|
|
|
Page 1 of 1
|
[ 3 posts ] |
|
|
thunderbrush
|
 Posted: Fri, Jun 24 2016, 1:50 AM |
|
|
Player
Joined: 12 Nov 2015
Location: The belly of the beast
|
|
Housekeeping at the "Rusty Hoe" would find the body of one red scaled man lying peacefully in a pool of his own blood, in the bed of the room boarded just the night before. On the desk there would be a note. The grammar was surprisingly, not horrible. It read:
"I failed at the one thing I ran my mouth about the most. Keeping my friends safe. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, as in the end they were all just using me anyway. I chose to see the good parts in them, always overlooking the bad. I assumed they did the same for me. I was terribly mistaken. They saw a greedy monster who would turn on his companions for coin. They saw an underhanded bastard that would lie to the ones who show him kindness. The ones I did let see me, the real me only turned me away shortly after in favor of something prettier or something softer. Have your war. Tear each other apart. Destroy those bonds we forged together. I am the first casualty of this war because I can no better stand by and watch it happen, as I can take direct action in the destruction of everything I hold dear. "
In the matter of my personal estate: All my belongings are now property of Jonovan, or Jon as he is called, as he is the one person I was close to that never once asked me for anything and never used me for his own personal gain.
For those I told I would give a ride after I learned to fly: Sorry. Looks like this was the one lie I ever told.
Signed in Draconic: Bass
_________________
Jace Fenneril: Cleric of Sharess.
Michael Harcourte: Painter, Scribe.
Sebastian Mayartte: Gambler, MercenaryDeceased
|
|
|
|
 |
|
Broldi
|
Posted: Fri, Jun 24 2016, 13:34 PM |
|
|
Player
Joined: 06 Dec 2012
|
|
A white haired man in a red trench coat rushed to the Rusty Hoe having heard of the news. He asked where the body was, he claimed to be a friend righting a wrong, ensuring that a true friend received a proper burial. He would, if allowed, read over the note. Then sits at the table, in the room the body was found, writing out a tear stained letter of his own.
He would then leave for the authoritarian handling the event and request the body so that he may give it said proper burial and arrange a funeral in which all of his friends can attend and conduct in a way that he would have wanted.
_________________
MAURICE "THE JUGGERNAUT" GRAFF
|
|
|
|
|
|
Malkav
|
Posted: Fri, Jun 24 2016, 19:19 PM |
|
|
Player
Joined: 19 May 2016
Location: The Drought State
|
|
Among the commotion in the inn when everything is discovered a man in brown sits quietly in the very next room across the hall. The whites about his eyes are bloodshot, his mouth twisted, and eyes raw and red; but not from tears. The irises that swim in red have drowned out the blackness of their pupils as he stares into nothing at all. Upon waking that day he had heard the hubbub, and it had hurt his head, he who for the first time in years had drunk his woes away that night. Sticking his head out of the door he had heard a name mentioned, Bass, and the finding of the man in his eternal repose.
Jon shut the door hard, even though it had felt like he had ripped out a part of his brain as the sound broke in on the tails of his hangover. He hadn't reached the bed before he fell to his knees and threw up. Then he curled himself into a small fetal ball, right there on the floor. He remained in that position for hours, until the banging on the door by the staff managed to ring so hard into his head that he could not stand to do anything but make it stop. He rose and met the staff, and requested just a little longer time to clean himself up. At their glowers he gave them enough gold to rent the room for a week, and the one Bass had been in as well. Reparations of a sort.
Closing the door he cleaned himself, changed his clothes, and he spied the little doll left on the bed.
It was all over in browns, woven in the shape of a dog. It had eased him to sleep that night when he was certain the pounding in his head had been Her hands and feet kicking and rending trying to get in again. Somone had made this little poppet and had placed it on him to ease his dreams.
He lunged at the creation as if to tear it to pieces, angry in a way he had never been in his entire life ... but upon taking up the little doll he freezes, stops. He remembers a face with scales of red, asking if he wouldn't mind just staying and resting there with him. Nothing like that of course; but stay a while. Rest.
Jon closes his eyes.
The closest he could bear at the time was to rest in the room next to Bass. He wasn't good for people, and his presence would only have harmed. This is what he had thought at the time. Believed.
He took the little dream poppet up and slide it into his tunic before vacating. He spoke with the authorities who gave him the goods bequeathed him from a man he called friend. Each thing, no matter how lite, felt like he was carrying a boulder. As they added up he stared into the distance, not wanting to hold a single one of them; he would have rathered send them all away, sold them to the highest bidder, bought a cleric to bring Bass back. But he had always been a man built to carry burdens.
In the end, when he was to move away, he was certain that just one touch would shatter him.
_________________ ~|Jonovan Reynn|~ Click For Current Theme Song ~|Pitch|~
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Page 1 of 1
|
[ 3 posts ] |
|
Who is online |
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 81 guests |
|
You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum
|
|
FAQ
Search
Login