Deamonbane Member
STATUS: When you see a sock on the doorknob, the only civilized way to react is to kick the door down, declaring loudly that," Player Three has entered the game!" 9 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
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- Deamonbane 11 yrs ago
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When you see a sock on the doorknob, the only civilized way to react is to kick the door down, declaring loudly that," Player Three has entered the game!"
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*leaves some hugs for Jay if she wants them*
Some good news: Apparently, we have suddenly found a way to install some decent Wi-fi in our house out in the boonies so, if that works out... *crosses fingers as well*
*hugs Cara randomly*
*hugs Cara randomly*
Skyrim is pretty fucking distracting...
Keiro smirked," Ironically, I don't serve her anymore either. But old habits die hard, I guess..." He had never been a lord. Sure, he had had the title granted to him, Lord General, after the Elf wars and, more specifically, after the Queen's rebellion, but he had never taken to the title, and never enforced it. Well, rarely inforced it, anyways. His smile turned playful when she mentioned that he was an outcast. Aged he was, and a few years past his prime. Also, slightly out of practice. But in his day there hadn't been a bladesman to match him for skill, speed or intelligence.
Not quite. He remembered two men and one elf who he knew was better than him, and he had fought them. The elf had been arrogant and had tried to toy with the young human bladesman. He had been surprised when the quickly backpedalling soldier suddenly jumped forward and planted a broadsword through his chest. The second had been human; Older than Keiro and in his prime too, but he had slipped on a patch of ice as he was about to deliver a killing blow. The other had been a young man, quicker, smarter and stronger than Keiro had ever been, but he had been intimidated by Keiro's legend, coming into the fight despairing of defeat, and thus beat himself. He had been lucky, he knew but he hadn't gotten this far on luck alone.
"I'm guessing you don't know who I am, Elf," He growled, rolling his neck, moving closer to her, spinning his blade in an eight-figure to loosen his wrist," I won't introduce myself, but let's see if you can guess before this fight is over..." And with that, he closed the distance between them to attack. Sure, he was a bit rusty in the details, but he hadn't gotten complacent, or fat. He was just as fast he had been those five years ago, when the queen sent her lover and three assassins to kill him, and he had send her lover's head back to her on the sword that he had stolen from her.
Not quite. He remembered two men and one elf who he knew was better than him, and he had fought them. The elf had been arrogant and had tried to toy with the young human bladesman. He had been surprised when the quickly backpedalling soldier suddenly jumped forward and planted a broadsword through his chest. The second had been human; Older than Keiro and in his prime too, but he had slipped on a patch of ice as he was about to deliver a killing blow. The other had been a young man, quicker, smarter and stronger than Keiro had ever been, but he had been intimidated by Keiro's legend, coming into the fight despairing of defeat, and thus beat himself. He had been lucky, he knew but he hadn't gotten this far on luck alone.
"I'm guessing you don't know who I am, Elf," He growled, rolling his neck, moving closer to her, spinning his blade in an eight-figure to loosen his wrist," I won't introduce myself, but let's see if you can guess before this fight is over..." And with that, he closed the distance between them to attack. Sure, he was a bit rusty in the details, but he hadn't gotten complacent, or fat. He was just as fast he had been those five years ago, when the queen sent her lover and three assassins to kill him, and he had send her lover's head back to her on the sword that he had stolen from her.
He checked his watch quickly, gleaning the time. He wasn't late, but he wasn't exactly early, so the frustration that he read in Josh was understandable. Not expected, but understandable. There was something else there too. A feeling... regret? Not quite. It was a bit too newly formed to be regret. Dread, he thought with a slight mental nod. He was dreading doing something that he would regret later, and the anticipation of the regret was fuelling the dread to the point where he was considering not even doing this thing that needed doing. Mark blinked, bringing himself back and nodded, not saying a word.
It wasn't that he didn't like flying. He didn't care for it, sure, like many other people in the world, but he could stand it. He was dreading going up to five thousand feet in the air, being held up merely by drifts of air and speed in a small aluminum container, but he knew that numerically speaking it was safer than his preferred travelling style, by car.He grimaced a bit as he stepped on the plane. At least it wasn't a commercial flight. The dislike that he had for those had little to do with the physics involved in putting a plane in the air, and more to do with the hygenic complications.
He was immediately greeted by one Thomas Wakefield, and out of reflex, he grasped the man's hand. The grip was weak, effete, lacking any conviction. It wasn't actually a pleasure to meet Mr. Vern, just a pleasure to be around him so that information could be gleaned. Mark's eyes didn't meet Mr. Wakefield's, instead studying the cushions of the flight chairs intently. Thankfully, the conversation drifted away from him and he made an attempt to filter out as much of it as possible. He sat down in the far corner and took a deep breath, his backpack with his things placed on his lap. He fiddled idly with the armrest, waiting for them to take off.
It wasn't that he didn't like flying. He didn't care for it, sure, like many other people in the world, but he could stand it. He was dreading going up to five thousand feet in the air, being held up merely by drifts of air and speed in a small aluminum container, but he knew that numerically speaking it was safer than his preferred travelling style, by car.He grimaced a bit as he stepped on the plane. At least it wasn't a commercial flight. The dislike that he had for those had little to do with the physics involved in putting a plane in the air, and more to do with the hygenic complications.
He was immediately greeted by one Thomas Wakefield, and out of reflex, he grasped the man's hand. The grip was weak, effete, lacking any conviction. It wasn't actually a pleasure to meet Mr. Vern, just a pleasure to be around him so that information could be gleaned. Mark's eyes didn't meet Mr. Wakefield's, instead studying the cushions of the flight chairs intently. Thankfully, the conversation drifted away from him and he made an attempt to filter out as much of it as possible. He sat down in the far corner and took a deep breath, his backpack with his things placed on his lap. He fiddled idly with the armrest, waiting for them to take off.
If you like action movies, watch the Raid 2. Best action movie of the decade...
Yup. Been there, done that.
What'chu doing in the reception of a hotel:?
Response should be forthcoming tomorrow...
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