09-23-2018, 11:09 PM
CHIMAMIRE NO KITSUNE // HIDDEN SCOLLING
Hisoka’s fickle nature had retained true for as long as he has. Carefully sly and prideful at his parent’s distain- spite, as it were, was a good enough reason to abandon everything you know. thankfully like most of his kind. Hisoka’s cunning came up in – as you say, spades. it made up the rest of the slack of his impulsive childish nature. He moved from place to place as child, learning about himself as much as he did about their world, to say he was still learning was not a lie, to say he was done traveling was.
As it were, snowbound was a clever little clan that held quite a bit of interest to him- but like most things to him it Is fleeting as he is. With the small takeover hisoka simply felt disappointed, and the amount of fear and ostracization the fox had gotten from his “clanmates” was getting well enough on his Neves. when he returned “home” he merely packed his few belongings and left without a trace. No love lost for either the group and him.
Every step hisoka takes is careful and calculated. Every ounce the predator he was, never trying to hide who he was- living previous years as a subject of interest and not so polite conversation made him callous in their opinions as much as their lives. A fox does not concern himself with the opinions of fleeting prey. Even if it was fun to intimidate, everything eventually got boring- and in his long life fear wasn’t as appetizing.
But from what he learned of the pitt, a group of ruthless killers- bound to hold some potential. Hold some interest that will last longer than a few months as it had for the snowbound. Savage little creatures- monsters on the battle, already it sounded exiting to a fault. Much better than the civil little community of sleepy snow-clan creatures.
Pin-coin depths watched the terrain with a detached sort of look. Emotionless beside the sly curve along his expression. Three tails tied to a golden and red obi concealed a bright red starball- the only possession that the kitsune really kept- his greedy nature demand he hoard his own power, and the orb held enough to make his winds a fine tuned blade of destruction. To say he was armed wasn’t wrong- but wasn’t every predator?
He had stepped over the border, his white form was’t so much a beacon as the scent of his old home that clung to him. It was used mostly as a mean to get other’s here quicker- a little test per se. His own winds bringing the scent outwards to catch someone’s attention- in it’s own way a call to attention without words.
As it were, snowbound was a clever little clan that held quite a bit of interest to him- but like most things to him it Is fleeting as he is. With the small takeover hisoka simply felt disappointed, and the amount of fear and ostracization the fox had gotten from his “clanmates” was getting well enough on his Neves. when he returned “home” he merely packed his few belongings and left without a trace. No love lost for either the group and him.
Every step hisoka takes is careful and calculated. Every ounce the predator he was, never trying to hide who he was- living previous years as a subject of interest and not so polite conversation made him callous in their opinions as much as their lives. A fox does not concern himself with the opinions of fleeting prey. Even if it was fun to intimidate, everything eventually got boring- and in his long life fear wasn’t as appetizing.
But from what he learned of the pitt, a group of ruthless killers- bound to hold some potential. Hold some interest that will last longer than a few months as it had for the snowbound. Savage little creatures- monsters on the battle, already it sounded exiting to a fault. Much better than the civil little community of sleepy snow-clan creatures.
Pin-coin depths watched the terrain with a detached sort of look. Emotionless beside the sly curve along his expression. Three tails tied to a golden and red obi concealed a bright red starball- the only possession that the kitsune really kept- his greedy nature demand he hoard his own power, and the orb held enough to make his winds a fine tuned blade of destruction. To say he was armed wasn’t wrong- but wasn’t every predator?
He had stepped over the border, his white form was’t so much a beacon as the scent of his old home that clung to him. It was used mostly as a mean to get other’s here quicker- a little test per se. His own winds bringing the scent outwards to catch someone’s attention- in it’s own way a call to attention without words.
THE GRIMM MAGICIAN ALWAYS GET'S THE LAST LAUGH
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