A Talk of Curses and Whatnot (Ask before joining)

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    Shelby Miller

    The trading town of Freehold sat barren and empty in the late afternoon sun. As usual, most folks were on their way home to the hinterlands or their respected kingdoms if not already there.

    The typically full inn sat quiet and undisturbed, providing a brief break for the innkeepers and Jade who dealt with a packed place mere weeks ago. The porch which usually held a few either battle-ready or sleepy Freefolk in the pause of battle stood carefree and depleted of all souls. The only company to the deserted land seemed to be slight breeze and the swaying trees. The town looked Ghostly if not peaceful in its vacated state. No enemies, no danger, no proble- CRASH!

    The abrupt sound of shattering glass, dropped the tranquil illusion as quick as it came. The noise fracturing any serene moment one might have had. The noise came just short of the Jotunbrud district, where many came to smoke, speak of lore, and deadly ideas. Several empty and damaged bottles that had once contained potent liquors now laid abandon on the path leading from the inn to this area. Perhaps it was an alcoholics use of breadcrumbs, in their own rendition of the Gotterdammerung tale of two brats lost in the woods, trying to find their way back.

    At the end of the glassy trail and perched upon the one of the many tables was a familiar blonde. Her hair, the most noticeable feature past her foul mouth and temper was in a disarray of messy curls as she lounged on one of the tables. One hand nursed a declining bottle of whiskey, her other held one of her most prized axes. The mighty immortal weapon Stormbringer sat a few feet from her, not at risk of being stolen due to its lightning induced bite when someone other than a Storm-Weilder attempt to hold it.

    The warrior of the Bolg hummed a local tune in between long guzzles of liqueur. It wasn’t long till the bottle empty and the laying elf discarded it with a careless yet powerful toss. The bottle slammed into a tree with force before exploding loudly into a rain of glass. The slightly buzzed armsman began to reach for another bottle on the seat by her before she stopped midway, studying her arm intensely through the drinking haze.

    “There’s suppose to be a mark… I’ve seen a mark there before…right?”

    The blonde spoke aloud to herself in question as she observed her clear arm for what seemed like the millionth time today. She expected at any point that the writhing curse would make some sort of noticeable arrival on her skin since her Run in with Riza. The King in Gold was decorated in the curse and she remembered seeing a mark of Sir William. Yet nothing showed…

    “What.. the fuck…” she muttered, confused and pissed.

    Delphie Cu Gohrrim~ Dyed Woman ~ Hand of the Enovy of Fir’ Bolg

    Bitch of the Bolg

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