Private Tales A Swim In A Pond In The Rain

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer


Definition of Anger Issues
Character Biography
“I ain’t lyin’, Anna!”

Asta.” The woman corrected. Really, one would think that someone would learn to the name of a person carrying a giant battle axe on their back, but Otto was the sort of old man who couldn’t remember a name much less a face. It made his story about the were-weasels highly suspicious and probably unlikely. The only thing that was in his favor was the fact that Asta could smell the rancid lycanthropic scent of her kind that sent her on edge. Worse was the twinge of sweetness and salt.

Another infected, yet not so far gone that it would look like a monster.

“Alice, I swear on me life. I swear on my dog! There was a big ass weasel runnin’ around with me chickens!” Asta glanced down at the old mutt on the porch that was blind in one eye and missing a ear from a coyote attack. The dog looked up at her with a happy pant, wagging his tail from the slightest hint of attention.

Well don’t swear on the old boy.” Asta said, kneeling down so she could give the good boy a scratch behind his still there ear. Her golden gaze went back up to Otto, arching a brow in question. “So your chicken coop was broken into, all your chickens and their eggs gone.” She reconfirmed. Otto nodded his head. “And you saw a weasel the size of a dog.” He nodded his head more vigorously. “Huh. Well, he probably won’t be coming back if the chickens are gone.” The man gawked at her.

“What if he does? What I do then?” Asta stood up and patted Otto firmly on his shoulder. She wanted him to feel her strength.

He won’t. Trust me, he’s already on the hunt for more blood. Any other farms nearby? Not from the east, mind you, I just came from there.” Otto huffed, pulling his shoulder back. Asta’s hand went to her hip.

“Naw but there’s an inn a few miles west from here. The inn takes horses. Has chickens, too. And rabbits.”

Well, sounds like the perfect place for a weasel to be. I don’t think he’d want to stay in the fields so I’ll be off. Thanks for your help, Otto.” The man didn’t say good bye, but Asta did hear him call her another name under his breath. With that, Asta began to follow the road westward, a brisk stride taking hold of her. She wouldn’t try tracking it through the fields, even if the trail of blood and feathers would be helpful.

She needed to get to the next spot to set up a trap. She figured the inn would work. If she was lucky, she’d get there before sun down. The infected always liked moving around at night.

Thalassran Hargraven
A gentle breeze brushed past the young half-elf, ruffling his jet-black cloak slightly as he lay conspicuously on a stone wall at the apex of a Y-shaped crossroads. The directions on the sign above him have long been lost to the elements, only a few markings remained providing no insight into the roads ahead. Naturally, having spent most of his twenty-six years around, he knew both all too well. To the left, a derelict path leading through the infamous Shallows onwards to the eastern docks and eventually Falwood; to the right, the outer city, home to his home only a mere mile away.

Somehow his journey so far led him all the way back to someplace all too familiar, just at the bounds of Alliria. As a young boy, he'd spend many a day and night in the surrounding fields hiding away from his responsibilities and playing with what little magic he knew. His mother never knew where he'd disappeared to, much to her worry. Though at least he always seemed to return mostly safe and sound.

There was but one question still echoing in his mind. Should he just swallow his pride and go home to the inn? His mind was urging him to just keep going, anxious about the inevitable confrontation. Even if he would never admit as such. What would she even say if he returned now? Would she be angry? Sad? Disappointed? Or maybe rejoiced? Happy? Relieved?

Of course, he could always just do both, but it didn't exactly feel right— leaving twice. Especially considering the way he left in the first place— without any warning whatsoever, bar a short and bitter note. Still, it wasn't quite the life-altering dilemma most people dreaded to be presented with.

Nonetheless, it was a dilemma that seemingly confined him to an eternity of cloud gazing, unable to make a decision. Even now, as the sun slowly began to reach the horizon he fiddled with a silver coin between his fingers. Any sense of urgency has long left him; it wasn't like the inn would go anywhere.

  • Cthulu Knife
Reactions: Asta
The inn was farther away than she had thought it was. That was what happened when she got directions from old farmers, they never seemed to realize how long things took when on foot instead of a horse. Unfortunately, horses didn’t like Asta very much. Not that she cared, the werewolf hunter didn’t care for horses very much either. They were big and dopey and she didn’t like their skinny legs.

Few miles my ass.” Asta muttered. She had clearly walked more than a few and now she was certain there was a big, fat blister forming on her big toe and the back of her heel. She was coming up to a crossroads. Where the heck was this inn at? With an exasperated sigh, Asta picked up the pace, ignoring the fact that more blisters would be forming. Her large battleaxe’s shaft knocked uncomfortably in between her shoulder blades, making more noise than she would have liked.

She saw the sign and the man under it. Asta held back her grimace, a unnatural scent coming from that direction. Was it the sign post or the man. It didn’t take a Elbion professor to know it was the man. At least he didn’t smell like he had some form of lycanthropy strain on him. She could keep her cool.

Hey.” She barked at the dark haired man with pointy ears. Elf? Maybe that was why she didn’t like his scent. She was breathing through her mouth but she caught a hint of a different scent now that she was closer: hay and wood and drink and food and others. She narrowed her gold eyes at him. “You come from an inn around here?

Thalassran Hargraven
The gentle breeze wooshed past his pointy ears— peace. Even if it didn't grant him much clarity, lounging on the wall was peaceful. At least until an irked, grating voice rang out towards him. Lovely... Being left alone was too much to ask for eh? His head spun to the side to see a rather brash individual standing over him.

First of all, rude! Whatever happened to manners? For a moment, he studied the woman— her eyes definitely not natural. What was her deal though? Was she a weary traveller needing a place? Or yet another uptight merchant? No no... the axe suggested otherwise. Uptight though, that assessment held some merit evidently.

He promptly stood up from the cosy yet not-so-comfy stone wall, his face scrunching into a slight frown as he looked her up and down. She seemed human enough, and the giant axe, well, hopefully, she'll keep it to herself.

Thal shrugged back at her question. "I don't know. Is the sky blue?" he raised an eyebrow, emphasising his sarcastic tone. Oddly specific how she guessed that. Sure it could've just been one of those creepy coincidences, but there was way too much certainty in her voice.

  • Cthulu Knife
Reactions: Asta