14th - Winter - 515
It felt good to get some exercise, especially in the winter mornings. The skies were clear yet the temperature was low, a perfect condition to freeze and scare away those whom lacked the strength to face the climate. The weak had no place this early in the morning, and even he suffered the harshness of the weather as he cracked his whip. The sweat was present, yet turned deadly cold if he were to stop for even a tick. Activity was his only salvation now that he had started. The Krinin Gardens were quiet, at least in the sense of populace. He had spotted a few couples walking, sitting or whispering, a few loners walking calmly, and others simply sitting and gazing as they meditated. Wikus, on the other hand, was anything but in silence, his whip cutting through the air, sending sonic booms here and there and his lungs panting and heaving for air.
The whip flew forth, an overhead flick coming forth with a splendid crack to top it off, his arm retrieving the flexible weapon to instead use the momentum of the whip and chain the last attack with a counterpart in the opposite direction. This was accomplished by pulling the right side of his body and facing sideways, the right hand extending all the way back as the obedient whip followed and delivered a sideway flick with its crack echoing through the emptiness. He was satisfied, and would have kept going if his shoulder lasted longer, now being sore and tired to the point of almost complete exhaustion. With what remained of his strength and endurance, he’d return the whips length before him and, raising it on the air, he’d attempt a volley – a technique that chained crack after crack forward with a motion of the wrist and delivered most cracks in a concrete spot. Despite his motivation and energy, the shoulder just wouldn’t hold itself in position, slowly falling and taking the whip with it, the cracks not even present as the force wasn’t properly sent down the leather and the whole motion being rewarded with a few whistles until the leather laid flat on the ground.
With the energies depleted, Wikus wrapped his body with his shirt and returned the whip around his waist to once again hold his loose pants – the strand of rope having successfully held them in its… more or less. It was hard to walk about with his pants hanging as low as they did, instead being far more inclined of wearing them up until they covered his belly-button. Unfortunately, they weren’t made for such heights, instead resting on his hips. At least the whip offered a strong retention, which somewhat made him a bit more confident. Once his breath was more or less regular, he went on his way to, just as every other day, walk the streets in search of something to do.
As he walked, he retreated onto his mind as it was the only familiar territory he knew. Having spent his whole life amongst the Drykas had eventually ruined him, now being nothing more than a lost man in an unknown world. Not only he had nothing, but nothing to do or aim for. That was the part that angered him the most. He had focused his entire life on gaining those tattoos that swallowed his flesh, and even they were reduced to nothing more than simple tattoos when instead he should be at the very least Ankal in the pavilion he lived in. Having retracted from socializing, crafting relationships, love, and even speech, it was now when he finally regretted being born amongst those savages. They took his horse and kicked him out just like a stray dog, and now cannot even roam the same land he was born in without worrying about someone of them coming and taking his life in the middle of the night.
And worst of all was the fact that there was no solution to his problem, being forever stuck in the lonesomeness as instead whomever he brought close he ended up burying into the soil. Whatever house he bought it would eventually be overrun by the parasites, and even animals weren’t safe from his aura of decay. It was a never-ending cycle, he thought, in which every day he started fresh with nothing and whatever he built in that day, it would be gone the next morning. Whatever he got in return was not enough, instead cursing him even more as instead he was immune from disease, from illness, and the cold for that matter. It was funny to look into someone’s eyes and find envy whenever he was half naked in the snow. He’d trade his health for a single companion, even if that companion was as mute as his donkey. As he walked, lost in thought, he kept scratching the waving tattoos even if they didn’t cause any itch. He was simply not quite used to the tattoos changing their position even if they barely moved, maybe covertly afraid they too would one day escape him.
He reached the end of the main street faster than he could imagine, standing next to Vin’s Smokehouse, an establishment he visited often as many times the only thing he could do is smoke the day away. His lack of planning froze him on the spot at the mercy of the occasional ‘bone-crushing’ breeze as he liked to describe it, it’s cold being enough to cause a shiver so intense he could barely believe his spine was still intact. But instead of regaining his strides, he noticed the small group gathered on a small stone building near the water down a small gravel path. Grieving men and women gathered hugging themselves as they wept, some more than others, yet still clear in their face the sadness even when they offered shy smiles amongst themselves, perhaps for empathy. They were human mostly, some of the colored giants also being there, bending knees to reach the hugs of those shorter in size. He had never approached said building before, not only because it was close to the big mass of water he feared, but also of the apparent emptiness of it – possessing no windows nor any other features that wasn’t straight stone walls, the door being the only thing to signify it wasn’t just a pile of rocks stacked together for adornment.
Wikus moved towards one of the nearby buildings and leaned on it, waiting for the grieving to lose themselves down the street. It took some time, but after a few chimes he found himself standing alone before the glass doors of the building. He didn’t doubt now, instead simply sliding the door and stepping inside as if he lived there.
OOCWord count: 1133/XXXX total
It felt good to get some exercise, especially in the winter mornings. The skies were clear yet the temperature was low, a perfect condition to freeze and scare away those whom lacked the strength to face the climate. The weak had no place this early in the morning, and even he suffered the harshness of the weather as he cracked his whip. The sweat was present, yet turned deadly cold if he were to stop for even a tick. Activity was his only salvation now that he had started. The Krinin Gardens were quiet, at least in the sense of populace. He had spotted a few couples walking, sitting or whispering, a few loners walking calmly, and others simply sitting and gazing as they meditated. Wikus, on the other hand, was anything but in silence, his whip cutting through the air, sending sonic booms here and there and his lungs panting and heaving for air.
The whip flew forth, an overhead flick coming forth with a splendid crack to top it off, his arm retrieving the flexible weapon to instead use the momentum of the whip and chain the last attack with a counterpart in the opposite direction. This was accomplished by pulling the right side of his body and facing sideways, the right hand extending all the way back as the obedient whip followed and delivered a sideway flick with its crack echoing through the emptiness. He was satisfied, and would have kept going if his shoulder lasted longer, now being sore and tired to the point of almost complete exhaustion. With what remained of his strength and endurance, he’d return the whips length before him and, raising it on the air, he’d attempt a volley – a technique that chained crack after crack forward with a motion of the wrist and delivered most cracks in a concrete spot. Despite his motivation and energy, the shoulder just wouldn’t hold itself in position, slowly falling and taking the whip with it, the cracks not even present as the force wasn’t properly sent down the leather and the whole motion being rewarded with a few whistles until the leather laid flat on the ground.
With the energies depleted, Wikus wrapped his body with his shirt and returned the whip around his waist to once again hold his loose pants – the strand of rope having successfully held them in its… more or less. It was hard to walk about with his pants hanging as low as they did, instead being far more inclined of wearing them up until they covered his belly-button. Unfortunately, they weren’t made for such heights, instead resting on his hips. At least the whip offered a strong retention, which somewhat made him a bit more confident. Once his breath was more or less regular, he went on his way to, just as every other day, walk the streets in search of something to do.
As he walked, he retreated onto his mind as it was the only familiar territory he knew. Having spent his whole life amongst the Drykas had eventually ruined him, now being nothing more than a lost man in an unknown world. Not only he had nothing, but nothing to do or aim for. That was the part that angered him the most. He had focused his entire life on gaining those tattoos that swallowed his flesh, and even they were reduced to nothing more than simple tattoos when instead he should be at the very least Ankal in the pavilion he lived in. Having retracted from socializing, crafting relationships, love, and even speech, it was now when he finally regretted being born amongst those savages. They took his horse and kicked him out just like a stray dog, and now cannot even roam the same land he was born in without worrying about someone of them coming and taking his life in the middle of the night.
And worst of all was the fact that there was no solution to his problem, being forever stuck in the lonesomeness as instead whomever he brought close he ended up burying into the soil. Whatever house he bought it would eventually be overrun by the parasites, and even animals weren’t safe from his aura of decay. It was a never-ending cycle, he thought, in which every day he started fresh with nothing and whatever he built in that day, it would be gone the next morning. Whatever he got in return was not enough, instead cursing him even more as instead he was immune from disease, from illness, and the cold for that matter. It was funny to look into someone’s eyes and find envy whenever he was half naked in the snow. He’d trade his health for a single companion, even if that companion was as mute as his donkey. As he walked, lost in thought, he kept scratching the waving tattoos even if they didn’t cause any itch. He was simply not quite used to the tattoos changing their position even if they barely moved, maybe covertly afraid they too would one day escape him.
He reached the end of the main street faster than he could imagine, standing next to Vin’s Smokehouse, an establishment he visited often as many times the only thing he could do is smoke the day away. His lack of planning froze him on the spot at the mercy of the occasional ‘bone-crushing’ breeze as he liked to describe it, it’s cold being enough to cause a shiver so intense he could barely believe his spine was still intact. But instead of regaining his strides, he noticed the small group gathered on a small stone building near the water down a small gravel path. Grieving men and women gathered hugging themselves as they wept, some more than others, yet still clear in their face the sadness even when they offered shy smiles amongst themselves, perhaps for empathy. They were human mostly, some of the colored giants also being there, bending knees to reach the hugs of those shorter in size. He had never approached said building before, not only because it was close to the big mass of water he feared, but also of the apparent emptiness of it – possessing no windows nor any other features that wasn’t straight stone walls, the door being the only thing to signify it wasn’t just a pile of rocks stacked together for adornment.
Wikus moved towards one of the nearby buildings and leaned on it, waiting for the grieving to lose themselves down the street. It took some time, but after a few chimes he found himself standing alone before the glass doors of the building. He didn’t doubt now, instead simply sliding the door and stepping inside as if he lived there.
OOCWord count: 1133/XXXX total
