Post by Gavin Graves on May 17, 2022 23:00:41 GMT -8
He had just hung up his call with Croupier. His mind began to race down the well worn paths of worry and concern. Hedge dives with others were usually an involved affair. This was another pack of inexperienced folks hungry for the bounty found when plumbing the depths. They never knew the dangers. Even when it was explained in detail, his advice of caution was rarely heeded.
That would be the way of things though, wouldn't it? Those with an abundance of caution would only ever risk moving toward their personal hells under the most dire circumstances. Everyone else, his customers, would all walk the path of The Fool before getting anywhere tangible. This was the life he signed up for as a Hedge Guide. Why did it all seem so tedious now?
Bastille had reminded him of the youth and inexperience of most of his charges. He was right then, and still right now. The Beast resolved to at least try to give them a chance. He could always scare them back into line. Autumn Wisdom would find them one way or another.
He had been standing idly in the middle of his living room awash in hazy memories of his previous travels mixed with the tangy flavours of dread and suspicion of what would lay in wait this time. Breaking the stupor, he turned his attention toward the dual tasks of preparation for an excursion and cleaning the mess around his flat. Taking a meandering approach toward both tasks, he would do some of the dishes than swap off to find some piece of survival gear that might come in handy and get it ready to go. Scattered as he was, progress would have appeared circumstantial to an outside observer.
The flurry of varied activities gradually settled into longer segments of each stream of the work. As he cleaned, his strategy increased in coherence and effectiveness. It was a ritual that settled his mind when he'd become stressed. It grounded him in the simplicity of the mundane. The rogue's gallery of Faerie Titles, a relentless array of Verderers, Ghosts, and Hobgoblins, all stopped crowding his mind and allowed him a form of peace when at last the stack of pizza boxes that had built up over the months he had been busy was taken out to the dumpster. It was too late in the evening to call his land lord, but he made an alarm for himself to put in a note about a drip under the Kitchen sink, for the interim his salad mixing bowl had served to keep the slow leak contained.
For the Razorhand a clear house had always led to a clean mind. This time it helped to a degree, however he couldn't shake the images of his flashing claws ripping into frenzied human beings and the fraying influence of a dying demigod.
Even the freedom and independence his apartments throughout his life had afforded him while traveling the world and represented struggled to cope with what he had been through and what he had done.
That would be the way of things though, wouldn't it? Those with an abundance of caution would only ever risk moving toward their personal hells under the most dire circumstances. Everyone else, his customers, would all walk the path of The Fool before getting anywhere tangible. This was the life he signed up for as a Hedge Guide. Why did it all seem so tedious now?
Bastille had reminded him of the youth and inexperience of most of his charges. He was right then, and still right now. The Beast resolved to at least try to give them a chance. He could always scare them back into line. Autumn Wisdom would find them one way or another.
He had been standing idly in the middle of his living room awash in hazy memories of his previous travels mixed with the tangy flavours of dread and suspicion of what would lay in wait this time. Breaking the stupor, he turned his attention toward the dual tasks of preparation for an excursion and cleaning the mess around his flat. Taking a meandering approach toward both tasks, he would do some of the dishes than swap off to find some piece of survival gear that might come in handy and get it ready to go. Scattered as he was, progress would have appeared circumstantial to an outside observer.
The flurry of varied activities gradually settled into longer segments of each stream of the work. As he cleaned, his strategy increased in coherence and effectiveness. It was a ritual that settled his mind when he'd become stressed. It grounded him in the simplicity of the mundane. The rogue's gallery of Faerie Titles, a relentless array of Verderers, Ghosts, and Hobgoblins, all stopped crowding his mind and allowed him a form of peace when at last the stack of pizza boxes that had built up over the months he had been busy was taken out to the dumpster. It was too late in the evening to call his land lord, but he made an alarm for himself to put in a note about a drip under the Kitchen sink, for the interim his salad mixing bowl had served to keep the slow leak contained.
For the Razorhand a clear house had always led to a clean mind. This time it helped to a degree, however he couldn't shake the images of his flashing claws ripping into frenzied human beings and the fraying influence of a dying demigod.
Even the freedom and independence his apartments throughout his life had afforded him while traveling the world and represented struggled to cope with what he had been through and what he had done.
Gavin heals 2 mild Clarity Damage and retains 1 Severe Damage (from the most recent and poignant event)