At the site of a rather uncanny looking settlement, the area spotted with droopy tents and oddly shaped cabins, a pair of outside shifters walked through the community easily. On one of their shoulders was draped a small shifter, his hands awkwardly tied behind his back and ankles bound with a thick rope. He was seemingly unconscious, albeit whether it was purposefully or not was another question altogether. Accompanied by some others of the opposite clan, the duo of outsiders, along with the lesser one being brought in with them, steadily marched for the center of camp. While the sneers and insults tossed their way as they continued were less than welcoming or amicable, they were only here for one reason — deliver the offering, finalize peace, and leave unscathed.
Upon arriving where they'd been instructed to be, the two larger shifters made their rounds. They spoke to those in command, those individuals who were higher ranking. It took time, of course, for everything to be settled, but once all had been accomplished and a sort of treaty had finally been reached, the pair set the man that they'd forced along with them down and left. A closer look might indicate an unusual harness contraption over his head. Like a horse, a rough bit had been shoved into his mouth, presumably to keep him from speaking or crying out; a bit might not be peculiar in itself if it weren't for the slight trickle of blood from the corners of the man's lips. He almost appears fake, like a coat of makeup had been hastily applied to his visible features as if to obscure any bruises or wounds from earlier struggle.
On the back of the shifter's shirt was a small tag, and in elegant, swooping cursive lettering, the name "Vyra" was written.
The curious murmurs of those around him would fall on deaf ears, and the only suggestion that Vyra was even alive at all was the slow rise and fall of his chest. He was short in stature and slender in physique, skin tone olive in hue and a disheveled mop of short, curly white hair was atop his head. There are signs of a fight too, one being that of a not so cleanly hidden black eye on the right side of Vyra's face. Nevertheless, he continues to sleep, taking in slow breaths through his nose. It's only when another shifter nears him, looking to study the offered man more closely, does he finally stir. Both eyes flutter open, the swollen one slightly less than the other. They're a feral gold color, and slit pupils try to focus on the immediate environment. Vyra grimaces at the bit in his mouth. While it hurts, he still manages to talk. After a tired sounding grumble, followed by a low groan, he flexes his hands... and to his dismay, still he finds them tied tightly at the small of his back.
"Where'm I..?" he slurs, blinking away the cloudy haze hindering his vision. Vyra tries to pull his hands up despite the rope. It looks as though his struggle will begin anew. A hiss is loosed past the harness. "Fuck... take me home."
Upon arriving where they'd been instructed to be, the two larger shifters made their rounds. They spoke to those in command, those individuals who were higher ranking. It took time, of course, for everything to be settled, but once all had been accomplished and a sort of treaty had finally been reached, the pair set the man that they'd forced along with them down and left. A closer look might indicate an unusual harness contraption over his head. Like a horse, a rough bit had been shoved into his mouth, presumably to keep him from speaking or crying out; a bit might not be peculiar in itself if it weren't for the slight trickle of blood from the corners of the man's lips. He almost appears fake, like a coat of makeup had been hastily applied to his visible features as if to obscure any bruises or wounds from earlier struggle.
On the back of the shifter's shirt was a small tag, and in elegant, swooping cursive lettering, the name "Vyra" was written.
The curious murmurs of those around him would fall on deaf ears, and the only suggestion that Vyra was even alive at all was the slow rise and fall of his chest. He was short in stature and slender in physique, skin tone olive in hue and a disheveled mop of short, curly white hair was atop his head. There are signs of a fight too, one being that of a not so cleanly hidden black eye on the right side of Vyra's face. Nevertheless, he continues to sleep, taking in slow breaths through his nose. It's only when another shifter nears him, looking to study the offered man more closely, does he finally stir. Both eyes flutter open, the swollen one slightly less than the other. They're a feral gold color, and slit pupils try to focus on the immediate environment. Vyra grimaces at the bit in his mouth. While it hurts, he still manages to talk. After a tired sounding grumble, followed by a low groan, he flexes his hands... and to his dismay, still he finds them tied tightly at the small of his back.
"Where'm I..?" he slurs, blinking away the cloudy haze hindering his vision. Vyra tries to pull his hands up despite the rope. It looks as though his struggle will begin anew. A hiss is loosed past the harness. "Fuck... take me home."