Recent Statuses

2 mos ago
Current "Bother. Isn't there anybody at all?" "Nobody!"
3 mos ago
Trying on shoes and going for a walkabout - will return to closet when I'm good and ready!
1 yr ago
Fell into the abyss of Closet... digging out from under all of the shoes.
3 yrs ago
Time is mine for a full month! :) Yay!!!
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A long time player, I have been co-writing (aka "role playing") for "ae long tahm". I have a fairly involved career which some years can be nigh all encompassing for months and months at a time. However, I always seem to return for the sheer delight of creating alongside another imaginative individual.

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:) I'm not super active either - work a lot of hours and sometimes, life just up and bites me in the arse.

Sounds grand! We can meander toward a story. I shall PM you, (or we can continue conversation here) to work out the details. What we'd like to do and how and all that. Then jump into something and make it work.
Dude- like being a kid in a candy store. I'll have one of all of them!

You still up for playing in this venue here? Or is your dance card full? I see you've not bumped this so maybe you just got so many hits it didn't make sense to put it in the public eye once more.??
Bumping this one, because this looks fascinating!!!
Work Write Repeat

While the trio made their way into the windless sweep of dark blue white, snow and unmapped stars overhead, Werric huffed and panted, keeping his collar up near his nose by holding it tightly there using one hand, then the other, sure to warm the opposite during shift breaks. The pale haired man was a mess of furs and leathers and other than the sliver of moon face that shone out, he seemed a dark blotch on an otherwise pristine landscape.

“So's Ol' Bill goes an' he sez, there's this desert what has rocks, way th' hell out in th' sands. A man gets caught 'cuz he figgers he kin get ta onna dem afore the sun come up agin an' bake'm like a buttered 'tater. Thing is, ever'thing's so big, th' sand an' th' rocks, an' th sky – what was gon' be five kilometers, is fifteen.” He snuffled and wiped his nose, leaving a silver streak on the back of a thick mitten.

Karis was focused on the ground before her and Bart had an ear for the white around but he grunted anyhow. It seemed only right to let Werric lose some worry in talking. He had bluster, but he wasn't going to get much worse if you let him chatter at you like a squirrel up a tree. The bitch, trotting along close at Karis' heels so that Bart was surprised she didn't step on the backs Karis' walking frames. Now and again, her dark ears would swivel back to the sound behind her as Werric talked about the desert and things that weren't pertaining none at all to the situation they were finding themselves in.

The trees got no closer. But the path Karis was following, seemed to be going straight. Bart fancied he could see it, even, as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. The fires behind became a line of glint, then a small sliver as they crossed over a hill so shallow that it wasn't until they could see no fires that they realized they'd gotten to the other side. It looked like everything was clear all the way to the horizon.

They trudged, the sounds of Werric's voice dying down as he struggled to talk and keep up, the dog panted, and Bart and Karis moved silently, as if they were a part of the world they had burst in on. It reminded him of some things and didn't remind him of others. He'd thought at first that Dreefus saying this was a light world, meant that there would be close by stars real soon. They'd gone into another “light” world, Dreefus had called it, and it was so full of life and amazing goods; gems and foodstufffs, dogs and slaves, and plenty of artistry. This was the polar opposite of that, dark, nothing growing, and empty as the grave.

Pinter pulled on the wispy goatee at his chin and chewed on his lower lip, then turned and spit some of the tobacco juice out into the snow aside of the fire, where it wouldn't be stepped in. When Lurch didn't make any attempt to take the plate, he grinned a yellow pond water grin. “Ain't askin' ta switch yet, Lurch,” he said amiably. He offered the plate again. He had a plate in his other hand and alongside him, Jude gripped his own in hands too small to be as steady as they were often. In every group there were thieves, declared or otherwise, to help grease along the take-overs when they had to happen. It was good to be friends with a man like Jude.

“May I?” he gestured to the log near his leader and not telling Jude what to do, he straddled it and moved Lurch's pack so he could sit facing the man. He sniffed back the cold then smiled, handsome smile or so he'd come to think of it. “Colder'n a wolf bitch inna snow storm,” he said conversationally. “But ya think we'll be findin' sommat wif a thing'r two on it? Like thet hairy shit we killed last month. Noone saw how it had them silver beads in its hair. It were weird, like it were tryin' ta be a whore's pet, puttin' a jewel'r two onna thing thet ugly's like puttin' a gold collar onna damn rat.” He was careful not to show his judgement over the fact there were some loots which Lurch was careful not to put into the pile later. No doubt they went toward pay offs or some such to the church itself, for what Pinter couldn't say.

Keeping his face carefully neutral, Pinter spit again, leaning lazy like to one side, “A man could use another set'a hands or even two,” he nodded to where Jude stood, his plate huddled up to his chin so he could stay warm in the bitter cold and still eat his food, “ta ensure them things always got ta where they needed ta be.” He smiled winsomely, hopefully. Lurch was as like to reach out and cuff him, though Pinter was new to the whole being on Lurch's team, he was sure that some conversations were delicate enough to keep a man's fists about himself.

Again – hopefully. “Jes gon' say thets what'n we're here fer, ta help.”

Bart was unsurprised that Lurch sent them out again. It was bloody cold and Karis could suck a man's tit for how much she'd give or take any of them, being one of the only females in their crew and as like to gut a man as she was to spit in his eye. That said, she was a damn fine tracker.

“Ser,” he nodded and lumbered back to the fire where he shot out, “K'ris, Werrick – you grab y'self onea dem dogs. Th' bitch thar, yeh?” He pointed at a black nosed brown bitch with her tail between her legs and a snarl on her face when another got too close to her space. She was smaller than the rest so she'd not tire out when she walked in their trail as much as the wider males who would have more snow up against them. Her slender frame worked best in snow.

He strapped on the walking frames which they'd found kept them atop the untouched snow better. With an entire group trouping through, by the time every one had passed, they'd leave a road of snow and ice behind. At times, the snow would be hard even, but one only needed to get into the lee of a snow break of trees or some other type and they'd end up to their waist in snow.

Werrick growled out something that Bartrum ignored. Every man should have opportunity to grumble, so long as it didn't stop him from doing as he was told. Karis, however, was up and forward of their place as if she were the dog on the line. A quick whistle and a name he didn't bother to know as he didn't give a shit about the dogs, and the bitch was after her.

“Boss wants us ta check th' tracks ag'in. Gonna gauge them trees, too,” he gestured to the stand of white bone dry trees in the distance. It was dark, darker than it had been in the other gates he'd been through, so he was thinking that they were further light away than he'd been before. There came a point of time where everything was just cold and black and he didn't expect life to continue when he couldn't feel his nose half the time.

“Demmed fool errand,” he groused himself as he stood, shook himself, and began to lumber after where she'd gone, silently pointing to the place where she'd found the tracks. She wasn't a talker, that one.

Werrick came alongside, adjusting his jacket to get furs up around his ears. “Holy piss, Bart,” he snapped. “Wha's th' Lurch askin' us fer this ag'in? Chance's we'll find it jes' a hundred paces from 'ere, all froze an' as impossible t'move as a mountain. Wha's th' church need'em fer anyway?”

Bart shook his head. He had been hunting these things, or them things like it, for over a decade and still couldn't have told Werrick any answer that would have made sense.

“Mebbee they wanna cool down them saint's rooms. Keep them bodies frum being all rot,” he snorted.

“Hah!” Werrick laughed as he stopped by Karis. They peered down at the snow. “Don' see nuthin', Karis.”

“Where'd 'e go?” Bart asked, rather than inquiring if Karis could do her job correctly. He'd learned that the hard way.

Bartrum was a large man, with ham like hands and most of his fingers. His nose had that ruddy taste to it that let every man know he could hold his liquor and his lips were ruddy and thick as well, seen through the thick brown brush that was his beard and mustache. He could have been a handsome man, were he younger, leaner, and with an eye for regular bathing.

Unlike most of the hunters, he hadn't grown up in the shadow of the Church, being instead from a small farming town through a northern gate in a land the Church liked to call the Shadow. The men and the unlikely woman who traveled into the Church's lands from the Shadow were larger than Green Wold men. They were hardy and rarely questioned overly much when told to harm or even kill. They made excellent acquisitions men, fanatic inquisitors, and had a piercing eye for death when it came their way. It made them likely to be utilized in the darker parts of the Church. Many was the man who after meeting with a Shadow man, found himself willing to do any and all to ensure he was safely in the bosom of the Church's care.

Rarely, however, did they have lightness of feet. Bartrum had been known for his efficiency in execution of the heretic, his turn of the blade. Never did his axe hit twice and all the heads rolled, rather than dangled as they did with some of the less adept of the art. When he was asked, he made mention of the neck bones in a sheep and the Church magistrate went pale before offering the man a new position under Commander Rundall.

He had been young then and Rundall had had two legs. Still, the Commander wasn't easily won over and being one of the Shadows hadn't set well between them. It was the work of many years of prooving his ability that led them to the place they were now.

So when his Commander called for him, Bart lumbered over. Where the Commander could maneuver with crutch or without, as agilely as a dancer, Bart had the ease of a bear – slow, ponderous, and when given reason, quick as a cat turn on his prey which he would run down like a freight train.

He brushed his hands over his wrap and sucked on his teeth as he sat down on the log alongside the chair Lurch had set up for himself. “Aye?” he spit into the fire and his spit sizzled on a red char. “Ser,” he added for good measure.
Oh my goodness it is a NEM!!!!!

Excuse please. *bow to others*

NEM!!!!!! Nem nem nem nem nemmmy nemnemnem! Hello lovely! Hello gorgeous eye person! It is wonderful to see you! I ...

Heh - wanna play with me? Of course you do. I probably owe YOU a post! How are you? Stealing you now. *ducks away with a Nem over shoulder*

For the record: if they haven't been the trickster, then Nem will make them.
They are. And genets make great fae characters.
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