Doc Doctor

The World of Aerion

He crossed the gangplank last, squinting in the sunlight. Too bright, too open, too populated. Catskull was wary. As he listened to the elf speak, he came to the decision to not attend the meeting. The others would take care of that. As the others followed the elf, Catskull dipped into the shadows between the encroaching trees and took his own route, scouting the general area and eavesdropping on any conversations he came across, studying the timing of the guards as they went about their rounds. If there was any shady business going on, Catskull bore a solid chance of finding out about it.

It wasn't likely that the elves were actual enemies, but Catskull was well versed in the art of war. If you let your guard down once, you'll be liable to let it down again, and all it takes is one slip, one mistake, one poor choice. Placing yourself at the mercy of a host may seem mundane and common, but time and time again have legions been taken in by friendly deception and massacred by those they trusted. The strong fighters of old always placed themselves beyond the reach of their enemy, to provoke and wait for weaknesses.

When a warrior stops moving, that is when he will most likely die.

The World of Aerion

@TheLazarus

I'm up for whatever

The World of Aerion

Catskull's tankard sat by itself on a table, abandoned, half empty. He'd only taken the one drink and then, true to his namesake, slipped quietly away like a cat the moment they had taken their eyes off him.

He was in the back of the hull once more, and had a wooden bowl on his head. He cut around it with a knife. How else do you give yourself a bowl cut?

The World of Aerion

Tankard in hand, Catskull filled it near to the brim with a thick, dark, frothy stout from the Northern provinces. He probably liked his coffee black too. It seemed uncharacteristic of him to merrily drink, and without his sword by his side at that. He smiled easily and sat down, chair creaking.

"Savages are more courteous than civilized men, as they may be impolite without having their skulls split. Tis a saying from a distance land, one mine ancestors had migrated away from many generations ago. Let us do away with formalities and toast to savagery. Skumps! Skumps!"

He cocked his head back and swilled half the pint down.

~TODDLETOTS COLOSSEUM~

.

The World of Aerion

Catskull's ears pricked, his nose upturned, and his eyelids fluttered, a light shiver coursing up his body like an electric current. A blade loosed from a scabbard, a sound he'd never mistake. His shadow flit across the hull and in a trice he'd be crouched just behind the doorframe where the knights were concluding their feud. His body had already been relaxed, but his mind followed suit only after learning that it had just been a scrap, and not an attack. Kase, Roland, and Elric were they?
He had to think logically. Infighting wouldn't be advantageous if a real attack did occur. He had to settle it now or risk future dangers.

He slowly turned into the doorway, black gloved hands held peaceably up, palms open. He addressed the knights.

"Hark! Thy quarrel has gone and disturbed mine rest. Now, thanks to thee, I must open yonder cask of fine ale in the hull to quench mine frustrations. Shall then we have a mug or two and tranquilize ourselves well and damn good?"

Red Dead Potential: A Western RP

Sounds fun!

The World of Aerion

Down in the rear of the hull Catskull rested on his knees, beyond the reach of the dusty beams of sunlight that filtered through the gunports. He contemplated the blade that lay before him, seeing not the ship around him nor the floor upon which he kneeled. He drew in deep breaths in through his nostrils and slowly exhaled through his mouth. Aside from the gentle motions of his respiration, he was statuesque. His mind was not. He recalled the basics that had been drilled into him his entire life.

~There is timing in the whole life of the warrior, in his thriving and declining, in his harmony and discord. Similarly, there is timing in the Way of the merchant, in the rise and fall of capital. All things entail rising and falling timing.~

Catskull knew that this timing went by another name. Tempo. Even from one style to another, separated by the breadth of the world, it stood true in the same way that the mythology of dragons could be found amongst many cultures regardless of time or location. Expand when the enemy contracts, and contract when they expand. It all begins the same way; with observation.

Catskull continued his meditations. He did not intend to leave, even for food or drink, until evening.

The World of Aerion

Wordlessly, Catskull boarded the ship and surveyed the top deck. The boards seemed solid, and despite how the ship appeared it was indeed well put together. He imagined pirates boarding the ship, and permitted himself a leonine smirk at the thought of their faces upon encountering not a crew of hapless fishermen or sailors, but armed knights. He couldnt help but hope for such an amusing diversion.
with a sigh he strode towards the entrance to the hull, ready to get out of the sun. His pale skin burned easily, and he felt lethargic now that nothing but a long, tedious voyage awaited him. Fantasies of conflict could only sustain him for so long and he sought the oblivion of sleep.

"Wake me if ye' sight anyfoe worth cutting", He called. "I, Catskull Maclung, shalt not rest amongst the others, thus do not seek me. Merely shout mine name if it is thy wont, but do so not lightly or for mere trifles."

He slipped below deck like an eel into dark waters, footsteps making nary a sound to be heard.

The World of Aerion

"Hmph... Very well. But know this! I shall not trust thee monk, for the faith in me only flows between the spaces mine blade cuts. Let us partake of this quest, and see if dreams may come true in this world."

Whatever the outcome, Catskull supposed that he should at least ensure things not take a turn for the worst. Quests of such an undertaking didn't pop up every day, and this was as good a chance as any to restore the honor and fame of the house Maclung.