Posts by BENTLEY.

The corgi firmly grasped the pen and let it create rather fancy but compact signatures on the x's. He led a bit of ink dribble onto his white paw, making his pawpads and digits seem obsidian black, and stamped it at the bottom of the waiver before passing it back to the leopard. Gazing at the ink on his paw, Bentley frowned and wondered how he'd get it out in time. Surely there was a source of water somewhere.

The corgi dipped his head to Project and scurried off, his large bob of a tail seeming to bounce as he raced to the water. He returned with a watery paw, now more or less white, sloshing across the ground as he head back to rejoin the group. Little blobs of black ink stained the floor, though he didn't care about it.

Bentley smiled at the presence of the ginger leader. "I suppose it'd be unfair if I didn't let you play, but you can help out stumped players if you'd like," he replied. "You can still be a contestant, though." Experience in medicine would be an advantage, but the game also counted in reflexes, meaning a physically slower player with herb knowledge could be beaten by a faster opponent.

Right then and there, he would've socked Project in the jaw as hard as he could. But he maintained his composure, because "fluffy" dogs don't try to hurt people. "Historian and leafling," he mumbled, expressing his annoyance.

Alas, a more comforting smile slid across Bentley's muzzle as his gaze rested on the once-unfamiliar female. "Well, welcome to StormClan, Blackweed." Friend (or partner, at that) of a Clanmate's was a friend of his.

Bentley, like Spellpaw, was not around during this war, so he hadn't a clue how the Blackheart Rogues stood with StormClan. And judging by the tone of his usually happy leader, it wasn't all too well. Blazestar spoke of bad blood between the groups throughout history, and that made the corgi a little unsettled. Though the newcomer seemed relatively neutral, as well as far outnumbered, so he was relaxed. And if push came to shove, he was very much prepared to fight.

bentley ples

ref's in tags, no collar, lighter brown eyes ^^

Though he wanted to go a neutral, pacifist medic path, Bentley was still interested in politics to a certain extent. The mere idea of murder wasn't very bothersome for him, as he was quite used to death and sacrifices. He'd hardly blink an eye to gruesome torture, so long as it wasn't against him. "If they have a beneficial offer for StormClan, then I don't see why not," the corgi remarked, arching a metaphorical eyebrow. "We could also attempt a 'trial' alliance if we're unsure, then come to a verdict after that period."

basics.

✯ Bentley Harbringer // Ben, Benny

✯ male // masculine

✯ 19 months // mentally 40 months // spiritually 19 months

✯ member of the Frontier

✯ no titles // angery attack corgo™

✯ knowledgeable medic

✯ accepts cannibalism and sacrifices

✯ will lust after people often but is scared of intimacy

✯ sensitive about size, thinks he's a liability

appearance.

✯ Pembroke Welsh Corgi [ref] + [ref] + [ref]

✯ golden-brown pelt with white on chest and underbelly

✯ brown eyes

✯ no accessories

✯ nicks on muzzle, one long scar on neck

✯ minor PTSD—nightmares, occ. flashbacks, won't go near modern medicine and labs

✯ British accent

relationships.

✯ no best friend

✯ no apprentice

✯ [G1] NPC x NPC

✯ questioning sexuality

✯ single // no crush

✯ no offspring

interaction.

✯ storage // plot

✯ physically moderate // mentally very difficult // possession, conjuration

✯ attack in #ffd700

my appypollyloggies for the lack of any activity my dudes. didn't have much muse for this fella.

but ill CoMe BaCK i swear yo

He fought to the best of his goddamn ability. He was born to a band of warrior corgis, for fuck's sake. And here he was, on the verge of a slow and painful death. His "best" simply wasn't enough.

God, how did it come to this? Bested by a manipulative feline that was the slightest inch taller than he was. He was meant to be a mere experiment for that bloody bastard, to become his own personal slave. Benny hated himself for displaying such a show of weakness and vulnerability. What a bloody disgrace he was. But he had also proven his inner strength, able to escape to StormClan alive. Bleeding and bruised and broken, but alive.

The Pembroke Welsh Corgi, once proud and mighty and hospitable, was dragging himself past the borders of his native Clan, his ears flattened against his skull. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't make it. He was going to die mere minutes away from his home. The canine finally collapsed, the note he held in his jaws dropping to the floor. He lay there in a minute pool of blood, next to a note that read:

Played around with him. Hope you don't mind. - Tox D.

//injuries: different scars and marks all around his body, busted lip, both hind legs broken, cut in side of neck (bleeding); feel free to powerplay healing

He could hear the pawsteps of others, and his eyelids fluttered open. Everything looked so...fuzzy and weird. Eventually his vision began to clear until he could make out the figures of Spellpaw and Blackweed. "Are you okay?" Really? He didn't look all too dandy. A stream of rapid words erupted from him. "NoI'mnotfuckingokaygetmsomfuckinghelpnow!" Sure, he'd live, but Benny had the tendency to make out his pain worse than it actually was. His cut was deep, but it surely wasn't fatal. His hind legs were broken but could be repaired—walking would surely be a bitch until he'd heal.