Should have a post up in a bit.
OneEyedChurro Member
Pam Grier's Fro
- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: OneEyedChurro
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
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- OneEyedChurro 11 yrs ago
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Most Recent Posts
Still here, too. Seems we lost @NewSun again.
More than willing to post, though, if we decide to continue on.
More than willing to post, though, if we decide to continue on.
It's a shame most (probably all, because impact damage) of Canada and its cheap doughnuts and coffee were wiped out by a giant meteor in this universe.
Dammit, there goes my idea of becoming the supreme-master-overlord of Russel City using Timbits; the people need a crutch! (Fun fact, my first job was actually at a Timmy's).
And I live in a state with a good hockey team and Tim Hortons, so I get the best of both worlds!
"I'm just going to miss it here. I said a lot of- a lot of goodbyes today, and I'm afraid it's the last time I'll... You know."
That's an understatement, thought the young farmer. Dal had thought himself hardened and ready earlier that morning after saying goodbyes to his father months ago, but thinking of his mother or even Dane right now made his heart pound a throng of sorrow, to say nothing of the tears that begat he and his mother before he left their capital home. And the goodbyes to his father weren't exactly "genuine", come to think of it. Thanks to guardsman Dane keeping a close eye on him and relaying the information to Dalsarad, it was almost like his father was still in his life; Dal at least knew he was still alive, at the very least. Then again, Dane could've been lying to spare the boy of any more anxiety.
But those thoughts were best saved for later; or even better, not at all.
Glancing back up at Lea, Dal found her staring up at the sky. Her eyes looked wet. It may have been from the early morning sun, but Dal figured it best not to prod any more. At least, not right now, when they were hardly away from the city.
"So, where are you from, farmboy? What region?"
Dal smiled and chuckled, "Believe it or not it's a bit of a complex answer for me." Dal paused a moment to pick a long grass stalk from the side of the road and started chewing on one end. A habit from his father, though he had done it to help him stop biting his lips. Dalsarad picked it up just because his father did it- stuck ever since.
"Most recently, just outside Arrvern. Before that, lived in central Edessa in a little place called Blue Lake- bet you can't guess why its called that. I fished there- haven't always been a farmhand. Before that, though, we lived in southern Edessa, in a tiny woodcutter village called Rowanwood. Closer to the Wilds, really."
He looked back up towards Lea.
"What about you? I mean, you said you're Edessan, but you an Arrvern native?"
"Pardon me, did you say something?"
A voice brought Dal out of his fatigued haze of thought- not that he was thinking of anything in particular. Dal got good at immersing himself in a sort of soupy haze just before travel, almost like a meditation, and it generally tended to make long trips a little easier, though it left Dalsarad anything but alert as to what was going around him.
Meeting the rider's gaze, he could only respond with a similar "What?" It was then that he realized the young rider looked slightly familiar; he had no idea why, just had one of those faces to Dal.
"Were you addressing me, sir...? Please excuse my discourtesy, it has been a difficult day, I am a bit distracted."
Before the young man could reply, the rider's head turned as she spoke to someone standing on the other side of the horse.
"Y-yes, my lady, I prefer mares. I find they are much more reliable, even despite the occasional opposition or mood swing. You're from the wilds, aren't you!"
"Aye – and you're Edessan, at least I think so. Never know these days."
Looking up and over the horse Dal caught sight of red hair and a pair of eyes that were looking back. Startled, Dal cast his gaze back at the horse.
"Name's Mhairi."
At first Dalsarad thought the reply came from the rider, but she had her hands over her mouth. Must be the name of the Weld, then.
"Dalsarad- feel free to call me Dal." He exclaimed, raising one arm as if Mhairi didn't already know he was there.
"Alright, we're moving out!" The order was distant, but clear and lough enough to hear. Dal's gaze was straight ahead of him as the carts started rolling. He ran a hand through his hair as he tried his best to zone out into the syrupy haze state of mind he was in moments ago. There was a Weld in the caravan? For some reason Dalsarad hadn't expected that. There was probably dozens, to be honest. Thankfully, Dal wasn't like his uncle- the way Dal saw it, people were people and unless he had a rational reason to dislike them, he didn't care where someone was from, what titles someone had, or the bloodline someone was birthed in. Not to say he didn't understand why his uncle was so paranoid of them- to be honest, Dal would probably be suspect if throngs of strangers had suddenly shown up at their farm and walked all over their land.
"Don't straggle. This is a refugee caravan, not a social club. If you haven't got a real weapon, make sure you get one of the guards to sort you out."
A gruff-looking man with an equally gruff voice was riding up towards Dal and the others. Must be one of the guards. He frowned at the veteran but understood the haste. The last thing they'd want would be to run into the Varyan army on the way out as they encircled the capital, as Dal figured they would try to do.
"I'm alright." replied Dalsarad, placing a hand on the hilt of his saber.
Dalsarad returned to looking straight ahead of him but didn't allow himself to zone out again; he wanted to socialize, regardless of what the guard said. He glanced back up and smiled at the rider-
"Said you'd had a difficult day- anything you'd wanna share with a simple farmboy?"
A voice brought Dal out of his fatigued haze of thought- not that he was thinking of anything in particular. Dal got good at immersing himself in a sort of soupy haze just before travel, almost like a meditation, and it generally tended to make long trips a little easier, though it left Dalsarad anything but alert as to what was going around him.
Meeting the rider's gaze, he could only respond with a similar "What?" It was then that he realized the young rider looked slightly familiar; he had no idea why, just had one of those faces to Dal.
"Were you addressing me, sir...? Please excuse my discourtesy, it has been a difficult day, I am a bit distracted."
Before the young man could reply, the rider's head turned as she spoke to someone standing on the other side of the horse.
"Y-yes, my lady, I prefer mares. I find they are much more reliable, even despite the occasional opposition or mood swing. You're from the wilds, aren't you!"
"Aye – and you're Edessan, at least I think so. Never know these days."
Looking up and over the horse Dal caught sight of red hair and a pair of eyes that were looking back. Startled, Dal cast his gaze back at the horse.
"Name's Mhairi."
At first Dalsarad thought the reply came from the rider, but she had her hands over her mouth. Must be the name of the Weld, then.
"Dalsarad- feel free to call me Dal." He exclaimed, raising one arm as if Mhairi didn't already know he was there.
"Alright, we're moving out!" The order was distant, but clear and lough enough to hear. Dal's gaze was straight ahead of him as the carts started rolling. He ran a hand through his hair as he tried his best to zone out into the syrupy haze state of mind he was in moments ago. There was a Weld in the caravan? For some reason Dalsarad hadn't expected that. There was probably dozens, to be honest. Thankfully, Dal wasn't like his uncle- the way Dal saw it, people were people and unless he had a rational reason to dislike them, he didn't care where someone was from, what titles someone had, or the bloodline someone was birthed in. Not to say he didn't understand why his uncle was so paranoid of them- to be honest, Dal would probably be suspect if throngs of strangers had suddenly shown up at their farm and walked all over their land.
"Don't straggle. This is a refugee caravan, not a social club. If you haven't got a real weapon, make sure you get one of the guards to sort you out."
A gruff-looking man with an equally gruff voice was riding up towards Dal and the others. Must be one of the guards. He frowned at the veteran but understood the haste. The last thing they'd want would be to run into the Varyan army on the way out as they encircled the capital, as Dal figured they would try to do.
"I'm alright." replied Dalsarad, placing a hand on the hilt of his saber.
Dalsarad returned to looking straight ahead of him but didn't allow himself to zone out again; he wanted to socialize, regardless of what the guard said. He glanced back up and smiled at the rider-
"Said you'd had a difficult day- anything you'd wanna share with a simple farmboy?"
Alright. I just have to wait for @OneEyedChurro before I can post again, then... I'm really happy I get to be a part of this roleplay. :)
Yup yup, writing up a post right now.
Could it be Aeon's own theme, from his profile?
Also you tried to click that, good job pleb. <3
God.
Fucking.
Dammit.
You got me.
By the way, guys, a chaperon is just a hood that's not a part of a cloak.
Oh. I thought it was one of those sweet-ass hat/hood things like Vernon Roche wore in the Witcher.
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