Garl Whitefang OCGarl Whitefang sat crosslegged on the padded floor of the council chambers. It was a large room, surrounded with large stained-glass windows except for the area behind him which connected to the rest of the monastery. The eight council members, or Blademasters as the Order of the Broken Blade called them, sat on eight beautifully upholstered wooden chairs surrounding him. They spoke quietly between themselves, some even telepathically, debating the fate of the shifter before them. Despite the tense moment, Garl was peacefully and calmly meditating.Garl Whitefang OC
As a shifter, a race with a natural lycanthropic heritage, emotions tend to manife
Monk
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Quit complaining. Make it art.
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Quit complaining. Make it art.
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I don't suffer from insanity; I enjoy every moment of it.
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