- Joined
- Oct 7, 2008
- Messages
- 100
Devil in Hamtorn City
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Dreary sky and heavy hearts. Those were the two most prominent description of the small city of Hamtorn. Situated beside the aptly named Marsh of Despair to the east and the justified Infernal Warrens to the north, surrounded the by Treacherous Ocean, it was in no sense a city fit for a glee or a hoot. It was a wonder on why it was built, but the history and reason altogether is for another story.
Her quiet gait was quickly noticed by the bar patrons. Meekness was no part of a city laced by sorrows and grudge. Cumbersome gazes followed the newly entered patron that did not even stop at the counter. She walked to the near stairs, then to the third door on the right, on the left turn, and with shaking hands, brought out the key and unlocked the room. She closed the door almost immediately as she entered. The bed welcome her lithe body with its carressing sheets. She did not bothered to bathe nor even just to wash her face. Slumber was her priority. It only is. Sleeping, more or less, solves any problems. Maybe this one too, she thought. And she fell into deep sleep. She did not dream.
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The dark sun filtered thru the frayed blinds of the room, waking the mistress. Still alive? Has he failed? The woman was still in distraught but consciousness was assured. She was still alive, breathing, moving. He must have failed. He MUST!
The woman's fair complexion was complimented by the dim rays of light. She got up from her rented bed, the gracefulness she is. She took of her clothes, her supple body almost chiseled by the most skill artisans. Her slender stature, her bosom most well developed, and herself pure. She went for the bathroom, to wash away the filth she disillusioned that covers her. The water was cool and refreshing, but was not enough. She did not feel cleansed but she can do nothing more. Her home abbey was in shambles from his attack. Its attack. Nothing like that can be called a man, even a proper, sentient being. The vicious beast. She stuttered, sobbing. Her friends died, all died inside, in sleep. No one expected it, a murderer never is.
She dressed up again. The same clothes she wore though more frayed this day. She was doubting that this was real but neverless, she continued on with the day. She opened the door, half expecting the assaulter to appear in front of her but nothing. The same, shifty Iolwood wall greeted her with its blank face. She went down the stairs, expecting the usual patrons dead and bloodied, maybe a head or two decapitated and the barkeep's body severed in several ways that she cannot properly describe and the attacker, standing, with the devil's smile but she was just overreacting. The patrons were there, drunk as ever. The barkeep was there, still serving the half-cold ale the patrons well patronize. Outside, the sun was still dark and foreboding. Safe as she was now, she never considered herself that. She knows all too well that the bastardious beast is here. And he will get her. And Josephine, the tired woman, believing that every step she made, every movement she did, will lead to her end, tried to, even though she cringes, live on and continue her life, for nothing.
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This is basically an introductory post to my character in a forum RP I joined and to which I want his own story to be told MY WAY.
Brownie points to whoever knows where the chapter title comes from (not the thread name!).
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Dreary sky and heavy hearts. Those were the two most prominent description of the small city of Hamtorn. Situated beside the aptly named Marsh of Despair to the east and the justified Infernal Warrens to the north, surrounded the by Treacherous Ocean, it was in no sense a city fit for a glee or a hoot. It was a wonder on why it was built, but the history and reason altogether is for another story.
Her quiet gait was quickly noticed by the bar patrons. Meekness was no part of a city laced by sorrows and grudge. Cumbersome gazes followed the newly entered patron that did not even stop at the counter. She walked to the near stairs, then to the third door on the right, on the left turn, and with shaking hands, brought out the key and unlocked the room. She closed the door almost immediately as she entered. The bed welcome her lithe body with its carressing sheets. She did not bothered to bathe nor even just to wash her face. Slumber was her priority. It only is. Sleeping, more or less, solves any problems. Maybe this one too, she thought. And she fell into deep sleep. She did not dream.
---
The dark sun filtered thru the frayed blinds of the room, waking the mistress. Still alive? Has he failed? The woman was still in distraught but consciousness was assured. She was still alive, breathing, moving. He must have failed. He MUST!
The woman's fair complexion was complimented by the dim rays of light. She got up from her rented bed, the gracefulness she is. She took of her clothes, her supple body almost chiseled by the most skill artisans. Her slender stature, her bosom most well developed, and herself pure. She went for the bathroom, to wash away the filth she disillusioned that covers her. The water was cool and refreshing, but was not enough. She did not feel cleansed but she can do nothing more. Her home abbey was in shambles from his attack. Its attack. Nothing like that can be called a man, even a proper, sentient being. The vicious beast. She stuttered, sobbing. Her friends died, all died inside, in sleep. No one expected it, a murderer never is.
She dressed up again. The same clothes she wore though more frayed this day. She was doubting that this was real but neverless, she continued on with the day. She opened the door, half expecting the assaulter to appear in front of her but nothing. The same, shifty Iolwood wall greeted her with its blank face. She went down the stairs, expecting the usual patrons dead and bloodied, maybe a head or two decapitated and the barkeep's body severed in several ways that she cannot properly describe and the attacker, standing, with the devil's smile but she was just overreacting. The patrons were there, drunk as ever. The barkeep was there, still serving the half-cold ale the patrons well patronize. Outside, the sun was still dark and foreboding. Safe as she was now, she never considered herself that. She knows all too well that the bastardious beast is here. And he will get her. And Josephine, the tired woman, believing that every step she made, every movement she did, will lead to her end, tried to, even though she cringes, live on and continue her life, for nothing.
---
This is basically an introductory post to my character in a forum RP I joined and to which I want his own story to be told MY WAY.
Brownie points to whoever knows where the chapter title comes from (not the thread name!).
