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[PK]A Loungers Death


Damnit_Delmar
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A Loungers Death

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The Othaman would have traversed down into the slums of Celianors capital, the now 31 year old, having spent his day out in search for more clues and hints upon those quickly growing planar grasses. Though he had found little, to no knowledge upon the subject. Thus, he had chosen to find himself a remote spot, someplace to enjoy the view and enjoy the vanilla infused tobacco. With the day swiftly growing dimmer, and the breeze growing to become much colder then prior, he had found himself stumbling into the magical lift. His body dispersed, only to quickly reform within the confines of the bottom platform. Where the breeze had been cold, the air felt warmer, the soft drip of water, causing a haunting and eerie tune. Though odd, it was certainly a private spot, and with time to spare and his eyes growing heavy. The young man found himself lounging against one of the carved stones, a mixture of pipe weed and cactus green filling the air. In doing so, a drowsy cloud would begin to fill his mind, the heavy drag of sleep starting to pull him under. 

 

Glad I’m free from that curse, haven’t had a good rest in a week.” 

 

The young Othaman would take one last glance at his pipe, the embers holding enough fuel for one last toke. Bringing the wooden contraption to his lips, he would take a great old toke of the pipe weed. His eyes closing as he let the smoke fill into his lungs, his lips about to part as to release the last of that silvered mist. 

 

Do not move, or I’ll slit your throat.

 

The sharp edge would cut the outermost layer of skin, blood already dribbling down from the small wound. That groggy sensation of sleep, turning swiftly into a rush of adrenaline, his fingers moving to grasp at the blade. The sharp edges cutting fingertips as he began to try to escape the grasp of the woman. Her hand holding an iron grip over his mouth as he continued to struggle in a vain attempt to escape. The choking smoke escaped in brief clouds through his nose. 

 

Get this ******* over with!”

 

An audible sigh was heard, Ezra's eyes widening as his pale blue gaze looked up. Only to feel the heavy weight of the blade drag across his carotid artery. Smoke, tinged red from the ichor, would flow from his neck like a thunderous storm. The sickly mixed scent of vanilla and iron, proceeding to fill the air. The last image glanced from the barely trained corsair, being the annoyed eye roll of that dark haired woman.

 

Ezra Josef Othaman

SA 79-SA 110

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The dark haired woman looks down a the corpse, and musing to the other; "Dinner."

Disregarding the smell of iron and vanilla, and picking the man clean of his earthly possessions, Lady Pestilence sat down on the rocks of the Celia'norian undercity. Picking off the flesh and muscle from that mans body and consuming it with her sharpened teeth. The remains were left in that same spot, to decompose and rot, no kind fashion or fate.

 

Spoiler

There is a sign left in the spot!

 

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Based.. as the kids say.” Remarked an ancient Othaman woman with a grin. “Mrm.. I wonder how many of them still live.“ She looked up then, and flipped off her long-deceased Othaman husband.

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The Ash-Knight soon realised he had been mistaken in his conjecture; for if he had tempted a man to his side by manipulating his lazy nature, how could he hope to complete a trial for him?

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