Posts by Domitian
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Carnifex stumbled into Scarclan's territory, his gaze flicking this way and that, unfocused but still, by long habit, assessing the area for dangers. The manticore's grey fur was dull, marked by scabs and scars, splattered with mud, dust, and dried blood. His thin mane was knotted and tangled with twigs and other debris from everyday life. Each muscle was clearly defined, both because of the highly active lifestyle prescribed to him and because he lacked any fat to pad out his figure; his face was gaunt, his eyes sunken, and his ribs easily counted.
Despite his worn and battered appearance, he hadn't been brought here by force. All his battle wounds were old, not quite healed, but on their way to it. Rather, he had been lead, disoriented and compliant, like a dog on a leash. His cracked lips parted a sliver as he tasted the air, and the brute tensed, eyes flicking warily towards Katastrofeas, the man who had brought him here.
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capture thread: http://feralfront.com/index.php?topic=2269388.new#new
bringing Carnifex to Scarclan: http://feralfront.com/index.php?topic=2270723.new#new
I look forward to RPing with you! Katastrofeas seems like a really neat character. -
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- An interesting, three-dimensional personality, with strengths, weaknesses, and flaws
- plots!
- good writing; not necessarily a novella, but a lack of errors in spelling and grammar, no passive voice, etc
- interesting, but not cliched, appearance -
// maybe two or three posts? Thanks! c:
Carnifex's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the growing crowd. Too many. He didn't know these people. Were they new? Had the Master sent them, perhaps? But no, they didn't know what was going on, either. Enemies, then? It was possible, though they were remarkable docile were that the case. He growled low, flaring his wings to make himself appear bigger. Whoever these people were, they would learn to tread carefully around him.
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The manticore lifted his gaze to Katastrofeas, assessing him absently. Familiar speech pattern- perhaps this was one of Bill's people, here to retrieve him? The man's statement didn't sound like an order, so Carnifex refrained from replying, his glassy stare boring into the lion.
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Carnifex paused, looking down at Bluebloodpaw skeptically. What. Bill certainly wouldn't send a group including a weakling child to retrieve him, would he? He cast his glassy stare down at the pale blue creature, examining her unblinkingly. Clearly not a threat (unless this was some elaborate ruse?). No, the loud small thing was likely a civilian, and a foolish one at that to publicly question a superior. They were practically begging to be beaten. A flicker of sympathy crossed his mind- the pain was a mere inconvenience, but losing standing in the Clan's eyes was ample punishment. His decision made even before he realized it, he lunged forward in a streak of grey and purple, attempting to push Bluebloodpaw back and place himself solidly between the apprentice and the adults. These were not superiors- he was permitted to defy them, was he not?
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Carnifex considered his odds. He was badly outnumbered, and at least one of those present seemed a decent fighter, from his build and posture. He, on the other hand, was injured, malnourished, and had no real reason to risk his hide on behalf of some idiot who thought it was a good idea to backtalk their commander. Fine. He stiffened, neither resisting nor cooperating when Katastrofeas pinned him, though he couldn't hold back the urge to snarl soundlessly.
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Carnifex rolled smoothly back to his feet, his weight balanced evenly across his paws, his stance balanced and stable, though he was favoring his sprained back leg. No matter. These individuals were not particularly aggressive; escalating the situation further would provide no benefit. He'd had no real reason for coming here, aside from the fact that it was something to do. There was something else he was supposed to do for his upkeep, wasn't there? He couldn't be in such a useless state when Bill came for him; it would be a disgrace. Priorities, in order: water, food, medical care, sleep. He nodded slightly to himself, his eyelids fluttering shut for a moment, before lifting himself into as commanding a posture as he could in his weakened state. "Water," he stated simply. The juvenile manticore was not much of a talker; if one word was enough to get his meaning across, then one word was what he would say.
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Carnifex was lounging, quite comfortably, on a jutting stone, his chin resting on a paw, the other forepaw tucked under him. Despite his current status as a prisoner, he was perfectly at ease- or, rather, unafraid. It was wasteful to use energy worrying, so he was instead simply observing his new home. He didn't think it would be terribly difficult to escape, if he wished, but, as he had not been instructed to, he saw no reason to trouble himself. One thing that did draw his attention, however, was a stranger- one of many, yes, but this one stood out. A closer inspection was called for, he decided.
He rose to his feet in a quick, decisive movement, and marched towards her with measured, decisive steps, despite the slight limp caused by his sprained leg. He doubted he struck a particularly intimidating sight- the manticore was half-starved, with scabs oozing pus and a thin, tangled mane that would probably have to be shaved off to be saved.
The damaged assassin had little regards for social norms. As such, he saw nothing odd about leveling Afterdark with a glassy, unbroken stare, and moving forward to stand just a bit closer than would be the norm. He did this without providing any sort of introduction or explanation for his behavior.
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Carnifex was pacing camp when he noticed one of the Scarclanners return. Travelling alone, odd hours, no spoils- perhaps an illicit meeting? The idea intrigued him, so he rose to his paws and limped over to the two. He supposed they were his captors, but this place didn't seem well suited for keeping prisoners- no clear dungeon, nobody assigned to guard him, no hard labor. He doubted satisfying his curiosity would entail much risk.
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Carnifex's ears perked forward. Ah, finally- some way he could be useful. Prisoners were generally used for target practice, yes? The Master was taking quite some time in collecting him for a new assignment, but his urge to make himself useful hadn't subsided, so he rose to his paws and marched over, staring wordlessly at Kisa.
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Carnifex approached, his eyes narrowing in interest. Now this was more like it. Some way to improve himself- test his skills, see where he needed to work. The prisoner cast a quick glance at Katastrofeas, huffed out a short breath, and launched himself towards the obstacles.
The tire run was simple enough. He moved with the careful deliberation of one long on the battlefield, despite his tender age. His right rear leg twitched every time he lifted it, the demanding movement stressing his sprained leg. However, it was hardly the worst pain he'd pushed through- or, for that matter, not even the worst he'd caused himself at a superior's command. He paused on the other end of the obstacle, lashing his tail as he landed.
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Carnifex is a prisoner of Scarclan, formerly of the Exiles. He's originally from Scarclan, but was kidnapped and brainwashed by Bill Cipher during his childhood, and he's pretty messed up from the experience.
He's not open to:
being killed, being maimed, being captured/freed, sex, or romance
He is definitely open to:
private threads, friends, enemies, rivals, getting into fights, training someone
Anything else, just ask! c: -
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we did need onetracking & also anyone want to plot/have a thread with tesco?
I'll take one! Who makes?
Anyone else want a thread with Carnifex? -
Carnifex was interested in testing how far he could push his hosts before they snapped. They didn't seem the best suited to holding prisoners and keeping them in line- fortunately for them, he had little interest in leaving. He was out exploring the unfamiliar territory when he heart the sound of splashing in the distance.
Oh. Well this was interesting. His first thought, when he saw the stranger's attempts at fishing, was that if he drowned her now, it would probably be taken for an accident. He filed that aside for future reference and marched over, his thin mane catching on twigs and thorns as he moved.
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Carnifex spared a passing glance for Dethronedking's entrance, making his assessment: from tone and body language, irritated, but not hostile. No threat. He returned his attention to the unknown in the equation, his glassy eyes fixing on her once again. She was in better health than himself, he noted, though then, most people were. Slightly larger than himself, and most likely much heavier due to his almost skeletal frame. No obvious mutations- his poison would prove an advantage against her in a fight, but, overall, it would be best to avoid a conflict in the first place.
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Carnifex turned from his morbid musings to King, his dull eyes boring into the Adviser. The blind man seemed determined to ignore his exploration- not mere apathy, though. If his guess was right, Carnifex was being treated as an individual's prisoner, not that Clan's as a whole. It was hardly a foreign concept to the manticore; he'd brought back many slaves for his Master's entertainment, after all.
"She is ineffective," he reported dutifully. It seemed odd, to report to a broken creature as a superior, but perhaps King was an expert at manipulation rather than outright combat.
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Sounds perfect, thanks!
