Upgrade your account to a Community Supporter account and remove most of the site ads.

Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="Corinthi" data-source="post: 1173091" data-attributes="member: 8272">*Darthallys awakens the next morning, slightly before dawn. The sounds from the kitchen's morning preparations rouse the lightly sleeping Sibeccai. He stretches slowly, lanky form sprawling across the entirety of the bed. Noting the lack of another form in the bed, his lips curl upwards slightly, content. He rests there for a moment, silently contemplating the relationship between bar wenches and the ale they serve. It seems to him that the more watered down the beer, the more friendly the wench.*     *Moving slowly, as not to disturb the sediment flowing about the bottom of his skull, Darthallys unpacks a small gilded water bowl and fills it from a clay pitcher by the window. He kneels before the bowl, his morning absolutions resembling more of a prayer than anything else. He carefully washes his face, his ears, his teeth, and his hands, before rising and tossing the soiled water out into the street below. Oddly enough, his fur is carefully groomed and spotless, with non of the ghastly stench of sweat that follows a hard night of drinking and wenching.*     *Similiar attention is given to his rainment and boots. Then he checks his purse. A few coins short of what he remembers spending, but well within the bounds of a night of wenching. Finally, he turns to his Athame. Hanging from a peg on the wall, the vicious looking blade hangs in it's scabbard, looking vaguely decorative in the sparce room. Darthallys crosses the room, reaching to pluck the blade from it's roost. The fur along his forearm tingles as his palm nears the hilt before actually standing on end as he actually draws forth the Kopesh from it's leather prison. Here, alone in his room, Darthallys allows himself to tremble faintly at the power coursing between him as his Athame. He slowly walks back into the center of the room, estimating the space he has to work within.*     *After a series of deep, focusing breathes, Darthallys begins his dance. A medative and martial kata, designed to hone not his body, but his spirit. The exercise is slow and graceful. One might almost call it  sensual, were the focus of the Sibeccai's devotion not a hefty piece of steel forged for the simple purpose of destroying life in a vicious, fleshrending manner.*      *Nearly an hour later, Darthallys resheathes his weapon, focused and refreshed for the day ahead. He swiftly dresses, and checks his appearance in a small handheld mirror. Perhaps were he distastefully nude, like most bipedal races, one might note dark rings around his eyes, or a slight pallor to his complexion. However, fur conceals a multitude of sins. With a respectable appearance, and a headache that's merely a dull roar, he gathers his belongings and heads downstairs, intending to eat a hearty breakfast before setting out on some fool's errand.*     *As he heads out into the commons, he considers what he heard the night before about subterranean people. If they mine, maybe they have riches and will pay handsomely for setting a few bones. Sufficive to say, Darthallys' smile is genuine as he arrives for breakfast.*</blockquote>

Verification