81st Day of Spring, 513AV
The Docks
8th Bell
Razkar is not, by nature, a mischievous person. And yes, I know that you know where this is heading, but I'm the storyteller here, so indulge me.
He was raised in discipline, self-reliance and honor his blood and his Goddess-Queen. Mischief was permitted, but not encourage. It served no purpose and often was more detrimental to the clan that constructive... though morale was always a factor, he supposed. As he got older and the world became a harder place, such predilections for humor started to dry up. Pools remained, here and there - a dry sense of humor, joking with fang-mates, teasing of his close friends - but pranks and such were forever alien to Razkar.
I can sense my audience is craving a point. Very well.
Bearing that in mind, one can assume a great deal of trust and affection for Edreina and from here, that he would wake with the sun already risen, seeing her swinging gently from her hammock, sound asleep... and go to fill up a nearby jar with seawater.
Floorboards creaked under him, and he cursed every squeaking, informing sound they made, until he was at the bottom of the stairs. A shadow crept over the sleeping maiden like a monster from the dark ages, bearing a stein of blood... or a jar of cold water.
"Happy birthing day, Edri!"
A whoosh. A splash. A squeal from the id that became the waking roar of feminine indignation-
-and a giggling Myrian running for the deck and the sun, happy to start his day in such fine form.
Yes. Giggling. You read that right. What a difference the right female makes...
The Docks
8th Bell
Razkar is not, by nature, a mischievous person. And yes, I know that you know where this is heading, but I'm the storyteller here, so indulge me.
He was raised in discipline, self-reliance and honor his blood and his Goddess-Queen. Mischief was permitted, but not encourage. It served no purpose and often was more detrimental to the clan that constructive... though morale was always a factor, he supposed. As he got older and the world became a harder place, such predilections for humor started to dry up. Pools remained, here and there - a dry sense of humor, joking with fang-mates, teasing of his close friends - but pranks and such were forever alien to Razkar.
I can sense my audience is craving a point. Very well.
Bearing that in mind, one can assume a great deal of trust and affection for Edreina and from here, that he would wake with the sun already risen, seeing her swinging gently from her hammock, sound asleep... and go to fill up a nearby jar with seawater.
Floorboards creaked under him, and he cursed every squeaking, informing sound they made, until he was at the bottom of the stairs. A shadow crept over the sleeping maiden like a monster from the dark ages, bearing a stein of blood... or a jar of cold water.
"Happy birthing day, Edri!"
A whoosh. A splash. A squeal from the id that became the waking roar of feminine indignation-
-and a giggling Myrian running for the deck and the sun, happy to start his day in such fine form.
Yes. Giggling. You read that right. What a difference the right female makes...