His gold eyes snapped to focus, drinking in what little light there was. But 'little light' was all he needed. When you grew in a pack that would pride themselves on stalking prey in the dark, this was simply another evening in the ruined jungles.
"...Doctor?"
His voice, gravelly, rumbled in his throat as he found himself wondering where exactly his slumbering mind had taken him tonight. Typically there were more beds, four-posters precisely, but a pile of furs and skins would do... but there were no things to lie in unless he liked wet rocks and the smell of moss, and there were definitely no pretty ladies bidding him to join them.
So this was one of those dreams, then. With a growl, Durant proceeded down the tunnels, the massive meat hooks at his feet clicked back and prepared for a gutting. His left arm slowly melted from its usual shape, becoming the dual head of a large battle axe where a claw was not a moment before.
His large body froze the moment he heard footsteps. Ah-ha... this was one of those glory dreams, yes? Facing an opponent in uncertainty? Then he'll help himself to the first strike.
Durant kept his head low, and raced around the next bend. "RAHAHAHAH! Found you, fool!"
He was like a big red bullet to whoever lurked just around the corner, adorned in so many furs and fineries. But he whipped his left arm around, swinging the shape-shifted battleaxe around from on low in a diagonal arc.
No questions, no greetings! Fighting comes first!
[The Procession]
So this wasn't exactly what he had in mind when it came to dreams of glory or adventure. Instead, he was faced with a dream where the elderlies feed themselves to the moss and it allowed others to pass. Thanks... he guessed? But he could wager a strong enough swing of No. 31's blade would at least cut his way through.
...Or perhaps it was Simic fuckery of some sort. Durant knew better than to question Simic fuckery without Dr. Roussette around. She always knew how to explain things.
But the air of it all seemed peaceful. Perhaps it was a ritual for those passing on, for no youths seemed to be consumed by the moss curtain. Whatever the case, the viashino chuckled and helped himself to another sizely bite from a slab of fresh wormipede flesh, gathered from one such marauding creature who decided to try and make lunch of the barbarian. Some odd gel that lingered in the beast ran down his chin and plopped to the floor of the boat.
The passive nature changed when it was his boat's turn to pass by, the moss running over his feathers, his snout and his shoulders. On the other side, Durant was sodden from head to toe, his claw missing his meal... perhaps the moss took that, too, as an offering.
His eyes narrowed, teeth clenched. Perhaps he'd look threatening if he looked less like a wet chicken.
"...Son of a bitch."
[The Marketplace]
Looks? He got looks. Many humanoids would come and go through this civilization, but seven foot tall dinosaurs (dragons?) weren't typically what came rolling through on a pilgrimage. But Durant took it in stride, even sweeping his claws through freshly-dried feathers in a cocky sort.
They could look, and... well, as far as some of these scantily-dressed women were concerned, they could definitely touch. He flexed for good measure, wiggled his brow lines. Get a load of this guy!
Maybe this place wasn't so bad. Perhaps he'll walk up to one or two of them- hell with it, three- and ask if they'd like a little company tonight. He'd fought giant worms and been touched by gross moss! He had more than earned a little fun, hadn't he?
But the whispers started, along with those other kinds of looks; looks that said, 'Check out this moron'.
"An unbonded Monster...? That's not right..."
"Maybe he's weak and no Witches will Bond with him. The poor thing."
"...The fuck is Bonding?" The moment the words left his lips, his gathered crowd shook their head in pity and hurried along their way. They had their business, their lives, and would not spend another moment explaining what should have been plainly obvious.
His arms, still flexing, slowly lowered. Wait, where was everyone going? What was happening? Was he not going to find company without this whole Bonding thing?
Durant growled his exasperation and turned, grabbing the shoulder of the nearest person.
"You! I demand to know what Bonding is!" But his feathers, so high and agitated, slowly lowered in a moment's pause.
Easy. Easy.
"What's... what is it? Why do they leave?" He asked again, calmer, eyes colored in confusion.
Durant | OC | Monster (Will match your format no problem!)
His gold eyes snapped to focus, drinking in what little light there was. But 'little light' was all he needed. When you grew in a pack that would pride themselves on stalking prey in the dark, this was simply another evening in the ruined jungles.
"...Doctor?"
His voice, gravelly, rumbled in his throat as he found himself wondering where exactly his slumbering mind had taken him tonight. Typically there were more beds, four-posters precisely, but a pile of furs and skins would do... but there were no things to lie in unless he liked wet rocks and the smell of moss, and there were definitely no pretty ladies bidding him to join them.
So this was one of those dreams, then. With a growl, Durant proceeded down the tunnels, the massive meat hooks at his feet clicked back and prepared for a gutting. His left arm slowly melted from its usual shape, becoming the dual head of a large battle axe where a claw was not a moment before.
His large body froze the moment he heard footsteps. Ah-ha... this was one of those glory dreams, yes? Facing an opponent in uncertainty? Then he'll help himself to the first strike.
Durant kept his head low, and raced around the next bend. "RAHAHAHAH! Found you, fool!"
He was like a big red bullet to whoever lurked just around the corner, adorned in so many furs and fineries. But he whipped his left arm around, swinging the shape-shifted battleaxe around from on low in a diagonal arc.
No questions, no greetings! Fighting comes first!
[The Procession]
So this wasn't exactly what he had in mind when it came to dreams of glory or adventure. Instead, he was faced with a dream where the elderlies feed themselves to the moss and it allowed others to pass. Thanks... he guessed? But he could wager a strong enough swing of No. 31's blade would at least cut his way through.
...Or perhaps it was Simic fuckery of some sort. Durant knew better than to question Simic fuckery without Dr. Roussette around. She always knew how to explain things.
But the air of it all seemed peaceful. Perhaps it was a ritual for those passing on, for no youths seemed to be consumed by the moss curtain. Whatever the case, the viashino chuckled and helped himself to another sizely bite from a slab of fresh wormipede flesh, gathered from one such marauding creature who decided to try and make lunch of the barbarian. Some odd gel that lingered in the beast ran down his chin and plopped to the floor of the boat.
The passive nature changed when it was his boat's turn to pass by, the moss running over his feathers, his snout and his shoulders. On the other side, Durant was sodden from head to toe, his claw missing his meal... perhaps the moss took that, too, as an offering.
His eyes narrowed, teeth clenched. Perhaps he'd look threatening if he looked less like a wet chicken.
"...Son of a bitch."
[The Marketplace]
Looks? He got looks. Many humanoids would come and go through this civilization, but seven foot tall dinosaurs (dragons?) weren't typically what came rolling through on a pilgrimage. But Durant took it in stride, even sweeping his claws through freshly-dried feathers in a cocky sort.
They could look, and... well, as far as some of these scantily-dressed women were concerned, they could definitely touch. He flexed for good measure, wiggled his brow lines. Get a load of this guy!
Maybe this place wasn't so bad. Perhaps he'll walk up to one or two of them- hell with it, three- and ask if they'd like a little company tonight. He'd fought giant worms and been touched by gross moss! He had more than earned a little fun, hadn't he?
But the whispers started, along with those other kinds of looks; looks that said, 'Check out this moron'.
"An unbonded Monster...? That's not right..."
"Maybe he's weak and no Witches will Bond with him. The poor thing."
"...The fuck is Bonding?" The moment the words left his lips, his gathered crowd shook their head in pity and hurried along their way. They had their business, their lives, and would not spend another moment explaining what should have been plainly obvious.
His arms, still flexing, slowly lowered. Wait, where was everyone going? What was happening? Was he not going to find company without this whole Bonding thing?
Durant growled his exasperation and turned, grabbing the shoulder of the nearest person.
"You! I demand to know what Bonding is!" But his feathers, so high and agitated, slowly lowered in a moment's pause.
Easy. Easy.
"What's... what is it? Why do they leave?" He asked again, calmer, eyes colored in confusion.
[OOC Note: A handy info sheet, appearance, height and all! PM me with any questions you have.]