As the eve approaches, and the shadows grow long, outside the gates to 1407, everything looks to be normal.
Of course, as with so many things, looks are not without their deception, for the wolf that comes loping up to the gates of the most technologically advanced training facility in RhyDin is utterly, undoubtedly, as far from normal as it gets. And just what is 'normal,' anyway?
He debates that as he trots up to the gates, a silvery-grey timberwolf nearly twice the size of a normal wolf - if someone were small enough, he or she might be tempted to try riding him, if they thought they could survive the attempt. Big, well-muscled, a very obviously healthy, magnificent specimen of the species Canis lupus, with startlingly brilliant, sapphire blue eyes, and around its neck, a heavy-looking, thick, beaten silver collar adorned with only a single decoration - a teardrop-shaped amulet, jet-black with a single flaw of amethyst glowing in its heart.
So, yeah, he ain't normal, not hardly. But then, as far as he's concerned, 'normal' is a setting on a washing machine.
As he approaches the gates, he slows, finally coming to a halt and sitting back on his haunches before the entrance to the compound. He's been looking around for a place to train his circle in the concepts of fighting together as a single unit, and to do a little retraining himself - it's been a while since he's had to fight as part of a team, and eh could use the practice.
And, according to everyone he's asked, this place is, without a doubt, the best training grounds that can be found in RhyDin, outside of real-to-life experience. So he's here to petition the owners and see if they would be willing to allow he and his to use their facilities.
He's heard a few good things about this 'Wolvinator' fellow, from the inquiries he's made around - hopefully, they turn out to be accurate.
The wolf settles onto the ground, head up and watching vigilantly. Hopefully, he won't have to wait long.
Of course, as with so many things, looks are not without their deception, for the wolf that comes loping up to the gates of the most technologically advanced training facility in RhyDin is utterly, undoubtedly, as far from normal as it gets. And just what is 'normal,' anyway?
He debates that as he trots up to the gates, a silvery-grey timberwolf nearly twice the size of a normal wolf - if someone were small enough, he or she might be tempted to try riding him, if they thought they could survive the attempt. Big, well-muscled, a very obviously healthy, magnificent specimen of the species Canis lupus, with startlingly brilliant, sapphire blue eyes, and around its neck, a heavy-looking, thick, beaten silver collar adorned with only a single decoration - a teardrop-shaped amulet, jet-black with a single flaw of amethyst glowing in its heart.
So, yeah, he ain't normal, not hardly. But then, as far as he's concerned, 'normal' is a setting on a washing machine.
As he approaches the gates, he slows, finally coming to a halt and sitting back on his haunches before the entrance to the compound. He's been looking around for a place to train his circle in the concepts of fighting together as a single unit, and to do a little retraining himself - it's been a while since he's had to fight as part of a team, and eh could use the practice.
And, according to everyone he's asked, this place is, without a doubt, the best training grounds that can be found in RhyDin, outside of real-to-life experience. So he's here to petition the owners and see if they would be willing to allow he and his to use their facilities.
He's heard a few good things about this 'Wolvinator' fellow, from the inquiries he's made around - hopefully, they turn out to be accurate.
The wolf settles onto the ground, head up and watching vigilantly. Hopefully, he won't have to wait long.