[ And when Deimos opens the door, he doubles over the pair of them easily. All seven-foot and slate grey skin and horns. Bare-chested, and yes, wounded. A pile of at moderately clean rags in his hand, held over a wound running across his could and down. Mopping up the blood as best he can for the time being. It isn't serious, not now, but it will be if it goes unattended for much longer. ]
The mage, I take it? And - [ he jerks his head at the cowering young man who apparently just realised what he volunteered for.
And what is currently scowling at him like he can't tell if he means to eat him or not. ] - whose this whelp?
no subject
The mage, I take it? And - [ he jerks his head at the cowering young man who apparently just realised what he volunteered for.
And what is currently scowling at him like he can't tell if he means to eat him or not. ] - whose this whelp?