drywall

You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” With a twitch of his brow and mild discomfort seeping through his expression at the dingy surroundings of the tent, Pierce chose to stand where he was. Why would he ever sit on something like that? Was she looking down on him? He glanced over his shoulder out towards the humidity that he'd just trudged through to get here. It wasn't much better within the tent, but the old hag claimed to of been to expecting him and it had piqued his curiosity, if only mildly. After a few moments to ponder on the decisions he could make, he took a step further into the tent while turning his head back to her. He'd never met her before, and her face was partially shrouded by the dim lights of the candles. He'd never liked the smell of burning wax. "You've been expecting me?" His words were monotone, yet still laced with incredulity. He rest his gloved left hand over the dagger that was sheathed at his waist. It'd give anyone the impression he was either ready to lash out at a moment notice, or simply reminding those who watched that he was armed. Why he did it in the moment, though, would be up to assumption. The leather pad of his thumb grazed over the sharp edges of the three red jewels that were embedded in the handle, catching at the material of his glove. The silence that began to linger between them grew palpable. He was stubborn, that was obvious to anyone who'd come upon this sight. She wanted to know his story? Then fine, but he wasn't going to waste time and get into the nitty gritty. “Well,” he paused once again while his pale eyes trailed around the room and eventually lingered on her shrouded face. “I am from Fi’andria, the eldest child to a small but humble family.” His monotonous voice was all that bleakly trailed through the air. “My mother had two children, and as a seamstress she was always overloaded with work. My father, when he wasn't away on travels, worked as a blacksmith. Forging tools for those in need.” He wasn't fond on talking about his life to others. It'd never been something him and his friends in Fi'andria really touched on when they found themselves walking about the city. They tended to look down on others, privy to trading menacing glares and sinister smirks to those who even dared to look upon them with any look other than envy. He'd been part of a group of friends who'd been hungry for attention through any means possible: Although he hadn't joined by choice. It was something that turned into a small comfort from the dreary life at home. A mother who stopped paying attention to him; A father who almost paid too much attention to him. His thumb continued to graze along the jeweled handle as before, giving him some courage to continue telling his story to the hag. “Sometimes while my mother grew busy with hosting tea parties for her friends or tailoring ordered clothes, my father would take me to the training grounds to spar with friends of his who’d fought demons and the like.” He thought back to the clearing in the woods his father had set up straw dummies in. He’d remembered the blood drawn between him and the others in the dirt. Luckily, they’d been careful not to leave anything too deep. They didn’t want to scar the Bishop’s only son, to anger his father. “Some days our trainings were a little more rigorous than others..” he trailed off, quickly catching himself before he droned on about pointless parts to his life. “My younger sister, Genesis, had been taken from us a few years ago.” His words grew harder now, more compassionate as he bit through the emotions he’d quenched down for years. Speaking of his sister always brought these heavy feelings to his chest. She’d been the only thing he felt worth protecting. “She was younger than me by seven years. Always out in the gardens dancing through the flowers and singing to the birds that flew past. She was a free spirit, one who had it easy. When she’d disappeared, nobody knew what happened or why.” He paused, unsure of whether or not to continue talking about her. Genesis was one of the few who really understood how he felt. He’d go join her in the garden and rant about what father had done, what he’d been put up to. She’d always been happy to lend an ear and help him work through his troubles. Pierce continued to speak, his words stronger now with the resolve from his past returning. “I suppose now my purpose is searching for her while taking a chance to escape the house for a while. No different from my father's travels.” By the time he was 23, he'd grown sick of the rules his father had given to him. He was tired of having to stick to a strict line, unable to stray even slightly out of it without severe punishment. Even the slightest falter in his expression, the smallest hint of sympathy towards anyone, his father would shut him away for a week of torturous training. It'd been overwhelming having to deal with these almost ritualistic trainings for years on end. He'd gone to his mother about it, but she hadn't cared. She claimed it was to help him better himself for the future. If an attack happened, he'd be ready. Would there ever be a chance where he could get away from the clutches of his father, who was so overbearing? Who'd been slowly turning him into an unfeeling monster simply for being so compassionate? Wanting him to act more as some soldier? He banished those thoughts from his mind. “My story is simple, really.” He summarized, resting most of his weight into one foot while he reeled in his emotions. It was easier once he moved on from the topic of his sister's disappearance. “Nothing more than going out searching for Genesis. Taking a break away from Father.” (On a sidenote, the physical description has a word cap on it since I can't add to it. With that being said, I wanted to add to it a bit. His clothing style is very loose fitting for easier movement with some frills around the collarbone and his wrists for the flair. He wears the types of things you'd see on someone who deems themselves more important than everyone else and who doesn't like to go out and get their hands dirty, so leather pants and his fingers adorned in various rings, sometimes he'll have gold embellishments on his shirts, or go a little more on the casual side with a pendant around his neck.)