pestilence ☤ o, joining

[isaac.]

    There was nothing. A deadening sensation all too familiar to the man. Crossing over between the planes always had been a bothersome effort, yet didn't require too much strain after practice. Nothing surrended its grip as he forced himself through the threshhold to blinding display of light and shadow, of color and texture. Life. A fickle creature, it was; refusing to be contained in mere brickerbrack and always slipping from his blackened touch. Yet life enveloped everything here, teasing him with its abundance in sharp contrast to the stagnant realm of afterlife he became so accustomed to.

    Through tinted lenses, the gleam of white caused his still heart to plummet -- had he failed? What did he do wrong this time? Cold seeping through the leather of his gloves underfoot quickly scattered his doubts. He tentatively raised a front paw to view the frozen substance clinging to his palm -- or, he supposed he should use animal vernacular now that he adapted to their population. The white was snow, just snow. A rather barren landscape, broken only by the recent tracks of passerby He let out a bemused huff from behind a beakful of herbs as he settled himself into the powdery ice, allowing himself to process the new surroundings for a minute or two.

    The cloaked figure jutted out of the pristine landscape like a flea on a rodent's back, a spilled blot of ink against parchment. He didn't belong, as expected. Isaac could be known as a harbinger of death, a condemner of entire villages to inescapable disease, a physician of malpractice and miasma. A plague doctor. Wax-leather overcoat gathered around his spindly frame and the snow, the dark folds obscured any identifiable features of the creature, leaving only a milk-white face shadowed by a wide hat's brim to coldly regard the world. Although, his new appearance underneath the uniform was rather uncomfortable. Minor alterations wouldn't harm anyone. Isaac reached behind his mask and under the fabric, slipping out droopy ears into sight and giving them a shake before moving onto freeing a thin tail with a couple of tears. Intimidating as his outfit may have seemed, Isaac was nothing more than a hound. Well, a hound returned from the grave, not in flesh and bone, but rather spectral energy. Satisfied with his adjustments, the doctor leaned back on his haunches, a muffled sigh causing his chest to relax as he tipped his head back, content to bask in the minimal sunlight of wintery days for now.

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[guts]

She had no idea what a symbol of death this was. She didn't see him as some bad omen, or an unwelcome visitor. Instead, she saw a tactically-inept canine of some sort. He was painfully obvious against the snowy landscape, not making any attempt to hide himself as he waited, a sitting duck. But she was simply too absorbed in her old ways. It was like second nature to her, to keep her steps quiet and stick to the shadows. These instincts were what sent a spike of unease down her spine as she approached, coiled like a spring inside but showing nothing in her composure.

"Name and business." she hoped that was the right thing to say. Should she even be asking them this, considering she wasn't quite a member, simply a passerby? She wasn't sure, but considering that no one else had shown up, she had decided to take matters into her hands nevertheless. So she watched him closely, waiting, both for his response and any wrong move he might make. Behind her lips, her teeth were ready to sink into his jugular.

[A. MORGAN]

EASTWARD BOUND

ARTHUR MORGAN — MALE — SNOWBOUND — SNOWSEEKER — HARD

God this guy gave him the creeps. Arthur had arrived shortly after West, hardened gaze boring into Issac- first curious, then wary. The fur on his neck stood up, but he did his best to remain stoic. This guy... he was weird. But he wouldn't let his own opinions drive away a potential joiner. The cowboy stays quiet as West handles the situation, studying the plague doctor.

#psychosocial.

[isaac.]

    As much as he longed to idle here in the sun and snow, Isaac promptly stirred from his momentary rest. There was work to do, after all. Lounging about and soaking up warmth he couldn't possibly retain would benefit his research as well as a second death. Albeit a minor hinderance for him, it was a devastating blow to his schedule.

    Heaving himself up onto tired feet, the old doctor took the opportunity to stretch, dropping down into a bow and arching his back while his beaked mask concealed a yawn. Lord, he had grown stiff over the years spent hunched over his studies. Shaking out his pelt as best he could from beneath his heavy uniform, empty glass eyes turned to greet an expected visitor. Of course. Living creatures were always so precautious when they didn't need to be, yet blinded by adrenaline when they were in danger. A quite fascinating phenomenon. Mask tilting downward to give the appearance of a coy smile, Isaac simply inquired, "Pardon? I'm afraid I did not quite catch what you said." On the assumption she demanded his identity, the cloaked hound tipped his wide-brimmed hat towards her and introduced himself out of habit. "However, you may call me whatever you prefer, miss, but most use Isaac." A gloved paw reached out, offering a handshake before it withdrew upon realizing his mistake. Swallowing a cough, the plague doctor's head inclined to the left, a question of his own sounding through his herb-stuffed beak. "Now, who is it that I have the pleasure of meeting? As well as you, my good sir."

    A second wolf joined the first, one of different coloration and, furthermore, species, yet Isaac remained as polite as one could with features shielded from the world's prying eyes. Perhaps he had stumbled upon a pack's territory. Tundra seemed to be a suitable habitat for wolves, yet the exotic physique of West compared to a native grey wolf challenged his theory. Nevertheless, the diseased hound smiled despite their inability to receive the pleasantry, sure to keep his posture as congenial and harmless as possible.

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[guts]

This one was odd, that was for sure. She cocks her head slightly as Arthur arrives, slightly relieved by his presence, but otherwise doesn't pay him much mind. But she does keep her ears open. Instead her eyes remain on Isaac, yellow irises narrowed in suspicion.

His response wasn't exactly what she had been looking for, but it didn't seem unusual--yet. "My name's West. Now, what did you come for?" she replies, not waiting for Arthur's. She wasn't going to play these games.