[Carlisle never thought too much of dogs. He's afraid of the larger beasts in the woods, the kalugras and the bears; he's on good terms with the Forest Folk, who are more like ascended animals than people in a lot of ways. He has met approximately two cats and was not terribly fond of them. Dogs, though? There's one in town. It's a dog, and not much more.
This dog is nott one of those dogs. As it speaks to him, he feels a chill run down his spine, and suddenly, finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from the hound before him. His pupils lighten and fade, taking on the look of the dead before they are flooded with light, overtaken by it, representative of the energy coursing through him. The garden around them shifts, completely changing in the span of a heartbeat, becoming as wild and unrestrained as the furious magic alight in the clergyman's gaze.
For a brief moment, the foliage turns dark, brown and mottled and utterly overgrown. The vines of the coilers twist in every direction, writhing as they reach toward any and all sources of movement; the curved claws of his paw plants elongate into vicious talons in desperate need of a clipping. The sun fades, and in response, the flowers wither and decay, their leaves curling, choked by the hedges as they transform into arboreal aberrations, alive and threatening in their own right.
And then it is gone, and in the blink of an eye, the garden is back. The plants are less clear then they were before, the outer walls of the sanctuary blurry, blotted like a rough painting. Carlisle remains his unmasked, living self, but his eyes are illuminated, their light focused once more. His gaze is still affixed on the dog as he finally finds his voice.]
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This dog is nott one of those dogs. As it speaks to him, he feels a chill run down his spine, and suddenly, finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from the hound before him. His pupils lighten and fade, taking on the look of the dead before they are flooded with light, overtaken by it, representative of the energy coursing through him. The garden around them shifts, completely changing in the span of a heartbeat, becoming as wild and unrestrained as the furious magic alight in the clergyman's gaze.
For a brief moment, the foliage turns dark, brown and mottled and utterly overgrown. The vines of the coilers twist in every direction, writhing as they reach toward any and all sources of movement; the curved claws of his paw plants elongate into vicious talons in desperate need of a clipping. The sun fades, and in response, the flowers wither and decay, their leaves curling, choked by the hedges as they transform into arboreal aberrations, alive and threatening in their own right.
And then it is gone, and in the blink of an eye, the garden is back. The plants are less clear then they were before, the outer walls of the sanctuary blurry, blotted like a rough painting. Carlisle remains his unmasked, living self, but his eyes are illuminated, their light focused once more. His gaze is still affixed on the dog as he finally finds his voice.]
Don't call me that.