Bryn swept through the entrance hall and into the castle proper, doors opening for him, without any need for a servant to do so. Despite his position, the master of his bizarre menagerie of creatures, he was not waited on as a human lord. Instead, his power was made obvious by his self-sufficiency. He didn't wear clothing, save for his billowing robes, and his bare feet barely made a noise as he walked across polished stone floor.<br/><br/>His robes were white, today, with a pattern of ivy that crept up from its sleeves, and where it flowed across the ground. Despite the fact that he'd been walking, barefoot. He never rode anywhere, but had never been gone for more than a week. His methods of travel were mysterious enough, as was much about the wizard. Indeed, his trips didn't come all that often, but it was almost unheard of that his schedule be broken. His sleeves hung empty at the sides of his robes, his robe pulled over his shoulders like a traveling coat.<br/><br/>He had not been in the door a minute before his mood was made clear. His robe fluttered in a breeze that simply wasn't there for a moment, before it had changed colour, and indeed even texture and length. It was then black, and lined with red, and was much longer than before, stretching almost back to the door from where he stood.<br/><br/>"Taskill!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the castle halls, "show yourself!"<br/><br/>Taskill had been one of his earliest successes, and as a result the one to often see his worst moods. Bryn had always been a man of prizes, and Taskill was a prize, who apparently he believe would improve his mood from whatever had darkened it. Of course, it would not be simple to do so, Taskill would likely suffer for it, but Bryn did not consult his prizes in their use.