A wood elf rises from where he was unceremoniously deposited here in a jumble of limbs, backpack, and industrial-grade suitcase. He feels uncannily like an improperly-developed photo, blurry-edged senses stretched through a sieve. He's just a little taller than he was as the human named Izuku "Deku" Midoriya, but still short for an elf. His skin is medium cedarwood and freckled. His forest green plumage is flecked with red and yellow near his ears. Like his human counterpart, he has muscle packed onto whatever an elf's willowy frame will allow. He wears a gray jumpsuit, a black vest, and boots. A grease stain decorates his forehead.
Ize shifts his possessions more securely as he smells the blood in the air. It stokes something feral and wide-eyed in him. With a grace that belongs among trees and not iron-soaked stone, he wordlessly ushers anyone he can to a safe spot to talk, preferably behind some solid brick cover.
What... is your quest? (closed to Paul/Atreus, and those listening in if need be?)
Everyone safely assembled for the moment, Ize's green eyes barely sweep the motley crew before they land on someone he recognizes. Something strange is going on, and he suspects one person of having a hand in it:
"Shy Hood!" he blurts at the shrike in surprise, warm familiarity, and the kind of accusation that can only come from that. Ize, the son of a dying backwater community marches right up to his Prince. "What the hell?! I had class."
1.1 Arrival | Deku/Ize
A wood elf rises from where he was unceremoniously deposited here in a jumble of limbs, backpack, and industrial-grade suitcase. He feels uncannily like an improperly-developed photo, blurry-edged senses stretched through a sieve. He's just a little taller than he was as the human named Izuku "Deku" Midoriya, but still short for an elf. His skin is medium cedarwood and freckled. His forest green plumage is flecked with red and yellow near his ears. Like his human counterpart, he has muscle packed onto whatever an elf's willowy frame will allow. He wears a gray jumpsuit, a black vest, and boots. A grease stain decorates his forehead.
Ize shifts his possessions more securely as he smells the blood in the air. It stokes something feral and wide-eyed in him. With a grace that belongs among trees and not iron-soaked stone, he wordlessly ushers anyone he can to a safe spot to talk, preferably behind some solid brick cover.
What... is your quest? (closed to Paul/Atreus, and those listening in if need be?)
Everyone safely assembled for the moment, Ize's green eyes barely sweep the motley crew before they land on someone he recognizes. Something strange is going on, and he suspects one person of having a hand in it:
"Shy Hood!" he blurts at the shrike in surprise, warm familiarity, and the kind of accusation that can only come from that. Ize, the son of a dying backwater community marches right up to his Prince. "What the hell?! I had class."