Charming devil, silver tongue

Daemon Argyris · 06-03-2011, 04:16 PM

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Gender: Male

Age: Two

Preferred Rank: I'm not sure if working with leather would be considered a Traditional or Craftsman job...? Maybe Traditional, since it's sort of like sculpting? But either one of those. :3

Currently Played Characters: N/A

Initial Post:

The boy was gone. Somewhere. Maybe getting food? That was possible. That was...likely. Daemon's hands paused their work as he thought about that, and then carefully began bending and squeezing the leather again, working it into the shape he wanted it. A mask, that was what he wanted; something to hide his scars. Something to hide that scar. He'd unwrapped his hands from the bandages in order to work, but the bald, shaking appendages were being worn to the bone--that was the phrase, wasn't it? Working them to the bone? Daemon thought so--and he would soon stop. He would soon venture out into the moonlight and fetch food--there was something nearby, wasn't there?...Wasn't there? How did one get food? Daemon knew the boy got it. Fion, that was his name. "White." "Fair One." He didn't look white or fair. He looked like a scuffed up little runt. But what fur...Daemon missed fur.

Food, though. Now that he thought about it, his stomach had been growling for some time. And he vaguely remembered putting his plate on the bench outside the pelts, outside the wagon--out in the world--what felt forever ago. Was it filled yet? The leather needed to dry; He set it down somewhere it wouldn't slump and wandered up front to see. The plate was still empty when he pulled the pelt back a sliver and peered through, and there was no sign of it being filled soon. The sun was gone, for which he was grateful; he thought he was, anyway. Wasn't it the sun that had caused the scars? No....no, that had been him. Daemon had done this to himself.

Poking absently at the silver dish sitting in the moonlight, Daemon wondered where Boy had gone. He did that often, when he remembered there was a Boy, though more often he did not. Boy had been gone a long time, hadn't he? And Horse was gone, too. He must have had to go a long way, to take Horse--Viv. Daemon frowned a bit; he didn't like anyone riding Vivica, because of the burns on her back. But...no, what was this? There she was, grazing, only a few yards ahead of him. Horse was here, without Boy. Had he taken her at all? Daemon was getting all twisted around, thinking these complicated thoughts. He thought to join the horse, ask her, perhaps, where Fion had gone--and there was that name, again. "White." "Fair One."--but then he remembered horses don't talk. And, for that matter, neither did he. He went back inside and to his mask, and began carving its surface instead. He forgot there was a Boy; he forgot about Horse.

He ignored the scent of the large group of wolves just outside his wagon, and lost himself in his work. Fion, meanwhile, took a nap underneath the wagon--Daemon should be asleep by now, he'd thought. He had yet to catch up with the strange hours his master worked.[/html]

Skye Collins · 06-03-2011, 11:05 PM

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I think it'd be considered craftsmanship. ^^ Welcome to Cercatori d'Arte!

The moon's light gleamed down on the forest as the white woman walked through it - she had heard the noises of a horse snorting nearby, and the scent of a stranger and his horse as well - she was curious to know who they were. They were just outside of the territory, so she didn't want to scare them off, but she did want to know what they wanted with her pack, if anything at all; surely the man scented the borders of a pack of canines nearby.

As she parted through the bushes and the undergrowth, she was met at a very strange site; a beautiful horse was grazing just by her, the mare's body jet black - or, it would be, she was sure, if the rest of it hadn't been concealed in a strange sort of cloak that seemed patched and worn at the edges. Gazing past the horse, Skye saw a covered wagon; she had seen things like that before, and was admired at the craftsmanship it must have taken to create it; the cover for the wagon was patched and seemed to be made out of the same material as the horse's cloak, but much larger.

She then spotted the man - he was lying underneath the wagon, seeming to be sleeping. She neared and cleared her throat; they weren't trespassing, but they were awfully close, and these were claimed lands.

"Hello," she said to the stranger. "You are at the borders of Cercatori d'Arte; may I help you?"

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Daemon Argyris · 06-04-2011, 08:12 PM

[html]ooc: Thanks! Big Grin

The sound of the woman's voice woke Fion from a sound sleep, and he shot up as though it had been a hostile bark, slamming his head squarely on the bottom of the wagon. Inside, the wooden floor groaned a bit, and Daemon looked at it curiously, stomping experimentally just to make sure it was sound. Fion glanced up, thinking perhaps he'd woken Daemon and that was the sound of him falling to the floor, before crawling out from under the wagon, scratching his head nervously and offering an innocent grin. "Oh, umm...wur just...campin' ou' ere! Ah mean, we didna mean ta disturb anyone. Ah, uh..." The boy looked up as there was some more thumping from Daemon, who'd moved to the front of the wagon at the sound of the boy's voice to see if his plate had been filled yet, before he continued. "Ah can move us on...Master sure won' mind." His unique accent was thick, and he twisted his fingers together nervously. It wasn't often he talked to women; they intimidated him more than men did. More often than not, they could be crueler than a man.

Daemon found his plate still empty, though the Boy was clearly back from wherever it was he'd gone. Prodding the dish again, lightly, Daemon once again glanced up at the moonlight. It wouldn't hurt him, he knew; it just...scared him, sometimes. It's rays very much reminded him of a dimmed sun, which was why he still wore a cloak at night. But the Boy had not filled his plate, and to get the cloak and then find the Boy, he'd have to go back into the depths of his home before he went out. Daemon decided he wouldn't bother. Pulling the pelt back farther with one frail hand, Daemon carefully climbed out and scooped up his plate, and then climbed off the driver's bench, making his way around the side. He stopped just in sight of them, his face unmasked and his bandages barely wound, hanging off his limbs and shoulders and baring most of his skin. There was a stranger there, a female. She didn't look even vaguely familiar, but Daemon always felt he should know strangers when he came across them, thanks to losing his memory around his own family. He hesitated there, uncertain whether to step forward and grab Fion's attention or retreat and pretend he'd never left the wagon.

He made an indecisive sound, somewhat like a ragged cough, and Fion looked his way, surprised to see him and then horrified to see the plate in his hand. "Ack! Sorreh, master! Ah'll ge' ya some food!" He said, so loud he barely refrained from shouting, and rushed up, taking the plate and running off before Daemon could object. Thrown out of his half-baked state and into the real world so suddenly was disconcerting, and he shuffled toward the female, uncomfortably aware of his appearance. He tugged his bandages tighter as much as he could self-consciously, and looked at her out of the corner of his eye, the corners of his mouth turning down. He'd heard something of a name, in the wagon; Cercatori D'Arte. A...what was the word? He couldn't remember. It was something of a family, though. A clan. Daemon had been looking for one, sometimes.

He tilted his head and lifted one bandaged hand, slim fingers stretching toward her curiously as he pointed. Hoooooo. He made the sighing sound that Lucivar had always taken as a question, meaning it to make her tell him who she was. He wished Fion would come back and do the transaction for him, get them into the clan, but he'd run off. Daemon was on his own.

He took deep breathes; he could do this. He just had to...focus. But focus on what, he wondered?
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Skye Collins · 06-06-2011, 01:44 PM

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Skye's eyes widened a bit as the boy's head shot up in alarm, bumping against the caravan. "Are you alri -" she was about to ask when he crawled out from underneath the caravan and grinned at the woman, stating that they were simply camping out there and didn't mean to disturb anyone. He trailed off a bit, looking at the caravan as something or someone moved about in it, causing it to bump around. He said tha tthey could move, and that 'master', whoever that was, wouldn't mind.

She was about to say something when the strange 'master' came out of the caravan. The man at first looked a bit... shiny, like his fur had been throroughly washed; she realized soon that that, however, was not the case; this man didn't have fur, at least not much. Bandages made from what seemed to be a loose fabric wound around his body like a mummy from the books of ancient Egypt Skye had read, and he gave a short cough before simply standing there in front of what appeared to be his and the boy's traveling home.

With a shout, the boy yelled something about food and ran off with the plate the man had been holding. The bandaged man then walked towards Skye slowly, stretching out a finger towards her and asking unsteadily 'who'.

"I am Skye Collins, leader of Cercatori d'Arte, the pack you reside next to," she said, unsure of this stranger, who he was, and if he could speak properly; she wished the boy would come back to explain, but he seemed to have run off.

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Daemon Argyris · 06-07-2011, 02:28 AM

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The female in front of him looked as unsure about him as he was about her. As she answered his question, his hand slowly dropped, his mind slowly turning the information over before discarding it, finding it too much for his simple thought process to understand. He stared at her uncertainly, twisting his hands together until the bones creaked, and finally made the sighing sound again, softer and with an uncertain cock of his head. He didn't understand; but the word that had stood out most was "Sky", and so he turned it over some more, and finally his hand moved cautiously, pointing again to her and then slowly moving up, pointing at the starry night above him. Hoooo...oo? There was an uplift to the end of his sigh this time, but he dropped his hand before she answered, his eyes caught the shine in hers, and he spaced out, his own eyes glazing and becoming unfocused. Absently he wondered if Fion would be back soon, and let his eyes drift to the bandages on his arms. He began tugging them tighter and looser, and finally unwrapped them altogether, humming absently to himself as he did so. It revealed more and more burned skin, some more obviously scarred than others, but it wasn't until he came to a particularly ruined, crackled patch near his elbow that he stopped, and began poking at it curiously, flinching when it hurt.

Fion returned as he did this, the young boy stopping to watch worriedly before leaving the plate on the bench leading back into the wagon in the hopes it would lure Daemon back into the wagon. He approached slowly, placing himself between the stranger and his craft master, usually a sign that the latter wasn't expected to add anything to the conversation--at least, that was the way he seemed to take it. He reached up and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment as he looked at her, grinning apologetically. Ah'm rally sorry... He shifted nervously, realizing Daemon wasn't going away any time soon, and added, Ya can' rally blame 'im, though; 's far 's Ah can tell, he's dumb. Er, he can' speak. Or, ya know...do anything. He felt bad speaking about the man who was taking care of him--and by that, he meant giving him somewhere to sleep and something to do, mostly--like that, but it was the truth. From what Fion had learned, Daemon couldn't do anything but his trade--it was probably why he was so good at it.

E's only rally good at leatherworkin'. 'E's teachin' me th' trade. He added, somewhat eagerly, as this was something he was quite proud of--getting a dumb master to teach you was quite a feat, all things considered. Almost as an afterthought, he added, Do we...need to move? Or could we...stay? The question had a double-meaning; Fion was getting tired of traveling around--it made it harder to learn, when Daemon had such odd hours and Fion was tired from driving all day. It was also hard to take care of him, when he was mute and Fion himself such an amateur hunter; some help would be nice.
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Skye Collins · 06-07-2011, 07:13 AM

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welcome to cercatori d'arte! we can continue this thread if you want, or we don't have to - either way, you can start posting in the pack now and have threads with other pack members!

Skye cocked her head curiously as the strange man asked who again, only this time pointed to the star-spangled night sky. She glanced up for a moment, confused; no one was there, it was only the heavens shining down on them. When she took the time to look back at the man, he was now unraveling his bandages, revealing more and more pinkish-white skin that bore no fur, patches of it burnt; with a horrible sinking feeling, Skye could begin to piece together with her mind what had happened to this man.

Before long, his younger and more vocal companion returned, this time with food for the man. He turned to her, and she quickly learned that this man was what the boy called dumb - couldn't speak, or do much of anything. Skye could imagine that - but what surprised her was that he seemingly could do leatherwork. That was interesting; they didn't have anyone of that skill in the pack.

The boy asked the next question, and Skye pondered that for a while - when he had asked if they could stay, she was sure that they meant inside the pack, and she thought that this boy, who seemed to prioritize his 'master's orders before his own needs, and the own master, who seemed not to be able to do anything himself, wouldn't last long if they continued wandering -- they may even find themselves unfortunate enough to show up mistakenly on the borders of the likes of Salsola or Inferni, and then what?

'You may stay,' the woman said warmly to both of them. "Cercatori d'Arte is a pack of creating and making, which I'm sure that he'll be great at; as long as you don't cause any trouble, you'll find shelter and safety here in its borders."

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Skye Collins · 06-07-2011, 07:13 AM

Site - Rules - Ranks

Hello, and welcome to Cercatori d'Arte! You've just joined one of the many fantastic packs in the world of Souls; based on trade and good relations, this pack is perfect for a soul looking for a friendly place to stay - so welcome to the family! Some things you might want to check out in this unique pack are:

___1. Check out the pack game, where you can earn points to get cool titles and icons!
___2. Read up on the information about the ranks and co-ranks so you can advance in the pack!
___3. Look at the territory map so you can get a feel for the territory of Cercatori d'Arte and choose a house in Thornbury for your character to live in if you want!

If you don't know where to start posting, you can check out the thread requests forum or the open threads! You can also create or join an all welcome thread for some IC fun. Why not also start plotting with other members and begin a fun plot or activity that people can enjoy and experiment with?

Daemon Argyris · 06-07-2011, 07:33 PM

[html]ooc: I wouldn't mind continuing, if you wouldn't! ^^

Fion grinned brightly as they were granted permission, and welcomed into the pack, to boot; he'd have help taking care of Daemon from this point on. Rubbing his hands together eagerly, he added in a bright tone, Oh, and Ah'm Fion! Ah dunno what 'is name is. 'E seems ta think 'ts Demon. He shuffled his feet and shrugged awkwardly, grin still firmly in place. Ah prefer 'master" ta tha', any day. Daemon looked up as the Boy's name for him was spoken, and his usual annoyance and Fion's refusal to understand rose. Aaaaa. Aaaaa. He insisted, his pale flesh no longer interesting him. He realized, just then, what he'd been doing, and began winding himself up again, casting a glance at the one called Sky nervously before he began wandering off, making soft chattering sounds to himself as if he were mumbling under his breath. In a way, he was; his name was Daemon, not Demon, though he certainly looked like one. And really, he preferred "master" to that, too, because he didn't need to be reminded he was a monster every time Fion looked at him.

Fion ignored the little outburst, used to them by now, and made sure Daemon was wandering back into the wagon and not off on his own before he turned back to the leader, nearly bouncing on his feet. Whut ahll da we 'ave ta do ta be productive in yer pack, then? Ah'm up fer anything! He was used to doing the footwork for Daemon by now, trading and selling as well as buying materials, and he knew the basics; he was rather hoping taking care of his Master wouldn't be the only job he had, now.
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