity makes my strike so clean
i bare my bloody teeth
and only pity makes my strike so clean
February 08, 2017, 06:26 PM
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He rises as the morn breaks day, traveling south toward a land unknown to him and does not stop. He halts only sporadically, to drink and to feed, but for nothing else does he waver his course. A man with a soul filled with relentless uncertainty does not call for a steady trail and he goes on but not with ease, perceptive of everything around him with so, in the new world he roams in, each sound is a warning, and each scent a reason to return a slave to the shadows.
But he is not a coward, and he stands unwavering just beyond the banks of a river, dull optics settling upon a man he does not know. Trust is a fluid thing within his multiverse; trust of himself, trust of others, trust of the world around him. Nothing is certain for him anymore, and nothing has given him a reason to believe that it should be so. He is a haunted man, body and soul; the cost of living freely has irreversibly marred his face and from that lesson he has learned the price of peace of mind is one that is sure to put a soul in debt, something he refuses to accept again. But for now he hovers silently between confrontation and fleeing, unsure of what the other’s purpose in such a proximity to him and his own. His head dips, perhaps warningly, perhaps questioningly, but he does not submit.
Despite the paranoid mind frame he holds, he is not a man of submission to the most imposing force out of obedience. There is only one force he will bow to, and in body it is not likely he will ever have the chance. Instead, stormy eyes settle intensely upon the other, no movement save for the rapid twitch of his eyes as they observe vividly, taking in the other of his intent and his purpose. At this point, Rollo is unable to assess clearly the intent of the other, a fact that both shocks as well as disturbs him, but he does carefully hide his confusion with a gaze of pure steel and a low chuff escapes him.
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please forgive my rocky start ;)
He rises as the morn breaks day, traveling south toward a land unknown to him and does not stop. He halts only sporadically, to drink and to feed, but for nothing else does he waver his course. A man with a soul filled with relentless uncertainty does not call for a steady trail and he goes on but not with ease, perceptive of everything around him with so, in the new world he roams in, each sound is a warning, and each scent a reason to return a slave to the shadows.
But he is not a coward, and he stands unwavering just beyond the banks of a river, dull optics settling upon a man he does not know. Trust is a fluid thing within his multiverse; trust of himself, trust of others, trust of the world around him. Nothing is certain for him anymore, and nothing has given him a reason to believe that it should be so. He is a haunted man, body and soul; the cost of living freely has irreversibly marred his face and from that lesson he has learned the price of peace of mind is one that is sure to put a soul in debt, something he refuses to accept again. But for now he hovers silently between confrontation and fleeing, unsure of what the other’s purpose in such a proximity to him and his own. His head dips, perhaps warningly, perhaps questioningly, but he does not submit.
Despite the paranoid mind frame he holds, he is not a man of submission to the most imposing force out of obedience. There is only one force he will bow to, and in body it is not likely he will ever have the chance. Instead, stormy eyes settle intensely upon the other, no movement save for the rapid twitch of his eyes as they observe vividly, taking in the other of his intent and his purpose. At this point, Rollo is unable to assess clearly the intent of the other, a fact that both shocks as well as disturbs him, but he does carefully hide his confusion with a gaze of pure steel and a low chuff escapes him.
i seen God come in my Garden
but i don't know what He said,
for my heart,
it wasn't open
but i don't know what He said,
for my heart,
it wasn't open
February 08, 2017, 06:47 PM
<3
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As Arturo drinks, his salmon pink tongue lapping contentedly at the cool waters he allows his mind to wander. Never too far, of course, for his ears remain splayed to the side of his skull, listening for any sounds that strike him as out of place against the soft babble of the river beneath the thin ice that sheets it, over the smooth stones of it’s bed. He thinks of his nightingale (for in some complicity she is always on his mind) and the children he is confident that grow within her womb. He thinks of the children that grow within Olive’s and feels a swell of resentment. In hindsight, he should not have granted them permission. If he’d have known the events that would unfold the simple fact was that he would not have. It is too little, too late to take it back but his condition runs deep and it hinders on a very thin wire. He is worried that Blackfeather Woods would make their way to Teaghlaigh and because Arturo Fearghal schemes he contemplates what punishment should be, should it come to pass. It has not, yet, but the thought that it could makes Arturo uneasy. Teaghlaigh is woefully unprepared for war of any kind and being away from his borders does little to soothe his concerns despite it’s necessity.
He takes a last lap, his tongue drawing across his jowls to catch any stray droplets of water as they dribble down his chin as he becomes aware of the sound of footfalls. His thirst sated he turns to face the male, his scent as unfamiliar as his face as the chuff breaks the silence. Fiery, red-orange gaze assess the brute with a sharp, keen burn though the coy wolf remains terse, impassive. For a brief moment and a pang of longing for his friend, Arturo is reminded of Skellige. It is almost enough to bring a ghost of a smile to his lips. Almost but not near enough. This male is greyscale and decidedly not the Leviathan. “Yes?” Arturo breaks his silence, deep, accented and smoky timbre polite, as always but there is a steel edged curiosity in the simplicity of his question. Who are you? What is that you seek? For surely, it was something beyond just a drink. After all, the river was wide and there was no need to draw attention to himself otherwise (or so Arturo thought).
[/td][/tr][/table]He takes a last lap, his tongue drawing across his jowls to catch any stray droplets of water as they dribble down his chin as he becomes aware of the sound of footfalls. His thirst sated he turns to face the male, his scent as unfamiliar as his face as the chuff breaks the silence. Fiery, red-orange gaze assess the brute with a sharp, keen burn though the coy wolf remains terse, impassive. For a brief moment and a pang of longing for his friend, Arturo is reminded of Skellige. It is almost enough to bring a ghost of a smile to his lips. Almost but not near enough. This male is greyscale and decidedly not the Leviathan. “Yes?” Arturo breaks his silence, deep, accented and smoky timbre polite, as always but there is a steel edged curiosity in the simplicity of his question. Who are you? What is that you seek? For surely, it was something beyond just a drink. After all, the river was wide and there was no need to draw attention to himself otherwise (or so Arturo thought).
wreathed in iron and in fire
i bare my bloody teeth
and only pity makes my strike so clean
i bare my bloody teeth
and only pity makes my strike so clean
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Rollo does not know what he seeks other than self-assurance that his presence is not threatened by the other. But how to put into words his own core-shaking fears in the face of a man who, with one word, asserts his dominion; his impassive confidence? While outwardly, the man himself may seem unwavering on account of his physical attributes, instability reeks within, and he finds himself not wholeheartedly threatened but regarding the other with a feeling of respect. This is not a man to be conned, but one with a backbone similar to Rollo himself. But that does not take account for the skepticism that is yet to be avowed, and he presses on with his mistrustful mindset, out of instinct rather than choice. “Friend . . .” he draws out, words staggering through his throat on a husky breath. “ -- or foe?” Comes his inquisitive inquiry; when he calls, there is very little sign of his inner trepidation but pure virility in his tone and movements. Straightening up, he rests his head properly upon the mantle of his shoulders, losing his appeal of uncertainty in replacement of a wish to appear as if his mind could mimic the outward composure of his body. In physicality, he has little flaws, but in the workings of the brain did his blemishes lie.
Rollo will not appear a weakling, but he does not appear pretentious. He is a man, searching for what he cannot find, and unknowingly, something the other can offer; allegiance. But Rollo’s intentions do not even come clear to himself and for a fraction of a second does he second guess the purpose of his words, contemplating the idea that should the man wear the pallium of a leader strong, that he could be willing to fall in line and serve, to serve anyone other than his gods. One thing is certain, however, he acknowledges the other holds a certain sway, something that calls, that pulls to take a chance and he cannot attempt to deny it frightens him more than ever.
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Rollo does not know what he seeks other than self-assurance that his presence is not threatened by the other. But how to put into words his own core-shaking fears in the face of a man who, with one word, asserts his dominion; his impassive confidence? While outwardly, the man himself may seem unwavering on account of his physical attributes, instability reeks within, and he finds himself not wholeheartedly threatened but regarding the other with a feeling of respect. This is not a man to be conned, but one with a backbone similar to Rollo himself. But that does not take account for the skepticism that is yet to be avowed, and he presses on with his mistrustful mindset, out of instinct rather than choice. “Friend . . .” he draws out, words staggering through his throat on a husky breath. “ -- or foe?” Comes his inquisitive inquiry; when he calls, there is very little sign of his inner trepidation but pure virility in his tone and movements. Straightening up, he rests his head properly upon the mantle of his shoulders, losing his appeal of uncertainty in replacement of a wish to appear as if his mind could mimic the outward composure of his body. In physicality, he has little flaws, but in the workings of the brain did his blemishes lie.
Rollo will not appear a weakling, but he does not appear pretentious. He is a man, searching for what he cannot find, and unknowingly, something the other can offer; allegiance. But Rollo’s intentions do not even come clear to himself and for a fraction of a second does he second guess the purpose of his words, contemplating the idea that should the man wear the pallium of a leader strong, that he could be willing to fall in line and serve, to serve anyone other than his gods. One thing is certain, however, he acknowledges the other holds a certain sway, something that calls, that pulls to take a chance and he cannot attempt to deny it frightens him more than ever.
i seen God come in my Garden
but i don't know what He said,
for my heart,
it wasn't open
but i don't know what He said,
for my heart,
it wasn't open
February 09, 2017, 12:38 PM
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The question that is poised to Arturo by the stranger is an understandable one and if the gangster was being wholly honest with himself one that he desired an answer to himself. Yet, as the question is put to him the Fearghal monarch understands that, in the end, it is his decision. He decides whether they are friend or foe to one another. This is a weighty choice given that he knows as much as the stranger knows of him: which is to say nothing. For a long moment there is silence from Arturo as he weighs the pros and cons. Arturo does not naturally strive to make enemies out of others, despite that he has his fair share. Most of them he’d left behind in Quicksilver Hollow; but there were a few enemies within the Wilds. Still, they are enemies out of necessity or wrong doings towards him or The Family; and then there is the potential enemy in Blackfeather Woods though he does not dwell too long on the possibility of it other than to acknowledge it’s existence. He would deal with with that when and if the time came.
Fiery-red orange gaze draws across the other’s sturdy form once more, assessing. There is some nagging in Arturo’s intuition that told him that this man could be a great ally, a great asset and …perhaps in this he could strike a friendship to rival his previous friendship with the once Leviathan of Blackrock Depths. At least in this situation neither of their lives were at risk nor did they balance precariously on the small carcass of a scrawny scrap of vole either. It is …a promising start. “Not foe,” The gangster speaks with a firm decisiveness. “but we could be friends.” He offers the grand possibility with an unspoken offer: we could become very good friends but Arturo wasn’t a fan of one sided anything and did not want to stand alone with this olive branch. “I am Arturo. Arturo Fearghal,” A name once known to strike fear and respect simultaneously in the hearts of men and women alike but now it is a shadow of it’s once glory and this does not particularly bother Ceannasach. He is a settled man and he is content with his lot in life: the glory of the Fearghal name belonged to the children within Lotte’s womb.
[/td][/tr][/table]Fiery-red orange gaze draws across the other’s sturdy form once more, assessing. There is some nagging in Arturo’s intuition that told him that this man could be a great ally, a great asset and …perhaps in this he could strike a friendship to rival his previous friendship with the once Leviathan of Blackrock Depths. At least in this situation neither of their lives were at risk nor did they balance precariously on the small carcass of a scrawny scrap of vole either. It is …a promising start. “Not foe,” The gangster speaks with a firm decisiveness. “but we could be friends.” He offers the grand possibility with an unspoken offer: we could become very good friends but Arturo wasn’t a fan of one sided anything and did not want to stand alone with this olive branch. “I am Arturo. Arturo Fearghal,” A name once known to strike fear and respect simultaneously in the hearts of men and women alike but now it is a shadow of it’s once glory and this does not particularly bother Ceannasach. He is a settled man and he is content with his lot in life: the glory of the Fearghal name belonged to the children within Lotte’s womb.
wreathed in iron and in fire
i bare my bloody teeth
and only pity makes my strike so clean
i bare my bloody teeth
and only pity makes my strike so clean
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The other answers with words that surprises the apathetic man, but he dares not show it. Instead, his ears align upright, looking to the other with eyes of curiosity but a gaze of lessening detachment. He grunts, a brief nod of his head, an unspoken acknowledgement of an unsaid yet newfound acquaintance and the certainty of the possibilities to come. Arturo was not alone in the extension of the olive branch, for as his uncertainty fades and respect grows, Rollo unconsciously grasps the offer with a desperation he could not identify if asked to; loneliness had taken his heart so long ago, he had grown used to the dull independence that both haunted him and fueled his demons, until now. And in that, the fear of infinite possibility is subsided in the face of assurance the other bids him no ill will, and he relaxes almost visibly. “Rollo,” He replies with the same decisive tone as the other, accepting the idea of mutual benefit from their current situation. His man, he did not have to be cautious of in the sense he felt that betrayal could not come about him whilst he was associated with Arturo. In return, Rollo himself is a force to be reckoned with; the brute to the brains of a thundering machine. Nothing gets by him, and in his own way, there is an intensity in each step he takes, unwavering and true.
But he only offers one name, one side of him for he knows not yet enough about the other to offer a piece of himself he had since buried to the point of ignorance many moons ago. He was simply Rollo, now. There was no need nor motive to be anything other than the hard-gazed creature he had become, and for the only use he could serve, it was rightly so. “You have land?” He speaks with an air of experience, but gruffly so; a suggestion but not a promise just yet that he is willing to follow. Nothing is certain yet, he thinks as his tongue rolls over his jowls, tracing the outline of his scar in vivid recollection of troubles since past. But should Arturo prove to be a man of charismatic ambition, something worthy to follow, he would, for it is something about the other that perceives the mantle of a leader.
The idea of loyalty was less of a moral trouble to him in that moment, the other was clearly something of clear perception and had thus earned the regard of a dubious, thorny soldier like Rollo. Something the callous man could respect, if the other did not downplay the severity that could come with the man Rollo, for as dormant as his words are, havoc wages a war within.
[/td][/tr][/table]But he only offers one name, one side of him for he knows not yet enough about the other to offer a piece of himself he had since buried to the point of ignorance many moons ago. He was simply Rollo, now. There was no need nor motive to be anything other than the hard-gazed creature he had become, and for the only use he could serve, it was rightly so. “You have land?” He speaks with an air of experience, but gruffly so; a suggestion but not a promise just yet that he is willing to follow. Nothing is certain yet, he thinks as his tongue rolls over his jowls, tracing the outline of his scar in vivid recollection of troubles since past. But should Arturo prove to be a man of charismatic ambition, something worthy to follow, he would, for it is something about the other that perceives the mantle of a leader.
The idea of loyalty was less of a moral trouble to him in that moment, the other was clearly something of clear perception and had thus earned the regard of a dubious, thorny soldier like Rollo. Something the callous man could respect, if the other did not downplay the severity that could come with the man Rollo, for as dormant as his words are, havoc wages a war within.
i seen God come in my Garden
but i don't know what He said,
for my heart,
it wasn't open
but i don't know what He said,
for my heart,
it wasn't open
February 10, 2017, 04:36 PM
(This post was last modified: February 10, 2017, 04:38 PM by Arturo.)
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A simple name is all that Arturo is offered and it is enough for the gangster. Rollo. It is simple, sweet and lacks the complication of some names. It fits the monochrome colored male before him. Stalwart. Sturdy. Scarred, though such things do not make Arturo squeamish. The scar speaks of a story and this ignites a slow burning curiosity within Arturo. He does not ask and will not, for each is entitled to their own demons. Arturo certainly has his own to live with. Still, he watches the trail of the other man’s tongue over the ruined flesh as discreetly as the gangster can manage, though the burn of his gaze does not linger long. “I have land,” Arturo reiterates with a firm nod of his head, ears thrusting forth atop his skull, as his tail gives a soft sway against his hocks, an errant sort of flick. He desires to ghost forward a step but respects the distance between the two of them. Though vastly different he is struck again with the memory of his first meeting with Skellige. It strikes him with a fondness and a nostalgic sort of bittersweetness that lingers. He has not seen the Leviathan of the Depths and has a bone deep feeling that he will not any time soon, if ever again.
“I have a pack. My Teaghlaigh …my Family.” Family not spoken in the context of mother, father, son, daughter but Family meant in the way of his gang. Family of loyalty and bond. Some of flesh and blood but not all. “We are small, tight-knit and extremely territorial,” The Ravensblood belonged to them: on it they had forged alliances, conceived children and died in the case of some. Ravensblood was as apart of Teaghlaigh as Teaghlaigh was apart of it and the thought of separating the two felt inherently wrong. “And there are only two rules that are enforced and expected to be obeyed: Ceannasach’s Word is Law and The Family Before Everything Else.” Arturo offers the information to Rollo as freely as he can. If the stalwart man decides that Teaghlaigh is not his cup of tea then Arturo hopes to still gain something from the transaction: that at least word would spread; but he is not ready to settle upon the last just yet. Not when there was still so much potential; but as he has given information he patiently waits and watches for what sort of reaction his words might entice from his companion.
[/td][/tr][/table]“I have a pack. My Teaghlaigh …my Family.” Family not spoken in the context of mother, father, son, daughter but Family meant in the way of his gang. Family of loyalty and bond. Some of flesh and blood but not all. “We are small, tight-knit and extremely territorial,” The Ravensblood belonged to them: on it they had forged alliances, conceived children and died in the case of some. Ravensblood was as apart of Teaghlaigh as Teaghlaigh was apart of it and the thought of separating the two felt inherently wrong. “And there are only two rules that are enforced and expected to be obeyed: Ceannasach’s Word is Law and The Family Before Everything Else.” Arturo offers the information to Rollo as freely as he can. If the stalwart man decides that Teaghlaigh is not his cup of tea then Arturo hopes to still gain something from the transaction: that at least word would spread; but he is not ready to settle upon the last just yet. Not when there was still so much potential; but as he has given information he patiently waits and watches for what sort of reaction his words might entice from his companion.
wreathed in iron and in fire
i bare my bloody teeth
and only pity makes my strike so clean
i bare my bloody teeth
and only pity makes my strike so clean
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He listens intently as the other speaks, hard gaze unwavering despite his confliction. The other has a head on his shoulders, unlike Rollo himself bt with a suave he recognises they share. It is something he has not witnesses in another for some time, and he wonders what kind of leader he is, and what kind of enemies they hold. But then the word is spoken, a word he has avoided for many moons. “Family,” He murmurs, a word and its concept since estranged to him. Once he had known familial bond, once when it was a sacred thing rather than something out of necessity, and in he had learned that even the most promising of futures among those who would call you their brother were subject to abandonment, by the cold claw of a stranger. But the other says so in a way that does not make him think of the term family as blood relation but a bond. Not a family but a tribe, in some way. While the man is less inclined to embrace the idea of togetherness so quickly after chosen isolation, he knows he will not find a chance such as the one he faced in that moment, elsewhere, for never before had his angst been won over so easily. He was a creature of habit, but also instinctive survival. He would do what needed to be done in the end, even if it was cause for moral dismay. And with contemplating the possibility of his fealty, he knew it would not come a difficulty to follow in another’s command.
Rollo’s problem was not with compliance but with the idea of family itself, for following another was not nearly as similar to familial duty, even despite his understanding of what the term meant to the other, the concept was the same. He had served valiantly, and done so before with the obedience of a thousand loyal men. But what he had learned from it became a powerful tool in hindsight and pain beyond measure.. Perhaps he was not yet ready to accept such a change in the amount of time the other suggested his loyalties should adjust. “I am in no need of family, not yet,’’ His apprehension was spoken with a flicker of pain, visible only in his eyes as he cast them away, reason enough that his hesitation is justified. His eyes return to the other's awating optics; he was willing. “But I will follow you if you should have me, Arturo Fearghal, . . .’’ He decides, that his prolonged isolation sentence should come it its end and his purpose realigned to vouch for something other than himself. Eventually, he will learn that his lone wolf tendencies are not really his instinct at all, but a fall back resort he has long since adapted to. Eventually, that is. For now, he is man full of corruption, fury beneath the surface and a death wish the size of north america that has kept him alive despite inner most secret wishes, but should the other have him, there would be n need to fear what was the unknown. “. . . friend,” spoken with the slightest sign of fondnes but more with he determination and respect duitifully given, Arturo has captured the fealty of a man with little will of self preservation, and perhaps, saved him from permanent and irrevocable damnation.
[/td][/tr][/table]Rollo’s problem was not with compliance but with the idea of family itself, for following another was not nearly as similar to familial duty, even despite his understanding of what the term meant to the other, the concept was the same. He had served valiantly, and done so before with the obedience of a thousand loyal men. But what he had learned from it became a powerful tool in hindsight and pain beyond measure.. Perhaps he was not yet ready to accept such a change in the amount of time the other suggested his loyalties should adjust. “I am in no need of family, not yet,’’ His apprehension was spoken with a flicker of pain, visible only in his eyes as he cast them away, reason enough that his hesitation is justified. His eyes return to the other's awating optics; he was willing. “But I will follow you if you should have me, Arturo Fearghal, . . .’’ He decides, that his prolonged isolation sentence should come it its end and his purpose realigned to vouch for something other than himself. Eventually, he will learn that his lone wolf tendencies are not really his instinct at all, but a fall back resort he has long since adapted to. Eventually, that is. For now, he is man full of corruption, fury beneath the surface and a death wish the size of north america that has kept him alive despite inner most secret wishes, but should the other have him, there would be n need to fear what was the unknown. “. . . friend,” spoken with the slightest sign of fondnes but more with he determination and respect duitifully given, Arturo has captured the fealty of a man with little will of self preservation, and perhaps, saved him from permanent and irrevocable damnation.
i seen God come in my Garden
but i don't know what He said,
for my heart,
it wasn't open
but i don't know what He said,
for my heart,
it wasn't open
February 13, 2017, 03:26 PM
(This post was last modified: February 13, 2017, 04:07 PM by Arturo.)
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Arturo watches the downward aversion of the other man’s eyes and observes him carefully not with the intent of judging but simply with the intent of understanding. He thinks that perhaps Rollo and family are not two words that should go well with one another though if it was his betrayal or the betrayal of another Arturo cannot say and does not deign to question. Either way, betrayal stings and betrayal of Teaghlaigh leaves a mark that does not fade: upon the culprit and upon the Ceannasach who is not only the judge but also executioner. Teaghlaigh had thus been blessed that the crimes of betrayal were never serious enough to warrant that and Arturo hopes that it continues to be so. He finds no joy in being the harbinger of death. He’d done it once not out of betrayal but out of sheer necessity. Survival. There is no doubt in the gangster’s mind that he would do it again if his Family (but also his wife and children) were threatened but his gift is not of violence but of power of manipulation whether it is from his sharp intellect or a silver tongue he has never thought too much of.
“Teaghlaigh does not need to be your family, not until you are ready …if you ever are,” Arturo’s smoky timbre takes on a softened lilt to it, a sort of soothing lull to communicate that he does not begrudge Rollo his demons. “but you will be treated as ours all the same. So long as you agree to obey and enforce the laws I have stated I welcome you into our fold.” Arturo accepts him with a dip of his sharpened crown in respect for the monochrome man. Perhaps Rollo would never see them as Family but he would be treated and respected as all the others regardless. Arturo is not a beast that tolerates or condones discrimination of any kind, for any reason. “We are not too far away from Teaghlaigh, come. I will show you the way.” Arturo informs with a gesture of his muzzle in the direction of his Ravensblood Forest, joyful that this venture outside of his borders had not been all for naught. He had a good feeling about Rollo, his intuition told him that he would make a fine addition to Teaghlaigh and Arturo is not one to ignore his intuition.
[/td][/tr][/table]“Teaghlaigh does not need to be your family, not until you are ready …if you ever are,” Arturo’s smoky timbre takes on a softened lilt to it, a sort of soothing lull to communicate that he does not begrudge Rollo his demons. “but you will be treated as ours all the same. So long as you agree to obey and enforce the laws I have stated I welcome you into our fold.” Arturo accepts him with a dip of his sharpened crown in respect for the monochrome man. Perhaps Rollo would never see them as Family but he would be treated and respected as all the others regardless. Arturo is not a beast that tolerates or condones discrimination of any kind, for any reason. “We are not too far away from Teaghlaigh, come. I will show you the way.” Arturo informs with a gesture of his muzzle in the direction of his Ravensblood Forest, joyful that this venture outside of his borders had not been all for naught. He had a good feeling about Rollo, his intuition told him that he would make a fine addition to Teaghlaigh and Arturo is not one to ignore his intuition.
wreathed in iron and in fire
i bare my bloody teeth
and only pity makes my strike so clean
i bare my bloody teeth
and only pity makes my strike so clean
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