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ThomasRHellsing
Pulsar
- Joined
- Sep 18, 2011
- Location
- Hell ((2nd Circle))
Most men would tel you, that “The great white north” was a hard pace to live. That it took a certain cut a certain hearty cut to manage in the thick woods. He only human interaction being a monthly trip into town. Snow so thick it was impossible to see through. Roads full of thick dangerous black ice. That any poor bastard, who went off the beaten paths was a dead man.
This might have been true, but Victor Creed was no “normal man”, some would say he wasn't a man at all. His sharp amber eyes, and longer canines the first features that stood out, the second being the fact his nails and teeth reflected might, implying they were metallic rather then the normal material. Victor was scary enough without these attributes, the massive man stood six foot, eight inches, tight firm muscles moved as is body seemed to glide rather then walk. His build was definitely “ten pounds of ass kicking, in a five pound bag”, but at the same time he seemed a bit more wiry, then thick like a steroid abuser. These muscles came from a savage work out routine or practical combat, rather then drugs or an attempt to be impressive. Despite that however, many claimed Creed's eyes were what made him scary, had earned him the name “Sabretooth”. Eyes that held a crazy intelligence, and an equal brutality. You couldn't fight in as many fights, or survive as many wars as the “feral” mutant had, without intelligence, even with a healing factor.
The man looked under dressed for the extreme cold, depending of course on who you asked. A black cotton T-shirt, with a pocket over the left breast, black jeans, tight enough to not get in his way if he had to run or kick, but loose enough that they couldn’t be confused with skinny jeans. Black leather combat boot, with steel toes, and the boot held a faint shine. A military surplus snow camo jacket. Black leather gloves on each hand fingerless after the second knuckle. His blond hair brushed back smooth, and kept in a simple ponytail which reached the middle of his back. The man lifted another beer can from the cooler sitting beside him having his thumb nail extend into a two inch razor sharp blade he pierced the side of the can. Emptying the contents into hi mouth. With a single squeeze the now empty can was tossed back into the back of the camper.
The feral mutant had bee driving nearly three hours, and had pulled off the road two hours ago. Putting his head outside the window he sniffed it a few times. Nodding his head, he said, “Guess this is far enough.”
Sabretooth moved back towards the back of the camper, getting a compact bow and a quarrel of arrows, he wondered what he'd find to hunt nearby. The massive mutant noticed two things, a flapping of the trap over his boat, and a smell that smelled like someone who hadn't showered in a few days. The mutant mercenary moved towards the tarp and yanked it up growling low in his throat s he willed all of his claws to extend.
This might have been true, but Victor Creed was no “normal man”, some would say he wasn't a man at all. His sharp amber eyes, and longer canines the first features that stood out, the second being the fact his nails and teeth reflected might, implying they were metallic rather then the normal material. Victor was scary enough without these attributes, the massive man stood six foot, eight inches, tight firm muscles moved as is body seemed to glide rather then walk. His build was definitely “ten pounds of ass kicking, in a five pound bag”, but at the same time he seemed a bit more wiry, then thick like a steroid abuser. These muscles came from a savage work out routine or practical combat, rather then drugs or an attempt to be impressive. Despite that however, many claimed Creed's eyes were what made him scary, had earned him the name “Sabretooth”. Eyes that held a crazy intelligence, and an equal brutality. You couldn't fight in as many fights, or survive as many wars as the “feral” mutant had, without intelligence, even with a healing factor.
The man looked under dressed for the extreme cold, depending of course on who you asked. A black cotton T-shirt, with a pocket over the left breast, black jeans, tight enough to not get in his way if he had to run or kick, but loose enough that they couldn’t be confused with skinny jeans. Black leather combat boot, with steel toes, and the boot held a faint shine. A military surplus snow camo jacket. Black leather gloves on each hand fingerless after the second knuckle. His blond hair brushed back smooth, and kept in a simple ponytail which reached the middle of his back. The man lifted another beer can from the cooler sitting beside him having his thumb nail extend into a two inch razor sharp blade he pierced the side of the can. Emptying the contents into hi mouth. With a single squeeze the now empty can was tossed back into the back of the camper.
The feral mutant had bee driving nearly three hours, and had pulled off the road two hours ago. Putting his head outside the window he sniffed it a few times. Nodding his head, he said, “Guess this is far enough.”
Sabretooth moved back towards the back of the camper, getting a compact bow and a quarrel of arrows, he wondered what he'd find to hunt nearby. The massive mutant noticed two things, a flapping of the trap over his boat, and a smell that smelled like someone who hadn't showered in a few days. The mutant mercenary moved towards the tarp and yanked it up growling low in his throat s he willed all of his claws to extend.