Post by Deleted on Oct 4, 2017 8:47:41 GMT -5
(Thread PL: 700)
(HWC on, Weighted PL: 210)
Thymelyn sat beneath a little canopy in the bustling marketplace, Tuffles and the occasional alien passing by without even sparing the hybrid so much as a glance. A cloak, dyed deep purple, masked the form of his body and the hood of which was pulled up tight around his head, hiding his face. From within the hood, the red eyes of the assassin race peered out, watching the comers and the goers, sizing up the people around him from his perch: a wooden crate, adorned with stamps suggesting it had once point come from the southern jungles, but the composition and integrity of which suggested that it was quite old. Thymelyn confirmed this as he fidgeted impatiently, digging his thumb into the now soft wood of the crate, occasionally tearing up pulp and splinters, the woody filth collecting beneath his fingernail.
With the weighted armor beneath his cloak weighing him down, the hybrid half expected the crate to collapse beneath his weight and for him to end up on his ass.
This, Thymelyn thought, was not a particularly good situation that he had found himself in. This was not his first time on the Planet Plant, far from it, though before the hybrid had always found himself on the planet with his former crew, sticking to the port while the more mercantile of the crew plied their trade and offloaded their ill-gotten cargo to unsuspecting traders, or even the occasional trader who very well knew that such goods had not been gotten legitimately, but did not even care.
However, now Thymelyn found himself alone on an alien world, without the support of the people who he had once called comrades. The hybrid’s steely gaze narrowed as his mind bristled. Thymelyn did not regret it, not for a second. Ultimately, this had been the best move for himself. The pirate crew had been eating into his own profits; for an ambitious man, striking out into the world by one’s own means was truly where the cash could be found. So, the hybrid was left chasing the dragon, so to speak, looking to fulfill his greatest desires. . .
. . .He had just not been expecting this life to be so drab.
Truly, the independent life was not nearly as exciting as the pirate life. But now Thymelyn was hoping to make a change; he had contact an old associate, Seibori, to join him in his independent ambitions to expand his money, power, and infamy. Now, Thymelyn just had to wait in the market for his comrade; he had told the Candite what to look for, so now all Thymelyn could do was wait.
He hated waiting.
WC: 444
@seibori
(HWC on, Weighted PL: 210)
Thymelyn sat beneath a little canopy in the bustling marketplace, Tuffles and the occasional alien passing by without even sparing the hybrid so much as a glance. A cloak, dyed deep purple, masked the form of his body and the hood of which was pulled up tight around his head, hiding his face. From within the hood, the red eyes of the assassin race peered out, watching the comers and the goers, sizing up the people around him from his perch: a wooden crate, adorned with stamps suggesting it had once point come from the southern jungles, but the composition and integrity of which suggested that it was quite old. Thymelyn confirmed this as he fidgeted impatiently, digging his thumb into the now soft wood of the crate, occasionally tearing up pulp and splinters, the woody filth collecting beneath his fingernail.
With the weighted armor beneath his cloak weighing him down, the hybrid half expected the crate to collapse beneath his weight and for him to end up on his ass.
This, Thymelyn thought, was not a particularly good situation that he had found himself in. This was not his first time on the Planet Plant, far from it, though before the hybrid had always found himself on the planet with his former crew, sticking to the port while the more mercantile of the crew plied their trade and offloaded their ill-gotten cargo to unsuspecting traders, or even the occasional trader who very well knew that such goods had not been gotten legitimately, but did not even care.
However, now Thymelyn found himself alone on an alien world, without the support of the people who he had once called comrades. The hybrid’s steely gaze narrowed as his mind bristled. Thymelyn did not regret it, not for a second. Ultimately, this had been the best move for himself. The pirate crew had been eating into his own profits; for an ambitious man, striking out into the world by one’s own means was truly where the cash could be found. So, the hybrid was left chasing the dragon, so to speak, looking to fulfill his greatest desires. . .
. . .He had just not been expecting this life to be so drab.
Truly, the independent life was not nearly as exciting as the pirate life. But now Thymelyn was hoping to make a change; he had contact an old associate, Seibori, to join him in his independent ambitions to expand his money, power, and infamy. Now, Thymelyn just had to wait in the market for his comrade; he had told the Candite what to look for, so now all Thymelyn could do was wait.
He hated waiting.
WC: 444
@seibori