    to be called forward by his master - by the rightful demolisher of a leash torn and coated in scarlet, he who wears no muzzle - is an honor. one he shall not speak of for long, for it shouldn’t need an elaborate explanation; this is the man who he idolizes, who he views as the epitome of strength brought to fruition. he takes his summoning as not a sign of potential punishment ( though, between him and an unwilling observer, he does not know what he could have done to deserve such treatment ), but as a testament to recent strides.     his howl becomes louder every day. amplified by the dead and vengeful of the living.     he enters the temporary chambers of ren with his head bowed, but pride evident on an unveiled expression. perhaps he is wrong to hold the other to such high esteem. his perceived master is anarchy incarnate, a force that would put near any jedi into disrepair upon his introduction... but these thoughts only cross his mind for a brief instant before they are as his enemies become: slaughtered.     he says nothing, only signalling his arrival with the sound of rarely unmuffled footsteps. excitement rides on the ends of his spine, unaligned with the seeming indifference on his expression.
@charredren / starter call
