OKWAHO

Ratonhnhaké:ton of ACIII penned by Vana Est. Oct. 2015 -------------------------------- “Your unwavering tenacity and honesty have burdened you with responsibility far greater than any one man should bear. But you, if anyone, are capable." You have given an old man hope that all is not lost. And for that, I thank you. ...I am grateful to have met you." -------------------------------- thread tracker

[tomahowl]

Yo idl who is still out here but I will be moving Raton over to my multimuse @bestfriendsclub

[tomahowl]

“I find myself impatient with my loading speed.”  Raton mumbles the words as he watches Geralt load a deadly-looking bolt into his crossbow.  He’ll lower his gaze before continuing.  “And always surprised by the recoil.”

There was no real recoil with a bow.  Just a smooth quiet shot issued by the pullback on string made from animal intestine.  The monsters couldn’t hear it.  The humans couldn’t hear it. And it was quite hard to see.  But rarely could you find arrows for sale and it was often hard to retrieve them from beasts with blood like acid.  Making them took time, effort, and resources.  Not to mention you couldn’t shoot a bow underwater at drowners.

But that sweet, silent shot. The familiarity of a bowstring against his fingertips. No, he wouldn’t trade it for the more efficient crossbow.

“Have you ever used a bow?” He questions the other Witcher, fingers idly moving to stroke the bowstring that splayed tightly across his chest.

@wolfpaid​ 

[tomahowl]

The semester’s almost over and then I’ll have more time/motivation to write!

[tomahowl]

HEADCANON. On a few occasions, Gedon has used arrows for melee purposes. It’s not a preferred method for engaging in close-combat, but it has come in handy when he’s been knocked back by a particularly big fellow or hit with a bullet and he’s dropped his tomahawk and blade. It is in these instances that he enters a state of fight or flight (obviously choosing fight) and a lot of his Assassin training is put on the backburner and his basic instincts and things he’s learned from his tribe come to the forefront. Gedon forgets that he’s equipped hidden blades and immediately goes for the bundle of arrows strapped to his back. 

He’ll take an arrow and drive it into a vital spot such as the neck or between the ribs.  Sometimes slice a tendon in the ankle if he’s on the ground.  It takes more force than a blade would and is less clean than a blade would be, so it’s really quite grisly. Especially considering that he never leaves an arrow behind.

[tomahowl]

I may go iconless

[connorknway]

Connor + breaking the manor

[iwalkonyourwater]

Assassin’s Creed III Remastered: Comparison Trailer

[tomahowl]

“You are exhausting yourself.”  Gedon keeps his voice soft as he watches the mage tend to his broken wrist. A gentle green glow radiated from her palms and seeped into his aching wrist, dulling the throbbing sensation.

However, it did nothing to dull the worry that set between his creased brows. Nanna looked tired as she worked— More tired than he’d seen her on any battlefield.  Sweat beaded her brow and she never tore her gaze away from that bright green glow.  He imagines that it must be difficult to mend a broken bone, but he recalls seeing her call forth storms and shatter the earth using much less effort than this.  Born without an ounce of magic, Gedon hadn’t a clue if the effort required to perform different magical skills was varied.  Perhaps mending a bone was more difficult than calling a storm.

Either way, he didn’t like seeing his companion exhausted.

The half-elf’s touch is gentle as he briefly catches one of her wrists with his good hand before letting go.  He hopes it will draw her attention away from the task momentarily.  His serious gaze remains on her face.  “We can splint it. I can fight with one hand.”

@avrorean​ // ❤

[tomahowl]

anyway starter call

[tomahowl]

I have some sort of sickness (a virus I think?) so I’ve done a lot of lazing about, but I want to write something tonight.

[vhsmeme]

* first blood starters

first blood is a novel by david morrell. tw: guns and blood. 

‘ you shouldn’t be walking around. ’

‘ i don’t like being stared at. ’

‘ you’ve got to rest. take it easy. ’

‘ how did i get here? ’

‘ now i want you to stop talking and save your strength. ’

‘ leave me alone! i mean it! ’

‘ we have to stop the bleeding. ’

‘ keep your fucking hands off me. ’

‘ all right, play it tough if you want. ’

‘ let me be. ’

‘ i don’t feel a thing. ’

‘ but it’s the little things that make a town what it is, that you can watch to make it safe. ’

‘ you’re not tired. you’re afraid. ’

‘ i’m just not happy unless i get miserable every once in a while. ’

‘ that’s the last thing you have to worry about. ’

‘ i just was sorry. ’ 

‘ who does? ’

‘ try and remember. ’

‘ that’s very funny. ’

‘ hold still. ’ 

‘ what the hell’s going on? ’

‘ i have bandages under my clothes too. ’

‘ where’s my shoes and socks? ’

‘ you have to promise me. ’

‘ i didn’t want you to think i don’t care what happens to you. ’

‘ stand the hell up and identify yourself. ’ 

‘ you didn’t pull out the pockets in your jacket. ’

‘ is that plain enough for you to understand? ’

‘ get your dumbass away from the entrance. ’

‘ the gun’s not loaded. ’

‘ look at that sun. ’ 

‘ been waiting long? ’

‘ stay out of it. ’

‘ what the hell was that? ’

‘ sit down here on the floor. ’

‘ that isn’t necessary. ’  

‘ i’m alone. i need help. ’

‘ no, but you promised yourself, and that does count. ’

‘ christ, what’s the matter with you? ’

‘ i don’t sleep much anymore. ’

‘ wasn’t even a chance to go home and grab my rifle. ’

‘ you can’t leave me. don’t leave me. ’

‘ i’m fine. it’s a cramp. ’

‘ well, you sure put one over on me, didn’t you? ’

[fagreste-archive-deactivated201]

roleplaying psa

[ignisxetcrna]

Dear RP partner,

                       I’m sorry I take 2837897845748 years to respond.

                                                                                                                Love, the Mun

[tomahowl]

OOC; The next two-ish weeks are really packed with assignments (idk why every professor in my program decided to make every assignment due at the end of November, but I digress) and I work long hours, but I’m going to try to write when I can! Im about to lay down here and maybe think of some starter ideas. 

[infidae]

In Mohawk traditions, long hair signifies the Great Peace; should a warrior choose to shave the sides of his head, this signifies that he will break the peace and seek to kill. The segment of hair left behind represents an anchor to peacetime, to draw the warrior back once his task has been completed.

[tomahowl]

Gedon was never one for gossip, but something he’d heard amongst the villagers caught his attention: There was a weapon MASTER in the village.  One with unmatched prowess and that could master a new tool just by looking at it.  A man who’d been trained to use a wide range of arsenal, his interest was piqued.  And such an interest only grew upon hearing the village’s master was Tenten. The faintest of grins decorates his lips as he ponders on the thought; How strange that she left such a detail out during the countless times they’d spoken.

What was the adjective for such behavior? Modesty, was it? How foreign. Amongst his own people, such a skill would be highly praised.  There would be no room for that strange word. Modesty.

She’s tinkering with something when he approaches her, but his dark eyes are much too busy watching her thoughtful expression to notice what it was.  If only his words sounded a little more thoughtful.  “When were you going to tell me that you a master of weapons?” Gedon sounds demanding though he doesn’t mean to; Speaking softly was something he’d yet to master. “I heard this news from some villagers.”

@foreaft‘s Tenten! // ❤

[rbhvleo]

it eats me alive.

[tomahowl]

James, onlycertainty‌:

     Of course he would have questions; he’d not expect anything less from that of Edward’s line. Lad’s always had a natural gift for ponderings and the like. So as the men walked about, each working at the given task at hand with James over looking it all as each and every boon taken is marked down accordingly by the man at his side. He looks to Connor shortly before giving a nod toward the ledger being made and turned completely to the boy who was by all rights his own grandson.

     “ ‘n I specifically said, lad.” He starts while rolling a piece of parchment up within his fingers. “to stay beneath deck.” and with that he reached over and boped the piece of paper off the top of his head lightly. The boy had a free spirit, never did as was instructed- just like Edward he supposed. Kenway never liked to listen much neither…

    “ The people won’t be missin’ much of it- seein’ as how the crown’s got plenty ta’ go round.”

         Connor crinkles his nose upon being bopped across the head.  He could feel his face growing hot from being scolded for not doing as he was told.  But below deck was boring! It smelled strongly of rum and gunpowder.  It was dark and there was nothing to look at or do— He wasn’t allowed to touch the cannons and he was teased for not being good at the dice game many of the crew played. It wasn’t like being above deck where he could count the seabirds or watch the sea foam.

        But the child didn’t dare argue with Grandfather James: That might result in a real sentence to the lower deck, where he’d be watched, assuring he wouldn’t return to the top.  Instead, he’ll redirect the conversation to the rolled-up parchment he’d been bopped with.

               “What’s that? You can’t send letters on the sea; How would birds know where to go?”