AsgardianWitcher
New Member
The rain came down on the land with a passionate fervor, soaking the lush grass and making the sand on the nearby beach a pit of brownish muck that would make any who thought the beach was a pretty sight think twice about their romantic notion. Some who were brave enough to traverse the paths between homes in the small village of Apodrasi would find their own version of muck, although it wouldn't last for long; most of the sturdy wooden buildings had covered awnings made of the same blessed wood which would protect the brave souls from getting soaked the whole way. Along with awnings were built in ramps that started around two feet from the entrances, allowing any visitor to wipe their sandals(or boots) clean of the mud and enter into the building with clean feet. Most of the villagers homes were clustered around a two story building that served as the tavern, inn, town hall and general gathering point for the inhabitants. The village wasn't very large in area, maybe covering a tenth of a mile in width and length, but the village couldn't be judged on value based on size; after all, it brought the continent of Mestaschi the best kinds of seafood and traded goods from Dasvrochian merchants who were feeling all too adventurous and wanted to hawk their wares at the legendary Free Market in the capital city.
It was this tiny slice of land that Volgorl had claimed as his new home. The thought of being at home made the former Captain smile ever so slightly as he leaned on his doorway, watching the afternoon rain pummel into the village with a kind of fascination that he had always held for these spectacles. He had seen snow in abundance when living up north, but snow fell with a quiet dignity that led to peaceful ruminations. This weather was...well, more emotional, if one could label weather with human characteristics. The arm resting on doorpost now fell, his arms crossing over his chest as he continued to watch, his frame filling the doorway almost completely, blocking any viewers from seeing the healthy fire in the fireplace or the bookshelves lined with novels containing grim stories of magisters and demons and tomes over the Pantheon and tacticians manuals providing all sorts of advice on how to cope with war. Any curious onlookers would also fail to see the large sword mounted over the used fireplace, the flames below giving the obsidian blade an almost eerie glow. Volgorl was rather content for others to not see the interior of his home. More often than not, he was out around the village aiding the aspiring priests and priestesses on completing their readings for the day or ensuring that blacksmiths had enough material by hunting in the forest nearby.
Of course, there were a few exceptions to this wall of privacy he had erected, one exception coming to mind rather quickly, seeing as the exception was coming toward him in the torrential downpour. Her cloak was already visibly soaked and from he could see there were traces of mud on it. Another smile played across his lips as she came closer. Volgorl walked back into the modest two story home, strolled past the bookshelves and went to a stuffed chair, said chair covered by a large fur blanket. He took the blanket off and went back to the doorway, his exception now at his awning. For the first time all day, he spoke: "I didn't think gypsies liked the rain...or at least, that's what I remember you telling me."
It was this tiny slice of land that Volgorl had claimed as his new home. The thought of being at home made the former Captain smile ever so slightly as he leaned on his doorway, watching the afternoon rain pummel into the village with a kind of fascination that he had always held for these spectacles. He had seen snow in abundance when living up north, but snow fell with a quiet dignity that led to peaceful ruminations. This weather was...well, more emotional, if one could label weather with human characteristics. The arm resting on doorpost now fell, his arms crossing over his chest as he continued to watch, his frame filling the doorway almost completely, blocking any viewers from seeing the healthy fire in the fireplace or the bookshelves lined with novels containing grim stories of magisters and demons and tomes over the Pantheon and tacticians manuals providing all sorts of advice on how to cope with war. Any curious onlookers would also fail to see the large sword mounted over the used fireplace, the flames below giving the obsidian blade an almost eerie glow. Volgorl was rather content for others to not see the interior of his home. More often than not, he was out around the village aiding the aspiring priests and priestesses on completing their readings for the day or ensuring that blacksmiths had enough material by hunting in the forest nearby.
Of course, there were a few exceptions to this wall of privacy he had erected, one exception coming to mind rather quickly, seeing as the exception was coming toward him in the torrential downpour. Her cloak was already visibly soaked and from he could see there were traces of mud on it. Another smile played across his lips as she came closer. Volgorl walked back into the modest two story home, strolled past the bookshelves and went to a stuffed chair, said chair covered by a large fur blanket. He took the blanket off and went back to the doorway, his exception now at his awning. For the first time all day, he spoke: "I didn't think gypsies liked the rain...or at least, that's what I remember you telling me."