May be considered NSFW, has a small scene of nudity.
This entry is recorded as the twenty-second sun of the First Astral Moon.
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"Say..." Oscare crosses his arms, looking at the mirror before him. "Where'd Sire Armstrong get that armor anyway? I wish I had some of that in archer size." Oscare flicks around his drawer, disappointment tugging his lips down into a frown. "Regardless, a couple of days away from humanity sounds nice. I won't have to deal with people, just going to be by myself. Lovely." The highlander scoffs, taking a look at the mirror again.Â
"Everyday, I see something new." He whispers lightly, a hand instinctively scratching at his scarred cheek. "Apparently I'm white haring," Oscare plucks the single white hair string -- something so insignificantly small that only a sniper with his vision would be able to spot. And, of course, being a sniper, he spotted it.Â
Transitioning himself from the drawers to his desk, Oscare shuffles through countless documents. Maps, letters (mostly from Jancis), plumes, empty ink bottles, scrap junk and blueprints. Loud clangs echo through the silent and mildly empty room, originating from countless sheets of metal and screwdrivers that fell off the table. "Where the hell..." More shuffling between a mess until a nice, teensy silver box decides to reveal itself. A grin forms as the highlander pops open the case to reveal a small handgun, triumphant humming after defeating the mound of unfinished papers and incomplete projects. The luster of the metal reflects off the miniature toy magitek Oscare kept for decoration on the table, a sign of good care for the weapon.Â
"It's going to be dangerous, so let me take more weapons." Oscare hops off his chair with the handgun still clenched, walking over to the other side of the room and opening up a closet. Or more appropriately named -- his armory.
A wide array of weaponry and "junk" welcomes the dark toned man, as well as clothes and pairs of shoes and boots. "Let's see here... a handgun, arrows, and rifle should do. Maybe bring some flashbangs and grenades in case things get hot. I can always make myself molotovs if worse comes to worst," He comments to himself, retrieving his gears of choice. A quiver, a bow, arrows, long-gun holster, and several small black devices. "And since we're going to a desert, we can shed some of this junk."
Oscare strips himself of his clothes, sleevess vest slipping off his shoulders, hard leather landing with a thud on the ground. He undoes the belt holding up the kecks, letting the pants just slide on off. Goggles come off next, his arms flexing over the top of his head to unhook the protective lens off. The bulkier-than-leaner man runs a hand down his massive bicep, flicking at the practically steel-hard muscles. "I'm still in good condition after such a long time." He tells himself, clearly proud of his grotesque body. "I can afford to be a little more showy every once in a while."Â
Oscare reaches for a set of leather clothing and thighboots. Unfolding the clothes, the highlander tilts his head side-to-side, judging the set. After a series of looks, a nod follows. Good enough.Â
Pants on first, one leg up and through. Other leg up and through. A skin tight pair of leather shorts that don't even fully go down his thighs is now donned, comfortable and flexible enough for full groin down mobility. He puts on his thighboots, covering up to where the shorts end. A chainmail kneepad is attached on each boot for defense and offense, being knee'd by one of those stings. Hard.Â
Oscare puts on a leather belt satchel, small vials and holsters for various amounts of things. Oscare clips his handgun holster onto the belt as well, tightening it to make sure it's on and not slipping when he shakes his hips. The chest piece consists of nothing but the leather strap from waist to shoulder across and over his chest, lined with bullet casings, ammo, and quiver on the back. His long-gun holster goes right on his left shoulder, the rifle lined up nice and neatly straight down from his shoulder to his waist -- exactly the length of the holster. The bow is slung over his back, accompanying the rifle. His chest was bare, but it didn't matter much where he was going. The Amal'jaa are good casters, so armor or not, a fire spell would blow the man to smithereens.
Thus, he needs to blow their brains out before they did. He picks up just a couple more things -- those things being some snake oil, a net, and vials of different colored fluids. He grabs a canteen too, all these things being stuffed into different pockets of his belt satchel. Now he looked like a grade-A hunter, or better yet, warrior. Remarkable stature, face paint stripe, and perfect physique are all green and good to go.Â
"It's go time," He chuckles, making his leave towards the door.Â
These were going to be a series of long, hot desert days.
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This ends the entry for the day.
[[Enjoy hunter manmeat.]]
This entry is recorded as the twenty-second sun of the First Astral Moon.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Say..." Oscare crosses his arms, looking at the mirror before him. "Where'd Sire Armstrong get that armor anyway? I wish I had some of that in archer size." Oscare flicks around his drawer, disappointment tugging his lips down into a frown. "Regardless, a couple of days away from humanity sounds nice. I won't have to deal with people, just going to be by myself. Lovely." The highlander scoffs, taking a look at the mirror again.Â
"Everyday, I see something new." He whispers lightly, a hand instinctively scratching at his scarred cheek. "Apparently I'm white haring," Oscare plucks the single white hair string -- something so insignificantly small that only a sniper with his vision would be able to spot. And, of course, being a sniper, he spotted it.Â
Transitioning himself from the drawers to his desk, Oscare shuffles through countless documents. Maps, letters (mostly from Jancis), plumes, empty ink bottles, scrap junk and blueprints. Loud clangs echo through the silent and mildly empty room, originating from countless sheets of metal and screwdrivers that fell off the table. "Where the hell..." More shuffling between a mess until a nice, teensy silver box decides to reveal itself. A grin forms as the highlander pops open the case to reveal a small handgun, triumphant humming after defeating the mound of unfinished papers and incomplete projects. The luster of the metal reflects off the miniature toy magitek Oscare kept for decoration on the table, a sign of good care for the weapon.Â
"It's going to be dangerous, so let me take more weapons." Oscare hops off his chair with the handgun still clenched, walking over to the other side of the room and opening up a closet. Or more appropriately named -- his armory.
A wide array of weaponry and "junk" welcomes the dark toned man, as well as clothes and pairs of shoes and boots. "Let's see here... a handgun, arrows, and rifle should do. Maybe bring some flashbangs and grenades in case things get hot. I can always make myself molotovs if worse comes to worst," He comments to himself, retrieving his gears of choice. A quiver, a bow, arrows, long-gun holster, and several small black devices. "And since we're going to a desert, we can shed some of this junk."
Oscare strips himself of his clothes, sleevess vest slipping off his shoulders, hard leather landing with a thud on the ground. He undoes the belt holding up the kecks, letting the pants just slide on off. Goggles come off next, his arms flexing over the top of his head to unhook the protective lens off. The bulkier-than-leaner man runs a hand down his massive bicep, flicking at the practically steel-hard muscles. "I'm still in good condition after such a long time." He tells himself, clearly proud of his grotesque body. "I can afford to be a little more showy every once in a while."Â
Oscare reaches for a set of leather clothing and thighboots. Unfolding the clothes, the highlander tilts his head side-to-side, judging the set. After a series of looks, a nod follows. Good enough.Â
Pants on first, one leg up and through. Other leg up and through. A skin tight pair of leather shorts that don't even fully go down his thighs is now donned, comfortable and flexible enough for full groin down mobility. He puts on his thighboots, covering up to where the shorts end. A chainmail kneepad is attached on each boot for defense and offense, being knee'd by one of those stings. Hard.Â
Oscare puts on a leather belt satchel, small vials and holsters for various amounts of things. Oscare clips his handgun holster onto the belt as well, tightening it to make sure it's on and not slipping when he shakes his hips. The chest piece consists of nothing but the leather strap from waist to shoulder across and over his chest, lined with bullet casings, ammo, and quiver on the back. His long-gun holster goes right on his left shoulder, the rifle lined up nice and neatly straight down from his shoulder to his waist -- exactly the length of the holster. The bow is slung over his back, accompanying the rifle. His chest was bare, but it didn't matter much where he was going. The Amal'jaa are good casters, so armor or not, a fire spell would blow the man to smithereens.
Thus, he needs to blow their brains out before they did. He picks up just a couple more things -- those things being some snake oil, a net, and vials of different colored fluids. He grabs a canteen too, all these things being stuffed into different pockets of his belt satchel. Now he looked like a grade-A hunter, or better yet, warrior. Remarkable stature, face paint stripe, and perfect physique are all green and good to go.Â
"It's go time," He chuckles, making his leave towards the door.Â
These were going to be a series of long, hot desert days.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This ends the entry for the day.
[[Enjoy hunter manmeat.]]
"Critical fails; for when the GM sobs at night and the players get free checks."
