Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20140617212149/@comment-3293219-20140617212614

Psychomantis108 wrote:

It had taken Jaryl several hours to ditch Jack, he had just missed opening hours but the shop keeper was very understanding when he saw that Jaryl was covered in blood, crazy and holding a knife in his hand. He was outfitted up with an armoured coat, which trailed down to his knees, body armour across his chest. His long sleeves covered up the minicrossbow, under his left sleeve and the hidden blade beneath his right.

He had a very thin and light blade, almost as delicate as a rapier but not quite as fancy or delicate, still it was what he was used to, a perfect weapon for the discipline that his father had taught him to use, so many years ago...

Jaryl sat on a stool at the center of his room at the inn, his eyes were closed, dark circles formed beneath his eyelids as his eyes had been watering, ever since he left the airship behind. He sat alone, stewing in hatred, for himself, for Aratius...

Especially Aratius...

Aratius was a coward, weak, he couldn't fight his grand children or his daughter in law, instead he had to murder them using his own cowardly means. He was old and a pervert and he'd fucked up everything that he'd ever set out to do, yet he clung to existence, continuing to make other people's lives worse, gaining no benefit or reward other than the ability to distance himself further and further away from his humanity.

He was weak and a coward and he hadn't any right to carry on existing, he hadn't any right to plague the lives of his grandchildren, the only good things that he ever brought into this world, which he swiftly took back out of it as a contra, to correct the mistake. He was pathetic and self destructive and he hadn't a single thought in his head but to keep coming back and trying to enrich his own life more and more only finding himself burried deeper and deeper in the dark pit, which most pleasure seekers find themselves falling into.

In many ways, they were the same...

Jaryl brought his hands up to his forehead, taking a tight grip on it and rocking back and too as he thought, slowly beginning to doubt himself. As Aratius' words echoed throughout his mind...

The Bosmer snapped out of it, smacking himself across the face to bring himself back to 'reality' and back to 'sanity's' embrace.

He heald up his right hand and bent it back, releasing the hidden blade from the small mechanism and sending it piercing upwards through his sleeve. The blade gleamed in the candle light and Jaryl could see his own bloodshot eyes, almost as bad as his days as a skooma drinker.

He watched as the light shined in his yellow-red eyes and began to look at himself with the same hatred that he felt for Aratius.

Aratius Morgan 'has' to die! (Just that post.)

Set shook his head as Cyrus walked away, he turned back and approached Julie.

"You holdin' up okay?"