ERode — Roleplayer Guild

//Northwestern Village > Western Village
@Xaltwind

“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. One man’s pain, another man’s PLEASURE!”

The pickaxe swung hard, a tip polished and sharpened by piercing stone now piercing deep into the front wall of yet another abandoned, dilapidated structure, before MacKinnon pushed her body weight against the haft of her trusty partner and dragged it further down, creating an eye-catching ‘i’ in the building.

Was she mad about something? Nope, sweat beaded over her forehead but her smile was as cherubically greedy as ever.
Was she trying to get into something? Nope, the door worked (because it had already fallen off the rusty hingers) and she had already ducked her head into the building.

Instead, MacKinnon had simply done this to mark the buildings for others to take a look in later. Sure, a common wage-slave would see broken and rotten furniture and think they were too good for it, but when the nearest forest was still far away, wouldn’t the best firewood be chairs that could no longer be chairs, tables that could no longer be tables? Certainly, she wasn’t a lumberjack and had no intention of bringing those bits and bobs of dry wood back herself, but the jovial treasure hunter was always willing to mark where her trash was, in case others saw it as treasure.

And oh, the treasure she did find!

A vase with a pretty picture painted on it that’d definitely be a winner once she washed it off by the well! A grimy carpet that just needed a nice beating to reveal the artisanal patterns and historical value that it inherently possessed! Those were what she placed in her rucksack, carefully using the carpet itself as cushioning for her more brittle discoveries as she continued to stick her head in, mark buildings with free furniture/firewood, and…

MacKinnon’s head lifted up as a cold draft blew against her back, her hair billowing in response. Her green eyes followed the direction of the wind. At the outskirts of the northwestern parts of the village, she could just make out the holes in the earth, the caves that promised safety and profit, security and familiarity. It drew her in, as certain as gravity.

But she blinked instead. Shook her head. Spun on her heel. Headed down to the western section of the Village instead, continuing the cheery little work shanty that spun itself into being upon her lips.

“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. One man’s pain, another man’s pleasure!”
ERode Member

A Spiny Ant

Status

Bio

Most Recent Posts
