08-11-2018, 11:06 PM
[div style="width: 45%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]Zjarr had made his greatest attempt to shift his attention from sheer bitterness and self-loathing to something productive, something he and perhaps those around him could utilize. And this attempt was, shockingly, a successful one, for once. In this great leap he turned to the forge once more, spending his days locked within the seemingly endless and sprawling corridors of the Ascendants' observatory. The walls of his quarters lay bare and freezing to the touch of skin, yet he seemed to not be bothered by it—the flames of the forge kept him warm, as well as his natural layers of fur which he owed tremendous gratitude to. For once he was pleased with himself, pleased with what he still had and not what he longed for. It still tore his black heart into little pieces, but at the very least, he could not drown in his sorrows, and especially not at the mercy of the bottle. Rarely could the cyborg wolf be spotted without some sort of weapon being experimented upon or improved or sharpened or even simply admired. Rarely could the cyborg wolf even be spotted at all.
To put it lightly, he had gotten himself caught up in blacksmithing, denying himself the simple pleasures of suitable nourishment or the drowsy ecstasy of a rewarding slumber, or even the benefit of social interaction with those around him. Generally he could be sociable, extroverted even, but in this instant he bore no desire to meet with those that made up his neighborhood. Occasionally the demon would poke his head out in the search of a quick meal or to bring up some easygoing inquiry to some ongoing passerby. 'ey, what's the time? Day 'r night? Am I causin' a ruckus? And yet he was utterly oblivious to the icy hell that he would return to once he decided to call it quits and hang up his smithing tools and blades for the time being.
Out from the dank darkness emerged the unkempt form of Zjarr Ignibus, his fur a mottled mass that clung to his skin and seemed to hang from his frame. Though a generally physically impressive beast for his species, it was obvious that he had malnourished himself in the time he spent away from the light. His frame was noticeably thinner than it was, and muscles would barely ripple beneath his sunset pelt in place of the rolling waves that he bore earlier.
Most noticeably, the more he walked down the corridors, the more terrified and panicked and agitated the unholy monster grew.
His unnaturally heterochromatic hues flashed back and forth, rapid and shallow breaths erupting from his maw as his tongue lolled out slightly. Hushed whispers blessed (or perhaps cursed?) Zjarr's ears, and perhaps he would realize he was better off in the dark than to learn of his entrapment, their entrapment. They were stuck here, locked inside the Observatory. And the rest? Locked outside. Abruptly the endless snaking corridors felt like mere rabbit tunnels, growing tighter and tighter and threatening to strangle and collapse upon the wolf. He gritted his teeth together and kept moving.
To put it lightly, he had gotten himself caught up in blacksmithing, denying himself the simple pleasures of suitable nourishment or the drowsy ecstasy of a rewarding slumber, or even the benefit of social interaction with those around him. Generally he could be sociable, extroverted even, but in this instant he bore no desire to meet with those that made up his neighborhood. Occasionally the demon would poke his head out in the search of a quick meal or to bring up some easygoing inquiry to some ongoing passerby. 'ey, what's the time? Day 'r night? Am I causin' a ruckus? And yet he was utterly oblivious to the icy hell that he would return to once he decided to call it quits and hang up his smithing tools and blades for the time being.
Out from the dank darkness emerged the unkempt form of Zjarr Ignibus, his fur a mottled mass that clung to his skin and seemed to hang from his frame. Though a generally physically impressive beast for his species, it was obvious that he had malnourished himself in the time he spent away from the light. His frame was noticeably thinner than it was, and muscles would barely ripple beneath his sunset pelt in place of the rolling waves that he bore earlier.
Most noticeably, the more he walked down the corridors, the more terrified and panicked and agitated the unholy monster grew.
His unnaturally heterochromatic hues flashed back and forth, rapid and shallow breaths erupting from his maw as his tongue lolled out slightly. Hushed whispers blessed (or perhaps cursed?) Zjarr's ears, and perhaps he would realize he was better off in the dark than to learn of his entrapment, their entrapment. They were stuck here, locked inside the Observatory. And the rest? Locked outside. Abruptly the endless snaking corridors felt like mere rabbit tunnels, growing tighter and tighter and threatening to strangle and collapse upon the wolf. He gritted his teeth together and kept moving.
[glow=#f24b00,2,300]how'd it get so scandalous?[/glow] — ☼
✰ — I'M JUST A SOUL WHOSE INTENTIONS ARE GOOD
zjarr ignibus / tanglewood / hellcat / weapons dealer / plot