Fantasy The Refuge of Wyllt Aurelianus (Still Accepting)

[Doc Taylor]

The caretaker of Wyllt Aurelianus paced the floors of his sanctuary for the thousandth time. One hand, rested behind his back, the other under his chin. His steps were silent on the wooden floors. Nothing could be heard, but the creaks and groans of the house. This pacing had been his nightly routine for as long as Danill could remember. His thoughts changed often as he walked, not really staying on one thing for long, but always coming back to his tenants. The house was far from full, but he felt as though everyone there thought of Wyllt as their home. He phased through walls and doors as he paced, not really caring about occasionally slipping into a tenant's room. They were all rather beautiful as they slept. Eventually, the caretaker stopped and sighed. Danill pat the wall of his home, "Goodnight." his old tenor cracked through the silence in the house like a pick through ice. With that, the old man walked up to his room, shoes clacking on the wooden floor. Danill went to bed, eager for the sun to rise, and the day that would come with it. 

 

[ClassicCaptain]

The stars shined brightly this time of year. That never seemed to change no matter where Carson wandered, but it always felt truer with the cold of Northern air to accompany the sight. His back leaning against the chimney of the old house, warming him with the embers of a fire that had just breathed it's last, he took in a sky filled with light, though it was far more narrow than he would like. He had lived in the city when he was a boy, but those were merely memories that no longer held him: photographs buried by the dust of the frontier and then washed away by the flow of the mighty Missouri river. The West's wide skies beckoned him back, and he wanted to answer desprately, but knew his place, for the time being, was here. He didn't know why, or for how long, but that's how it always was. He'd do whatever he felt compelled to do, there'd be a tugging in the back of his mind when it was time to go, and he'd move on, following where that feeling went. Sometimes it was a matter of days, at other times it was years. Maybe he'd never return to the wild, open skies that he loved, or the untamed beauty of untouched land that spread for miles in every direction.... He pushed these thoughts aside as he picked up his guitar from the rough, shingled rooftop, and begin to play softly and sang in a clear voice as if the moon would somehow applaud when he finished. He sang songs that his father taught him, songs he had heard from the sailors on the docks when he was young, songs of the endless West, and many more that he had learned on this path he had chosen. The sound faded into the night, as an end to another day in a world changing before his eyes. He pulled down his hat as he covered his guitar with an old blanket, and he fell into much needed sleep. If the moon could applaud, it was no doubt giving a standing ovation.  

 

[WitchOfTape]

Grayson was less than pleased to be out and about this evening. Deep into nighttime now, he had been walking for days, and it was too cold for his tastes in these northern states. Perhaps, he wondered, there could be a place in which he might stay a few days; but with almost all the money he'd had spent on food and a coat, he couldn't just buy a hotel room. Not that there were many where he was anyway, far from most cities and towns where roads go from paved to dirt regularly, where the only towns he would encounter for the next few weeks were the kind that counted dogs on their population signs. 


But perhaps, this night his luck served him well; as he trudged along the dirt road, he could see a home, looking old and yet friendly. Perhaps it was merely his being so tired and seeing a place that may be a refuge, but he walked to the door, the possible prospect of warmth putting a bit of a spring into his step. Was it a stupid idea? Maybe, but he hadn't seen any signs forbidding trespassing, so maybe he would be alright. And maybe even better than alright; because if he was lucky he could be offered refuge.


So Grayson walked up to the front door of the Refuge, and if there was doorbell or knocker, he used it. 


((@Doc Taylor))

 

[Doc Taylor]

There was a solid knock that rang throughout the house. Danill's eyes snapped open. He threw on a robe that hung from his door and hurried down the stairs. The caretaker unbolted the door, the lock making a dull thud as it slid away. The door was yanked open, and there behind it was a young man. Without speaking Danill grabbed the boy around his shoulder and brought him in the house. "Though I don't expect visitors at this hour, I do welcome them. Come, come sit down." Danill brought the boy into the parlour and sat him down in front of the fireplace on a sofa. The old men knelt down, his knees cracking slightly as he did, and began to stuff kindling into the brick hearth. After the strike of a match, and the setting of some logs, a fire began to crackle to life. The old man left for a minute, only to return with some tea. He gave one mug to the boy, and took a seat in his chair by the fireside. For a minute there was silence, one could say it had three parts, but before it could settle in, the old man broke it, "Who are you young man? Why are you here? How long do you need to stay?" Danill took a sip from his tea and crossed one leg over the other.

 

 

[WitchOfTape]

Grayson jumped when the door was thrown open, and opened his mouth to speak- but then the man's arm was around his shoulders and he went *poof* in shock and honestly, fear. "Please don't!" Grayson gasped, his now-ethereal face looking quite alarmed. 


Grayson wasn't fond of being grabbed, especially by strangers, when he knocked on their doors at night. Now he was quite ready to bolt, in fact, fearing the man was planning to kill him or something.


"Maybe I'll just. Go somewhere else. Please don't hurt me." Grayson muttered. 

 

[Doc Taylor]

"My my, you're something special aren't you?" The old man stroked his beard with is right hand. "Don't worry young man I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just here to help. Just relax, have a drink." To prove his point, Danill reached his hand into a nearby wall. "See? I'm not very different from you at all. Now please, sit down and tell me why you're here at Wyllt." Danill stood up and tightened his robe, resting one of his hands on the mantle. "You're not the first person to show up at my door in the middle of the night."

 

[WitchOfTape]

"Er... Alright, I guess." After that demonstration of power, Grayson figured he might as well come in, so he did, following Danill nervously and perching on the edge of a chair when he got to the sitting room type place he was brought to. "I just need a place to stay the night. I can be on my way in the morning." He wrapped the hoodie he was wearing closer around him; it was nice inside the house, warmer than outside at least, and he certainly appreciated that. 


"I'm really sorry if I disturbed you."

 

[Doc Taylor]

Danill chuckled slightly, "Think nothing of it. Like I said, you're not the first to visit me this late." The caretaker reached down and grabbed his tea once again, sipping at it before continuing. "There's no rush for you to leave just so you know. I would rather you be here where it's safe for people like us, than out there. The world isn't as forgiving as I am." Danill sat back down in his chair, resting his hands on his knees. "If you do just wish to stay the night, that's fine by me. If not, you're welcome here. I'll let you sleep on it." He stood up, abandoning his tea and holding his hands behind his back. Danill cocked an eyebrow at the young man sitting on his sofa. "Would you like me to show you to your room?"

 

[WitchOfTape]

"Ah... Alright. And yes please, thank you." Grayson shifted in his seat, then stood; he was slowly returning to corporeality. And he had definitely experienced the world's unkindness: when you were someone like Grayson you tended to be ignored a lot. 


Of course, that sometimes worked in his favor. 


Adjusting his backpack, he looked at Danill with some nervousness. "Um, please don't grab me again, though..."

 

[Doc Taylor]

"Only when it's urgent from now on, I promise. Please, follow me." Danill stood and began walking the young man to his new room. The stairs and floors creaked a lot for what was a new house, but Danill wouldn't have it any other way. Rooms that were vacant had their doors wide, and one could tell from a quick glance that most of the thirty some rooms were in fact vacant. The vacancy never bothered the caretaker, people come and go. Eventually the pair came to a room on the second floor that Danill found suitable for the young man. He went inside first to make sure everything was suitable for an overnight stay, and after brief inspection he found that it was. The caretaker motioned the boy in with the wave of a hand. "If you need anything else, do not hesitate to ask." The old man began to walk away, but spun around mid stride. "Where are my manners? My name is Danill Grimm," he did a small bow, "Welcome to Wyllt Aurelianus."

 

[Tice]

|•| There was silence at the beginning, and there will be silence at the end. |•|


  A dull thud erupted from the surroundings of a gangly, dark figure hunched in the crotch of a V-split tree. The sound did not move this figure, rather steeling it stoic still. However, the cover of darkness concealed true movement. The watcher's eyes averted to this distant thud. There was a mortal youth, hidden by the darkness, only detectable as his shaped body broke the harmony of nature. Young enough, inexperienced enough to trust this dwelling.


  Sesler'ther had watched the structure for days now, making his movements in the night and hiding in the day. Rest was unneeded at the time, weeks on end being spent awake. But now, things were different. The figure in the woods was physically human, yet something off. No expression touched his face and his eyes scarcely blinked. His chest never rose or feel with an inhale nor exhale. The steps he took were even, calculated by an intricate series of measurements. And the beginnings of what looked like a tumor was located at the base of his neck, crawling down to his shoulders. It was thin, and the size of a quarter, but not entirely round. It was more like an oval.


  The tall watcher was in fact not human entirely. Composed of a DNA mixture between the mortals and the native Trini, Sesler is one of several who were bred in the pursuit of mortal understanding. These genetics clashed at times, making simple tasks difficult. This has been suppressed by his dominant Trini genetics over the past century. In fact, each and every function of his body was experienced and old, yet deceptively young to the eye. Trini never dealt with early cell death nor had to suffer from brain cell loss. The brain never stopped growing, becoming more intricate well into the second century before death.


  The mind of the humanoid impostor ran at miles a second, tracing every detail of his environment when he was awake. There was a time when people like him were liked by the mortals, even sought after for advice or help. But those days are gone, swept by more than time. This world was not his and never would be. The crooked, gnarled scar tracing his left eye was a symbol of that. As the boy was taken in, Sesler picked out the voices he scarcely heard, storing them in a memory bank. Neither were familiar. Perhaps he could blend in with the youth, act as a vagabond. But there were variables he could not control. Perhaps the dwelling contained a source of magic that could show his inner being and alienate him. No, he shall stay put in the tree, several meters off the ground until the sun rose.

 

[DeafLordess]

As the night past, and morning arose, a figure was seen walking down the small concrete path, heels clicking lightly. A travel-size suit case swung at her side. As she approached the door, Miss Ayleth Spruce noticed that it must be nearing breakfast, because she was entirely famished. She'd walked a long time to find this place. Miss Spruce had heard rumors from sources best left unsaid that a place of rest could be found for people like her, in a place like this. And low and behold, a comfortable looking manor stood. The sun had only just touched the tops of the trees, meaning it was not so early as to be an inconvenience hopefully, but just early enough that she might be in time for a quick meal, if it was provided. Dusting the dirt of her purple skirt, and brushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, Ayleth knocked sharply once, twice, three times.

 

[WitchOfTape]

((IM SO SORRY I DISAPPEARED! I have had a terribly busy week and I forgot to tell anyone I would be gone, I'm very sorry! I will respond as soon as possible but I figured i needed to let you know that I'm here and getting to it as fast as I can. My sincerest apologies ;~; ))

 

[Doc Taylor]

Knocking, again with the knocking. Danill loved guests, but twice in a span of hours was new to him. The old man rolled out his neck, placing his right hand on it as it cracked. "Ugh, fell asleep in the chair again." Danill stood, the fire he started last night, burnt down to coals in his hearth. They glowed warmly, and the caretaker brought them back to a crackling fire in no time at all. It was at this point that he went to the door. He swung it wide, and ushered the woman in front of him in without a word. He ran his fingers through his hair before speaking, "Breakfast will be ready soon, please sit down in the parlour." Danill turned his back to the woman and walked to the kitchen, where the clanking of pots and pans could soon be heard. Danill lit a burner on his gas stove, something he was rather proud of, and began cracking eggs into a pan. The stove had a simple chimney that went to the roof and, as what felt like tradition, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called into it, "CARSON, BREAKFAST." 


@ClassicCaptain


@DeafLordess

 

[WitchOfTape]

"Thank you. My name is Grayson." He called softly after the caretaker as he introduced himself and left. "Nice to meet you..."


Once Danill was gone, Grayson's attention turned to his surroundings; slipping his backpack off, he set it gently in the corner and looked around the room a moment. It had a slight air of being unused, which he didn't mind that much; he was too tired to care. So he collapsed on the bed, falling asleep in minutes.


He was awakened by sunlight through the window of his room, the sounds of pots and pans, and soon afterward, the smell of frying eggs. Then a yelled announcement of breakfast confirmed his wakefulness, and he sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes; even just a few hours of sleep in such a nice location had done him wonders, after sleeping on the ground for weeks on end before then. He stood up, stretching before quietly slipping out of the room, his nose leading him toward the kitchen, after many wrong turns. But eventually he stood in the doorway, and as he watched the caretaker cooking, Grayson realized just how hungry he actually was.


He was absolutely starving.

 

[Doc Taylor]

"Grayson! Good to see you're still with us." The caretaker didn't look at the young man standing in the doorway, he focused instead on his eggs, that he shook slightly in a pan before throwing them on a plate. "How did you sleep last night, and how many eggs would you like?" The old man turned his face to Grayson, smiling warmly.  "I honestly do hope you stay with us longer, but if you feel like you have to go, I understand." Danill held up a plate full of eggs, "Would you do me a favor and take these out to the woman in the parlour?" 

 

[WitchOfTape]

Grayson gave Danill a wan smile, softly entering the kitchen. "I slept very well, thank you... And two, maybe?" He was still hesitant, still uncertain; now that the light of day had come, he was unsure if the refuge would prove to be a place he should stay at. He nodded in response to Danill's comment; at least they weren't forcing him to stay, Grayson figured. Perhaps he would be able to stay here a while, it seemed nice enough.


"Ah... Sure." Grayson replied, taking the proffered plate as the question shook him out of his light reverie. He turned, plate in hand, not 100% sure which way led to the parlor, but if Danill indicated a direction he would go that way or take a guess, likely then finding the woman and awkwardly offering her the plate. "Hi. I'm Grayson. Mr. Danill said to give this to you.." He murmured, not quite meeting her eyes.


@Doc Taylor


@DeafLordess

 

[DeafLordess]

As the door opened, a slightly blurry eyed man stood in front of her, mumbling a brief greeting and sending her to the parlor behind him. As she stepped over the threshold, he turned and meandered his way to another room, presumably the kitchen. Ayleth headed into the parlor, lit and warm by the bright, lively fire. As she looked about the room, she sat in a chair, placing her bag beside her. As she was admiring her surroundings, she heard a booming voice, declaring breakfast. Startled, she clutched the cross pendant around her neck. After realizing she was in no immediate danger, Ayleth forced herself to calm down. "Be sensible" She thought to herself, "This is a safe place. It's a haven for people like you. There is no need to be frazzled." With this, she reset herself, straightening her skirts and, attempting to smarten up a tish. A few minutes past, and she continued to look about the room. It wasn't until a meek voice spoke that she noticed a young individual in the door way. They were offering up a plate of what appeared to be eggs. Her stomach growled at the prospect of food, and she had to stop herself, and remember this was not a place to run from quickly, so she paced herself.
"Thank you very much." With a brief nod, she accepted the food, wondering if it was acceptable to eat in the parlor, or if she should find a dining room, or breakfast nook somewhere. "You wouldn't happen to be able to direct me to a suitable place to eat, would you, umm, what is your name?"
@WitchOfTape
@Doc Taylor
@ClassicCaptain

 

[WitchOfTape]

"You're welcome." He surrendered the eggs to the woman, then paused, glancing around in response to her question. "Er... I'm not sure. I just got here last night.." He grimaced slightly, then repeating what he'd said earlier in response to the second half of her question. "It's Grayson..."


While sometimes his general air of unnoticableness did work in his favor, there were times that it really did work against him... like when it made people forget his name. Often repeatedly. 


"I can ask if you want..." Grayson ventured, almost wondering if he would have to introduce himself again upon returning if he did go and ask. It wouldn't surprise him, frankly. But he offered anyway because it was better than not. He did try to be polite.

 

[Tice]

  An ever-expanding list of Sesler'ther's observations was developing in his head from the weeks he had stayed hidden in the forest. There have been times where his presence may have been detected; carcasses of small game he had buried perhaps revealed by water erosion or the wind, the grass he tore to form knotted fiber for a primitive bow and ax, or the bindings of rope slightly bending the top of the tree he sat in. In the night, he appeared as no more than a part of the wood. In the sunlight, however, it was revealed that he was suspended a little over a dozen feet above the ground. Tight, thick leather straps held him to the two main parts of the split tree, tied at his ankles. Another larger strap held his waist stone-still, yet left his hands free to move about. The web of fastenings loosened as his fingers moved deftly around the knots, his ankles now free. Wrapping both knees against the limb on his right, Sesler pulled himself around to the outside of the tree and used the waist strap to slide down, his booted feet touching grass. The Trini-Mortal was clothed in a thin, dark dyed fabric, nearly uniform in its lack of diversity or creativity. The Trini knew no art. Though it would leave him vulnerable, Sesler'ther had resigned to leaving his Dovian blade behind, pierced into the side of his hiding-tree high above.


  The sword was crafted in his youthful years, as most operative Trini would do themselves. It bore his unique mark and was constructed of a bluesteel material, giving it a dark hue to the metal. The handle was tall, almost two handed, and thin, a great fit for his skinny, large hands. The blade was a bit short for his immense height, influenced by the Trini genetics, but it was much less cumbersome and therefore more preferable by him. Sesler did not expect danger at the hideaway, but he certainly did not want to present himself armed. The mortals had an odd way of basing thoughts of another on their first experience. The doctor was a prime example of such a thing. With no more need to hide, Sesler'ther moved swiftly out of the treeline and across the road of a convoluted mess of rocks, his body lining up to the door. Hunching slightly so that he could place a hand against the door, Sesler'ther listened with his ear placed against the wood. Sounds of expanding and decompressing fluids, brought on by heat, indicated the presence of provisioning and therefore cooking. The keeper of the hovel seemed reluctant to keep the arrivals outside, pushing them in swiftly. Sesler expected no less, finding the place to be a safe haven for those without. The young two, the newest one approaching in the morning, were solid evidence to prove his hypothesis, having spent no time outdoors. Whether it was out of mutual fear or simply a one-sided operation, he had yet to tell. Affirming that no danger could be present without his knowledge, Sesler tapped with two fingers, keeping the sound minimal and sharp rather than the brute impact of a fist. Stepping back, he'd pace two steps to his own left, staying less than linear from the door.

 

[ClassicCaptain]

Everyone needs to get up at one time or another. Some have a good internal sense of time, others need to wind a clock before bed to alert themselves of the appropriate time, but Carson chose to rise with the sun. It hasn't been late yet, so he couldn't think of reason not to trust it. He got up slowly from the rooftop, grabbing his guitar from the shingles, and climbed steadily into the top floor window. His room was like nearly every other room within the Refuge: a single bed, a writing desk on the wall across from the door, and two short tables sat on opposite sides of the bed. He set his guitar down next to the wooden framed bed, and made his way to the bathroom that serviced the bedroom. He washed the all too familiar soot and ash from his face with a wet cloth, then went about washing the rest of himself. As he returned the cloth to the wash bucket, he looked into the mirror, locking eyes with the man that stood in front of him. A face that would have been a stranger to his eyes a decade before looked hard back at him. In the stranger's eyes was a determination and an awareness, but both seemed to be muted and drawn thin by a weariness not of exhaustion, but of being. Perhaps this stranger had seen much and stopped little, or possibly the other way around, but there lay a certainty and longing of a man who knew every step he took and will take, but lacked the words to tell a soul about it. Carson looked away from the mirror as a brief farewell to the stranger, breaking off a conversation he wasn't having. He walked from the bathroom to the nightstand near the bed, began filling his pockets with his everyday items, and strapped his hunting knife to his belt. An eastern European accented yell bellowed up through the chimmey that was built into the western wall. "Must be 7:30; breakfast" Carson spoke under his breath. He went down the stairway, hearing a sharp tap on the front door as he descended. "DANILL, SOMEONE'S OUT FRONT, GET THE DO..." He stopped mid-sentence, his chest growing cold as he entered the doorway of the dining room, seeing two people he hadn't seen before sitting at the table. "Vane says their special. Great" Carson thought "one day Danill is actually going to tell me when we have visitors, and not just let me find them."   

 

[Doc Taylor]

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Danill called out. A grin escaped his lips, as he turned off the gas to his stove. Eggs would have to wait. "We've had a busy night Carson, so many guests. It seems our luck may be changing after all eh?" The old man walked out to the heavy front door, his slippers slapping against the wood floors of the house. He adjusted his robe slightly and opened the portal to the outside. "Welcome to Wyllt my friend, please come in." He went to grab the new guest to bring them in, but stopped when he saw the tall being in front of him. His eyebrows raised slightly. "I haven't seen a non-human around my house for a long time. Come in." Danill gestured into the house with his left hand, his right still hanging on the door knob. "Are you hungry my friend?" 


@ClassicCaptain


@Milus


'

 

[Tice]

  Sesler'ther had heard the crisp call out, picking up a new piece of information to store into his memory banks for later reference. Assuming that he who answers the door and allows the guest inside the abode was constant and never changing, it can be deduced that the introducer of the equation was titled Danill. Once again, Sesler felt parallels to his founding in the ways of the world, the name reminiscent. The voice that had served Sesler'ther's growing equation, however, was an anomaly. Neither the voices he heard the night before nor the feminine counterpart of this morning, it was entirely independent of those two variables. Either a worker or previous inhabitant of the hideaway that he could not have predicted. Several could be inside the building and unknown to him. Judging by the expanse of the vertical and horizontal sides of the building floor, coupled with the height, no more than a few dozen could possibly take up the given space comfortably. However, there is also the realm of magic. Much more could be hidden. These thoughts, both factual and theoretical, developed and took hold in a manner of seconds. Each were built off minute observations made and constructed separately, making each a controlled experiment, with only one manipulated and responding variable.


  As the door opened, Sesler'ther could fully finish the physical profile of the one he deemed "introducer". Mortal experience, always shown either in movement or eyes. This was shown in spades with the one who answered. Evidently it was a precaution, so that one did not incorrectly identify who or what was requesting entry. Sesler'ther's new hypothesis was then stapled when his partial inhumanity was deduced, simply from his physical profile, given the fact that he did not display anything else other than his appearance. Of course, there was always his eyes. Sesler had become aware of his glare. Taylor had commented upon it once before. The outreaching hand, though quickly halted before ever touching Sesler, caused him to step closer to the door and close his pointer and middle fingers together on his left hand, the other forming a quick fist before letting go. Relaxing his posture from the assumed fighting stance, Sesler accepted his invitation inside, now speaking for the first time in weeks. His voice was monotone, quiet, and with no emphasis on any particular word. No vowel was stressed and there was no evidence of an accent other than the lack of one. Even questions were presented as statements, incapable of forming the proper tone of inquiring.


  "I do not require sustenance at the allotted time. My calorie count has been nominal for low-energy interactions and steadily increasing for this particular occurrence. What I do require is information and a location for my wares. I shall present my questions at a designated time. However, I must explain myself so that I may not be perceived as a threat. I am a mortal hybrid with a race that does not exist in your world. While I can not define my meaning at the current time, I shall in due course. Now, I must ask; what has separated me from being described as simply a tall mortal. Evidently something has shown my latent genetics."

 

[DeafLordess]

"Grayson," Ayleth recalled being told that piece of information. "Of course. I'm sorry, I believe you had said that." Just as Grayson had offered to fetch someone, two things happened. A knock, or more of a rapping at the front door could be heard, which was then followed by a man appeared from the staircase, shouting to Danill, who Ayleth assumed was the white haired man who had let her in, and had made the breakfast. As Danill came in and greeted the new comer, Ayleth stiffened in her seat, almost knocking her plate of food to the floor. The individual in the door way was enormous, towering over Danill. This fact, and the statement he had made about the new comers being a non-human made Ayleth very nervous. Although this enormous being did explain he did not wish to be sense as a threat, he still was still unsettling to her. Despite this, Ayleth was a lady of manners and etiquette, standing, she introduced herself to the figure. "Hello, sir. I do believe we are about to sit to breakfast, so please come in." After remembering he had something about not needing calories, she fixed her statement, "Or at least come in so there is no draft."
@ClassicCaptain
@Doc Taylor
@Milus
@WitchOfTape

 

[Doc Taylor]

Danill nodded at the tall being in his doorway. "What set you apart was just how you carried yourself. That, and your eyes. I've met many men in my time, and none of them have your eyes. Please, come sit with us, don't feel obligated to eat. I would just rather have my guests present at the table for a meal." The old man gestured back to the dining room, and walked to the kitchen, where he finished preparing the meal. At the end of it all, breakfast consisted of eggs and toast. This may seem simple, but the amount of those eggs and toast was astonishing to say the least. Danill was not one to spare expenses, if people were to eat, they were to eat well. He placed the eggs on the table, arranged in the way they were prepared. You see, there are eleven ways to prepare eggs, and Danill was proud to know them well. Eggs were boiled, hard and soft, poached, over easy, medium, and hard, scrambled, both hard and soft, sunny side up, fried, and finally omelettes were prepared at the end of the table. Where the eggs were prepared in a myriad of different ways, the toast was homogenous to a T. All of the pieces were golden brown, and cut in half. The caretaker crossed his arms, nodding in satisfaction at his handiwork. He took a seat a the end of the table, and waited for his guests and friends to join him. 


@Milus


@DeafLordess


@WitchOfTape


@ClassicCaptain