ROLEPLAY


Wounds of War

While passing through the forest on her way to feed the dogs - an act of foolishness some say, but she was determined to tame them at least enough to leave her rear-end alone - Marceline was stopped in her tracks by a very low-flying and tired-looking carrier izam. The exhausted bird nearly flew straight into her head before adjusting its flight path.

"Dogs on my arse and now birds on my head!" she grumbled loudly in hope the animals would hear, "One of these days" she added, "!'ll show 'em who's boss.... maybe."

Marceline continued along her usual 'safe' path towards Yrkanis, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the topless Matisian guards Binarabi so often talks about. Bina had been writing before Marceline left Fairhaven so was unable to point her in the right direction. Just as well really as Bina was painfully awful at pointing anyone in a direction of any use.
Marceline recalled her younger days as a desert homina and Fyros patriot and was now eternally grateful for the teachings of her old friend Lerya. Without those teachings and methods for following the suns for directions, who knows where she would be. Lost probably.
At this moment, Marceline was anything but lost. She approached Yrkanis and began to stare, albeit through the corner of her eyes.

"pffft, no luck again!" she moaned, "today is proving to be most disappointing."

As she circled the city, peering in and around, she could see the usual motley crew lazing by the dilapitated teleporter. Old Salazar sat on a grassy knoll, book in hand. Bubbles running around in circles. Some new fancy guards looking about as menacing as a Matis can look when draped in floral patterns.
"The usual." she thought as she parked her backside upon a patch of autumnul grass.
Minutes passed, perhaps hours - Miso's uncle's rum has a tendancy to distort ones sense of time - Marceline sat up straight, rubbed her eyes and tried to focus on how many fingers she was holding up. 3 this time, she was sure. She was about to stand when, out of nowhere and at great speed, another Izam charted a course for her head.

"For the love of Melkiar!!" she screamed, "will you please mind my head!? My hair is freshly washed." At that moment she paused and sniffed the air.
A familiar stink lingered on the wake of the Izam. "Miso's Uncle Xoep's rum!" she thought loudly, "I know that smell like the back of my hand." She sniffed the back of her hands to check that it was, in fact, not her that smelled so pungent. 
Upon agreeing with herself that she was not at fault and confusing herself musing as to why a carrier Izam would smell of rum, Marceline glanced afar to see old Salazar still sat on his knoll, but this time he was grinning like a madman.

"Crazy salad bar." she said, "What's got him so chuckly?"

Purveying the city again she was amazed to see what looked like Virg with his pants half down, clingling to a tree by his daggers alone. She rubbed her eyes, shook her head, refocused and tried to ascertain what was happening.
It was no good, Marceline could not work it out. it may have been the high strength rum she'd ingested (and as we know, Zorai are notoriously bad at handling their booze) or it may have been the after effects of a nap but, either way, she was confused.
She'd nearly been decapitated twice by carrier Izams and was now watching a display of sneakery that was simultaneously both excellent and terrible.

"Only Virg could pull that off." she nodded to herself. "How he's managed to evade whatever he's hiding from yet put his arse in full view, i will never know". At this point, Marceline realised she was talking out loud to herself. "Shush!" she added, before watching Virg skulk past the guards and off into the distance, pants still around his ankles.

Marceline stood up tentatively and set about plotting her route back home. 

"Well, today has turned out to be quite eventful." Marceline said to a grazing Capryni, "i think i'll go pay Virg a visit."

The Capryni looked at her judgingly, "Oh be quiet," snapped Marceline, "you were looking at his cheeks too!"

---


marceline nitwit.
professional procrastinator.
atys's first openly transgender homina.
loyal member of the guardians of subox.
founding member of the cookies.
proud honorary member of the Lost Girls.

Douglas (atys)
“What to do if you find yourself stuck in a crack in the ground underneath a giant boulder you can't move, with no hope of rescue. Consider how lucky you are that life has been good to you so far. Alternatively, if life hasn't been good to you so far, which given your current circumstances seems more likely, consider how lucky you are that it won't be troubling you much longer.”
What Cookies is about ---- Contact Cookies ---- Cookies at Events ---- For Cookies Diggers and Crafters
Mostrar temas
Last visit sábado 24 febrero 18:38:03 UTC
P_:

powered by ryzom-api