[hider=Menzai][img]https://i.imgur.com/q9Hq2SQ.png[/img] [color=gray] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/mApeJL0.png[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/rUzyFdp.png[/img] [color=ee82ed]Race:[/color] Silver-Wolf Shifter [color=ee82ed]Class:[/color] Arcane Mystic [color=ee82ed]Location:[/color] Bar [color=ee82ed]Interactions:[/color] : [@princess] Phia [@potter] Arya/Stella [oso] Bastion [@Lava alckon] Corin [@tae] Meiyu [@Funnyguy] Minerva (Miris) [color=ee82ed]Mentions: [/color] [color=ee82ed]Equipment:[/color] [hider=Equipment List] 🐾 Special Magic Item: A magically enchanted Haori garb of snow🐾white fabric made of a mix of various creature materials and what few rare magic crystals scrounged. It enables the haori’s internal temperature to be adjusted to keep the user at the optimal temperature within a feasible degree and minor elemental resistance of the basic 4 elements imbued. 🐾Oruna tribal moon bracelet: a charm bracelet made in pairs, sharing a deep bond. Those of the tribe share them with a close friend, cherished family member, or lifemate who holds a fanged tooth, one for each of those most trusted and loved. 🐾Small pouch holding emergency dried meat and any fresh fruit picked 🐾Small pouch of freshwater 🐾Sewing kit 🐾Small tool kit 🐾Small gold pouch 🐾A partially started personal journal 🐾A personal dear drawing hidden on his person 🐾Dark Crystal Shard-left Eye 🐾 Knitted fish hat gifted by Bastion [/hider] [color=ee82ed]Attire:[/color] [color=ee82ed]Gold Balance:[/color] 34 [color=ee82ed]Injuries:[/color] Exhaustion, intense hunger, dehydration, body aches/soreness [img]https://i.imgur.com/q9Hq2SQ.png[/img][/center] Menzai walked quietly to the table with Arya, where he kept a close pace behind, careful not to encroach too much, understanding the tiefling to be scared and mistrustful still. Whatever terror chased her, time and patience would ease the stalking shadow into a slivered whisper where she may trust herself to breathe and open up. For now, he merely kept an alert, watchful eye, much as Stella did in her hidden perch, a trustworthy bound companion seldom seen with an animal. The curious signs of conversations he noticed proved it deeper than initially thought, as he was able to understand the fascinating conversations he may share with the elegantly brave eagle. Upon reaching the table, he gently pulled out her chair, keeping to the manners read from books; a strange custom of outsiders and one of many that earned him strange looks from his fellow tribesmen, even as he carried on despite the fact. Once assured Arya was settled and safe with the group, the wolf briefly studied the table, taking note that everyone was now gathered; pleased to see Bastion was unharmed nor showed signs of embarrassment, more so likely due to a lack of understanding of such concepts. A machine built for war and bloodshed was now free to a whole new world, both of sights and concepts, something shared by him and Phia, who only knew of the dangers of the jungle. A boundless unknown now awaited before them; deadly as it was, curiously intriguing, and he hoped they could all share and learn together. As he scanned the faces of the group, a lock of still-damp hair brushed his cheek, reminding him of the sour stink of beer soaking his hair. With a slight agitated huff, the wolf lightly bowed his head, excusing himself momentarily, and quietly departed. In turning his head, he had peeked out the window, finding the sun beginning its descent toward the horizon, where he had a better view of the golden glow reflecting off the sea. A rare hidden beauty that graced this run-down and gritty pirate’s den scant a few times a day. With a quiet, practiced stride, the snowy-draped wolf stalked towards the bathroom, with a cautious alertness to his posture. Here, danger lurked all about with thieves and pickpockets, or an overcock-sure drunk may get too bold with a knife; a predatory warning emanated against anyone foolish to attempt any such attacks. Soon reaching the bathroom, however, there he would encounter an unexpected threat, one he could not fight or intimidate, and instead found his sensitive nose trembling in uneasy trepidation. A single glance at the door, old and peeling with small jagged splinters, waiting for any unsuspecting hand with a misplaced push. Yet, seeping from the corners came a hint of a most foul aroma built up from years spilled from the cracks of the door like putrid, thin, wispy streams; strong, concentrated scents visible to those with heightened senses. And for a moment, he paused with uncertain hesitation. His instinct grumbled with nausea to back away, but with his only option remaining, he had to risk bathing in the sea; the wolf had little else he could do. A grumbling inhale of his mouth in an attempt to weaken the incoming wretched onslaught, Menzai begrudgingly stepped inside. A mere peek inside nearly brought him to defeat with a disgusted gag muffled by the right hand flying to his covered mouth; barely stomaching the horrifying sights of such a horrendously uncleaned bathroom. Unwashed grime and who knows what else stained the walls and sinks with stale urine dried into the broken tiled floor. Two of the four stall doors were missing, with toilets stuffed and almost overflowing from toilet paper and whatever else, though he kept his distance, not wishing to witness the foul abominations left behind. He had no desire to remain in such a filthy bathroom that clearly never saw so much as a single sponge put to it. Hardly surprising for pirates; almost impressive were it not so horrifying to behold, and so, risking what he could inhale with another muffled gag, the nauseated wolf shuffled towards the nearest sink, finding the faucet caked in rust and grime, but in working order still, much to his relief and surprise to find anything working in here. With an uncomfortable squeak of the rusted metal, which resisted with a pained groan beneath his fingers, and out flowed cold water. It flowed and sputtered in muddy brown initially and carried a funny note, having the wolf wait a minute for it to turn clear and clean, or as clean as one can hope. Wasting no time, Menzai got to work, splashing and scrubbing his hair. He moved his hands with an impatient haste as every second delayed was another torture on his senses, one he hoped would not be burned into his nostrils, not unlike his stinging eyes that hinted of his barely restrained disgust and disdain. Pushing to finish quickly, causing some water to splash about him until his hair was adequately washed. A testing sniff found a lingering residue of the booze before letting loose another muffled gag. It was satisfactory and would have to do for now, as he was drawing near his limit. Another painful metallic squeak, having the running water cease, and following this, muffled voices and laughter caught his flickering ear. A glance over his shoulder to find them coming from within the two remaining stalls, having apparently missed their occupancy in his haste. Though he wanted nothing more than to rush out, a part of him thought it might prove helpful to listen in, if only a little. He found it distasteful and uncomfortable to use his ears to spy on others' conversations, but these were special circumstances, and any intel that could help them and benefit Phia’s safety in ensuring their escape from this pirate’s nest and whatever petty squabble and war they intended. He would not have any of it. “[color=598527] Uggh, them dungeons give me da creep, hate how it always leaves us shiverin…how’s our prisoner doing?[/color]” A muffled voice drawled out in a drunken, disgruntled groan and a faint splashing plop that caused the wolf to shudder with distaste, but still his ears remained perked. The mention of a dungeon caught his curiosity. “[color=fff200]Bah! Being a stubborn git, that’s how. Refusing to eat and not much for cooperatin. They lucky the boss ordered to keep hands off em or I’d give them a taste of my knuckles. ‘ack pthoo’[/color]” The second voice grumbled their complaint with an audible slimy spit. A snickering guffaw came from the prior stall with sounds of leaning.”[color=598527] Hah, think they tough shits, but boss will teach em, that is if da cold don’t get im. Won’t do us good if they be passin out on us, boss won’t like that. Oh![/color]” A devious smirk etched his beer-spittled lips.” I gots a suggestion on what ya can feed em, eh?” “ [color=fff200]Is that so? Think you got somethin the stubborn prick might jump at?[/color]” “ [color=598527] Oh aye, jus be needin ya lean in real close, can’t give away mah momma’s secret stew.[/color]” An adjustment of the old, dirty toilet seat indicated the unknown fellow moved as suggested. Outside, Menzai found himself leaning back, fighting back the stinging of his watered eyes. Then, without warning, with a mischievous snicker, the man let loose a loud [b][color=007236]ppbbth [/color][/b]that echoed and reverberated throughout the bathroom in a rancid, reminding cacophony. “ [color=fff200]Ah! You nasty fuckhead! That stew would have em beggin to be shoved to the sea![/color]” Cried the unsuspecting individual, then a dopey drunken guffaw broke out into a shared tandem rebounding from the stalls. The unpleasant sound struck the ill-repaired Menzai, who found himself momentarily stunned, shocked in utter disbelief as he bit back the urge to lose what little of his empty stomach. It was clear their chat was not finished, yet the wolf couldn’t stomach the bathroom for another second. And with the potential toxic smog sure to reach him shortly incurred a greater need to flee or find his nose destroyed. All but nearly bursting out of the bathroom, where the wolf stopped, almost leaning against the door, where he exhaled in hasty relief and greedily drank in the tavern’s air. Where it had previously been overwhelming; now proved a comforting boon, save for the slight burn from the strong spices, but nigh anything would have been preferable for this occasion. His stomach gave a mixed gurgle of nausea and relief, and with it had set back his appetite yet again, much to the already starving wolf. After taking a moment to catch his breath, Menzai stood up from the door and gave some adjusting fixing of his haori. Annoyance crinkled his brow for the failure of his weak constance, leaving him unable to glean more of this dungeon and the unknown prisoner. He was unsure if it would prove of any help or import with so little, nor where it could be located, and deemed it best to hold onto this until he manages to gain more concrete information. Returning to the table, where he had left in a subpar mood, had rejoined with a displeased temperament that left the stoic wolf in little mood to talk, the memory too fresh and one he never intended to share. Ever, for none should suffer the wretched debacle or his humiliation. Public bathrooms….never again. For the sake of his nose and dignity. A silent promise settled with a small shudder of revulsion. Following in the snaketress approach, Menzai had moved to a corner where he could sit and observe while keeping to himself. He was content with listening to the others, not wishing to spread his foul mood and ruin the group’s much-needed respite after the perilous day they’d all shared. His attention had been split with one ear keeping to the tavern’s going on and the other on the table; at times, taking a sip of water, working to settle the discomfort of his stomach, unable to risk any more. While at times it rumbled grumpily for meat, though he could not trust to keep down a bite. Turning his attention to sweet Phia, grateful to see her getting along and talkative when she appeared so down when talking with Lady Arya. She must have had a hard time with whatever she encountered in the ship’s bathroom and hoped to discuss it when the first opportunity to be alone. And despite what went down, she kept up her bubbly spirit with some comforting help from Arya. He owed the tiefling his thanks and kept in mind to give his appreciation for giving Phia a friend she could talk with. Even when she was shy and wary around them. As he inspected Phia for any possible injuries, needing distractions to help him forget his unpleasant trip. A moment of wistfulness hit, having him long for some of her soup, which never failed to warm him up. For now, he was begrudgingly content with water. The evening then carried on uneventfully with chats about what they could do or find at the port, with little of anything of much import said, the tavern hardly a safe space to discuss openly. At some point, the topic was turned to the shards spoken in hushed tones and whispers. A topic that captured his curiosity and intrigued, one even his testy temperament could not stifle, and he spoke up, quietly giving his thoughts and assumptions, initially believing the gem to be a simple storage of magic until learning the shards actively seeking out the hosts. This led him to think must hold some form of will and with it some intent of purpose, making them carry some form of sentience, whether fully or partially; it was too soon to say. He added a proposed reason for their lack of activity to be due to the gem using up its reserves, leaving them in a dormant state, perhaps to doubly recharge and study their hosts. Shortly after, it would be mentioned that Minerva had shared some similar thoughts earlier, which turned the wolf’s attention to the feline shifter, equally shocked and impressed. It appeared she had sharper eyes than previously thought, the boisterous and unpredictable manner she acted; was it an act, or was there more to this? Then there was the matter of Wendel’s disappearance; something about her and the dwarf’s vanishing felt familiar, though he couldn’t quite trace why. Impressed and curious as he was, her antics were still bothersome, and how she pushed Phia, revealing her to the port. Yet, where he had been frustrated then, but after some time of thinking started to find it may prove beneficial with potentially finding someone here that might know of her and from it gain some clues on where or what they needed to do. If lucky, they might attempt to approach themselves, though it also made her an open target, so he needed to keep an extra vigilant eye out for any showing suspicious interest in her. Discerning them from the prince’s spies would make such a task difficult. As such, much as he disliked it, the wolf may owe a debt to the feline at least somewhat, irritating as she is. That is, if it came to bear fruit in the end. His nose wrinkled from the strong, heated smell of peaches, the thought of fruits reminding him of it. Still, easier on the nose compared to what lies behind the vile door. A side eye at the reprehensible door with another slight shudder. Turning away back towards the table, glimpsing the snaketress who had been stalking in the shadowy corner the entire evening. Her eyes gleamed like a lurking predator observing them like future prey, toys for her to play with and break whenever the moment suited her. Her presence and the way she sat there made him uneasy and made relaxing all but impossible, his own predatory instinct warning him that she was dangerous, poisonous. She was steeped in a deadly aura with an elegant beauty hiding the poisonous fangs beneath the surface; she appeared much like a coiled snake that might lash out at any moment. Unlike he, who hunted purely for survival, killing only what he planned to eat, she was the kind who relished in toying and torturing her prey for fun. And peculiarly, the snaketress' gaze kept returning to Minerva, seemingly fascinated by the feline; a sense of curiosity he understood, though doubted hers were of a pleasant kind. A part of him could not help but worry for the feline to have caught her attention, and, if she desired the shards, then he worried for the group. This left him wary to let her out of his sight, but staring or watching for too long would give him away, if not already with how sharp her senses were, her skills as an assassin already proved quite impressive, concerningly so. How she sat in the shadow, seeming as if she would slip away and disappear into its inky covers as if it were her home, the moment they took their eyes off her. Still, the group accepted her, and as long as she kept her fangs sheathed, there would be no issues. How long that lasted, he could not say, and hoped by then he had learned more of whatever strange magic she demonstrated in the jungle. A hunter knew to never attack their prey blindly, to learn and discern how they operate, their strengths and weaknesses. Only with assured certainty does a wolf lash their fangs. A single instance. A single strike, fast, quick, and painless. As the evening waned and chatter began dying out, did the topic turn to one concerning sleeping arrangements? At the suggestion to share rooms, Menzai had been quick to shut the idea down, finding it improper as they were all still barely but stranger and after some more discussing finally earned his approval to split with the woman sharing one and initially one for the men, but Bastion did not sleep, being a warforged and he did not require a bed, preferring to keep watch alongside the bronze giant. While not the most preferable choice, leaving Phia in a room with the snaketress and Minerva. Knowing Arya and Stella were there to keep an eye out, and the two being just outside had him relent and accept, albeit begrudgingly. When all was set and decided, the group had departed to get the room, and there he briefly paused Corin with a soft hand on the shoulder.[color=ee82ed]” Sir Corin, pardon for a moment, please?[/color]” Feeling bad at the thought of leaving Corin to sleep alone, he sought to assure him that he and Bastion would keep a vigilant eye so he could rest well, and if he needed anything, they would be just outside.” .[color=ee82ed]”And perhaps, after some proper rest and a place where we can all talk more freely. That we may discuss more on the topic of magic gems. Curious things this fragmented artefact.[/color]” He spoke in his usual dry tone with a tired, strained, and a hint of wariness to his face. An understanding, light nodding bow of the head, the wolf tiredly strode his way following the others, feeling the growing exhaustion weigh his every step. Upon reaching the rooms, before any were able to get themselves settled in, Menzai had requested to let him inspect the rooms out of cautious concern. Several minutes were spent scouring the room in search of anything shady or unwelcome until he was satisfied. Finished with his inspecting, the wolf had moved to wish Phia good night and received a small tackled hug from the half-elf.”[color=ee82ed] Rest and sleep well, sweet Phia. May the moons glow bless your dreams.[/color]” He muttered his nightly prayers with a protective squeeze to the hug. Standing back with the hug broken and turned his head to the tiefling.”[color=ee82ed]May you have a restful sleep as well, Lady Arya, Miss Stella.[/color]” He paused, seeming as if to say more, but decided against it, not wishing to disturb the two. Menzai then made his way to the door and was only just a step from the doorway when Minverva’s voice rang out behind him. [color=peru]“I’ll keep Phia safe for you, Menzai.”[/color] He spun halfway on the spot to see the feline grinning cheekily and winking back at him; a glowering huff was his response. Her words did little to assuage his concerns, playful and cheeky as they were. He shook his head with a begrudging sigh.”[color=ee82ed] My…thanks. May you and the snaketress rest well.[/color]” Nearly forgetting himself and made sure to wish Minverva and Meiyu a peaceful night, albeit in a strained tone and slight air of annoyance. As he left, hearing Minverva shout to Bastion and Corin, giving them their own silly night message that left him rubbing his forehead in exasperation, exhaling his agitation. As he did for the women’s room, he would do with Corin’s and once finished, bid him rest well before making his way into the hall, where he found Bastion sitting by the door, a trustworthy guardian and a mighty wall none would dare to make their enemy. He all but slumped against the wall to the right of the door, his legs barely able to carry him any longer. The day’s trek and near-death had taken its toll; any longer, and he feared himself passing out, an irony to wish them restful dreams, but for him, sleep was no friend, and the dreams long since vanished with only nightmares in their wake. No, for him meditation was his way of respite; a method taught to him by the elders to enable him to recharge. And though it could not offer the full rest of sleep, it allowed him to adjust the tranced state to recover what he needed and to replenish his magic reserves. Having only managed to eat a few bites before his stomach gave out, left him needing a deep meditation. Something he might have had to forego under these circumstances had it not been for Bastion’s presence. He brought an unexpected added security, one he could trust to handle the heavy-duty watch, if only for this night. A trust he seldom gave to so very few, and was grateful for the warforged's quiet, gentle nature. For this night, he would let some comfort take him and so shifted into his meditative pose, pausing briefly to turn his head partially towards Bastion.” Rest well, Sir stout Bastion, though sleep eludes you; may your new life be a dream.” He thought to speak aloud, but found the words whispered as he proved more tired than he assumed. Before he could let sleep take him, the wolf slipped into his meditative state with lidded eyes and head slightly tilted downward. Done to appear as if still awake to those from a distance, while any observing up close might mistake him to be asleep with the slight lowered tilt of the ears, ever listening with partial alertness. This kept him semi-conscious of the surroundings, normally able to encompass more of the area, but exhaustion forced him into a deeper trance than intended, only barely aware of the few passersby of the night. The night passed quietly by on this tumultuous and taxing day, the wary travelers adrift in sleep with fellows none expected to meet or break bread with. Come morning, the peaceful rest would be disrupted by an unexpected new visitor. Most queerly, Minerva had vanished without a trace or any sign of her leaving. It alarmed the wolf at first, but taking in the lack of the women’s reaction, save for a look of unease from Phia. A sentiment he shared with the subletist of nods. Turning his attention to the strange new guest, Malik, as he named himself, and who seemed to know Phia or know of her when he could not recall any such chance of meeting. A tanned-skinned elf who seemed to wear hunter-like garb, akin to an archer’s, and from the toned body lacking visible scars hinted at the elf’s expert skills, he carried a disciplined and restrained manner not too dissimilar from his own. An intriguing being that continued to confound him on what exactly they were or the method used. But, taking into account Malik’s and Minverva's lack of concern or worry led him to think it transformation; thinking back to the odd wistful sadness the feline held at the table also had him believe she, wendel, Malik or whoever they are, were perhaps unable to control it; a concerning and inconvenient prospect, but until he witnessed a change, he could not be sure. A peculiar start to the morning that quickly took a dour turn when stepping downstairs, only to be met with the familiar grating face of Beckett standing there with that smug grin of his, unbothered by the fact of interrupting any chance of breakfast. His stomach almost gave a snarling rumble at the sight of the unpleasant greeters. This could only have meant one thing. The prince was ready to see them and perhaps was an impatient one…or to purposefully leave them disgruntled with better hope they might make mistakes. With a reluctant, drowsy sag of his shoulders, the wolf followed, trailing at the back where he could keep the group in his sight. His head moved like a rader, ears tuning and shifting as he scanned the port's pathways in ever relentless search for any possible ambush or approach; ignoring the looks of curious passersby stopping to gawk or mock them amongst each other. A boon, the trek did not prove nearly as long or perilous compared to the jungle and with the same scant rays of the morning sun at their backs, felt almost soothing with the crisp winds carrying salty sea spray on every gentle breeze. The sound of waves crashing against wooden beams and rocks mingled with the cry of hungry gulls flapping their shadows overhead, hunting for scraps of food or a wayleigh fish skipping from the roiling waters just below, where boats creaked and thumped in place. Before long, they had arrived, and what lay before them was wholly unexpected. The base was barely more than a hovel clumsily put together, made from scrap metal, broken ship parts, and any other junk they managed to get their hands on. It was all amateurish and hardly befitting a ‘prince,’ but it was also impressive and showed the man’s ingenuity and ability to accept living in such squalor, if only by necessary virtue and patience for whatever they planned. Around its perimeter were guards well-armed and geared up...concerningly so, hinting somewhat of their battle-ready capabilities. He eyed them with an auspicious gaze, noting these pirates to be better equipped than most crew could hope for. The man has means, that was sure. Without words, the group had been brought to a throne room, or more a shoddily recreated attempt at a throne room, with a chair that looked downright miserable to sit in; cobbled together with broken junk matching the patchwork room held and reinforced by beams and..bones, massive bones that were fascinating as they were ominous to behold. And there, sat on his throne, was the prince who observed them lazily yet with intention as light spilled almost eerily around him from crooked glass panels, almost seeming to dance off the man’s ocean-deep blue skin. Scars adorned him with history and experience, yet the prince’s young face gave a confusing clash of what to make of him. How he appeared almost a teen, but the way he spoke was that of a man with aged wisdom. He had a confidence to his cadence and an aura of kingly ambition, the way he stated claim of them and all that entered his island. A claim he stated as if truth, as if fact that could not be refuted or refused, as strands of his dark dreadlocks slid as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, almost like a bored child ready to play with his toys. [color=#8fffc3]“Let’s keep it simple and begin with introductions. I wish for each of you to stand before me and tell me who you think you are.” [/color] He stated it as a wish as if there were any choice, but they knew it to be a demand. A test to try learning about them. How to manipulate him to his own end with an outrageously bold claim of ownership. A claim he knew none of this lineup accepted. And like the prince, he would observe him, search and seek any snippets or clues of what the man, or boy, was about. Difficult to discern, and it unnerved him, as if something was off. While he did so, one by one, each would speak their piece; each careful to only say as much as needed without revealing too much. And each did not hesitate to deny being any such property or being treated as the boy-prince’s plaything. Malik’s had been straightforward with pride and respect and an underlying edge. Phia’s was simple, short, and blunt with abject refusal; hearing the half-elf proudly claim herself a member of the Oruna filled him with pride, seeing her stand in brave defiance. Sir Corin chose to challenge the prince in a more bold manner to demonstrate his refusal to the Prince’s claim. One he respected and mentally applauded, for only each may decide their own fate to live or die, and though normally a battle to quickly put an end to things would be a good choice. The many unknowns of the prince made things risky. And the unfortunate fact he held the lives of the ship hostage made acting all the more risky. Then Arya stepped forth on hesitant, shaky steps; she appeared to struggle with what to say beneath Prince Dane’s intimidating gaze. He did not fault her when trauma and fear still gripped her too strongly, but then he took notice of the efforts she went to hide Stella and found the way the two cared so deeply was moving. Up next stamped Bastion, who stood, towering with an upfront and honest defiance, ready to fight and defend with all his metallic fury were any harm befall them. Where others only saw a weapon crafted to kill, he saw a protector with a kinder heart than most made of flesh. And the snaketress, Meiyu, went about coyingly playing in the prince’s games, trying to tease and antagonize in hopes of getting into his head and finding any cracks, throwing the mind games back with a dangerous edge. With a promise of the sleeping fangs he may find were he to act recklessly or greedily. As they spoke, Menzai kept his attention focused on the prince, preparing to glean something of him; only fair, seeing as the prince decided to cheat, but he had to be careful not to give himself away. And with his left eye off-limits due to the shard, meant careful adjusting to ensure he pooled magic only in the right. Something he had yet attempted and without knowing what might occur were he to flood the shard now, proved to be too risky, particularly so with them potentially linked, as it might cause a reaction. Clearing his mind until only the prince and his right eye were all that encompassed it, while slowly, drop by drop, magic was poured into his right pupil until it held a lavender pink glint. [color=ee82ed][h3][b][center]-Artemis eye!-[/center][/b][/h3][/color] With a faint crackling hum, Menzai cast a partial artemis, enhancing and pushing his right eye’s sight, the pupil shrinking and honing in on the prince like a zoomed-in scope. [Artemis Eye’s result (gm)]Menzai uses the heightened senses of his eye of Artemis ability and sees the sinew of the Prince's muscle and the weight of experience that he carries in his eyes. Despite the Prince looking young enough to be a teen...this is no child or young man. This is a veteran, someone whose skin shows the wear and tear of decades at sea. You're not sure why he looks so young, but it's not natural.- The diluted pupil trembled from the increased strain of balancing with only one eye, but from it had found the cause of the age discrepancy, or at the very least knew it was magical in nature. What exactly the magic was, its source, or the full effect and purpose escaped him, unsure if it simply affected age or held more secrets. Discovering this made any chance of fighting simply not an option, not until he could figure out it’s secret, especially in case of any counterattack capabilities. Magic was dangerous, unknown magic extremely so. Reaching his limits, still tired and hungry from yesterday, made maintaining far more taxing, and with a slight pained groan turned his head with a hand placed over it, feeling a few dying sparks; the pupil burned as if he had stared straight into the sun without pause. A slow, long inhale, easing the magic from his overloaded eye, then a few testing blinks until the blurriness of the world came back into focus to see the prince waiting expectantly with a scrutinizing gaze. He rubbed at his forehead, passing it off as a headache, then pinched the bridge of his nose to finish composing himself. With a steadying exhaling hum, the snow-draped wolf let his hand drop back to his side and made meticulous, slow, and precise steps, purposefully delaying to test the kind of temperance the would-be king held. Coming to a slow stop while lifting his hands to fold them into the sleeves of his haori, a ray of light bounced off the fabric like glittering snow.”.[color=ee82ed]” I am Menzai of the Oruna tribe, a hunter of magical curios and artefacts, a shadow protector whose fangs fight for those who have need of it or harm those innocent., The wolf will fight with bloody ferocity to his dying breath, none collars this beast, a bloody dread upon those who earn its ire.[/color]” With a quiet, elegant bow of his head, Menzai stood, turned, and strode back to where he had stood prior. A lax, unimpressed gaze loomed. [/color] [/hider]