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Post by Serena on Jun 29, 2017 12:06:28 GMT -5
___Aidan Rhistel Nym______
The Stray Dog
Name(s): Introduces himself either as Aidan or Rhistel Race: Elven Gender: Male Age: Early-mid 20s Date of Birth: 1739, sometime in November Origins/perceivable accent: Cassians (Hexxen)
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Hair: Black, short and unkept Skin: Light Height: 168 cm Weight: 75 kg Build: Lean, fit Handed: Ambidextrous Scars/Tattoo: Small indentation on his nose where it was probably broken in the past. Several wound scars across the entire body, burn scars covering both his hands and forearms. Equipment: Always fully clothed with nothing more than his face showing. A couple of daggers and a Saderian fencing blade follows him almost everywhere. An old, wooden carved symbol of the Saints of God tied around his neck with a leather cord, hidden under his clothes - a piece seems to have been chipped away.
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Religion: Triumvism Profession: Unemployed Knowledges: Basic first aid skills, herbalism and alchemy proficiency. Not pursued fascination for the technological. Traits: Loyal, stubborn, distrustful, slow to anger, dutiful. Strong moral compass he's slowly losing interest holding on to. General behaviour: Quiet, easygoing, usually likes to show himself in a good mood regardless of his current state of mind. Will generally be polite, at times overly so, no matter who's talking to. Likes the use of sarcasm as a mean of joke, although only when in company of people he feels comfortable with. Enjoys: Tea; open spaces (possibly non urban); reading; quietness; company.
Goals(?):
- Surviving (physically) - Surviving (economically)
- Finding a place he won't feel too idiot calling "home"
Special note/mental state: -Cursed- (unable to feel warmth from any source/constantly cold)
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Post by Serena on Aug 1, 2017 8:44:33 GMT -5
"Aye, Barnaby saw her early this morning. Not from around here... She bought something, asked where the church was, then left in a hurry. But she wasn't carrying it with her or he would have noticed..."
Father Dermot scratched at his beard as he listened at the woman, stare still fixed on the old basket where the little thing was sleeping. "A human, you said?" "Human, yes," she repeated nodding firmly. "It was too early for the old fool to be drunk already, he swears that's what he saw." Crossing his arms on his chest, the man frowned as he tried to decide what he needed to do.
"We don't have other newborns in the village, do we?" He asked, well knowing the answer even before the other shook her head. "Radha won't be due until January... but... well, my Lily had her puppies a week ago?" She suggested helpfully, winning a bewildered look from the man. "Bless you, Mabel, it's a child not a dog!" he exclaimed, unable to hide his mild exasperation and causing the other to flush in embarrassment. "I.. I know, I just thought..." she stuttered, fidgeting with the hems of her apron. "Maybe we can just get milk..." She added eventually in a lower tone, and the priest sighed a bit at that, probably regretting being so harsh in the first place.
"Milk will do for now, yes," he agreed, reaching for her hand and squeezing at it in a comforting gesture. "Keep an eye on him while I go fetch some, would you?" He then asked, heading toward the door after grabbing his coat. "I'll get the doctor next thing in the morning, then we'll see what to do." The woman lightened up at his request and nodded briefly in reply, turning then her gaze on the small bundle of blankets snuggled the basket.
"You... think it will die, Padre?" She asked then all of a sudden as the man was about to leave, her tone uncertain as she spoke. "I heard they are... always sick and... die often. Especially out here."
The priest turned around at her words, pausing a moment out of the door, then offered her a tired smile.
"Yes, maybe they do," he said with a small shrug. "But this one surely ain't going to die because we let him starve or freeze.
Anything else, Saints will decide."
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Post by Serena on May 28, 2018 11:01:06 GMT -5
| "I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry,
If the hard times don't kill me, I'll lay down and die
Rye whiskey, rye whiskey, rye whiskey I cry
If you don't give me rye whiskey I surely will die"
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Post by Serena on Aug 14, 2018 18:27:28 GMT -5
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Post by Serena on Dec 1, 2018 20:26:37 GMT -5
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