October 9, 2009 - 6:48am — Zergarikiaka
The half muffled, clanking sound of metal cutting into soil and stone scratches at the air near a great cathedral, within a cemetery barely a dozen meters away. Under a crescent moon, the grave keeper digs with the precision of an old artist. He was a tall specimen, a hair taller than seven feet despite his clear age. He was thin, almost to the point of looking completely malnourished, though his arms still retained the muscle of a fighter, and his eyes carried the spirit to match. His long, unkept black hair hung partially over his face, halfway hiding his red eyes and heavily scarred face, and draped carelessly over his back. He wears a suit that seems to once have been formal, though now exists in patchwork and rips, and stains from the dirt. The former feeling his suit tries to give off is further marred by the heavy metal-soled boots he wore. Below his chin and down his neck is evidence of former attempts on his life, scars that could only have come from knifepoint. Holstered in a pocket, he carries a standard pistol.
He fills the shovel with one last scoop of soil and flings it out of the six foot deep pit, then places it on the grassy earth still unturned beside him. With some difficulty only brought on by age, he pulls himself out, and sits down on the grass. With one muddied arm, he wipes the sweat off his brow and flashes a satisfied grin. "Well Mr. Smith, you'll sleep well in your grave tomorrow." he rasps, voice evidencing some damage. The wind blows his hair from his face, carrying dry brown leaves off the branches of the nearby trees. The sound of footsteps soon catches his attention. No ghost would make such a sound... but another person would. He comes to a stand, grits his teeth and unholsters his pistol, aiming toward the sound. "Who's over there? Speak up before I need to dig a second hole!" he demands, straining to see in the dark.
(ooc: Yes I'll be using humandeer Darkweaver for this one. XD)
(I'll accept anyone in this. XD)
If I figure out how to go
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The Dragonfly Deer's Biography
Pega's Forest Philosophy: "Look for Friends. Let Love find you."
"If you don't like something, tolerate it."
(XD I hope yua do. 83)
Ergh... I have no idea how
Hope would just be a little kid...
There's Maera and Andras, though they are "unofficial" deer, but at least they have human (or humanoid, rather) forms, seeing as that's how they were created originally...and I've roleplayed them a lot. But...they're fantasy characters. Although, I could probably play human versions of them, but, again, I have no idea what I'd do with them.
....Melinoe's probably my best bet here, as she's likely to lurk around cemeteries, but I don't know what she would actually be doing there...
...I could possibly have a modern-day version of Amary, but I wouldn't know where to start with her, plus I can't imagine what she would be doing at a graveyard at night. -_-;
Hmm, if our deer know each other, would they also know each other as humans?
~Paz
main deer: Amary, Melinoe, Sheen
Actually, if Pega is gonna
Maybe I can figure something out. Like...say she's lost or something.
~Paz
main deer: Amary, Melinoe, Sheen
I wanna draw/design
*adds "draw human modern day Bastilion" to to-do list*
---
The Dragonfly Deer's Biography
Pega's Forest Philosophy: "Look for Friends. Let Love find you."
"If you don't like something, tolerate it."
[I am SO on top of this
Kire held up his hands in surrender. He couldn't SEE the gravedigger before him, but he could sense him. Like the Shakespearean prince of old, he had thought it better to spend his time in the dark with the dead, rather than frolic with the living. A habit of his, he supposed, given that spooks tended to follow him. Sometimes they made better company than the ones who still breathed.
"Relax!" he said, hands still up. "I am a friend. Or would be a friend. There is no need to dig another grave, kind sir."
The smell of the earth strewn about gave Kire the clue to that one. As he stepped forward a bit more, the older male could see a teenager - dressed in rags of what probably used to be royal clothing. The remains of a cape. A stained and tattered silk shirt. Black leggings that were worn and threadbare. The black boots were all that remained whole.
His eyes were odd. Black. With pinpricks of white, and swatches of other light colors. A galaxy in his gaze. And the skin was pale as the very moon that hung overhead.
"I could not help but hear you at your gravemaking, sir..." he continued. "I apologize if I startled you. Like an ever-present ghost, this graveyard has been my choice of haunting ground for quite a while now. I didn't expect to see anyone else within the confines. Especially not making a new grave."
He chuckled, hands still in the air.
"I believe I will form my question in the tongue of one who knew death better than I." he said. "Whose grave's this, sirrah?"
and my friends are my strength."