marcus (_drac) wrote in cirque_rp, |
Even with the wild pulse of magic howling, pusling, beating into Marcus' blood, the warlock was in a piss-poor mood. The cold was the majority of his irritation as anything below freezing caused for him to be in the annoying get up he was in. It also made everything fucking hurt. Years of war zones, jogging in shit boots, and that one tussle with a bull, made for all of Marcus' joints tight and crunch. The full mask was stuffy as shit and on top of it all he had stop two werewolves from pissing on tents. Piss. Poor. Mood.
Then, it could be with no surprise that the great black mass that stalked their way was Marcus, melting the snow in a small field of broiling heat about him. He stood a respectful distance away in the consideration to burn anyone with the amount of heat he was producing with his arms crossed. Even with all that heat coming from the warlock, it seemed hard to place just how much power he was putting out or how deep the well really went. Clever bastard.
Marcus looked over at Lila, "Though I love a woman that's always prepared, Elia will likely take the pick of the litter." He nodded to the magical lineage in question that Issca was practically bouncing up and down about. Marcus looked down at Elia, "Be quick about it, darling. Mommy's got children to watch."