SillyGoy

Sly's 1x1 search gizmo (Free-Low Casual. Mature.)

Well, sign me up! If there's still some space.

Sly's 1x1 search gizmo (Free-Low Casual. Mature.)

I'm feeling Neko x Human, if we're talking about catgirls here.

Path of the Hunter [SillyGoy & Damiann47]

Albert tread lightly. Of the school of the cat, a substratum of the entire monster hunter caste, he was trained in the arts of stealth, and his repertoire of combat techniques emphasized dodges, swift strikes, and speed in general as opposed to taking blows like the school of the bear. As such, his bootfalls scarcely sounded upon the ground. He took care to avoid the underbrush, although he knew very well that if the beast he was hunting was indeed a werewolf, he would have been heard regardless.

"Fur," he muttered. "Left quite a bit when it brushed against this tree." Albert stood up from his crouched stance, looking towards the further depths of the woods. "Decided to eat the arm here instead of dragging it back to its lair. No matter. Tracks still visible."

He followed the footprints abreast of their trail, mildly annoyed by how they meandered about as the beast decided to kill two deer on its way home. Light clouds formed in front of his mouth with every respiration, so cold was the temperature. Pines composed much of the forest, and their crowns were white with mild dustings of snow. Albert was relieved when the tracks lead into the mouth of a cave at the foot of a rocky hill. The search was over - now all he had to do was wait till midnight.

But then his ears twitched, and his eyes widened slightly in reflex. He looked over his shoulder, past the blue handkerchief tied around his neck, and with supernatural senses that came from his pedigree, tried to find the source of the strange footfalls: not those of deer or playful hares, but a being that walked on two feet and upright. A villager, come to follow him? Foolish. So he began to make way towards the sound, to dissuade the stranger from staying.

Path of the Hunter [SillyGoy & Damiann47]

Path of the Hunter

The village was called Miredale, though whether that was because it hugged the shores of the North Sea or because the people here looked particularly gloomy was beyond Albert Kneller. Either way, the monster hunter did not care overmuch, as he had come here in search of work and coin primarily, not to immerse himself in local culture. And indeed, his journey north towards the snowy Jarldoms of Fryga from the milder climates of the Europan mainland did not disappoint. The village elderman immediately called for him at first sight when he rode into the humble settlement, hollering about a job that needed to be performed.

"A werewolf," the aging man said, over two mugs of cheap ale at an equally cheap table. "'Tis a werewolf, that be terrorizin' our humble village. Most days it leaves us alone, but some nights one of our goats dies. Oh, you should have seen the corpses, sir hunter! They were rended top to bottom with wounds that might have been the work of a bear's, only that during the time of the attacks, we'd hear howlin'! So it be a werewolf, I tell ya!"

But in addition to goats, the presumed werewolf also slew villagers - two women, in fact, just the night before the monster hunter rode into the village. Albert asked for the location of the attack, but the elderman cautioned that they had already buried the bodies. Albert replied that he didn't need the bodies to begin tracking, and so he came upon the scene of the murder: in a field buffering the settlement from the woods, where berry bushes began to grow. The two victims' only mistake was doing some late afternoon foraging, collecting dinner for their children.

"Fresh tracks," Albert muttered under his breath, green eyes examining the clawed markings on the ground. His horse, Gallop was her name, grazed nonchalantly some distance behind him, sampling the new Nordic cuisine. "Good. Makes things easier."

The scent of blood still lingered heavily in the immediate area. One of the women, Gertha, he believed, had conveniently lost an arm, and whatever beast that took it left not only footprints but also a faint trail of scent because of it. Indeed, this would make tracking much easier. Intending to find the monster's lair, Albert absentmindedly tugged on his sheathed sword which hung from his shoulder upon a strap and entered the shadowy depths of the forest.

Path of the Hunter [SillyGoy & Damiann47]

@Damiann47

Let's do this.

Artificial Spirits

I want to commit a crime.

A New World

A NEW WORLD

Guns, Germs and Steel

---

On the forecastle deck of the Good Mare, a youth clad in the drab voluminous garb that entailed a monk rested his lean arms against the balustrade. Happily discovering that he was immune to seasickness, he noted every rock and cradle of the large carrack with a flavor of delight distinctive to people trying out things for the first time. Light brown eyes brilliant like the reflective waves bobbing and crisscrossing across the cerulean expanse of the Mercutian Ocean, the perpetual smile that curved his chapped lips was met in contrast to the straight faces of sailors and other veteran mariners who variously lollygagged just as he did.

Maynard Godrey breathed in the salty breeze of the open sea, and exhaled it with a content sigh. That the world was living in an Age of Discovery never seemed so palpable to him till now. It was a time of new lands to explore, hidden gold waiting to be found, and tales of glory waiting to be written down and cataloged -- and he was going to be at the forefront, armed with paper, quill and inkpot, recording it all for posterity. The very sun seemed to shine brighter than ever before. Or perhaps that was just because there was little cloud cover today.

When the ship was still docked at Brettony, he asked a sailor, "How long will the journey take?"

"A month," replied the mariner. "Or half again if we're unlucky."

So that made it twenty-five days to go if God was willing and merciful. Quite a long time. However, a wise man must know how to find some amusement in a situation of ennui, so Maynard had took it upon himself to collect stories from the people on-board. They were quite reluctant at first, but the mere possibility of getting one's opinion published in a book played quite well with the many narcissists among them, and the captain, named Kartan Syne, was especially talkative. The man had been a mercenary once, struggling to even eat with arrears to his supposedly regular stipends while under Imperial service during the Florian War.

That, and other anecdotes, Maynard had collected in his notebook, which was always fastened to his hip by a special pocket sowed onto his belt just for that express purpose. If ever he found himself bored, he'd take it out and read what he'd put in so far; or, seas permitting, he'd be above deck, leaning against the railing, and simply enjoying the tranquil waters while they lasted, as he was doing just then.

A New World

@Damiann47

Get your ass over here.

Whispers in the dark (WH40K Chaos space marine RP)

Still here, but real-life's got to me and I'm running on low inspiration.

Posted, by the way.

Whispers in the dark (WH40K Chaos space marine RP)

Malgadon brandished his hunting knife and removed war plate from his fallen brothers while the rest of Fourth Claw, having managed to stop Bas from eating any of their gene-seed, more or less quietly retreated from the bridge, intending to tend to their wounds and equipment. The battle, though one-sided, still gave them quite a few injuries, and while the pain was dulled by the combat stimulants automatically administered by their armor's drug dispensers, it was still an incessant, if distant, source of irritation.

"Brother-apothecary," Sorthraal said, his voice ever saturnine, as he, Vorax, Bas and Udan entered the dark hall of the aftcastle apothecarion, "we are wounded."