[ It smells like animals. Like the close claustrophobic smell of dirt and refuse and hay, a distant dampness that rises from the subterranean lakes, turned sour and copper from all the sweat and blood soaked into earthen ceilings, walls, floors. There's a haze of smoke from the torches which burn here at the entrance to it all. The room at the bottom of the stairs is the only place lit so well. Once, this was the place where little witches would load up their baskets of food to take into the depths. Now it is empty, disused, hauntingly silent.
Tavor comes up out of the dark without a sound. He too is quite wan, an underground creature with sallow skin and beady eyes. At first, half hidden in the shadow, he looks like little more than a somewhat ugly man, but as he comes closer he is exposed. There is something animal about him, about his gaze, about the way he holds himself, the suggestions of the workings beneath his paper-thin skin under which all veins can be see. He has sharp teeth and sharp claws, a long thick tail the color of flesh which thrashes and coils behind him. His clothes are ancient and ragged, filthy, the white collared shirt beneath the dark blazer and slacks is an amusing play at civility.
He curls his clawed hands, placing them into his pockets, posture slouched, expression contemplative. He sniffs at Brandon. Smells his clever little magicks but makes no mention of it. ]
Magus. [ A shrug of a greeting. ] Do you know why you're here?
no subject
Tavor comes up out of the dark without a sound. He too is quite wan, an underground creature with sallow skin and beady eyes. At first, half hidden in the shadow, he looks like little more than a somewhat ugly man, but as he comes closer he is exposed. There is something animal about him, about his gaze, about the way he holds himself, the suggestions of the workings beneath his paper-thin skin under which all veins can be see. He has sharp teeth and sharp claws, a long thick tail the color of flesh which thrashes and coils behind him. His clothes are ancient and ragged, filthy, the white collared shirt beneath the dark blazer and slacks is an amusing play at civility.
He curls his clawed hands, placing them into his pockets, posture slouched, expression contemplative. He sniffs at Brandon. Smells his clever little magicks but makes no mention of it. ]
Magus. [ A shrug of a greeting. ] Do you know why you're here?