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<blockquote data-quote="ethandrew" data-source="post: 3381143" data-attributes="member: 17456"><p>After the others leave, Livingston makes his way over to the maid, calling on a cup of strong tea. He heads to his room, sitting at the desk when he enters. Jotting down a few notes in his journal, he is interrupted by a soft rap on the door. Knowing it is his tea, he answers it quickly and thanks the maid, bidding her goodnight. He closes the door and turns his back to the door, surveying his room. Pulling the cup up to his mouth, he quaffs half the drink in his first attempt. The heat warms his throat and his stomach, alleviating the unease that has been steadily growing.</p><p></p><p>He places the saucer and cup down on the desk next to his journal and sets to getting everything ready. Pulling out his breastplate, he doesn't bother wiping it down or oiling it, knowing that he's meant to be visible and seen. The blood red of the metal seems dull tonight, lacking any vibrancy. Grabbing his backpack and cloak, he sets those down on his bed. When it is time, he'll pull on his breastplate, already used to the many straps and clasps, being able to maneuver them all on his own. He'll then don his backpack, making sure it is secured tightly and adjusting the shoulders so that it rests high on his back, above his shoulder blades. Once finished, he'll grasp his cloak tightly in a hand and shake his shoulders around a bit, noting if anything rattles in his armor or backpack. Satisfied with the result, he whips his large cloak around, making sure it covers all of his front and back, then clasping it underneath his neck and the one around his belly so that his armor does not show.</p><p></p><p>Pulling the hood over his head, he relishes the light leaving his eyes, knowing his face is bathed in shadows. He heads back to his desk, milking the last of his tea. He grabs his morningstar that is placed on top of the wooden top, feeling each point with his thumb. While not overly sharp, he knows that with the proper force, they will penetrate steel and skin alike. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, balancing the weight of his weapon in his hand.</p><p></p><p>He has never taken a life before, not of any humanoid. Although the idea makes him nervous, he's not wholly unprepared. It is unlikely he will have to kill tonight, but he knows blood will be shed.</p><p></p><p>Once he gets outside with the others and notes the dark, damp weather, he will smile.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: red">"This night bodes well and looks to be in our favor. I like our chances."</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="ethandrew, post: 3381143, member: 17456"] After the others leave, Livingston makes his way over to the maid, calling on a cup of strong tea. He heads to his room, sitting at the desk when he enters. Jotting down a few notes in his journal, he is interrupted by a soft rap on the door. Knowing it is his tea, he answers it quickly and thanks the maid, bidding her goodnight. He closes the door and turns his back to the door, surveying his room. Pulling the cup up to his mouth, he quaffs half the drink in his first attempt. The heat warms his throat and his stomach, alleviating the unease that has been steadily growing. He places the saucer and cup down on the desk next to his journal and sets to getting everything ready. Pulling out his breastplate, he doesn't bother wiping it down or oiling it, knowing that he's meant to be visible and seen. The blood red of the metal seems dull tonight, lacking any vibrancy. Grabbing his backpack and cloak, he sets those down on his bed. When it is time, he'll pull on his breastplate, already used to the many straps and clasps, being able to maneuver them all on his own. He'll then don his backpack, making sure it is secured tightly and adjusting the shoulders so that it rests high on his back, above his shoulder blades. Once finished, he'll grasp his cloak tightly in a hand and shake his shoulders around a bit, noting if anything rattles in his armor or backpack. Satisfied with the result, he whips his large cloak around, making sure it covers all of his front and back, then clasping it underneath his neck and the one around his belly so that his armor does not show. Pulling the hood over his head, he relishes the light leaving his eyes, knowing his face is bathed in shadows. He heads back to his desk, milking the last of his tea. He grabs his morningstar that is placed on top of the wooden top, feeling each point with his thumb. While not overly sharp, he knows that with the proper force, they will penetrate steel and skin alike. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, balancing the weight of his weapon in his hand. He has never taken a life before, not of any humanoid. Although the idea makes him nervous, he's not wholly unprepared. It is unlikely he will have to kill tonight, but he knows blood will be shed. Once he gets outside with the others and notes the dark, damp weather, he will smile. [color=red]"This night bodes well and looks to be in our favor. I like our chances."[/color] [/QUOTE]
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