[ Soren feels those eyes on him, and it prickles somewhere beneath his skin. He's prying. As he should, really. But he's electing to have him bear witness to the calamity of his body. ]
I would consider myself a logical person.
[ It may seem like an easy answer, but it isn't. Soren speaks the truth: as a strategist, he works through his usual problems through logical means, unhindered by matters of sentiment, even to the point that his morals often get questioned in the process. However, lurking behind that clean rationale lies a tempest of powerful capacity for emotion, like a sea serpent coiling beneath calm waves, waiting to stir up the next storm. As he sheds his shirt, a dark patch of scales surrounds the perimeter of his back. The rest of his flesh is an archipelago of these same scale patches, some bigger than others, and mostly cropping around his shoulder blades, arms, and collarbone. For being a dragon, he's a slender little thing. Fins the same shade as his wings have begin to erupt on his forearms. And on his biceps, faint runelike markings the color of golden-red sand have been scrawled in a slithering sort of pattern. They don't mean anything, really — they're just marks that flared up across his skin like the scales had. ]
no subject
I would consider myself a logical person.
[ It may seem like an easy answer, but it isn't. Soren speaks the truth: as a strategist, he works through his usual problems through logical means, unhindered by matters of sentiment, even to the point that his morals often get questioned in the process. However, lurking behind that clean rationale lies a tempest of powerful capacity for emotion, like a sea serpent coiling beneath calm waves, waiting to stir up the next storm. As he sheds his shirt, a dark patch of scales surrounds the perimeter of his back. The rest of his flesh is an archipelago of these same scale patches, some bigger than others, and mostly cropping around his shoulder blades, arms, and collarbone. For being a dragon, he's a slender little thing. Fins the same shade as his wings have begin to erupt on his forearms. And on his biceps, faint runelike markings the color of golden-red sand have been scrawled in a slithering sort of pattern. They don't mean anything, really — they're just marks that flared up across his skin like the scales had. ]