Enter Viscero, Son Of Bran

[Song Druid 1486]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-yUd2k8Idhw

 

 

Some would say that the world don't work if it don't got war.  I don't know if it's true or not, but we seem to be burning up more worlds than we can afford.  And maybe I believe in the Creator, maybe I don't, but I don't think there's gonna be an Anthos next time.

 

Feck.  What am I even saying to myself.  I can still remember squiring for that Ser....Nether I can't even remember his name anymore.  Dead anyways, doing his duty to the world by feeding the worms.  Maybe if he'd shed a few pounds he'd have stayed alive.  Most people I see tell me their friends and family were murdered by Orcs.  Me, it was old fashioned Humans.  Oren, always the grand Empire.  Slaying my heretic sire, can't even recall what for either.  Still, I bear no ill will.  Don't think knighship would be for me.  It gave me a few chances to fight in the war.  knotched my blade a few times then, I still remember the satisfying "shick" of the sword as it grants that fatal end.

 

I am Viscero, Son of Bran. 

 

 

I ain't looking for education, and i know enough words to read the bounty on a wanted poster.  As far as I care, the only two things that talk is coin and a blade, the only thing that can make you talk is ale.  And I've been doing a lot of talking.

 

Time has come to give this city a few shakeups.  See what it's got in the underbelly.  Maybe I'll cut me a mage or two.  Abresi's full of surprises.  I only just got here.  What are we, the Kingdom of Oren now?  Long live the King.  Heh.

 

 

This is the intro to my second ever character, Viscero.  I hope to see you in Abresi, and I hope you enjoy interacting with him!

[Sentlit 108]

((Well written :) *applause*))

 

Cyrus almost chokes on his tea as he feels a disturbance in the air. Something chilling struck him... like someone had the prospect of cutting himself a mage or two. He checks around his empty room, but to no avail. He mumbles to himself, 

 

"I suppose I'll just keep an eye out... just in case..."

[Jarkarll 314]

Bran Volsung looks up,

 

"What the ****."

[V0idsoldier 1139]

 

 

"Music... Music makes me... Happy" Sabel remarked calmly to the musicians playing away on the stage to his right, his hat tipped down over his dirt streaked face and tired onyx hued eyes. He sat, leaned back on a throne befit for a king. The music soothed his nerves. After a long day of stealing and running from authorities, the Prince of Urchins was tired. A goblet rested in his hand, yet another item taken from under the nose of the noble pigs above him. No less than 200 feet of mountain rested between him and his docks, and the corrupt pinchers in the main square. 

 

He took a sip from the red wine in his goblet, though he once again realized how off putting it made him feel. He set the goblet aside, sitting up just as a young boy in tattered rags of clothes enters the room. One of Sabel's many eyes throughout the city, a Urchin just like himself, or just like he used to be. He liked to keep tabs on everyone entering and leaving the city, any freshblood Sabel knew about.

 

The Serenade continued as the boy approached the throne, a anxious look upon his dirty, grimy face. "Mista Sabel. I 'ave a repor' fer ye'" The boy remarked giddily, happy to earn enough money for a few weeks worth of food. A smile crossed Sabel's lips, and he beckoned the boy closer "Wha' is it then?" He questioned, calming the boy's giddy nerves. "A man entered tha city. Stranga, neva seen'em 'ere before." His interest was peaked. If a man could catch the eye of his messengers, he might be worth investigating. He lifted a hand, gesturing for the band to stop the Serenade. "Payment's on the counter boys. Take it and get out'o'ere." He shoo'd them off stage as he turned his attention back to the boy, a half smile upon his tired lips.

 

He would delve into researching this man. Perhaps a... worthwhile investment of his time. "The Hatter's could always use more..." He noted to himself as the boy finished the report. He tossed him a few minas, getting up and grabbing his spruce cane, getting ready to leave the warmth of his home.

[Moot 1719]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.