forum Revolutionary War Roleplay! [CLOSED]

Started December 04, 2018 by @KalamariCakes

tune

Could a lonely gardener like her face something so merciless? Did she truly understand the hellish scale of battle?

She didn't stand a chance.

(oh no):

Pierre had grown up with an enormous weight on his shoulders, but he still had nightmares from his first battle. Edonine– he was terrified for her. Downright terrified.

Here she came striding back, her face upturned toward the weak sun. Though the chill was dipping down into a merciful warmth for a little while, she'd put on extra layers to keep herself warm.

His expression cleared, replaced with one of absolute adoration. "Alright, off we go."

"Off we go," she chirped. A few strides farther and she slipped a cold hand into his warmer grasp.

Pierre gladly warmed her slim hands in his own, smiling down at her.

Edonine walked briskly along, stirring the carpet of frosty dead leaves.

Pierre fell into step beside her, breaking the silence. "Hungry? We should eat when we get back."

"A little," she replied. Edonine squinted her green eyes, something through the brush caught her glittering eye.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, following her gaze but spotting nothing.

"Animal bones," she spoke, walking towards the glimpse of bald white through leaf litter. Living the woodsy life she had, her eyesight was keen for slight abnormalities.

He followed, peering over the top of the bush.

She squatted down, running her fingers over the antlers of the deer's bones. "Beautiful.."

Pierre, on the other hand, shuddered. Bones… he had never liked them. Reminded him too much of death.

She picked up it and the skull, shaling off the cervical vertebra. They clanked together in a hollow noise, fell back to earth with a muddy thud. Holding the skull by the antlers, she gazed curiously back into the creatures long-gone eyes.

Pierre turned his head away, unable to bear the sight of the bones for much longer. He’d seen too many over the years, he supposed…

She bent down, and with a thrust of her foot, splintered an antler off the skull. Tiny pieces of brittle bone flew off and sprinkled the leaf litter.

Pierre winced, glancing back. “What’re you doing?”

"Im gonna keep this." She spoke. "Maybe Louis will teach me how to carve it," Edonine looped the strap of her flank around it to carry. Quietly, she thanked the remains of the creature–it was the nature of the Native Americans to do that: to thank their prey for allowing them sustanence.

Peter sighed heavily. It was exhausting. "John… I think that's the last of them…"

Peter sighed heavily. It was exhausting. "John… I think that's the last of them…"

A trail of blood from a small slice drooled from above his eyebrow. His eyes looked hollow with intensity, from the violence, his own exhaustion. His breath came out tasting like a wet bundle of coins. He sheathed his sword. "It better be." John whispered.

"Should a party be arranged to search for any scattered throughout the treeline?" Peter asked, pointing in the indicated direction where the last of the Patriots had been spotted.

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Yes. Send three groups of five," André grunted.

"Im gonna keep this." She spoke. "Maybe Louis will teach me how to carve it," Edonine looped the strap of her flank around it to carry. Quietly, she thanked the remains of the creature–it was the nature of the Native Americans to do that: to thank their prey for allowing them sustanence.

Pierre didn’t question her, he supposed it was almost poetic, in a way. “Yeah. What do you want to carve into it?”

"I want to make a knife," Edonine replied, taking his hand to continue their walk. "Useful and beautiful, like me," she giggled at her own humor.

Pierre laughed lightly, the sound dislodging any residual guilt as he kissed the top of her head. “Very funny. And you’re making an object used for killing from the bones of something dead? That’s oddly poetic, is it not?”

"Revenge is a beautiful thing." She spoke with a playfully ominous tone.

He bumped her shoulder with his own, amusement smoothing put the last of the worry lines on his forehead. “Aye, that it is.”

She rest her head against his arm. "Pierre?"

He tugged her closer, but kept his arm loose lest she wanted to pull away. “Yes?”