[P] A sweet symbiosis of cause and convenience
#1
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Mile or so north of the border, Gaspesia, in the Red Bank River.

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The wheat-colored wolfdog crouched at the edge of the bank like a little puppy, enraptured by the flickers and splashes where fish swam through the river. Maples flowering red dotted the hillside on either side of the water, and bushes provided shade on the shore. Some places the trees shadowed over the water, and here Benjamin watched the surface, one hand poised in front of him as if he had a shot at lashing out and scooping one of the fish up.

You're going to fall in, Faizel warned him in Turkish, looking up from where she was filling their waterskins where the water ran clear over a small ridge. Her feet were cold where she stepped in, but she hoped that the water would be worth it when they traveled; she had no idea when they would next be able to stop. She wasn't about to ask Khairan and Naila -- or their animals -- to come with them if they didn't scout out potential places to rest, however. Her brother's needs were very specific, and she didn't want to let him down even if she didn't keep to their religion's mandates so closely. She wanted to make sure he had clean water for drink and washing, at least, in case the next place they squatted had none.

You would fish me out, Benji argued, along with dinner.

Her whiskers twitched despite herself. I will take the fish and leave you, she retorted, then squealed in shock when he splashed her. She whirled toward him cursing. Orospu çocuğu!

He cackled. You do scream like a girl! he exclaimed -- but he did, too, when she threw the waterskin aside and rushed toward him, tackling him into the shallows.

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<div class="title">The deeds of men, as footprints in the desert.<br/>
Nothing under the circling moons is fated to last.</br>
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#2
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-- ((+4))

He had gotten very sick of Sapient very quickly. The mood in his home had recently plummeted from its usual sublime to an ill-making mixture of shame as well as mourning. Diarmid was dead, and his sister's eyes just as flat. His nephew whom he had scarcely ever spoken a word to was emotionally scarred, and Cillian could not help but pin the blame on the Sagax. Yes, the loners that had done the deed were guilty, but they were only acting like any living being would in their situation. Cillian's nightmares had been flaring up, as well, and overall the Estate and territories of the pack were bleeding negativity. So he had taken a self-imposed vacation for the night. With, of course, his best friend the billy goat. Goats didn't have issues like Luperci did. They just ate and crapped and slept, and Cillian was thankful for it.

He'd been traveling a good portion of the morning and had made nearly a mile. For a cripple, that was decent time, but his good leg and shoulder were beginning to ache from picking up the slack of his lame limb. Soon, they would need to stop for a meal and rest before they could continue. He didn't mind the pain, though, not at all; mostly because he had learned to live with it, but also because the pain was not mixed with a cramped feeling of uneasiness that came as he sat in his room of the Estate. Here, there may have been no civilization, but the heir didn't mind. It was quiet, and relaxing, and overall very peaceful. Peaceful, that is, until he heard the noise of what sounded like a very large animal was in the midst or drowning.

The goat and man both lifted their heads in curiosity, Rian immediately leaping out in front of his companion to go investigate. Cillian followed as quickly as was possible to stumble upon the scene of a pair of Luperci commencing in a battle in the water. His first emotion was one of panic, but it was quickly morphed into a sigh of recognition when it was clear the fighting was only playful. Cillian's goat was perched on a nearby boulder, staring and bleating at the tumblers. He had not been noticed yet, and so the Nemain man moved closer to the river before barking once, followed by a line of speech. "Maistíní, you are. I though' you were drownin' eachother." The words were not genuinely accusing, though they had given him a decent fright. Instead, his first feeling was one of curiosity. This was clearly not a spar, but it was not a real battle- were they play-fighting for fun? Raised under the hand of a tribe that didn't develop such loving or playful relationships, Cillian found the act odd and intriguing.

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<span class="CillSigName">Cillian Brádaigh</span>
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#3
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lol idk what this post is

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The water was cold, the current pulling, but she dug her claws into the silty bottom and wrapped her arms around her brother's chest, gripping her wrist and restraining him before pulling him -- and herself -- down into the river again. Benjamin barked and flailed and tried to gnaw at her as they wrestled, but his attempts to free himself were in vain.

The pale wolfdog gasped as he surfaced again, and managed to exclaim Keçi? before he was wrenched off his feet again. Confused by his outburst, Faizel straightened in the water -- they were further out now, though the current was not so fast and strong as to make this dangerous -- and stared at a figure on the shore when it barked at them. Her posture changed at once, her masked muzzle wrinkling, but when she took in the sight of the crippled man she relaxed.

There's time for that yet, Faizel said on drowning, and glared at her sibling as if he was the cause of the stranger's sudden appearance. He arguably was.

But Benjamin was grinning. He quickly waded closer to the bank and hoisted himself onto the grassy rise, sitting and looking the doggish stranger over. He was terribly scarred, his face covered with an eyepatch, but his wiry coat and domestic features were interesting. Recognizing the interested lean in her brother's form, Faizel clenched her teeth.

Who are you? Faizel asked, her accented voice direct but quiet.

Your goat is cute, said Ben.

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[html]<div class="faizig">
<div class="title">The deeds of men, as footprints in the desert.<br/>
Nothing under the circling moons is fated to last.</br>
</div>

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#4
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-- ((+3))

As expected, the woman and the youth paused their scuffles, but not necessarily because he spoke. Rian had made it to the scene a handful of seconds before Cillian had, and an odd goat appearing from seemingly nowhere was enough to draw attention, apparently. The Gaelic listened to the boy call out, recognizing the outburst as a word instead of just a noise; alas, the language was different from his. It was nigh impossible for him to ever stumble upon another that hailed from Airgid Gleann, and Cillian snapped at himself to stop hoping. At least they were not native English speakers, so his thick speech would not be ridiculed, mentally or verbally. The russet woman spit sharp sarcasm towards the other, and the Brádaigh recognized that the relationship was not one of simple friendship. It was one of blood, that brothers and sisters held. Cillian was reminded painfully of the estranged words that he was forced to exchange with his own sisters, that had once been his friends as well as family. Despite, he returned his thoughts to the moment, flicking a shaggy ear as the lady's voice found him. He enjoyed the sound of her lilt, glad that he did not have to listen to grating English accents for this conversation. He wondered where she was from.

"My name is Cillian." His response was adequate, but only just so. The lost heir liked to take turns with strangers, giving bits of information in return for bits of information. And here, he was curious, perhaps just as much as the blue-eyed boy was. The Brádaigh paused, making it clear enough that he was expecting an equal amount of revelation from the stranger. Just after, however, the same young male piped up with a grin that his sister was clearly against. "Don' be tellin' him that. His head is big enough." Rian, in response, bleated loudly and kneaded his hooves against the rock to make a clicking noise. He was loving his vantage point, level to the heads of the crowd (albeit, still below the towering Cillian's), and wanted to make it known. "Ciúin, Rian." The Nemain male commanded, and Rian only partially listened, instead being content to sit on his rock and watch with shiny horns and intrigued dark eyes.

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<span class="CillSigName">Cillian Brádaigh</span>
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#5
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lolol

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The one-eyed mongrel stated his name — Cillian — and in hindsight Faizel was surprised he answered her curt demand at all. She was caught off guard by his approach, especially since she had been playing just prior, but she couldn't really begrudge him that. Standoffish and cautious at her best on first meetings, she could only try not to cause too much offense for her family's sake.

And that meant minding her manners. I'm Faizel, she replied, recognizing his pause, and gestured to her brother. This al'ahbal is my brother, Benjamin.

You can call me Benjamin, the yellow wolfdog purred, pronouncing his ja as an English-speaker would rather than the smooth ya his sister supplied, or Benji, Ben, minnaar, you know. He waggled his ears with the Dutch, and Faizel frowned at him. Ignoring her, he laughed and smiled at the goat. Aww, maybe you don't tell him enough, he suggested. Does he like pet? he asked, but didn't dare to approach the horned animal without confirmation. He offered a little friendly bleat to the goat.

Faizel snorted, then wiped water from her brow and sniffed. You are from Sapient, she said, but it was more a question than anything — or a request for more information. She recognized the scent from the last Luperci they'd met from there — the jackal-wolf — and she was fairly pleased to note that he wasn't jackal-blooded too. No dog had given her reason to distrust them, the quarter-mongrel Benjamin excluded.

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<div class="title">The deeds of men, as footprints in the desert.<br/>
Nothing under the circling moons is fated to last.</br>
</div>

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#6
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-- ((+4))

He had no reservations in sharing his name or his origin, as far as Sapient was included. He had never understood the need for secrecy, unless the opposing was one of darker intentions; which, as much as Cillian thought, was not hard to decipher based on first meeting another. This lady, whoever she may be, was a bit cold-eyed and flat in her speech, but it was not hard to tell that was simply how she was, be it to strangers or to everybody, and there was no evil glint to be found in her eyes. However, the Brádaigh had found himself a decent amount more cautious since recent events involving the loners attack on his home, and the downfall of his brother in arms; he most likely would have refused any information to the stranger had her accent not given away that she was most certainly not involved with said clan of foes. She replied with a name, and he nodded his doggish head in acknowledgement and greeting, eye flickering to the figure of the lighter-colored youth as he was introduced and made his own follow-up.

The few foreign words passed over Cillian's head, but that did not make the gist any less clear or humorous. Faizel's reaction to her brother made it more funny than anything else, and as hard as the Sodalis tried, he could not hide the faint half-twitch his mouth gave way in the glimmer of a grin. Sapient was dull, and it was boring, and it was rather depressing; the spunk was a much-appreciated change in scenery. "Well met, Benjamin." Cillian rolled his eyes on the comment about not being told enough; no, he said in his head, he had been told he was cute quite enough by unknowing passerby. "You may try, but I wouldn' hope for too much. He likes to play with ya'." He referred, of course, to how Rian evaded touch. It was normally not out of fear, but more out of the goat's own amusement- watching the Luperci flail closer in an attempt to touch his receding head was a regular activity. But maybe the little goat would sit still this time, if only for the good show the pair had put on so far, Cillian hadn't any idea.

"I am." Said he, clicking his claws across the rubied end of his staff, tattered white shirt-sleeve falling down his arm from where it had been rolled up. "Did ya meet another, or did ya just hear of us?" Came the inquiry, genuine. He never much had the care or the apparent skill to engage in casual conversation with many of his packmates, so if any had come across the foreigner woman and her kin, he wouldn't have the faintest idea.

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<div class="CillSigOuter">
<span class="CillSigName">Cillian Brádaigh</span>
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</div>[/html]
#7
[html]

See galleries for credit.

The one-eyed man smirked at the pair of them, which caused Faizel to nearly raise her brows before she schooled her expression. She was surprised that he wasn't utterly offended by Benjamin's less-than-subtle overtures and oddities, but this land seemed more forgiving of that sort of thing in general, from what smatterings of interaction she'd witnessed on the way here. Perhaps it was because the land was so open, the Luperci less crowded; everybody didn't know everybody, and one's neighbors did not reflect poorly on that neighborhood.

Animals love me, the wheaten-colored man said dismissively, and bleated at the goat again. He made quite the convincing sound, though Faizel didn't know if he was greeting the goat or insulting its face; either was just as likely to her. Ben picked up on the speech of lower animals quicker than any of them (like Faizel with her middling talents in talking to cats), but most of his talk was mimicry rather than comprehension. He reached out for the goat again, though left his hands in the air for him to sniff rather than trying to touch his head yet.

Shaking her own, the auburn-colored wolf glanced back at Cillian as he tapped his staff. He didn't seem suspicious at the question, which eased some of her worries. She pushed some wet hair from her face and answered. We met a woman named Miwa. She spoke a little of your pack.

Who else would we have heard of you from? Benji asked, looking up from the goat. Are you an infamous sort of folk?

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[html]<div class="faizig">
<div class="title">The deeds of men, as footprints in the desert.<br/>
Nothing under the circling moons is fated to last.</br>
</div>

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#8
[html]

-- ((+4))

The pale-furred younger was most certainly quirky and had his fair share of odd mannerisms; this much Cillian could see. The male could not find himself taking up this type of banter with Benjamin on a regular basis, if only because the Brádaigh himself tended to hold his alone time sacred and conversations to be taxing and requesting of social stratagem, which he most blandly did not have. As it was, approaching the wrestling brother and sister with his goat to attempt to spark up some sort of curious exchange was a sorry excuse in itself. He was not cut for this kind of thing, and making friends was not a necessity high on priority list, even if his closest companion was, pathetically, the billy goat smugly sitting atop his rock. Hoping to bludgeon his way into somebody he could immediately click with was something the man needed to learn to overcome. But Sapient had put him in an odd funk, with the loss of his somewhat-friend and the vague pressured sense of danger that was hanging over his head every moment he bore the title Sapien. It was a funk that he only desired to escape, if but for a day or two, and so this was an attempt to break that fragile glass of sad restlessness. So Benjamin's funny speech would be enjoyed where it would normally only be tolerated by the Nemain heir.

"Sure they do," He agreed, if with a bit of a humorous, sarcastic air, and then turned his blue halfsight back to the vibrant-furred woman and her cool gray gaze. The mention of Miwa elicited Cillian to nod in acknowledgement, eye skittering to watch the brother reach for Rian. The billy goat, surprisingly, allowed himself to be patted, but only very briefly. Nearly as soon as Benjamin's fingers brushed him Rian bleated loudly back and made a mighty, fearless leap from the rock back to the ground, strategically navigating across the shallow river by the way of protruding rocks, finally settling to stand next to Cillian, the ever-present guardian over his marred ankles. "That woul' depend on the opinion o' the audience." He replied, vague, and lifted a shoulder. In all blunt honesty, Cillian had never fallen in love with Sapient. His heart would always be in Airgid Gleann, but it was a decent place to settle down a build a life. There were plenty of resources and opportunities for advancement or studies, but the runaway heir had never been quite so interested in such things. Maybe that was why he was taking an excursion; he was bored, all to blame on his never-satisfied heart or fingers. He spoke none of these things out loud, however. If they were interested, he wouldn't mind having new faces around. "We've had our fair share o' battles or bickering, but generally, no. Its a resourceful place."

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<div class="CillSigOuter">
<span class="CillSigName">Cillian Brádaigh</span>
<div class="CillSigSplit"></div>
<div id="signature-icons">
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#9
[html]

200+

See galleries for credit.

They do, Benji protested quietly, childishly, then grinned and waggled his brows up. Allll animals.

Benji! Faizel barked at him, aghast, and he snorted and patted the goat for the brief time it allowed. The buck leaped off his stone platform and hopped across more rocks to reach Cillian's side, standing there proudly. Ben grinned, tongue lolling, and seemed to see this as a success anyway.

Blushing under her ruddy fur, the desert-born woman forced her shocked expression into a grimace and flicked water at her brother before lifting her head at the doggish man's answer. He didn't seem to take the same sort of pride in the telling as the jackal had, but Faizel didn't mind. She listened intently to what he had to say, noting this for later.

Benjamin stretched. Battles? Are you a warrior then?

His sister glanced reproachfully at him, but there was no innuendo suggested by his open, curious look. Her eyes flickering to the Sapien's eyepatch and staff, she frowned then muttered lowly to her sibling. Don't be rude.

I was just asking, Ben retorted, throwing a hand up.

You don't ask that sort of thing, she explained softly, evenly, then her lip quirked to show one of her fangs. I'm sure he'd much rather listen to your perverted euphemisms—

I'd hope, the wolfdog quipped back, and gigged at her scandalized look. He gestured back to Cillian with an endearing smile. Now you are the one being rude, speaking about a person as if he isn't there, in a tongue he does not understand. Very well—I was just curious. I've never been part of a pack.

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[html]<div class="faizig">
<div class="title">The deeds of men, as footprints in the desert.<br/>
Nothing under the circling moons is fated to last.</br>
</div>

<div class="bottom">
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<a href="http://wiki.soulsrpg.com/index.php?n=Players.Raze" target="_blank" title="PLAYER WIKI" class="player-wiki"></a>
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[/html]
#10
[html]

-- ((+4))

The buried meaning- however real or fake for the sake of sarcasm- in Benjamin's words was not clear to Cillian until his sister barked at him with a high pitch. The male's doggish ears flicked in response and his eyes followed not soon after, resting briefly on the younger boy to gauge his reaction. A wave of a hand might have been just as effective as his sibling's outburst was forgotten. It was an odd relationship to watch, but one he could still envy all the same. As far as Benjamin's antics, the Brádaigh had little response if only for a lack of ideas or effort. Should the flirtations be sarcastic, then it was all in good fun; should they be actual attempts, Cillian was not worried for he would not get far. "A fallen one." Was his only iteration. Becoming a warrior had, ironically, once been his first and most precious task if he were to ever take his father's rule and guide the Nemain tribe. But when he fell victim to the claws of a creature relentless, that hope fizzled until it died with his departure to where he stood now. He could still fight, and could pride himself with the fact most underestimated his ability to engage in combat with a staff- but he was most certainly no warrior. He'd become a humble herdsmen, whether that was his original intention or not.

A quick exchange of unfamiliar speech flitted between the pair, and Cillian was curious to if he could pick up any words. Many languages were similar, and the more you learned the easier it was to find patterns and similarities. Alas, this one was far different from his own or English, and their conversation passed by without an inkling left behind for him to grasp. The gist was clear; an attempt at discipline with a clever if snarky reply before the Sapien was allowed to be included again. Cillian's claws clicked lightly on the jewel in his staff and Rian became a little side tracked from his duty as sentinel, instead choosing to wander a foot away in search of grasses. The bear-ravaged man offered a fleeting smile before diving into his beloved Gaelic. <"It is not as if you two are the only ones that can speak another language, little boy."> Said only for the hell of it and also to savor the taste of his native tongue so rarely used, he switched back to English. "Do not feel bad." Was how he summed it up, now switching to tip his staff side to side. "No? Do ya both come from a family clan or somethin', then? Or just staking out a living on yer own?" Perhaps it was a little intrusive, but Faizel had the ability to wave his question away if she wished.

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<div class="CillSigOuter">
<span class="CillSigName">Cillian Brádaigh</span>
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</div>[/html]
#11
[html]

300+

See galleries for credit.

The man -- a crippled warrior by his own admission -- turned the siblings' ears with brief recitation of a language that even the proud polyglot could not understand. This furrowed Benjamin's brow, but the grin on his face remained broad, edged now with the intensity of one faced with an interesting challenge.

That is not a tongue I heard before, Benji admitted, and I speak several. His tongue lolled again. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.

Her interest in the conversation waning, as it seemed that her purpose would be to clean up after Benjamin's embarrassments rather than divulge any information useful to the wanderers, Faizel reclined back on the bank and began to wring out her hair. Only her gaze, which did not pull from her brother and the Sapien for more than a few moments at a time, betrayed her preparedness should Cillian lash out. It wasn't particularly likely that he would cause them harm, or even want to -- but she knew everyone hit their limit with Ben sooner or later. It was mostly habit.

She did keep a close enough ear on the conversation to turn and bare her teeth in warning at Benjamin when he smoothly answered, My family's camped just out near... He caught her glance and grimaced at her openly (Are you afraid of a hobbled, half-blind goat-herder? his suddenly flashing blue eyes asked) before continuing. Out near the rivers. My half-siblings and our guard animals, he clarified, bouncing his brows at the goat as if to imply that he fell into the same category. We came from overseas, place called Beirut. Stuck together -- and our eventual plan is to settle down somewhere, I think. 's why I'm askin' around.

Snorting, Faizel released her hair and dropped her head into her hands, giving up.

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[html]<div class="faizig">
<div class="title">The deeds of men, as footprints in the desert.<br/>
Nothing under the circling moons is fated to last.</br>
</div>

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#12
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wrap up soon?? o: ((+5))

Cillian's blue halfisght was sharp; curious. "Gaelic." He replied, and then followed up with "Irish, if tha's more familiar." The two tongues were not exactly the same, though their names were used interchangeably. The differences were subtle enough, however, there was no real flaw in making the comparison. The crippled young man then met Benji's pale eyes, clearly expecting the exchange of information he had been offered. He was no polyglot, so he had no intention of studying the foreign words that the pair so effortlessly used; he was only curious. Curiosity was a cutting thing.

Faizel eventually moved herself to settle into the background of the conversation, though the poise of her figure was not lost on him. The foreigner seemed to be a woman of war, in some way or another; she was as wary as any warrior was supposed to be. Cillian had no way to diffuse her tension, as the only way to communicate that he meant no harm was through example and time. Benjamin continued to blow forward in conversation, and the Sodalis' attention was snapped back, just in time to catch the hidden glance thrown toward his sister before revealing to him a location. The lost heir had to say he was rather surprised, and, after realization, subtly irritated. Of course, such precious intel would only be given to someone who looked pathetic enough to take no action upon it. The upbringing within him was offended, but his modern mind was not shocked. There was no way to appear intimidating or even strong when you required the aid of a stick to walk, no matter how young you may be. And even more so when you had a small billy goat snuffling in the grass only feet away- your case of looking tough was not helped in any way.

He listened, and when the youth was finished, was silent thereafter for several moments. "As another who's left a home across a sea, I can honestly tell ya Sapient's nothin' like home to me. But, it's the closest I got. Others may have better luck of settlin' down, I don't doubt." His pack was not a source of pride for him; it was just a rickety shelter. He'd never fallen to love the place, and even though he was trying, it was hard. He pinned it on his depressive mood that seemed to be more constant in the passing days; certainly, if he was content with all things else, the materialist group would become warmer and more kind to him. He only wouldn't let it. Cillian was probably not the best or most upbeat source, but hopefully the pair would run across someone more eager to put the pack on a pedestal. He was intrigued by the thought of new blood and faces, if only for the fact maybe they would crowd out the old and familiar- again, a pang of thought came by his sisters. Benji may have had a running mouth and an exhausting aura, but at least he would talk to Cillian. Many would not. "There's better sources to speak to than I." A shoulder was lifted in the essence of a half-shrug.

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<div class="CillSigOuter">
<span class="CillSigName">Cillian Brádaigh</span>
<div class="CillSigSplit"></div>
<div id="signature-icons">
<a href="http://wiki.soulsrpg.com/index.php?n=Players.Ann" target="_blank" title="Player Wiki" class="player-wiki"></a><a href="http://wiki.soulsrpg.com/index.php?n=Characters.CillianBr%e1daigh" target="_blank" title="Character Wiki" class="character-wiki"></a><a href="http://imgur.com/a/D7SVm" target="_blank" title="Character gallery &amp; credits." class="ic-gallery"></a><a href="#" class="reply-medium" title="Reply speed: 6-7 days"></a><a href="#!" class="injury" title="Cillian walks with a permanent limp in all forms, and has no right eye."></a><a href="#!" class="skill-fighting" title="Cillian is skilled at fighting with a staff."></a><a href="#!" target="_blank" title="Cillian speaks fluent Gaelic (Irish). When speaking English, it is heavily accented." class="foreign-language"></a><a href="#!" class="apparel-accessories" title="Cillian is always seen wearing an eyepatch over his right eye, and carrying his staff."></a><a href="#" class="optime-preference" title="Optime unless otherwise stated."></a><a href="#!" title="I will roleplay mature material that is non-sexual." class="will-mature"></a>
</div>
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