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PostPosted: Wed Sep 06, 2017 1:34 am 

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Name: The Vagrant
Age: 38


Starlight and empty plains of scraggly, brown grass gave way to ramshackle huts that leaned against each other. Light was weakly penetrating through the various holes in the constructions, as if even the light couldn't really be bothered with doing more or trying to push the darkness back. It is still light, though, and that is always a beacon of hope to those people that dare to travel the lands.

The Vagrant didn't notice it. He was focused on watching the ground and putting one foot in front of the other without stumbling, a precious burden hidden away on his back under his cloak. He barely cast his gaze left or right as he entered the tiny town, and he ignored the drunkards and whores and troublemakers all around him. He followed the crowd to make it easier on himself until they reached a small square. Platforms rose on unsteady legs and wire cages sat on top. Shivering creatures that could once have been animal or even human sat inside the cages, waiting to be sold. Some of the watchers had simply come to see, others had come for new slaves, and some had come for the fresh, new meat the wretches in the cages represented.

None of them noticed the Vagrant as he skirted the edges of the excited crowd.

The centre of the town was dominated by the carcass of an enormous dragon - a remnant from the war. The inside had been carved out a long time ago, the meat devoured, and since dragon skin didn't rot the carcass provided an entire new section for the town, hidden and much safer than the ramshackle huts built up against its enormous body. One had to go through the open maw to enter the carcass. It was propped open by bones from the dragon's skeleton. The fangs had been sawed off and removed a long time ago, the same with the claws on its four legs.

Since the carcass kept out wind and rain and the poisonous windstorms, the inside was littered with low, circular tents in all sorts of colours. Wooden platforms were built along the edges and on top of these were even more tents and some wooden structures, and unsafe rope bridges were strung up all over the place. Lanterns hung here and there, but the true light came from inside the tents since most of them didn't even have doorflaps.

The Vagrant ducked awkwardly, bent his legs and bowed his head, but his back was held straight. Like this he entered one of the tents that had a sign hanging on one of its poles. Rickety shelves lined the walls and divided the tent in two. They were packed with weaved baskets that had seen better days, rusty daggers some of which were broken, and the bones and skulls of the oddest creatures. Where the shelves divided the tent an improvised counter had been set up. Behind the counter was a small table with a gathering of precious glass bottles. Some were empty but a few had liquids in them, some of the liquid purple, some sky blue and one mint green, and all of them were glowing.

"A new customer?" the proprietor, hunchbacked and with yellow sclera, and sharp fangs appeared in a shark-like grin when the Vagrant nodded. "Welcome, welcome! I am Siroho. I assume ou've heard of me? Of course you have, that's why you're here! Well, what can I get you? You look tired. I have the finest selection of uppers this side of the Breach. Or perhaps something to escape with? There is many a taleteller herb in my shop."

Grey eyes so pale they were almost inhuman had never left the small table behind the proprietor, and the Vagrant shifted briefly. Leaving one arm hidden under his cloak he then pointed with the other right at the glass bottle with the mint green liquid.

"Ah, a discerning customer." Siroho nodded and stroked his chin. "Rare to have somebody who knows what they're looking for. Most of the rabble I get through here can't tell the difference between dried herbs and sawdust." As he spoke he picked up with small bottle with the green liquid. "I assume whoever sent you appreciates the scarcity of good healing potions... and the cost of 'em."

The Vagrant carefully crouched down, moving slowly as he reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out two gold coins. He placed them on the improvised counter and then pushed them across to Siroho. The shark-toothed man grabbed them and bit into them, before he flickered one with a claw-like yellow nail. The coin sang. There was no other word for it, and for a moment the note hung in the air bringing forth memories from before.

Siroho shifted uncomfortably, the Vagrant closed his eyes in peace.

"My apologies." Siroho muttered suddenly, his rough voice breaking the gentle atmosphere, and quickly handed over the potion bottle. The two gold coins had been spirited away into the folds of his clothes already. He put on the shark-tooth smile again. "And if you have any other needs, don't hesitate to come back."

The Vagrant pocketed the potion and quickly left the tent.


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PostPosted: Tue Sep 12, 2017 8:47 pm 
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Five bodies sat round a table inside the Dragon’s Liver, one of the more reputable taverns of the town known as Dragon’s Breath, and the only tavern built within the large carcass that sat in the town’s center. Laughter rose and fell amidst the voices of the tavern, often spilling outside, but the table that these five sat at was by far the loudest. It did not take more then one glance to see that they were celebrating something.

A woman with black hair and large blue eyes stood with one foot on a stool, her hands balled into fists that rest upon the crest of her hips. A smile pulled at her pink lips, exposing surprisingly good teeth. Whatever she was doing, it was encouraged by the other four around her. A man, his gray beard barely covering a scar across his mouth and up his nose, drank from a mug between guffaws, the ale hitting the table more than he mouth. He was a muscular man, or rather had been in his youth, but his aged body still held some semblance of what had been, it was no doubt that he could still hold his own against any youth should step up to him. His leathery skin was pulled tight across his bald head and it gleamed in the lamplight: there was a plain sword with a curved blade hanging from his right hip.

Across from the graying man, sat a rather large youth with short red curls and an impressive build. Not as outgoing as the older man, he simply smiled and, on occasion, let out a warm chuckle as he drank from his own mug. He had the build of a blacksmith and matching, calloused hands to go with it. Between words spoken by the raven haired woman, the man stole glances at the short haired blonde one beside him. She had beautiful large green eyes with long lashes atop a button nose and full lips that seemed to be in a permanent pout, when she wasn’t smiling. Scantily clad, as most women were, she left little to the imagination, but compared to the tavern wenches, this woman was dressed modestly. Most of her laughter had been into her cup, more than a few empty mugs scattered about her.

The last body, a lanky fellow with sickly pale skin and dark eyes, laughed along with the graying man. There was a resemblance there, indicating that they were related somehow. The man seemed frail, but the older gentleman didn’t hold back as he slapped the man on his back.

“Catulin.” The frail man said to the blonde woman, drawing her attention to him. “Tell the one of the old bag who mistook you for a man.” A round of ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s went around the table as the woman shook her head, laughter trickling from her throat and into her mug.

“Can you believe this man??” Catulin finally said, those around the table cheering as she began her tale of an old man from the woman’s childhood. The graying man stood and staggered for the door, drunkenly laughing about having to relieve himself and not thinking the tavern keeper wanted him to do it all over the floor. The table waved him away with variations of “hurry back” before returning to Catulin’s story.

After relieving himself against the side of the building, the only wooden structure inside the dead dragon, the old man made his way back to the tavern door, catching a poor young fellow as he hurried past. “Help me out, young man.” The gray bearded man stank of ale and his balance was none too steady. “I just want to get back to my table, in the tavern, see?” Pointing to the group laughing amongst themselves, the man continued to speak. “I’m Taham.”


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PostPosted: Thu Sep 14, 2017 7:10 am 

Joined: Wed Jul 05, 2017 6:15 pm
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No sooner had he stepped out into the dragon body proper when a girl who was far too young to look that old and exhausted by life came up to him. She grabbed his cloak and tried to press up against him, rubbing her flat chest against his arm.

"Ey, you come from Siroho's? You wanna share?" she let the scraps of her dress slide even lower, revealing her breasts and nipples fully. Her nipples were a poisonous green and dripping ichor down her front. Scales of the same colour had started to cover her skin. "You give me high, I give you ride. Big high, big ride." She purred. The Vagrant simply stared at her with his pale eyes, staying still until she withdrew. He walked on and ignored the curses and profanity she heaped upon his back.

The Vagrant had barely turned two corners before he stopped again. A large, hound-like animal sat on its haunches, square in the middle of the road. Tainted by infernal influence, it was far larger than normal dogs. Far more fearsome and dangerous, and infinitely more ferocious. It was a Dogspawn. There was no sign of the creature's Handler, and even the most drugged, brainless inhabitant of the town knew automatically to give it a wide berth. Some people stood pressed up along the walls of the nearby scrapheaps masquerading as houses, others simply took one look into the street, spotted the Dogspawn and decided that taking another street would be longer but much safer.

The Dogspawn watched the Vagrant. It had mismatched eyes: one was canine, black in the poor light and unreadable. The other was a human eye, and it flickered in recognition. Somewhere either in the town or outside it the creature's Handler was watching everything through that human eye. The Dogspawn panted heavily, a thin miasma leaving its jaws and colouring its unproportionally big fangs orange that then dripped to the ground as a thick ichor. Its eyes never left the Vagrant even when someone stumbled - or was pushed - and nearly bumped into it.

The Vagrant didn't even attempt to run. There was no point. Over the years, desperate prey had tried many things to hide its scent from the halfbreed Dogspawns: perfume, mud, excrement, even the blood of another member of the Dogspawn's pack. All those attempts had failed. The conclusion he had reached was that they didn't track by scent, at least not the body's scent. At that point he had stopped trying to run from them when they met, and had instead stood to face them head on. That was the reason why the rest of the pack and their Handlers lay dead like a trail of corpses across the land.

With a growl the Dogspawn got to its feet, refuse clinging to blood-crusted legs. It padded forwards with difficulty, dragging itself through the ankle high muck. The Vagrant watched on but didn't move. Eight metres from him the Dogspawn leaped for this throat, but it was a weak gesture, a mere suggestion of its usual power, and the Vagrant simply stepped back and watched as it collapsed to the ground in front of him. The creature's flanks were heaving, the breathing was gasping and ragged. Black blood dribbled from its ears, a sign that it was going to die very soon.

He took several steps to the side, intent on going around it, but the Dogspawn wasn't quite dead yet. It snapped after him with the last of its strength. While too slow to catch the Vagrant's ankle, it still managed to snag the edge of his cloak. The Vagrant pulled at it in an attempt to free it, while the Dogspawn glared at him through half-closed eyes. The jaws remained locked and the Vagrant pulled harder and harder until the old fabric finally gave away and ripped. The Vagrant stumbled at the sudden freedom, pulling the cloak back around himself but it was too late, and the Dogspawn's eyes widened.

A wide and long piece of cloth was wound several times around the Vagrant's chest and under his shoulders. Small legs stuck out on each side of his chest and small arms hung over his shoulders while a messy-haired head rested on his shoulder. The eyes were closed and the cheeks were red from a fever, but what was most amazing was that the child was utterly pure and untouched by demonic miasma. The skin was pale as snow and was almost glowing with purity.

And that wasn't all. A sword hung at the Vagrant's side, unusual in the elegant line of its shape and power which couldn't be hidden even with several layers of dirty rags wrapped around the sheath and handle. An eye was carved into the top of the pommel, and it looked like an incredibly realistic carving until the eyelids opened and the eye glared at the dying Dogspawn. The stare dug into the dead Dogspawn, chasing the fading connection to its Handler and trying to follow it.

The Vagrant left the street as soon as he got his cloak free from the dead jaws. He wrapped the cloak back around himself as he walked, hiding his precious cargo as well as he could. A quick walk and several twists and turns soon had him on the other side of the dragon from where the Dowspawn lay dead, and he was just passing a tavern when someone grabbed his shoulder right below where a small child’s arm rested.

He stiffened and one hand landed on the sword hidden underneath his cloak. It was only luck that kept him from drawing it. A quick glance at the old man’s face told him that this wasn’t the Handler, and another look inside the tavern revealed no visible enemy inside. The sword itself was silent by his side.

Lips pressed into a thin line as he thought about it, but in the end he decided to help the old man. Shifting around until he could offer the man the use of his arm instead of the shoulder. Slow movements not only helped the clearly drunk man move about, but also kept the Vagrant’s cloak shut as they moved through the tavern and towards the people at the table.

As they reached the table, the Vagrant cast a worried look behind him at the exit of the tavern. He couldn’t stay here for long.


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PostPosted: Sun Oct 15, 2017 6:06 pm 
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“Taham, you old goat! Can’t make it to the table without a little help?” The pale skinned man spoke, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his Adam’s apple moving with his words. In contrast with his dark hair and black eyes, the man’s skin looked pale yellow, his nails taking on the same hue. He looked like death warmed over, the whites of his eyes a permanent red. He had a smile on his face that didn’t make him look any stronger. It was a wide smile, almost too wide, that seemed to split his face in two.

The blonde woman, Catulin, gave the newcomer a wry look, her head cocking to the side revealing a cluster of open sores behind her ears. “What have you got there? Something important?” Her own smile looked sinister, almost out of place upon her pretty face. In response, Taham frowned. “Stop it, Cat. He’s a respectable young man who’s chosen to help an old decrepit.” The old man sat at his seat and grabbed his mug, the woman pouting slightly.

“Forgive us, we’re all more than a little drunk.” The raven haired woman stood. Coppered skin paired with raven curls made her blue eyes seem out of place. If the color weren’t odd enough, the iris’ of her eyes were slit, almost like those of a dragon, and her open backed garb did nothing to hide the hard, dark scales that ran up the woman’s spine. “We’re celebrating!” With a raise of her mug, her comrades imitating her, they gave a united hurrah. “I am Kaida.” Her free hand went to her breast, just above her head.

Kaida pointed to the large, red curled man. “This is Gobban.” The man gave a nod of his head, the muscles in his neck shifting with the movement, his dark skin reflecting the dim light of the tavern. “Catulin, and Pyer.” The pale man put a finger to his head in acknowledgment of his name. “And of course, Taham.” The old man, now sitting, attempted to take another drink from his mug, missing his mouth entirely and bringing another roar of laughter from the table, even Catulin forgot she was pouting and joined in. “You are more than welcome to join us.” Kaida offered her chair to the newcomer. “It seems as though you could take a load off.”

Pyer stood as well, reaching for the man. “I can help you with those bags.” He was unaware of what the man held, and perhaps Pyer was genuine in his offer of help, but in this day and age, there were very few people to be trusted, especially strangers.


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