In Kendra's universe, angels do run around armed Old Testament style, with shining helms, flaming swords, blood red eyes, glowing axes, and an appalling affection for early nineties romantic comedies starring Meg Ryan. Add to the equation that Kendra's been, on at least one occasion, mistaken for an angel by other angels, and it gets complicated.
Her hawk mask is clearly stylized, skillfully made with remarkable detail, down to the individual vanes and barbs beaten out in gold, bronze, and accented with black.
She's worn it (and its predecessors) for over five thousand years. When she's on duty, that is.
The wings are large, made of lustrous feathers that shine with black tips and, for those who are uncannily perceptive or who know her well, happen to not actually be a part of her physical person.
She's got a miniature arsenal of archaic weapons strapped efficiently to her body - a 14th century lion's head flail in pristine condition, with the impressively long chain and grip looped tightly to a hook at her waist, and various other bladed weapons - a short sword, a Syrian dagger, spiked cestus on each of her knuckles, and three large red disks of a shining metal that adorn her forearms.
Nothing, at least in terms of military technology, dates from the 20th century.
"I hope I didn't startle you. I mean you no harm, even if I do look like death from above. Which I suspect you'll dismiss out of hand until you've collected more data."
She floats lower so she can get a better look at him, toes of her red boots pointed as they are wont to do when she's ascending or about to hit ground, and the feathers of her wings brush the leaves of the trees.
Eventually she folds them tightly against her back - but they're still large enough that she can't easily climb up and down a multi-branched tree without hacking her way through with a machete, and besides, Kendra doesn't attack nature unless it attacks her first, which means no assaulting greenery. Greenery is to be cherished.
She settles for hovering eye-to-eye, although she's giving him plenty of room - he's still an unknown quantity.
no subject
In Kendra's universe, angels do run around armed Old Testament style, with shining helms, flaming swords, blood red eyes, glowing axes, and an appalling affection for early nineties romantic comedies starring Meg Ryan. Add to the equation that Kendra's been, on at least one occasion, mistaken for an angel by other angels, and it gets complicated.
Her hawk mask is clearly stylized, skillfully made with remarkable detail, down to the individual vanes and barbs beaten out in gold, bronze, and accented with black.
She's worn it (and its predecessors) for over five thousand years. When she's on duty, that is.
The wings are large, made of lustrous feathers that shine with black tips and, for those who are uncannily perceptive or who know her well, happen to not actually be a part of her physical person.
She's got a miniature arsenal of archaic weapons strapped efficiently to her body - a 14th century lion's head flail in pristine condition, with the impressively long chain and grip looped tightly to a hook at her waist, and various other bladed weapons - a short sword, a Syrian dagger, spiked cestus on each of her knuckles, and three large red disks of a shining metal that adorn her forearms.
Nothing, at least in terms of military technology, dates from the 20th century.
"I hope I didn't startle you. I mean you no harm, even if I do look like death from above. Which I suspect you'll dismiss out of hand until you've collected more data."
She floats lower so she can get a better look at him, toes of her red boots pointed as they are wont to do when she's ascending or about to hit ground, and the feathers of her wings brush the leaves of the trees.
Eventually she folds them tightly against her back - but they're still large enough that she can't easily climb up and down a multi-branched tree without hacking her way through with a machete, and besides, Kendra doesn't attack nature unless it attacks her first, which means no assaulting greenery. Greenery is to be cherished.
She settles for hovering eye-to-eye, although she's giving him plenty of room - he's still an unknown quantity.
"Looking for tree crustaceans?"