Prosaic
StarBoi
SkaiOnce you post, I'll put up a post after I get out of work in 7ish hours.
Marx
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Will I ever come back? Maybe! Probably not! Who knows!
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She sighed at his offer and immediately Askeladd began to question his offer. Was it not good enough? Would she turn him into the guards? Would she ask for him to become her slave? His mind raced with possibilities, his face likely turning palre by the moment, if that were even possible. He was so deprived of sunlight his entire life a few minutes in the sun usually was enough to give him a maddening sun burn. "Let's say you owe me a favor instead, hm?" The girl said, raising an eyebrow in a way that meant she had something in mind. He nodded, understanding the deal. It'd have to do the trick, though that favour could be absolutely anything. Anything was bad. But what other option did he have?
"A favor is worth a bit of silence, I think. Of course, I doubt anyone will ask questions at all once we're on the road. Just try to be less..." She went on, pausing. He stared at her, waiting for her to finish. He wasn't quite sure what she meant. Less like a slave? Damned if he tried to be anything else. He had no idea how to be a person whose existence wasn't dominated by another's. "Less of a mess," she concluded, throwing a hand as if she were sick of trying to find what to say. Askeladd didn't complain. "I'll try," he offered weakly. He would try, even if he had no idea what exactly she meant by that.
"What do I-" he tried to ask, getting cut off by her. "Look: if you pop out of the wagon now they'll assume you're a stowaway. If you jump out later, they might assume you're a thief, bandit or worse. You should walk alongside the caravan with everyone el--" She couldn't finish her own thought as the guard began to speak up and announce that they were going to move out. The corners of his lips rose by a hair at the news. At least they'd be less likely to throw him away now. At least, he hoped that'd be the case.
"Don't do anything stupid, alright? If anyone in this motley bunch of nobodies is going to be handy in a scuffle, you're likely to be one." the short one said before leaving the back of the wagon to walk along side it. His eyes turned to the now moving ground, a long sigh slipping out from between his pale cracked lips. Well, even if he didn't understand what she meant by being less of a mess, he understood what she meant when she said he'd be useful in a fight. It was probably the scars that made her see him that way. Whenever anyone saw them, they assumed he was either a criminal from birth or someone looking for a fight. That typically led to either people avoiding him or wanting to get into a brawl with him for the hell of it. Especially the drunkards at the Drunken Mare. One look at his face and half the inn wanted to throw a hairy fist his way.
Askeladden didn't bother to gather up his cloak and tucked it into the corner of the wagon mounting the edge of the it. He was hesitant to drop to the ground and walk along like the rest of the refugees. If I walk, the short one said they'd think I'm a run-away like them. She wouldn't lie to me for no reason, would she? Askeladd glanced around the caravan, trying to spot any guards that might be moving toward him. Beyond the girl that he was now in debt to, there was only a small group of three that he noticed near the back. They seemed far to invested in chatting to notice him.
"Here go," he muttered, closing his eyes as he hopped out of the back of the wagon, expecting the worst from his feet. Like landing on hot coals, the soles of his feet immediately burned with agony and he dropped to his knees. "Pigs tits," he hissed, clenching two handfuls of dirt before shoving himself up to his feet. He stood on shaky legs and the pain in his feet had only grown worse after he gave them a chance to rest. He grit his teeth and turned to jog after the wagon and catch up with the one who had talked to him. "Thank you," he managed out as he caught up to her, his breathing already heavy, though steadily slowing and becoming less strained.
"Askeladden," he said, as if she had asked for his name. "You can call me Askeladd, Ash, or Ladd for short. Others do. Easier that way. Thought you'd want to know since I'm in your debt now." He looked away from her, back toward the others who were talking amongst one another, hoping that they hadn't caught his fall. He stumbled and caught himself again, clenching his fist for a moment. It wasn't going to be easy to hide that he was in a dodgy state for the whole day. If he was lucky, maybe he could sneak into the supplies wagon again. He'd have to eventually to clean out his wounds and change the bandages. If this was what she meant by him looking like a mess, he was failing miserably at looking any better.
"A favor is worth a bit of silence, I think. Of course, I doubt anyone will ask questions at all once we're on the road. Just try to be less..." She went on, pausing. He stared at her, waiting for her to finish. He wasn't quite sure what she meant. Less like a slave? Damned if he tried to be anything else. He had no idea how to be a person whose existence wasn't dominated by another's. "Less of a mess," she concluded, throwing a hand as if she were sick of trying to find what to say. Askeladd didn't complain. "I'll try," he offered weakly. He would try, even if he had no idea what exactly she meant by that.
"What do I-" he tried to ask, getting cut off by her. "Look: if you pop out of the wagon now they'll assume you're a stowaway. If you jump out later, they might assume you're a thief, bandit or worse. You should walk alongside the caravan with everyone el--" She couldn't finish her own thought as the guard began to speak up and announce that they were going to move out. The corners of his lips rose by a hair at the news. At least they'd be less likely to throw him away now. At least, he hoped that'd be the case.
"Don't do anything stupid, alright? If anyone in this motley bunch of nobodies is going to be handy in a scuffle, you're likely to be one." the short one said before leaving the back of the wagon to walk along side it. His eyes turned to the now moving ground, a long sigh slipping out from between his pale cracked lips. Well, even if he didn't understand what she meant by being less of a mess, he understood what she meant when she said he'd be useful in a fight. It was probably the scars that made her see him that way. Whenever anyone saw them, they assumed he was either a criminal from birth or someone looking for a fight. That typically led to either people avoiding him or wanting to get into a brawl with him for the hell of it. Especially the drunkards at the Drunken Mare. One look at his face and half the inn wanted to throw a hairy fist his way.
Askeladden didn't bother to gather up his cloak and tucked it into the corner of the wagon mounting the edge of the it. He was hesitant to drop to the ground and walk along like the rest of the refugees. If I walk, the short one said they'd think I'm a run-away like them. She wouldn't lie to me for no reason, would she? Askeladd glanced around the caravan, trying to spot any guards that might be moving toward him. Beyond the girl that he was now in debt to, there was only a small group of three that he noticed near the back. They seemed far to invested in chatting to notice him.
"Here go," he muttered, closing his eyes as he hopped out of the back of the wagon, expecting the worst from his feet. Like landing on hot coals, the soles of his feet immediately burned with agony and he dropped to his knees. "Pigs tits," he hissed, clenching two handfuls of dirt before shoving himself up to his feet. He stood on shaky legs and the pain in his feet had only grown worse after he gave them a chance to rest. He grit his teeth and turned to jog after the wagon and catch up with the one who had talked to him. "Thank you," he managed out as he caught up to her, his breathing already heavy, though steadily slowing and becoming less strained.
"Askeladden," he said, as if she had asked for his name. "You can call me Askeladd, Ash, or Ladd for short. Others do. Easier that way. Thought you'd want to know since I'm in your debt now." He looked away from her, back toward the others who were talking amongst one another, hoping that they hadn't caught his fall. He stumbled and caught himself again, clenching his fist for a moment. It wasn't going to be easy to hide that he was in a dodgy state for the whole day. If he was lucky, maybe he could sneak into the supplies wagon again. He'd have to eventually to clean out his wounds and change the bandages. If this was what she meant by him looking like a mess, he was failing miserably at looking any better.
"Not until we're done," hissed Ash, his eyes narrowing as he grabbed Curt's collar, "Not unt-" He paused, looking back at the door, then back at Curt, then the door again. "Stay here and don't get into trouble," Ash darted out of the room, moving toward Crystal. "You're needed in the back, honey." Ash said gruffly, ignoring the passive aggressive sigh from the other barista. Fuck off, you prissy brat, he thought toward the other barista as he now dragged the silver haired girl into the back room, stopping for a moment to grab Curt's stupid latte.
"Here," he said, shoving the latte into Chris's hands. He slammed the door again behind the girl. "Show us what you can do," He said bluntly, now staring at the girl. "I know you can do something. Yormie wouldn't be int-" he paused, shoving the snake back down into his jacket, "The stupid snake wouldn't be so curious about you. Spill, what can you do?" He stared at her, realising how strange this would sound if she thought that she was the only person with powers. He lifted a hand up and let a flame dance wildly in his palm before it began to spin into a ball. Then for shits and giggles it flattened out and began to morph into a rotating sombrero. He had gotten very good at manipulating his flames in the past week. "Now share yours."
"Here," he said, shoving the latte into Chris's hands. He slammed the door again behind the girl. "Show us what you can do," He said bluntly, now staring at the girl. "I know you can do something. Yormie wouldn't be int-" he paused, shoving the snake back down into his jacket, "The stupid snake wouldn't be so curious about you. Spill, what can you do?" He stared at her, realising how strange this would sound if she thought that she was the only person with powers. He lifted a hand up and let a flame dance wildly in his palm before it began to spin into a ball. Then for shits and giggles it flattened out and began to morph into a rotating sombrero. He had gotten very good at manipulating his flames in the past week. "Now share yours."
Jörmungandr seemed almost upset at the lack of recognition she was getting and let out a low, slow hiss. "What are you doing, you dummy," Ash frowned, dragging Yormie back to him and forcing her to wrap around his neck again. "Stay there, you nosy brat." Yormie dug her head under his jacket collar and began to slither down between his sweat jacket and leather jacket either in an act of protest or a sudden need for warmth. Ash nodded to the two when the two said they were fine, his brow furrowing and the frown he previous had returning when he asked her for a ride.
"You've caused enough of a problem for the poor girl," Ash said as he rolled his bike forward, looking from the two to the kid in the van. "Oi, vanny, give this shithead a ride to the hospital, yeah?" He waved at the guy behind the van, not quite able to make out who he was, not that we would've known him anyhow. He hardly knew anyone at the school, though a decent number of folks knew him. In part because of how rarely he showed up, and that he tended to dress a bit... unusually. That, the motorcycle, and his tendency to bugger off whenever the mood struck kicked off a rumour that he was in a gang. That he had stolen from some kids at school and other bits of bull along those lines. He wasn't too against the rumours himself. Got people off his back.
"Let the girl get out of here, guy. Or I'll let my hell hound nibble on whatever is dangling between your legs," Ash said as he fiddled with his pockets, pulling out his bandanna, some sand pouring out of his pocket, more falling off of the bandanna as he shook it loose and brought it up to his face. He rolled his bike forward toward the boy and the girl and leaned in toward the kid that just got hit. "If you're gonna do something like that again, try n' do it when no one's around to see. I figured there were kids like you around here. Keep your head low, idiot."
He sat back up and adjusted his jacket, zipping it up as the last of Yormie's tail slithered out of view. "Stay safe kids." Ash reared back on his bike, the front wheel popping off the ground for a moment before he shot off, leaving the two be. Well, that's just fascinating. First Curt n' I, now this kid. Yormie didn't even like Curt until recently and now she's all interested in those two. Makes you wonder... Makes you wonder.
He stepped off of his bike ten or so minutes later, now free of desert sand, bandanna down around his neck, leather jacket halfway down, Yormie back around his neck, hiding in his bandanna. He walked with an unshakable confidence, hung low with a scowl that dared you to try him. Off his bike, he was a tall guy, having a two inches on his brother thanks to the mohawk. Once he got the boots on he got another inch and some change. Just shy of 6ft tall, a short punky mohawk, amber eyes that in the right light glowed red and shot daggers, a mouth full of pearly whites, and a pair of rough hands that usually swung by his sides in fists. Nothing about his outfit said he was looking for a friend. A black Sabaton shirt, under a grey hoodie, under a black leather jacket, with black jeans, black leather boots, and a half skull bandanna all came together to say fuck society, fuck your expectations, and even fuck the weather. In this desert heat he'd dress however he damned please. Now that he had this flashy new power of his, overheating ceased to be on his radar either. He could wear a parka and feel a-o-k in the dead of summer here.
He made his way through the mall, en route to his typical watering hole, figuring his brother would be there. The only guy that was more regular than him was his brother and that's because he didn't have the stones to skip out on school and check out their new gift. Normally he'd play tag with his bro and avoid him until things got boring, but something was worth talking about. That something being a certain punk that managed to drop from the sky. There were other superheroes in the making here and Ash wasn't too thrilled about the prospect of having to deal with any punks with powers. "Usual," he waved to the barista with platinum hair as he sauntered in, making way straight for his brother. "We're gonna have a conversation." Ash glanced at the baristas, his eyes locking on the silver haired girl as he felt a tugging in his jacket, Yormie poking her head out of his sleeve to try and investigate the girl.
He glared at her and turned his arm 90 degrees, Yormie falling back down into his jacket. He looked back at his brother and grabbed him, dragging him past the counter. "We're borrowing this," He less asked and more told the barista, slipping into the backroom and slamming the door behind the two of them. "There are other..." He started, glancing at the door before looking back at Curt. He frowned for a moment as he hesitated to put it into words. "I think I found more people that can... Do... things." He opened his palm, a small flaming dancing along the lines of his hand. If that didn't make what he was trying to say clear, he'd have to beat Curt over the head.
"You've caused enough of a problem for the poor girl," Ash said as he rolled his bike forward, looking from the two to the kid in the van. "Oi, vanny, give this shithead a ride to the hospital, yeah?" He waved at the guy behind the van, not quite able to make out who he was, not that we would've known him anyhow. He hardly knew anyone at the school, though a decent number of folks knew him. In part because of how rarely he showed up, and that he tended to dress a bit... unusually. That, the motorcycle, and his tendency to bugger off whenever the mood struck kicked off a rumour that he was in a gang. That he had stolen from some kids at school and other bits of bull along those lines. He wasn't too against the rumours himself. Got people off his back.
"Let the girl get out of here, guy. Or I'll let my hell hound nibble on whatever is dangling between your legs," Ash said as he fiddled with his pockets, pulling out his bandanna, some sand pouring out of his pocket, more falling off of the bandanna as he shook it loose and brought it up to his face. He rolled his bike forward toward the boy and the girl and leaned in toward the kid that just got hit. "If you're gonna do something like that again, try n' do it when no one's around to see. I figured there were kids like you around here. Keep your head low, idiot."
He sat back up and adjusted his jacket, zipping it up as the last of Yormie's tail slithered out of view. "Stay safe kids." Ash reared back on his bike, the front wheel popping off the ground for a moment before he shot off, leaving the two be. Well, that's just fascinating. First Curt n' I, now this kid. Yormie didn't even like Curt until recently and now she's all interested in those two. Makes you wonder... Makes you wonder.
He stepped off of his bike ten or so minutes later, now free of desert sand, bandanna down around his neck, leather jacket halfway down, Yormie back around his neck, hiding in his bandanna. He walked with an unshakable confidence, hung low with a scowl that dared you to try him. Off his bike, he was a tall guy, having a two inches on his brother thanks to the mohawk. Once he got the boots on he got another inch and some change. Just shy of 6ft tall, a short punky mohawk, amber eyes that in the right light glowed red and shot daggers, a mouth full of pearly whites, and a pair of rough hands that usually swung by his sides in fists. Nothing about his outfit said he was looking for a friend. A black Sabaton shirt, under a grey hoodie, under a black leather jacket, with black jeans, black leather boots, and a half skull bandanna all came together to say fuck society, fuck your expectations, and even fuck the weather. In this desert heat he'd dress however he damned please. Now that he had this flashy new power of his, overheating ceased to be on his radar either. He could wear a parka and feel a-o-k in the dead of summer here.
He made his way through the mall, en route to his typical watering hole, figuring his brother would be there. The only guy that was more regular than him was his brother and that's because he didn't have the stones to skip out on school and check out their new gift. Normally he'd play tag with his bro and avoid him until things got boring, but something was worth talking about. That something being a certain punk that managed to drop from the sky. There were other superheroes in the making here and Ash wasn't too thrilled about the prospect of having to deal with any punks with powers. "Usual," he waved to the barista with platinum hair as he sauntered in, making way straight for his brother. "We're gonna have a conversation." Ash glanced at the baristas, his eyes locking on the silver haired girl as he felt a tugging in his jacket, Yormie poking her head out of his sleeve to try and investigate the girl.
He glared at her and turned his arm 90 degrees, Yormie falling back down into his jacket. He looked back at his brother and grabbed him, dragging him past the counter. "We're borrowing this," He less asked and more told the barista, slipping into the backroom and slamming the door behind the two of them. "There are other..." He started, glancing at the door before looking back at Curt. He frowned for a moment as he hesitated to put it into words. "I think I found more people that can... Do... things." He opened his palm, a small flaming dancing along the lines of his hand. If that didn't make what he was trying to say clear, he'd have to beat Curt over the head.
"Stand back, Vermin! Or face the awesome wrath of Hell-Fire!!"
--Johnny Blaze
A serpent, basking in the sunlight and glowing brilliant colours across the spectrum, grew and slithered along the dunes trailing behind its creator. A bike, dusty, black, and chrome, leapt from dune to dune leaving a trail of flame in its wake. A flame that caught the sand and turned it to glass, immortalising the burning rider's journey through the dunes. At least, until the sand swallowed whole the trail like it did the corpses of coyotes and gilas.
"Woooooh!" screamed the rider with delight, a grin platered to his face, hidden beneath the skull bandanna that was tucked away in a pocket whenever he wasn't riding through the desert. Flames trickled from the rider's gloves, running along his arms until they reached his elbow, where they left him altogether and dove into the sand. The rider's body, despite the roaring flames, was utterly untouched. The flames began to trickle less and less until all that remained in the rolling wasteland of sand was the rider, his bike, and Jörmungandr, or "Yormie" for short who was restlessly slithering through the rider's jacket basking in his warmth.
The rider dropped his kickstand on the edge of town and freed his mouth from the bandanna, taking in a long breath of clean air. "C'mon out, Yormie," Ash cooed, unzipping his jacket halfway to find the snake that was doing its best to wrap itself around his torso. The sand boa slipped out of his jacket and began making her way up Ash's arm, its tongue slithering out every few seconds as if she were doing her best to map the way. Ash lifted her up and draped her around his neck like some would do with a feather boa. Yormie in place, Ash grinned and kicked the stand up, shooting off with a rev of his engine, the sand rising in a curious manner behind him until his tires hit asphalt.
School was just getting out which meant Curt was already halfway across town at the mall, trying to get lucky with a barista or get some coffee. Whatever it was he did. Ash rolled past the school, seeing everyone spill out like the good little boys n girls that they were. They got no idea what they're missing out on, he thought with a smirk, eyes going wide and brakes on the max when some kid fell out of the sky in front of him and slammed into a car. His bike swung to the side and came to a screeching halt parallel to the car, Ash listing off a handful of choice words during the whole process.
"Open your eyes!" He yelled, half expecting himself to unconsciously hurl a ball of flame at the idiot that just got himself ran over. Yormie was beyond interested in the display, stretching half of her body out into the air as she flicked her tongue at the two. "Don't tell me you like either of these idiots," Ash mumbled to the snake, wanting to strangle her. Yormie seemed to ignore him, bobbing up and down as she watched the two kids. Ash was never one to argue with her when it came to people. She was an excellent judge of character. "Uh," he sighed, "You two alright?" Ash did everything in his power not to frown. He succeeded. Partially.
--Johnny Blaze
A serpent, basking in the sunlight and glowing brilliant colours across the spectrum, grew and slithered along the dunes trailing behind its creator. A bike, dusty, black, and chrome, leapt from dune to dune leaving a trail of flame in its wake. A flame that caught the sand and turned it to glass, immortalising the burning rider's journey through the dunes. At least, until the sand swallowed whole the trail like it did the corpses of coyotes and gilas.
"Woooooh!" screamed the rider with delight, a grin platered to his face, hidden beneath the skull bandanna that was tucked away in a pocket whenever he wasn't riding through the desert. Flames trickled from the rider's gloves, running along his arms until they reached his elbow, where they left him altogether and dove into the sand. The rider's body, despite the roaring flames, was utterly untouched. The flames began to trickle less and less until all that remained in the rolling wasteland of sand was the rider, his bike, and Jörmungandr, or "Yormie" for short who was restlessly slithering through the rider's jacket basking in his warmth.
The rider dropped his kickstand on the edge of town and freed his mouth from the bandanna, taking in a long breath of clean air. "C'mon out, Yormie," Ash cooed, unzipping his jacket halfway to find the snake that was doing its best to wrap itself around his torso. The sand boa slipped out of his jacket and began making her way up Ash's arm, its tongue slithering out every few seconds as if she were doing her best to map the way. Ash lifted her up and draped her around his neck like some would do with a feather boa. Yormie in place, Ash grinned and kicked the stand up, shooting off with a rev of his engine, the sand rising in a curious manner behind him until his tires hit asphalt.
School was just getting out which meant Curt was already halfway across town at the mall, trying to get lucky with a barista or get some coffee. Whatever it was he did. Ash rolled past the school, seeing everyone spill out like the good little boys n girls that they were. They got no idea what they're missing out on, he thought with a smirk, eyes going wide and brakes on the max when some kid fell out of the sky in front of him and slammed into a car. His bike swung to the side and came to a screeching halt parallel to the car, Ash listing off a handful of choice words during the whole process.
"Open your eyes!" He yelled, half expecting himself to unconsciously hurl a ball of flame at the idiot that just got himself ran over. Yormie was beyond interested in the display, stretching half of her body out into the air as she flicked her tongue at the two. "Don't tell me you like either of these idiots," Ash mumbled to the snake, wanting to strangle her. Yormie seemed to ignore him, bobbing up and down as she watched the two kids. Ash was never one to argue with her when it came to people. She was an excellent judge of character. "Uh," he sighed, "You two alright?" Ash did everything in his power not to frown. He succeeded. Partially.
From beyond the wagon he could hear the beginnings of awkward conversations or, at the very least, attempts to make conversation. Askeladden had found a mildly comfortable place to sit. He now had almost enough room to wiggle his legs! Beneath him were the blankets, on one side some weapons, on the other food. Beneath the layers of clothing, the pelted cloak, the hood, the leather gloves and boots, something had to give or he'd have boiled alive. From the sounds of things, people were too distracted with what was going on outside of the wagons to notice their new stowaway, so he could probably get by without the hood. His fingers toyed with the string keeping the cloak tight enough around him the hood would not simply roll right off of him. It was made for broader men than him, but did a good job concealing just who or what exactly was beneath it. He liked that part of it a lot.
He froze at the sound of a voice that seemed to be directed toward him from the edge of the wagon, the blood immediately draining from his face. "Uh," he choked out, shivering like he once did when Thors entered the room with whatever he was going to be struck with today. She faltered when the hood fell from his face, giving her a display of his face in all of its glory. He also finally had a clear view of the owner of the voice. Once he looked down a bit. Is she supposed to be a child? No, much too rude... No. Not rude enough.
"Many people did not like it. You do not either," he said flatly, now staring at her, having difficulty disguising his fascination with her size. Askeladden instinctively reached up and adjusted his eye-patch, the rough leather edges of rubbing against his skin as it settled over his glassy eye. He tried to sit up more, wiggling his leg and scowling, before giving it a hard jerk, being greeted by the sound of tearing fabric and a dull pain in his calve. "I should be here, I think." He spoke slowly, unsure of every word he said, even the last two. He climbed out toward her and dropped down on his ass at the edge of the wagon, eyes fixated on her, watching her carefully, cautiously. His hands went to the strings of his cloak and fully undid them, the piece dropping onto the bed of the wagon. "I, uh.." He started, then stopped. You'll what? He thought to himself, suddenly grabbing his cloak and thrusting it out toward the tiny girl with eyes that oozed suspicion. "You don't have one. I can give you this if you let me stay."
He held the cloak out to her with trembling hands, his gaze lowering. "There is nowhere else to go," he muttered, "I don't want to leave."
He froze at the sound of a voice that seemed to be directed toward him from the edge of the wagon, the blood immediately draining from his face. "Uh," he choked out, shivering like he once did when Thors entered the room with whatever he was going to be struck with today. She faltered when the hood fell from his face, giving her a display of his face in all of its glory. He also finally had a clear view of the owner of the voice. Once he looked down a bit. Is she supposed to be a child? No, much too rude... No. Not rude enough.
"Many people did not like it. You do not either," he said flatly, now staring at her, having difficulty disguising his fascination with her size. Askeladden instinctively reached up and adjusted his eye-patch, the rough leather edges of rubbing against his skin as it settled over his glassy eye. He tried to sit up more, wiggling his leg and scowling, before giving it a hard jerk, being greeted by the sound of tearing fabric and a dull pain in his calve. "I should be here, I think." He spoke slowly, unsure of every word he said, even the last two. He climbed out toward her and dropped down on his ass at the edge of the wagon, eyes fixated on her, watching her carefully, cautiously. His hands went to the strings of his cloak and fully undid them, the piece dropping onto the bed of the wagon. "I, uh.." He started, then stopped. You'll what? He thought to himself, suddenly grabbing his cloak and thrusting it out toward the tiny girl with eyes that oozed suspicion. "You don't have one. I can give you this if you let me stay."
He held the cloak out to her with trembling hands, his gaze lowering. "There is nowhere else to go," he muttered, "I don't want to leave."
@Inlaa
Feel free to have Gabby pester Askeladden. He's just trying his best to go unnoticed in the supplies wagon.
Feel free to have Gabby pester Askeladden. He's just trying his best to go unnoticed in the supplies wagon.
@Micia
Go ahead and post a CS.
Go ahead and post a CS.
In the eyes of the law, would it be considered murder if one killed a traitor of the state? Askeladden had lost the energy to run, his feet bloodied and the bandages stuck to his feet. The scabs would break open again and he'd have to clean the wounds again every few miles, but the downtime between the running and the occasional maintenance gave the runaway slave time to think. Askeladden has always hated thinking. It mostly led to him being depressed about his position. A slave, a punching bag, and a tool to line his master's pocket. Now wasn't that much better. Homeless, penniless, and a murderer. His master wasn't the first person he had killed and, with what was to come, he wasn't expecting his master to be the last. Though it was still different. His master wasn't forcing him to defend himself, he was sleeping and Askeladden beat him over the head until his skull caved in. It was a lifetime of retribution in the making, but the thought of it still made his stomach feel as though it was turning itself over.
He shook his head, doing his best to will the thoughts away for a moment if he could. He continued to walk and occasionally run, stopping only once his breath went ragged and his clothes stuck to his skin. When he reached city with which the caravan was stationed outside of, Askeladden's pace finally slowed down to a staggered walk. He had been walking, running, and destroying his feet for the better part of three days, of which he managed no more than a few winks of sleep. The streets were near empty, leaving him nearly as alone as he had been this entire journey. At least on the road there were the occasional bands of soldiers passing by. Here, the city was just dead. At this point, he was fully lost. The soldier that mentioned the caravans only mentioned the city. Beyond that it was entirely up to him to find the caravan, so he'd have to rely on finding someone that fit the criteria.
"Between 10 and 18, right?" Askeladden muttered to himself, looking around for someone that looked young. Or short. Short would have done as well. A head of red hair caught his eyes, the owner of the hair a young girl with a bow that looked particularly valuable. He decided to follow her with some distance. Didn't want to scare her off, especially if she was heading to the caravans.
He stood a good distance away from the caravan when the redhead reached it, unsure of what to do. I don't need to show the guards anything do I? Askeladden grimaced, reaching for his cloak's hood and drawing it over his head. He was overly aware of how he looked like a vagrant and hardly fit in with the group of children. Having a full head of white hair certainly didn't help him blend in. The eye-patch did him no favors in the department either.
The runaway slave turned his head to the ground and marched forward, doing his best to conceal the staggered steps, gritting his teeth as he tried his best to hide any sounds of pain. He made his way past the redhead and another figure, too scrawny for a man, using the figure's horse to steady himself. The scent of the horse lingered on his palm when he went to readjust his eye-patch. The horse smelled like a horse, but unlike most people's mounts it smelled almost clean. Feh, guess there's a noble among us. Askeladden climbed into the first wagon he reached, one devoid of people, filled to the brim with supplies and did his best to wiggle in where there was any space before resting his head on his knees. Please, no one ask any questions.
He shook his head, doing his best to will the thoughts away for a moment if he could. He continued to walk and occasionally run, stopping only once his breath went ragged and his clothes stuck to his skin. When he reached city with which the caravan was stationed outside of, Askeladden's pace finally slowed down to a staggered walk. He had been walking, running, and destroying his feet for the better part of three days, of which he managed no more than a few winks of sleep. The streets were near empty, leaving him nearly as alone as he had been this entire journey. At least on the road there were the occasional bands of soldiers passing by. Here, the city was just dead. At this point, he was fully lost. The soldier that mentioned the caravans only mentioned the city. Beyond that it was entirely up to him to find the caravan, so he'd have to rely on finding someone that fit the criteria.
"Between 10 and 18, right?" Askeladden muttered to himself, looking around for someone that looked young. Or short. Short would have done as well. A head of red hair caught his eyes, the owner of the hair a young girl with a bow that looked particularly valuable. He decided to follow her with some distance. Didn't want to scare her off, especially if she was heading to the caravans.
He stood a good distance away from the caravan when the redhead reached it, unsure of what to do. I don't need to show the guards anything do I? Askeladden grimaced, reaching for his cloak's hood and drawing it over his head. He was overly aware of how he looked like a vagrant and hardly fit in with the group of children. Having a full head of white hair certainly didn't help him blend in. The eye-patch did him no favors in the department either.
The runaway slave turned his head to the ground and marched forward, doing his best to conceal the staggered steps, gritting his teeth as he tried his best to hide any sounds of pain. He made his way past the redhead and another figure, too scrawny for a man, using the figure's horse to steady himself. The scent of the horse lingered on his palm when he went to readjust his eye-patch. The horse smelled like a horse, but unlike most people's mounts it smelled almost clean. Feh, guess there's a noble among us. Askeladden climbed into the first wagon he reached, one devoid of people, filled to the brim with supplies and did his best to wiggle in where there was any space before resting his head on his knees. Please, no one ask any questions.
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