Picking Up From The Ashes [Open]
Sept 18, 2007 15:47:06 GMT -5
Post by patternofexodus on Sept 18, 2007 15:47:06 GMT -5
The patter of hooves and the slight squeal of a wooden wheel was what awoke Svard from the depths of his dreams. He blinked the sun out of his eyes and inclined his head a little. From his position, laying face down, he could see a truly desolate village.
"Ah, we appear to be here." His voice was soft and slow, it gently seemed to almost float to the ears off all who heard it, and truly instilled what it was Svard really was. Just pure lazy.
He leant his head back and saw the back of a man's head. He held a small whip and was sitting in front of a line of four horses pulling the cart he happened to be on. He sat up, and was immediately assailed by a small gust of wind that brushed his long brown hair into his eyes. Sweeping it aside he picked up his pack and simply jumped off the top of the carriage while it was still slowly.
"Ah, wonderful. That was definitely worth the time spent." He murmured to himself with a satisfied nod.
He turned as he heard a protest from the man who the horses, and a face appeared at the window of the large dark carriage. Svard smiled as he extended his sense over the two. The rich snob in the carriage was fearful of him, perhaps thinking he was a bandit? The other man, sat at the front of the carriage was much more likely to be hostile. He knew how to handle himself, and through several previous attacks by bandit he knew how to wield a sword...a sword he kept at his feet the entire journey. Oh dear.
"Fine, fine. Just...take this and continue. I'm not entirely sure quite why you are angry, but I guess not everyone can have the same temperament as I, am I right?" He smiled in a strange way, cheerful with all the innocence of a child, but with a slight gleam of misbehaviours’ intent in his eyes. He flicked a small coin to the man, whose hand snapped out like a heron and took it. He examined the coin suspiciously before placing it at a pouch at his waist. He called out suddenly and the horses began to trot away, hauling the carriage behind them with a whinny of protest. Neither had been happy with the trade, but the driver was obviously in a hurry to leave such a foreboding area...and Svard did not have money to spare. That was why he was here.
Svard watched the carriage until it was merely a speck in the distance, and then turned to face the broken village. He sighed and felt a shiver rise up his spine. Pulling his travelling cloak around his shoulders and pulling up the hood, he ducked his head as the wind whipped another layer of sand and dirt towards him. Each step into the village sent another shiver down his spine...and it definitely wasn't cold. From the folds of his clock, a large dark knarred wooden staff with a strange 'Y' shape at the top emerged, followed by a lightly tanned hand. It was more like a shoulder-height sturdy walking-stick, but it was all Svard had to defend himself.
I wonder if there is still anything of worth around this place? No-one seems eager to be here, and the residents themselves were killed or fled, Urgals apparently. Either way, there should be something...
"Ah, we appear to be here." His voice was soft and slow, it gently seemed to almost float to the ears off all who heard it, and truly instilled what it was Svard really was. Just pure lazy.
He leant his head back and saw the back of a man's head. He held a small whip and was sitting in front of a line of four horses pulling the cart he happened to be on. He sat up, and was immediately assailed by a small gust of wind that brushed his long brown hair into his eyes. Sweeping it aside he picked up his pack and simply jumped off the top of the carriage while it was still slowly.
"Ah, wonderful. That was definitely worth the time spent." He murmured to himself with a satisfied nod.
He turned as he heard a protest from the man who the horses, and a face appeared at the window of the large dark carriage. Svard smiled as he extended his sense over the two. The rich snob in the carriage was fearful of him, perhaps thinking he was a bandit? The other man, sat at the front of the carriage was much more likely to be hostile. He knew how to handle himself, and through several previous attacks by bandit he knew how to wield a sword...a sword he kept at his feet the entire journey. Oh dear.
"Fine, fine. Just...take this and continue. I'm not entirely sure quite why you are angry, but I guess not everyone can have the same temperament as I, am I right?" He smiled in a strange way, cheerful with all the innocence of a child, but with a slight gleam of misbehaviours’ intent in his eyes. He flicked a small coin to the man, whose hand snapped out like a heron and took it. He examined the coin suspiciously before placing it at a pouch at his waist. He called out suddenly and the horses began to trot away, hauling the carriage behind them with a whinny of protest. Neither had been happy with the trade, but the driver was obviously in a hurry to leave such a foreboding area...and Svard did not have money to spare. That was why he was here.
Svard watched the carriage until it was merely a speck in the distance, and then turned to face the broken village. He sighed and felt a shiver rise up his spine. Pulling his travelling cloak around his shoulders and pulling up the hood, he ducked his head as the wind whipped another layer of sand and dirt towards him. Each step into the village sent another shiver down his spine...and it definitely wasn't cold. From the folds of his clock, a large dark knarred wooden staff with a strange 'Y' shape at the top emerged, followed by a lightly tanned hand. It was more like a shoulder-height sturdy walking-stick, but it was all Svard had to defend himself.
I wonder if there is still anything of worth around this place? No-one seems eager to be here, and the residents themselves were killed or fled, Urgals apparently. Either way, there should be something...
