It's hot and it's good, especially for just some fried and breaded fish. It's very fresh, too. He looks a bit surprised, but not much. "You've got quite an appetite!" He begins to prepare some more cones. "My name is Scartosso. I have sauce and lemons when I can afford them, but business has been slow this week. You should see this place after Christmas or Easter, though!"
"Or Wednesday days or Fridays. Pescetarians and all that." She laughs a bit.
"True, true..." he chuckles. "It's busier on those days. I was born next to the church, though, and no one wants to let me move closer to them. It nets me more money on weekends than most... uh, people without businesses or jobs get... well, only on weekends." He snorts. "But it's what I was created for."
“Friend o’ mine, tried ta prove he was a better shot than me when we met.”
She nods along with their words, deeply interested by this story, and especially by one particular part “The Crown? How could someone such as you get overwhelmed? You are so powerful indeed, and even more than that.”
"And was he?"
"Pfft. Take a look at this." She points at her wide, pale, fishlike eyes. "See these? I can peer over twelve miles without squinting and still read twelve-point font letters. You know what it feels like to see so many things at once in such detail?
He raises an eyebrow “What do ya think? Ya gonna doubt these fingers?” He holds up his hands.
She looks deeply into their eyes, for a moment simply admiring them visibly before nodding “That must be a truly awful curse, though your eyes are beautiful indeed. I am sorry that you must deal with that.”
"No, not really."
"Oh it's worse than that. Hearing. Taste. Touch. Smell. All of it."
He chuckles “Fer good reason, beat ‘em. Speakin’ o’ fightin’ I ain’t never seen ya fight befer.”
She looks truly sympathetic, but keeps herself from reaching out to them unprompted “Everything? That is deeply awful, I am so, very sorry.”
"You didn't see me try and rip out your sisters' throats?"
"That's why I like it here. See this?" She gestures to a small stake of wood with brass crosses embedded on its faces. "Wherever I drive it into the ground, it creates a veil where my curse isn't in effect."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
“Friend o’ mine, tried ta prove he was a better shot than me when we met.”
She nods along with their words, deeply interested by this story, and especially by one particular part “The Crown? How could someone such as you get overwhelmed? You are so powerful indeed, and even more than that.”
"And was he?"
"Pfft. Take a look at this." She points at her wide, pale, fishlike eyes. "See these? I can peer over twelve miles without squinting and still read twelve-point font letters. You know what it feels like to see so many things at once in such detail?
He raises an eyebrow “What do ya think? Ya gonna doubt these fingers?” He holds up his hands.
She looks deeply into their eyes, for a moment simply admiring them visibly before nodding “That must be a truly awful curse, though your eyes are beautiful indeed. I am sorry that you must deal with that.”
"No, not really."
"Oh it's worse than that. Hearing. Taste. Touch. Smell. All of it."
He chuckles “Fer good reason, beat ‘em. Speakin’ o’ fightin’ I ain’t never seen ya fight befer.”
She looks truly sympathetic, but keeps herself from reaching out to them unprompted “Everything? That is deeply awful, I am so, very sorry.”
"You didn't see me try and rip out your sisters' throats?"
"That's why I like it here. See this?" She gestures to a small stake of wood with brass crosses embedded on its faces. "Wherever I drive it into the ground, it creates a veil where my curse isn't in effect."
“I wasn’t there fer that, but my sisters did tell me ‘bout it. They still idolize ya, ya know?”
“It does seem much better in here, even more so with such a curse to deal with. Are my own words bothering you? I would hate to cause such trouble to someone I revere and…” She shakes her head, closing her eyes “My apologies.”
*Whoops, double post, anyway, does anyone else want to roleplay? Or add to current rps?*
*I would like to.*
*I introduced my pigge, if that interests you at all.*
*I haven’t yet seen this piggy, but anyone you have made I would love to rp with, would you like anyone?*
*Yes. Give me someone... hungry. Rag might work, but he could crush this guy with literally a thought that he decides to put to words.*
A street food stand has opened up near the church.
A pig creature sits in this "stand," with what appears to be a cheap and damaged but still-living golem recycled into a fryer sat down behind him, the sizzle of frying fish filling the air as it watches them to make sure they don't burn. It's barely a stand. It's a couple pieces of broken wood beneath a leaky fabric awning to keep the rain out. A large wooden icon of the Redeemer leans against the back wall.
The porcine spirit looks drowsy, and, to the untrained eye, might even have fallen asleep sitting there on his rug, all dressed in rumpled and heavily patched workman's clothes, clean due to his easy access to the river. The damaged crate in front of him has cones of newspaper with fried fish in them on little stands made of bent coat hangers. His crumpled hat is sat upside-down beside the crate with the words "Please pay 1 CP if you can afford to" stitched onto it.
He silently fondles what look like dog tags around his neck, but upon close inspection seem to be stamped tin icons of various saints. Collected like trading cards.
*Whoops, double post, anyway, does anyone else want to roleplay? Or add to current rps?*
*I would like to.*
*I introduced my pigge, if that interests you at all.*
*I haven’t yet seen this piggy, but anyone you have made I would love to rp with, would you like anyone?*
*Yes. Give me someone... hungry. Rag might work, but he could crush this guy with literally a thought that he decides to put to words.*
A street food stand has opened up near the church.
A pig creature sits in this "stand," with what appears to be a cheap and damaged but still-living golem recycled into a fryer sat down behind him, the sizzle of frying fish filling the air as it watches them to make sure they don't burn. It's barely a stand. It's a couple pieces of broken wood beneath a leaky fabric awning to keep the rain out. A large wooden icon of the Redeemer leans against the back wall.
The porcine spirit looks drowsy, and, to the untrained eye, might even have fallen asleep sitting there on his rug, all dressed in rumpled and heavily patched workman's clothes, clean due to his easy access to the river. The damaged crate in front of him has cones of newspaper with fried fish in them on little stands made of bent coat hangers. His crumpled hat is sat upside-down beside the crate with the words "Please pay 1 CP if you can afford to" stitched onto it.
He silently fondles what look like dog tags around his neck, but upon close inspection seem to be stamped tin icons of various saints. Collected like trading cards.
Rag was going for a stroll when he sees the ‘stand’. He decides to walk over, and sits down in front of it, the ground rumbling just a bit as he gives them a broad smile. He puts a single gold down on the stand with a friendly smile, despite his menacing and gargantuan size, “Nice to meet you, I am Ragnerious, but most call me Rag.”
A street food stand has opened up near the church.
A pig creature sits in this "stand," with what appears to be a cheap and damaged but still-living golem recycled into a fryer sat down behind him, the sizzle of frying fish filling the air as it watches them to make sure they don't burn. It's barely a stand. It's a couple pieces of broken wood beneath a leaky fabric awning to keep the rain out. A large wooden icon of the Redeemer leans against the back wall.
The porcine spirit looks drowsy, and, to the untrained eye, might even have fallen asleep sitting there on his rug, all dressed in rumpled and heavily patched workman's clothes, clean due to his easy access to the river. The damaged crate in front of him has cones of newspaper with fried fish in them on little stands made of bent coat hangers. His crumpled hat is sat upside-down beside the crate with the words "Please pay 1 CP if you can afford to" stitched onto it.
He silently fondles what look like dog tags around his neck, but upon close inspection seem to be stamped tin icons of various saints. Collected like trading cards.
Riotan wanders over, curious, arms swinging by his sides.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
He gives them a flat look, before giving them a wide grin “With how long I’ve lived, what do you think?” He boops their nose.
He reaches out to her, taking one of her hands, the crackling lightning usually in his hair entirely missing, the light glowing slightly faded.
He passes them the hatchling “Hold ‘em for a second, I got somethin’ fer ya.” He walks out, coming back with a cup filled with something.
"I think no, because you're a saint and would do no harm to anybody, like a good boy." he says, snickering after
"Don't you f[GP]ing die, okay?..." she says, sniffling and wiping up more blood.
The child cries when not in Thane's care, only slightly. The Raigaar doesn't care, only holding the child carefully. "Whussat? Summat to fix me 'p?"
“I wouldn’t call you a liar, but nor would I say any of that true.” He says with a smile, giving them a kiss on the forehead, “I love you.”
He nods weakly, after a while all of the blood is wiped off of him, “I’ll… try not to… for you…”
He puts the drink down on the table, or at least it is probably a drink, though it doesn’t smell like one. He takes the hatchling back, comforting and cooing them.
"So, have you ever had Hevin?" he asks, sitting up, still in their lap, now facing them
"I'll make my dad do some sort of freaky [GP] if you do..." she sniffles again, tears running silently down her face.
"He's a wiggle worm..." he says, slugging back the mug.
He shakes his head, rubbing their legs softly with one hand, tilting his head “I have not, do you have any?”
He slowly holds up a hand, rubbing the side of her face, wiping away the tears, pushing himself up a bit to give her a kiss on the lips, smiling a bit.
It is absolutely awful, but sobers them up nearly instantly, smiling at the hatchling, kissing them on the forehead.
*the one you’ve been waiting for… the one you’ve been waiting for… the mystery… the one who changed history… the one who changed history, mystery… the temptress… the one.. with the plan… the plan to steal the man!*
*Anne! The one who chased the King, but paid the price with the swordsman’s swing…*
*Yes. Give me someone... hungry. Rag might work, but he could crush this guy with literally a thought that he decides to put to words.*
A street food stand has opened up near the church.
A pig creature sits in this "stand," with what appears to be a cheap and damaged but still-living golem recycled into a fryer sat down behind him, the sizzle of frying fish filling the air as it watches them to make sure they don't burn. It's barely a stand. It's a couple pieces of broken wood beneath a leaky fabric awning to keep the rain out. A large wooden icon of the Redeemer leans against the back wall.
The porcine spirit looks drowsy, and, to the untrained eye, might even have fallen asleep sitting there on his rug, all dressed in rumpled and heavily patched workman's clothes, clean due to his easy access to the river. The damaged crate in front of him has cones of newspaper with fried fish in them on little stands made of bent coat hangers. His crumpled hat is sat upside-down beside the crate with the words "Please pay 1 CP if you can afford to" stitched onto it.
He silently fondles what look like dog tags around his neck, but upon close inspection seem to be stamped tin icons of various saints. Collected like trading cards.
Rag was going for a stroll when he sees the ‘stand’. He decides to walk over, and sits down in front of it, the ground rumbling just a bit as he gives them a broad smile. He puts a single gold down on the stand with a friendly smile, despite his menacing and gargantuan size, “Nice to meet you, I am Ragnerious, but most call me Rag.”
The pig swallows, then picks up his hat, empty at the moment, just to tip it to Rag. "Scartosso, but... well, people rarely refer to me, but when they do they usually call me Scar." He moves to pick load up a large paper cone made of several unrolled newspapers for Rag. He loads it up, his icon tags jingling around his neck. "It's nice to meet you too, Rag. What brings you to this part of town? Most stay away when it isn't the weekend."
“Friend o’ mine, tried ta prove he was a better shot than me when we met.”
She nods along with their words, deeply interested by this story, and especially by one particular part “The Crown? How could someone such as you get overwhelmed? You are so powerful indeed, and even more than that.”
"And was he?"
"Pfft. Take a look at this." She points at her wide, pale, fishlike eyes. "See these? I can peer over twelve miles without squinting and still read twelve-point font letters. You know what it feels like to see so many things at once in such detail?
He raises an eyebrow “What do ya think? Ya gonna doubt these fingers?” He holds up his hands.
She looks deeply into their eyes, for a moment simply admiring them visibly before nodding “That must be a truly awful curse, though your eyes are beautiful indeed. I am sorry that you must deal with that.”
"No, not really."
"Oh it's worse than that. Hearing. Taste. Touch. Smell. All of it."
He chuckles “Fer good reason, beat ‘em. Speakin’ o’ fightin’ I ain’t never seen ya fight befer.”
She looks truly sympathetic, but keeps herself from reaching out to them unprompted “Everything? That is deeply awful, I am so, very sorry.”
"You didn't see me try and rip out your sisters' throats?"
"That's why I like it here. See this?" She gestures to a small stake of wood with brass crosses embedded on its faces. "Wherever I drive it into the ground, it creates a veil where my curse isn't in effect."
“I wasn’t there fer that, but my sisters did tell me ‘bout it. They still idolize ya, ya know?”
“It does seem much better in here, even more so with such a curse to deal with. Are my own words bothering you? I would hate to cause such trouble to someone I revere and…” She shakes her head, closing her eyes “My apologies.”
"They what? That's absurd. If they were still demons, I'd probably still be hunting them down."
"No no no. I like hearing you talk."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
*Yes. Give me someone... hungry. Rag might work, but he could crush this guy with literally a thought that he decides to put to words.*
A street food stand has opened up near the church.
A pig creature sits in this "stand," with what appears to be a cheap and damaged but still-living golem recycled into a fryer sat down behind him, the sizzle of frying fish filling the air as it watches them to make sure they don't burn. It's barely a stand. It's a couple pieces of broken wood beneath a leaky fabric awning to keep the rain out. A large wooden icon of the Redeemer leans against the back wall.
The porcine spirit looks drowsy, and, to the untrained eye, might even have fallen asleep sitting there on his rug, all dressed in rumpled and heavily patched workman's clothes, clean due to his easy access to the river. The damaged crate in front of him has cones of newspaper with fried fish in them on little stands made of bent coat hangers. His crumpled hat is sat upside-down beside the crate with the words "Please pay 1 CP if you can afford to" stitched onto it.
He silently fondles what look like dog tags around his neck, but upon close inspection seem to be stamped tin icons of various saints. Collected like trading cards.
Rag was going for a stroll when he sees the ‘stand’. He decides to walk over, and sits down in front of it, the ground rumbling just a bit as he gives them a broad smile. He puts a single gold down on the stand with a friendly smile, despite his menacing and gargantuan size, “Nice to meet you, I am Ragnerious, but most call me Rag.”
The pig swallows, then picks up his hat, empty at the moment, just to tip it to Rag. "Scartosso, but... well, people rarely refer to me, but when they do they usually call me Scar." He moves to pick load up a large paper cone made of several unrolled newspapers for Rag. He loads it up, his icon tags jingling around his neck. "It's nice to meet you too, Rag. What brings you to this part of town? Most stay away when it isn't the weekend."
“No reason other than that I don’t go here often, I like to go wherever I can, help those who I can, and those I can’t, I find someone who can.” He takes the cone, smiling at it before looking back to them, eating it quickly “Scartosso, a good name.”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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"True, true..." he chuckles. "It's busier on those days. I was born next to the church, though, and no one wants to let me move closer to them. It nets me more money on weekends than most... uh, people without businesses or jobs get... well, only on weekends." He snorts. "But it's what I was created for."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
"You didn't see me try and rip out your sisters' throats?"
"That's why I like it here. See this?" She gestures to a small stake of wood with brass crosses embedded on its faces. "Wherever I drive it into the ground, it creates a veil where my curse isn't in effect."
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
*Hey y'all, I got to go. I try and be back soon but perhaps I will not be. We'll see.*
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
“I wasn’t there fer that, but my sisters did tell me ‘bout it. They still idolize ya, ya know?”
“It does seem much better in here, even more so with such a curse to deal with. Are my own words bothering you? I would hate to cause such trouble to someone I revere and…” She shakes her head, closing her eyes “My apologies.”
*See ya, I probably won’t be in when ya get back. Take care, love you deeply.*
*Yes. Give me someone... hungry. Rag might work, but he could crush this guy with literally a thought that he decides to put to words.*
A street food stand has opened up near the church.
A pig creature sits in this "stand," with what appears to be a cheap and damaged but still-living golem recycled into a fryer sat down behind him, the sizzle of frying fish filling the air as it watches them to make sure they don't burn. It's barely a stand. It's a couple pieces of broken wood beneath a leaky fabric awning to keep the rain out. A large wooden icon of the Redeemer leans against the back wall.
The porcine spirit looks drowsy, and, to the untrained eye, might even have fallen asleep sitting there on his rug, all dressed in rumpled and heavily patched workman's clothes, clean due to his easy access to the river. The damaged crate in front of him has cones of newspaper with fried fish in them on little stands made of bent coat hangers. His crumpled hat is sat upside-down beside the crate with the words "Please pay 1 CP if you can afford to" stitched onto it.
He silently fondles what look like dog tags around his neck, but upon close inspection seem to be stamped tin icons of various saints. Collected like trading cards.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
*Bye, Benjamin!*
*...*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
Rag was going for a stroll when he sees the ‘stand’. He decides to walk over, and sits down in front of it, the ground rumbling just a bit as he gives them a broad smile. He puts a single gold down on the stand with a friendly smile, despite his menacing and gargantuan size, “Nice to meet you, I am Ragnerious, but most call me Rag.”
Riotan wanders over, curious, arms swinging by his sides.
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
*bye love, see you around! :3*
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
He shakes his head, rubbing their legs softly with one hand, tilting his head “I have not, do you have any?”
He slowly holds up a hand, rubbing the side of her face, wiping away the tears, pushing himself up a bit to give her a kiss on the lips, smiling a bit.
It is absolutely awful, but sobers them up nearly instantly, smiling at the hatchling, kissing them on the forehead.
*the one you’ve been waiting for… the one you’ve been waiting for… the mystery… the one who changed history… the one who changed history, mystery… the temptress… the one.. with the plan… the plan to steal the man!*
*Anne! The one who chased the King, but paid the price with the swordsman’s swing…*
*will she be the one to win?*
*Anne Boleyn…*
*Oh hey Arch, wanna rp for a little bit now that you’re here?*
"Cause I escaped. If they'd thrown me in there I'd never have gotten out."
"Pretty much the same. You?"
"The book is about elvish religion. The cat is my familiar, Caramel."
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
The pig swallows, then picks up his hat, empty at the moment, just to tip it to Rag. "Scartosso, but... well, people rarely refer to me, but when they do they usually call me Scar." He moves to pick load up a large paper cone made of several unrolled newspapers for Rag. He loads it up, his icon tags jingling around his neck. "It's nice to meet you too, Rag. What brings you to this part of town? Most stay away when it isn't the weekend."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
"They what? That's absurd. If they were still demons, I'd probably still be hunting them down."
"No no no. I like hearing you talk."
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
“No reason other than that I don’t go here often, I like to go wherever I can, help those who I can, and those I can’t, I find someone who can.” He takes the cone, smiling at it before looking back to them, eating it quickly “Scartosso, a good name.”