Thread: Skyrim: Primal Instinct, Flames and Desire (Tetajunlux x Ohm)

Eyes the color of frosted glass peered from beneath the errant strands of achromatic white hair that fell across the corner of his right eye as the lycan strode boldly the halls of his kin and sought counsel amongst the gathered ranks of his kin who had found refuge amongst the ruins of the old keep on the fringe of the Hjaalmarch. Bare of chest and clad with naught but a greatgauntlet of beaten iron that encased the entirety of his right arm, fastened securely in place by leather straps that crisscrossed the length of his torso, he lifted his iron-clad hand and gave a mighty push of the aged door that barred his way to the depths of the keep where the echoes of his kins laughter and speech emanated. The light of the torches cast a pale shadow across his narrow features and sought to further accentuate the almost imperceptible curl of his upper lip that laid bare the elongated teeth whose tips protruded half a fingertip beyond his bottom lip. Cross had spent far too much time in the most recent task laid upon him by the war council of his lupine brethren, clad in the filthy garb of humankind he had wandered the streets of a nearby town whose name the proud warrior had not even bothered to learn during his time spent amongst the commonfolk and sought to learn something... anything... about the movements of the forces of the Silver Hand and their armed forces this deep within the reach. Silence. Eyes from amidst the weathered warriors who guided the hand of Hiricine's Sons all turned in unison to gaze upon the form of Cross as he thrust wide the doors of the antechamber and basked in the silence and scent of his kin which reached him even amid the musty smell of the old keep. Icy orbs turned almost feral, the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly and he turned his head to gaze from each corner of the chamber to the other before settling his eyes upon the senior member of the order who sat seated in the center of the chamber. There's something here, Harl... the lycan muttered beneath his breath, his words accentuated by a low growl that rumbled in the center of his chest and became trapped in his throat. I can smell it... something not natural... one of those pink-skins... he would have finished with a few sniffs that seemed to catch the air around him. Though before the older warrior could muster an answer he would have given a sharp wave of his hand. Slitted eyes would have drifted suspiciously to the dark-skinned woman who sat adjacent to one of the members of the feral brotherhood and he would have indicated her with an outstretched hand. There was something almost... primitive... ancient and powerful about the magic around here. It was so potent that he could almost taste it in the air. And there was something about her mannerisms... her unusual eyes and even the unique style of her hair that, had his primal mind been so focused upon the irritation that still clung to his thoughts, both at the prospect of a newcomer not-lycan in their midst and regarding the time spent in their cities, that he suspected he would have been quite consumed by her unusual appearance. Leave us... he would have growled, though several amongst the gathering would have sought to protest he would have silenced them with a stiff wave of his hand. Curs... I said leave! I'll spare not a moments thought to any of your reasons that an outsider would be amongst these halls... leave me to decide her fate myself. he would have growled, eyes drifting to study her and her appearance from top to bottom... and times, perhaps, lingering a tad too long in some areas. Speak, outlander... he would have muttered as those about him would have shouldered past him, I am not long on patience...