The man stood before a crumbled building. His palms pressed against his balding scalp and forehead, his wife clinging to his shoulder. Her eyes welled with tears, but were too wide to lose one, staring into the rubble. Beside them sat a dog, obedient, waiting, and wagging its tail. It was on the outskirts of town. The only neighbors were distant farmhouses and a couple nearby cabins, which managed to dodge the trail of desolation.
"What are we to do, Henry?" The woman's voice quivered as the man broke away from her to approach the debris. He reached in, dodging various puddles and fragments of ooze, finding the handle of a sword. As he pulled it from beneath broken boards, the mostly melted, corroded blade snapped, the structure brittle as eggshells. "We had everything in the store. Everything we worked for, all gone."
Henry didn't answer, kneeling to examine broken blade. Around him lay shattered spears and bleeding staves, as wood turned to soup. Suits of armor melted into their mannequins, which slumped lazily like failed security where the front of the store used to stand. Even the forge that once stood outside seemed to be little more than a pile of old ash, still coughing up embers from its deathbed. A sign that once read The Smelting Pot had lost most of its letters. There was nothing salvageable. The couple's life work, reduced to ruin.
Gleaming across the melted branches and uprooted trees fallen aback as casualties in the perpetrator's wake, clement sunbeams caressed. A shallow divot in the dirt around six feet wide traveled from the broken building into the depths of the nearby forest, flanked by trees leaning away and mostly liquefied brush. Despite the couple's tragedy, the day was of a pleasant, unthreatening warmth. The rising sun sat unblocked by clouds without desire to burn its lively children. Whatever hideousness had caused such devastation, it was nowhere in sight, it showed nothing of the mercy or pity extended by the gentle sunshine.
The woman fled, unable to suppress her tears. The dog chased after her. The man didn't. As his fingers lost strength, the crumbling hilt came crashing to the ground, collapsing into pile of powder, as if it'd been made of sand. He looked around. All those who had come to spectate the scene of the crime had already left, muttering apologies thinly veiling that they were simply glad fate had not chosen them instead. But the road was not void.
Henry emerged from his wasted years, stomping into the street. His hands shot forwards toward the loose collar of a robed figure in the street, taking hold in fists as knuckles impacted the humanoid's chest. "You. One of them travelers, aren't ya?" Lucky guess. The man made no effort to restrain the spit that burst from his lips onto the person point-blank. "You go out there," He pointed towards the dead trail into the forest, "And you fight that thing. Hurt it, kill it, burn it, I don't care. I'll pay ya, dead or alive, got it?" He grunted, yanking the collar and shoving his fists forwards again, landing two punches against the pectoral muscles of the Magia, who did not flinch or move. The man had lost everything but wealth and vengeance, and he seemed determined to lose that as well, one way or another.
"This is Harlow. Lion Arms Squire. Wilco. Over."
The punches to his chest shot dull sensory warnings through his display. The Pain Limiter made this easier, and Harlow didn't fault the man. He understood the aggression as something misguided. Henry was immediately forgiven, even if Harlow wasn't immediately released, still standing in the clutches of the distraught blacksmith.
OOC:
This thread will involve some rolling and danger.
I made this mainly as a prompt for some friends, but if you're interested in joining, feel free to message me on Discord: @piggol
"What are we to do, Henry?" The woman's voice quivered as the man broke away from her to approach the debris. He reached in, dodging various puddles and fragments of ooze, finding the handle of a sword. As he pulled it from beneath broken boards, the mostly melted, corroded blade snapped, the structure brittle as eggshells. "We had everything in the store. Everything we worked for, all gone."
Henry didn't answer, kneeling to examine broken blade. Around him lay shattered spears and bleeding staves, as wood turned to soup. Suits of armor melted into their mannequins, which slumped lazily like failed security where the front of the store used to stand. Even the forge that once stood outside seemed to be little more than a pile of old ash, still coughing up embers from its deathbed. A sign that once read The Smelting Pot had lost most of its letters. There was nothing salvageable. The couple's life work, reduced to ruin.
Gleaming across the melted branches and uprooted trees fallen aback as casualties in the perpetrator's wake, clement sunbeams caressed. A shallow divot in the dirt around six feet wide traveled from the broken building into the depths of the nearby forest, flanked by trees leaning away and mostly liquefied brush. Despite the couple's tragedy, the day was of a pleasant, unthreatening warmth. The rising sun sat unblocked by clouds without desire to burn its lively children. Whatever hideousness had caused such devastation, it was nowhere in sight, it showed nothing of the mercy or pity extended by the gentle sunshine.
The woman fled, unable to suppress her tears. The dog chased after her. The man didn't. As his fingers lost strength, the crumbling hilt came crashing to the ground, collapsing into pile of powder, as if it'd been made of sand. He looked around. All those who had come to spectate the scene of the crime had already left, muttering apologies thinly veiling that they were simply glad fate had not chosen them instead. But the road was not void.
Henry emerged from his wasted years, stomping into the street. His hands shot forwards toward the loose collar of a robed figure in the street, taking hold in fists as knuckles impacted the humanoid's chest. "You. One of them travelers, aren't ya?" Lucky guess. The man made no effort to restrain the spit that burst from his lips onto the person point-blank. "You go out there," He pointed towards the dead trail into the forest, "And you fight that thing. Hurt it, kill it, burn it, I don't care. I'll pay ya, dead or alive, got it?" He grunted, yanking the collar and shoving his fists forwards again, landing two punches against the pectoral muscles of the Magia, who did not flinch or move. The man had lost everything but wealth and vengeance, and he seemed determined to lose that as well, one way or another.
"This is Harlow. Lion Arms Squire. Wilco. Over."
The punches to his chest shot dull sensory warnings through his display. The Pain Limiter made this easier, and Harlow didn't fault the man. He understood the aggression as something misguided. Henry was immediately forgiven, even if Harlow wasn't immediately released, still standing in the clutches of the distraught blacksmith.
OOC:
This thread will involve some rolling and danger.
I made this mainly as a prompt for some friends, but if you're interested in joining, feel free to message me on Discord: @piggol
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