Re: Chapter Six : Reinforcements
Towering over everyone except Ulik, and then even matching him in height, the Lanotaur was sitting on the table in a corner, picking apart a morsel of food with a sneer on his face. This was no hunt-food, and it was somehow humiliating to eat their gather-food. As if he were some clawless and stub-fanged elder... slowed down to uselessness, who'd not known enough to die on the hunt.
Bah.
War. Necessity was the bitch-mother of humiliation.
He sheared off a chickenleg in his fangs, bone and all, chewing it as he studied the others. He could sense the whiff of magics and psychics with his trained senses. He was drawn occasionally to study White Moon. Psi-stalker. A honorable hunter race, from all of his accounts, although the enemy ones were honorless curs in most cases, and best put down as such.
Tyirrik was silent, and didnt respond to any advances, except to fixate the individual with a scarlet-eyed stare that suggested each time that he was assessing ones quality as prey. Even if it wasnt a conscious choice of his, his gaze inevitably suggested that, as it was ingrained into him on an instinctual level.
He was clad in his armor, but glove-less and helmet-less, the accessories tied to his belt. Aside from his knives, a heavy particle beam cannon was strapped over his back... but he was otherwise unarmed. Seargant Tyirrik definately did not look like the individual who often took prisoners.