- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- Multiple posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- No Preferences
- Genres
- High fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by modern fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Sir spent the night not far from the infected nest, using his pack as a pillow and pulling a light blanket out from somewhere in its depths. He had considered making his way back to the community immediately, but had ultimately decided, with dusk falling, that it was better to spend the night.
If you knew there were no infected around, there were few places safer to spend the night than an infected nest. Sure, the smell of partially rotted meat was enough to keep most people awake, but other than that the place was well protected by reputation alone. Animal and human alike knew the subtle signs of an infected nest, and when things were that good at hunting anything that drew near if something wanted to keep its skin on it would stay away. Even if there were good smells coming from inside.
Sir looted the stockpile of food that the infected had gathered carefully. Most of the stuff was rotten and covered in various types of mold and maggots, the infected cared little about what it was they were eating, but some of the stockpile was still relatively fresh. Sir found a handful of old berries, crushed but still fresh, and a leg of deer, partially eaten, but not rotten. He hauled it out into the open space, ignoring the squish of excrement under his boots, and built up a small but hot fire. The meat would be badly seared when he was done with it, but you never turned away the opportunity for a free meal. Someday the supplies in his backpack would be all that he had, there was no doubt of that, and he would regret any passed up food, no matter how putrid. Of course, he had to be careful not to make himself ill, that would be as much of a death sentence as starvation, but after over 40 years of practice his eye was about as experienced as they come.
He ate as much of the leg as he was able, and carefully put the rest near the fire. It would dry overnight, and it was quite likely that the outside would burn, but the part inside the charcoaled meat could be saved long enough for him to finish it tomorrow.
Sir woke about an hour before dawn and quickly prepared to leave. He kicked out the last coals of the fire, put the small blanket back in the pack, and hung the burnt meat from his belt. He walked for several hours, slowly working his way through the rest of the meat, but stopped about mid-day. Long ago, Sir had learned to travel like the animals, moving around dawn and dusk, resting in the heat of the day and in the middle of the night. It was a method that had served him well for as long as he had been traveling, and he never abandoned it. A strict regime of mediation, weapons care, and exercises meant that he only had to sleep five hours a night, and he was ready for almost anything that would come his way, whenever it arrived.
He was moving again around five o'clock, and was less than an hour away from the community. However, just as he was getting in sight of their small walls, he paused, digging into his pockets. There was as much of an art to business and negotiation as there was to combat, and it was another thing that Sir had been forced to learn on his travels. The last thing he wanted these people to know was that he carried enough gems on him to power their little village for a lifetime. They might decide it was better to try and shoot him than to trade. They may try and shoot him anyways, but trade was generally easier.
Keeping his cards close to his chest in this case meant knowing exactly what he was pulling out of his pockets without checking. He had promised them the gem from the flyer and three common gems. Most likely, they were going to insist upon the gem from the Climber as well. He couldn't blame them for it. Just as they couldn't blame him for making sure that they got the ones he wanted to give them. If they knew, that was.
There were only a few people in the world who can easily tell the age of a gem without technology. Sir was one of them. It was doubtful that the head honcho here was another. All the same, he, unfortunately, could not pass off the infant climber gem as a gem from the leader of the horde. That gem was going to actually be what they were looking for. The flyer gem was pretty much set to, as they had already gotten a good look at it. But he could make sure that they got the worst of the Common gems. Four year old gems from Common infected were hardly a challenge to harvest, and he had more than enough of them to save the older gems he had gotten from the local horde. The community might not appreciate it, but age had not been a part of their negotiations.
Satisfied that his bargaining tools were safely in place, and his weapons were just as easily accessible, Sir stood and walked calmly into the clearing. IT was time to resupply. Maybe, if he had time, he would find out if the kid made it safely.
If you knew there were no infected around, there were few places safer to spend the night than an infected nest. Sure, the smell of partially rotted meat was enough to keep most people awake, but other than that the place was well protected by reputation alone. Animal and human alike knew the subtle signs of an infected nest, and when things were that good at hunting anything that drew near if something wanted to keep its skin on it would stay away. Even if there were good smells coming from inside.
Sir looted the stockpile of food that the infected had gathered carefully. Most of the stuff was rotten and covered in various types of mold and maggots, the infected cared little about what it was they were eating, but some of the stockpile was still relatively fresh. Sir found a handful of old berries, crushed but still fresh, and a leg of deer, partially eaten, but not rotten. He hauled it out into the open space, ignoring the squish of excrement under his boots, and built up a small but hot fire. The meat would be badly seared when he was done with it, but you never turned away the opportunity for a free meal. Someday the supplies in his backpack would be all that he had, there was no doubt of that, and he would regret any passed up food, no matter how putrid. Of course, he had to be careful not to make himself ill, that would be as much of a death sentence as starvation, but after over 40 years of practice his eye was about as experienced as they come.
He ate as much of the leg as he was able, and carefully put the rest near the fire. It would dry overnight, and it was quite likely that the outside would burn, but the part inside the charcoaled meat could be saved long enough for him to finish it tomorrow.
Sir woke about an hour before dawn and quickly prepared to leave. He kicked out the last coals of the fire, put the small blanket back in the pack, and hung the burnt meat from his belt. He walked for several hours, slowly working his way through the rest of the meat, but stopped about mid-day. Long ago, Sir had learned to travel like the animals, moving around dawn and dusk, resting in the heat of the day and in the middle of the night. It was a method that had served him well for as long as he had been traveling, and he never abandoned it. A strict regime of mediation, weapons care, and exercises meant that he only had to sleep five hours a night, and he was ready for almost anything that would come his way, whenever it arrived.
He was moving again around five o'clock, and was less than an hour away from the community. However, just as he was getting in sight of their small walls, he paused, digging into his pockets. There was as much of an art to business and negotiation as there was to combat, and it was another thing that Sir had been forced to learn on his travels. The last thing he wanted these people to know was that he carried enough gems on him to power their little village for a lifetime. They might decide it was better to try and shoot him than to trade. They may try and shoot him anyways, but trade was generally easier.
Keeping his cards close to his chest in this case meant knowing exactly what he was pulling out of his pockets without checking. He had promised them the gem from the flyer and three common gems. Most likely, they were going to insist upon the gem from the Climber as well. He couldn't blame them for it. Just as they couldn't blame him for making sure that they got the ones he wanted to give them. If they knew, that was.
There were only a few people in the world who can easily tell the age of a gem without technology. Sir was one of them. It was doubtful that the head honcho here was another. All the same, he, unfortunately, could not pass off the infant climber gem as a gem from the leader of the horde. That gem was going to actually be what they were looking for. The flyer gem was pretty much set to, as they had already gotten a good look at it. But he could make sure that they got the worst of the Common gems. Four year old gems from Common infected were hardly a challenge to harvest, and he had more than enough of them to save the older gems he had gotten from the local horde. The community might not appreciate it, but age had not been a part of their negotiations.
Satisfied that his bargaining tools were safely in place, and his weapons were just as easily accessible, Sir stood and walked calmly into the clearing. IT was time to resupply. Maybe, if he had time, he would find out if the kid made it safely.