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@the-branded-one | STARTER CALL
“I like your sword.”
THE HUNTER SPEAKS, somewhat out of the blue- she is not one to mince words, nor one inclined to fill silences. And yet, something about the great blade of hewn IRON has inspired a rare conversation starter from the laconic good hunter. To most, such a weapon would seem unwieldy... but on the night of the Hunt, one learns to appreciate the VALUE that anything can have as a means to slaughter PREY.
“Explain something to me. This town...what exactly happened? I mean, I walk in, and all of a sudden my Brand starts bleedin’. Then, everyone here is tryin’ to kill me. They were annoying at worst, but still.
@the-branded-one | ic;
“Their blood went bad.” A BOOT PLANTED FIRMLY on the ribcage of the carcass before her for purchase, the Hunter heaves the Saw Cleaver out from where it had been buried in its neck. Cold blood spatters across her legs but she pays it no outward heed, ignores the THRILL that passes through her at the sight of it. She does not bother to make a move to wipe or flick the blade clean of the macabre memento.
“It drove them mad.” She continues, sharing what little history she has pieced together from cryptic clues left scattered amongst the ravaged hell the city has become. “Turned them into beasts. The hunters rose up to slay them…” Trick weapons and firearms, arcane arts and quicksilver bullets… so many tools of the Hunt. But by now, she is the only one left to use them. The lone DREAMER left within the nightmare. “Until they turned themselves.”
TRAPPED. They are, the both of them, trapped here, within this night. Two OUTSIDERS, aberrant and unwelcome- and the city makes sure to never allow them to forget that. “This place is cursed. The blood is a plague… and their gods are HORRORS beyond reckoning.”
And all of it- each and every last beast and abomination and nightmare- is to be her PREY.
“ then the good lord said , let there be blood. ”
@the-branded-one | rp sentence starters taken from keaton st james’ work , light.
SHE WONDERS STILL who the good lord is. The religion of this city is something sinister; something dark and disturbing, the very principles of the Healing Church rooted in things that MEN SHOULD NOT KNOW.
But. She knows the BLOOD. And knows it well. Even now, it’s echoes course in her veins. The legacy of countless battles behind her. Calling her to countless more in her future. The call of the Hunt, the song of BLOODLUST; she feels it more acutely than she is willing to admit.
“Let there be blood,” she echoes. The Saw Cleaver in hand aching like a phantom limb… ready to pay tribute to that good lord with CARNAGE.
Ever since he first saw on the cat, Guts’ Brand had been burning and bleeding. When he had finally reached his limit, he turned, his good eye practically glowing with rage. He then picked the (Not) Cat up by the throat with his prosthetic arm, an act that WOULD be animal cruelty, if not for who and what this being actually was. “I don’t know what you are, but you’re no cat. And you’ve been following me for miles. Who are you?!”
The not-cat smiled cruelly.
“AHahahahaha how keen you are now! Did you know ordinary cats are vicious killing machines, so even an ordinary cat is something to be suspicious of! AHahaha but look you had to pick up the God of Chaos, today is your lucky day!”
