“Scotland, started workin’ out in Rhode Island… ‘bout five years before this whole [gp] happened.” His accent becomes more pronounced with time.
*Heheh, since I'm moving to Scotland, should I test your knowledge of the Scots? No, Reuben wouldn't know enough.*
"Scotland? The land of kilts and haggis? How have the Scots been throughout this mess?" He leans closer, "Please tell me it ain't affected their scotch production?"
“Scotland, started workin’ out in Rhode Island… ‘bout five years before this whole [gp] happened.” His accent becomes more pronounced with time.
*Heheh, since I'm moving to Scotland, should I test your knowledge of the Scots? No, Reuben wouldn't know enough.*
"Scotland? The land of kilts and haggis? How have the Scots been throughout this mess?" He leans closer, "Please tell me it ain't affected their scotch production?"
*I wouldn’t know enough about the knowledge of the Scots to do much either.*
“We ain’t been dealin’ with none o’ this stuff, the diggin’ stopped soon as we heard what happened over here, an’ no one’s been lookin’ underground since.” He opens himself a flask, “Want some?”
“Scotland, started workin’ out in Rhode Island… ‘bout five years before this whole [gp] happened.” His accent becomes more pronounced with time.
*Heheh, since I'm moving to Scotland, should I test your knowledge of the Scots? No, Reuben wouldn't know enough.*
"Scotland? The land of kilts and haggis? How have the Scots been throughout this mess?" He leans closer, "Please tell me it ain't affected their scotch production?"
*I wouldn’t know enough about the knowledge of the Scots to do much either.*
“We ain’t been dealin’ with none o’ this stuff, the diggin’ stopped soon as we heard what happened over here, an’ no one’s been lookin’ underground since.” He opens himself a flask, “Want some?”
*Honestly the little I know wouldn’t be applicable to the setting.* “Smart move to make.” His eyes brighten when the see the flask, “Yes please!” He takes a swig before passing it back.
“Scotland, started workin’ out in Rhode Island… ‘bout five years before this whole [gp] happened.” His accent becomes more pronounced with time.
*Heheh, since I'm moving to Scotland, should I test your knowledge of the Scots? No, Reuben wouldn't know enough.*
"Scotland? The land of kilts and haggis? How have the Scots been throughout this mess?" He leans closer, "Please tell me it ain't affected their scotch production?"
*I wouldn’t know enough about the knowledge of the Scots to do much either.*
“We ain’t been dealin’ with none o’ this stuff, the diggin’ stopped soon as we heard what happened over here, an’ no one’s been lookin’ underground since.” He opens himself a flask, “Want some?”
*Honestly the little I know wouldn’t be applicable.* “Smart move to make.” His eyes brighten when the see the flask, “Yes please!” He takes a swig before passing it back.
Considering back then it’s basically just drinking poison, the taste is awful but it gets him halfway to drunk with just a swig. He takes the flask, downing the rest before sitting down “When yall are ready ta leave. I’ll be.”
“Scotland, started workin’ out in Rhode Island… ‘bout five years before this whole [gp] happened.” His accent becomes more pronounced with time.
*Heheh, since I'm moving to Scotland, should I test your knowledge of the Scots? No, Reuben wouldn't know enough.*
"Scotland? The land of kilts and haggis? How have the Scots been throughout this mess?" He leans closer, "Please tell me it ain't affected their scotch production?"
*I wouldn’t know enough about the knowledge of the Scots to do much either.*
“We ain’t been dealin’ with none o’ this stuff, the diggin’ stopped soon as we heard what happened over here, an’ no one’s been lookin’ underground since.” He opens himself a flask, “Want some?”
*Honestly the little I know wouldn’t be applicable.* “Smart move to make.” His eyes brighten when the see the flask, “Yes please!” He takes a swig before passing it back.
Considering back then it’s basically just drinking poison, the taste is awful but it gets him halfway to drunk with just a swig. He takes the flask, downing the rest before sitting down “When yall are ready ta leave. I’ll be.”
“Fantastic. I’m all packed and ready to go. Would you mind pointing me in the direction of my quarters so I can set down my things?”
“Scotland, started workin’ out in Rhode Island… ‘bout five years before this whole [gp] happened.” His accent becomes more pronounced with time.
*Heheh, since I'm moving to Scotland, should I test your knowledge of the Scots? No, Reuben wouldn't know enough.*
"Scotland? The land of kilts and haggis? How have the Scots been throughout this mess?" He leans closer, "Please tell me it ain't affected their scotch production?"
*I wouldn’t know enough about the knowledge of the Scots to do much either.*
“We ain’t been dealin’ with none o’ this stuff, the diggin’ stopped soon as we heard what happened over here, an’ no one’s been lookin’ underground since.” He opens himself a flask, “Want some?”
*Honestly the little I know wouldn’t be applicable.* “Smart move to make.” His eyes brighten when the see the flask, “Yes please!” He takes a swig before passing it back.
Considering back then it’s basically just drinking poison, the taste is awful but it gets him halfway to drunk with just a swig. He takes the flask, downing the rest before sitting down “When yall are ready ta leave. I’ll be.”
“Fantastic. I’m all packed and ready to go. Would you mind pointing me in the direction of my quarters so I can set down my things?”
He nods, walking back under the deck and expecting them to follow after him, he leads them to a large room where everyone will be sleeping, big enough to have personal spaces but not much more.
“Scotland, started workin’ out in Rhode Island… ‘bout five years before this whole [gp] happened.” His accent becomes more pronounced with time.
*Heheh, since I'm moving to Scotland, should I test your knowledge of the Scots? No, Reuben wouldn't know enough.*
"Scotland? The land of kilts and haggis? How have the Scots been throughout this mess?" He leans closer, "Please tell me it ain't affected their scotch production?"
*I wouldn’t know enough about the knowledge of the Scots to do much either.*
“We ain’t been dealin’ with none o’ this stuff, the diggin’ stopped soon as we heard what happened over here, an’ no one’s been lookin’ underground since.” He opens himself a flask, “Want some?”
*Honestly the little I know wouldn’t be applicable.* “Smart move to make.” His eyes brighten when the see the flask, “Yes please!” He takes a swig before passing it back.
Considering back then it’s basically just drinking poison, the taste is awful but it gets him halfway to drunk with just a swig. He takes the flask, downing the rest before sitting down “When yall are ready ta leave. I’ll be.”
“Fantastic. I’m all packed and ready to go. Would you mind pointing me in the direction of my quarters so I can set down my things?”
He nods, walking back under the deck and expecting them to follow after him, he leads them to a large room where everyone will be sleeping, big enough to have personal spaces but not much more.
He tosses his bag down below his bunk and then heads back up to the deck.
*I have to leave now. Glad things are starting though!*
The nearly silent sound of footsteps on the wooden planks of the dock are the only sound coming from the approaching figure, tall and lean - well over six ft tall, though that may be the riding boots giving a few extra inches - with a patterned black bandana covering the lower half of their face. Their eyes are a pale gray, reflective in the light, their hair long and a deep brownish-black, tied in two braids that fall neatly over their shoulders. Almost star-like markings cover their barely exposed skin, their gloves black and well fit, with a dusted ash-toned undershirt and leather vest over it, a poncho laid loosely over the shoulders. A rather large rifle is slung over the figure’s back, a silvered revolver holstered at his side. The man appears to be mixed native, likely Lakota or Pawnee, and they silently make their way onto the boat, giving the other passengers a slight nod before taking a seat and adjusting the wide-brimmed hat on their head.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
— δ ψινο • the croc master • hε/hιm δ — “sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ, ɪ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴜs.” ——————| EXTENDED SIG |—————— Φ • happily married to • ☁️ℝ𝔼𝔻ℙ𝔼𝕃𝕋☁️ • As vast as the sun, stars, and the sky itself, so is my promise to you • Φ
The nearly silent sound of footsteps on the wooden planks of the dock are the only sound coming from the approaching figure, tall and lean - well over six ft tall, though that may be the riding boots giving a few extra inches - with a patterned black bandana covering the lower half of their face. Their eyes are a pale gray, reflective in the light, their hair long and a deep brownish-black, tied in two braids that fall neatly over their shoulders. Almost star-like markings cover their barely exposed skin, their gloves black and well fit, with a dusted ash-toned undershirt and leather vest over it, a poncho laid loosely over the shoulders. A rather large rifle is slung over the figure’s back, a silvered revolver holstered at his side. The man appears to be mixed native, likely Lakota or Pawnee, and they silently make their way onto the boat, giving the other passengers a slight nod before taking a seat and adjusting the wide-brimmed hat on their head.
The captain nods back to them, pouring them a glass of Moonshine whiskey, pouring glasses for everyone before sitting back down at the edge of the boat.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
A young man makes his way down the jetty with a spring in his step, happily greeting the captain and then making his way to the living quarters to deposit his bindle. The party above deck hear him before they see him, his loud Southern-twanged exclamation of 'Awh boy, we get real beds and everything!' audible throughout the whole ship. He then bounds up the stairs to greet whoever's on deck, putting out a green-skinned hand to shake. He seems fairly young and is wearing a humble cotton shirt with a pair of waders over the top. He also has short brown curled hair, bright green skin, and curiously bright eyes for the tragedies that the nation and their people have been through. He exclaims 'Heya, my name's Louis Grenouille, I'm from the bayous 'round New Orleans 'n Louisiana, pleased to meet 'tcha!'
A young man makes his way down the jetty with a spring in his step, happily greeting the captain and then making his way to the living quarters to deposit his bindle. The party above deck hear him before they see him, his loud Southern-twanged exclamation of 'Awh boy, we get real beds and everything!' audible throughout the whole ship. He then bounds up the stairs to greet whoever's on deck, putting out a green-skinned hand to shake. He seems fairly young and is wearing a humble cotton shirt with a pair of waders over the top. He also has short brown curled hair, bright green skin, and curiously bright eyes for the tragedies that the nation and their people have been through. He exclaims 'Heya, my name's Louis Grenouille, I'm from the bayous 'round New Orleans 'n Louisiana, pleased to meet 'tcha!'
"Howdy, folks call me Reuben Sharpshot." says Reuben Sharpshot, "I've heard tales of New Orleans. I've always wanted to visit the place. It's probably every artists dream to perform in that grand city."
A young man makes his way down the jetty with a spring in his step, happily greeting the captain and then making his way to the living quarters to deposit his bindle. The party above deck hear him before they see him, his loud Southern-twanged exclamation of 'Awh boy, we get real beds and everything!' audible throughout the whole ship. He then bounds up the stairs to greet whoever's on deck, putting out a green-skinned hand to shake. He seems fairly young and is wearing a humble cotton shirt with a pair of waders over the top. He also has short brown curled hair, bright green skin, and curiously bright eyes for the tragedies that the nation and their people have been through. He exclaims 'Heya, my name's Louis Grenouille, I'm from the bayous 'round New Orleans 'n Louisiana, pleased to meet 'tcha!'
"Howdy, folks call me Reuben Sharpshot." says Reuben Sharpshot, "I've heard tales of New Orleans. I've always wanted to visit the place. It's probably every artists dream to perform in that grand city."
'It's good to make your acquaintance, Reuben!'Louis responds, and at the mention of performing in New Orleans, he grins, 'I would know that dream as well as anyone sir, it's been my goal as long as I can remember to make a name for myself with my horn!'
A young man makes his way down the jetty with a spring in his step, happily greeting the captain and then making his way to the living quarters to deposit his bindle. The party above deck hear him before they see him, his loud Southern-twanged exclamation of 'Awh boy, we get real beds and everything!' audible throughout the whole ship. He then bounds up the stairs to greet whoever's on deck, putting out a green-skinned hand to shake. He seems fairly young and is wearing a humble cotton shirt with a pair of waders over the top. He also has short brown curled hair, bright green skin, and curiously bright eyes for the tragedies that the nation and their people have been through. He exclaims 'Heya, my name's Louis Grenouille, I'm from the bayous 'round New Orleans 'n Louisiana, pleased to meet 'tcha!'
"Howdy, folks call me Reuben Sharpshot." says Reuben Sharpshot, "I've heard tales of New Orleans. I've always wanted to visit the place. It's probably every artists dream to perform in that grand city."
'It's good to make your acquaintance, Reuben!'Louis responds, and at the mention of performing in New Orleans, he grins, 'I would know that dream as well as anyone sir, it's been my goal as long as I can remember to make a name for myself with my horn!'
"Ah, you a trumpet player? It's always a pleasure to meet another performer."
*Heheh, since I'm moving to Scotland, should I test your knowledge of the Scots? No, Reuben wouldn't know enough.*
"Scotland? The land of kilts and haggis? How have the Scots been throughout this mess?" He leans closer, "Please tell me it ain't affected their scotch production?"
*I wouldn’t know enough about the knowledge of the Scots to do much either.*
“We ain’t been dealin’ with none o’ this stuff, the diggin’ stopped soon as we heard what happened over here, an’ no one’s been lookin’ underground since.” He opens himself a flask, “Want some?”
*Honestly the little I know wouldn’t be applicable to the setting.*
“Smart move to make.” His eyes brighten when the see the flask, “Yes please!” He takes a swig before passing it back.
Considering back then it’s basically just drinking poison, the taste is awful but it gets him halfway to drunk with just a swig. He takes the flask, downing the rest before sitting down “When yall are ready ta leave. I’ll be.”
“Fantastic. I’m all packed and ready to go. Would you mind pointing me in the direction of my quarters so I can set down my things?”
He nods, walking back under the deck and expecting them to follow after him, he leads them to a large room where everyone will be sleeping, big enough to have personal spaces but not much more.
He tosses his bag down below his bunk and then heads back up to the deck.
*I have to leave now. Glad things are starting though!*
The nearly silent sound of footsteps on the wooden planks of the dock are the only sound coming from the approaching figure, tall and lean - well over six ft tall, though that may be the riding boots giving a few extra inches - with a patterned black bandana covering the lower half of their face. Their eyes are a pale gray, reflective in the light, their hair long and a deep brownish-black, tied in two braids that fall neatly over their shoulders. Almost star-like markings cover their barely exposed skin, their gloves black and well fit, with a dusted ash-toned undershirt and leather vest over it, a poncho laid loosely over the shoulders. A rather large rifle is slung over the figure’s back, a silvered revolver holstered at his side. The man appears to be mixed native, likely Lakota or Pawnee, and they silently make their way onto the boat, giving the other passengers a slight nod before taking a seat and adjusting the wide-brimmed hat on their head.
— δ ψινο • the croc master • hε/hιm δ —
“sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ, ɪ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴜs.”
——————| EXTENDED SIG |——————
Φ • happily married to • ☁️ℝ𝔼𝔻ℙ𝔼𝕃𝕋☁️ • As vast as the sun, stars, and the sky itself, so is my promise to you • Φ
The captain nods back to them, pouring them a glass of Moonshine whiskey, pouring glasses for everyone before sitting back down at the edge of the boat.
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
A young man makes his way down the jetty with a spring in his step, happily greeting the captain and then making his way to the living quarters to deposit his bindle. The party above deck hear him before they see him, his loud Southern-twanged exclamation of 'Awh boy, we get real beds and everything!' audible throughout the whole ship. He then bounds up the stairs to greet whoever's on deck, putting out a green-skinned hand to shake. He seems fairly young and is wearing a humble cotton shirt with a pair of waders over the top. He also has short brown curled hair, bright green skin, and curiously bright eyes for the tragedies that the nation and their people have been through. He exclaims 'Heya, my name's Louis Grenouille, I'm from the bayous 'round New Orleans 'n Louisiana, pleased to meet 'tcha!'
Xaul Lackluster: Half-Orc Fathomless Warlock: Warlock Dragon Heist
Borvnir Chelvnich: Black Dragonborn Barbarian: Dragons of Stormwreck Isle
Pushover Gerilwitz: Tiefling Wizard: Acquisitions Incorporated
Callow Sunken-Eyes: Goliath Arctic Druid: We Are Modron
DMing The 100 Dungeons of the Blood Archivist and The Hunt for the Balowang!
Killer Queen has already extended this signature, though not by much!
"Howdy, folks call me Reuben Sharpshot." says Reuben Sharpshot, "I've heard tales of New Orleans. I've always wanted to visit the place. It's probably every artists dream to perform in that grand city."
'It's good to make your acquaintance, Reuben!' Louis responds, and at the mention of performing in New Orleans, he grins, 'I would know that dream as well as anyone sir, it's been my goal as long as I can remember to make a name for myself with my horn!'
Xaul Lackluster: Half-Orc Fathomless Warlock: Warlock Dragon Heist
Borvnir Chelvnich: Black Dragonborn Barbarian: Dragons of Stormwreck Isle
Pushover Gerilwitz: Tiefling Wizard: Acquisitions Incorporated
Callow Sunken-Eyes: Goliath Arctic Druid: We Are Modron
DMing The 100 Dungeons of the Blood Archivist and The Hunt for the Balowang!
Killer Queen has already extended this signature, though not by much!
"Ah, you a trumpet player? It's always a pleasure to meet another performer."
*I'm sorry, I think I have to drop out.*
*I was really excited, but I feel horrible and have for days and I'm holding the campaign back by not introing my character.*
*This is still really cool, but I don't think I'm in a proper state to engage with it properly.*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
*I'm sorry you feel that way about this whole thing Baalze, I just want you to feel better man, see you around dude.*
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)