liar, bastard, thief - Printable Version +- 'Souls IPB Archive (November 2007–October 2012) (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb) +-- Forum: Dead IC (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=110) +--- Forum: Dead Topics (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: liar, bastard, thief (/showthread.php?tid=9317) |
- Lockeheed - 01-10-2010 Set in The Sugarwoods. Open to anyone. [html] Here he was again, on this Gods forsaken strip of land with nothing but a half empty bottle of dry Canadian whiskey to his name. He never put a name to the foul liquid, merely relished in the relief it brought with the inevitable inebriation. It lifted him to a different place, and offered him a few moments of solace that he would not otherwise find in this world, and gave him an excuse to be a real bastard, not just by title alone. There had been a few brave souls who tried to approached the estranged man, but he waved them away with a threatening sweep of the bottle, growling obscenities that would make any hardened sailor cringe. He suffered from no ill wounds, nor did he find himself starving to death. Despite his addiction, he minded himself enough to hunt, and to keep himself nourished so that his miserable life could continue suckling from the hard liquor that was once readily supplied. The strangers would often try again, but ultimately failed. He was a man who wanted no help. He had conned the unconnable into believing he deserved this, every single bit of it. Besides, trust brought nothing but pain in the end, so he was better off without the assistance of some noble stranger.[/html] - Asha Amara - 01-19-2010 [html] PM me if I got some details wrong; I was primarily basing his appearance on what you have in his profile description, and I was assuming that the bottle was somewhere in his proximity.
There had been little detail behind the war that was brewing between the wolves and coyotes, so the Ayastigi made sure to drift through the regions where cover was granted and could be used to her benefit, and it was an overall grand idea all around to not be seen by one of the warring packs. First, for the sake of her own protection and safety, and second, Dawali would not be too thrilled to hear that not only did she run off again on adventures that would lead to nowhere, but also be consulting with one of the warring packs and be brought into the middle of it. As far as anyone knew (and to her knowledge), AniWaya had been on mutual terms with Inferni. That was the coyote clan, and from their infamous rumors and speculations, most didn’t particularly trust them. The Amara was no fool to ruin a treaty that her father had especially made, thus the reason why her prowling was kept secretive, stealth, and under as much cover as possible throughout these regions. She had left her equine near a somewhat open clearing, to where he could attempt to graze at any vegetation beneath snow and ice. Jaya had been overhead, hopping from branch to branch, and soaring throughout the bare canopies of the trees. The tools to which the humans had left behind in their process of extracting maple syrup from these very lands were buried in ruins beneath the snow, and occasionally she would kneel down to inspect a particular tool. What was left might have been in ruins, but to herself, it was a gold mine of reusable resources. With her bow and arrows strapped to her back, she proceeded to pick through the debris here and there, collecting some little trinket of items she found could be of use in a wapiti elk hide sack that hung from her shoulder. It wouldn’t be until rounding a bout of trees, that a peculiar smell filled her nose and make her muzzle crinkle. It was a smell that was just… pungent in nature. It was a tell-tale smell, however, one that was slightly distinctive from the bottles that she had collected for her cabin. Although this had a considerable reek to it, and lo and behold as she rounded the next tree, there had been an individual slumped against a hard barked maple. He was a mottled gray as it appeared, wearing blue jeans, a tattered wife beater, and something of a canvas jacket. The use of clothes never really struck her as something to catch onto, but these ones upon the male seemed to be worn out a little more than they should have. There were peculiar colors and designs on his jacket and bandana that caught her interest, and seemed to give him a little color. His head was in his hands, and it was obvious to the Ayastigi that this fellow might have had quite a good night (or quite a good couple days?) worth of drink in him.
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