Post by Deerfield on Jan 23, 2014 11:23:39 GMT -5
Deerfield was rather puzzled with Ravenhurst's and Alucard's behavior. He didn't really like people who didn't talk or walked through life to seriously, but at the same time it felt right to him that there should be people of all sorts in the world.
Therefore, he didn't even bother to ask their names, especially since the freakish zombie guy didn't even seem to have one. The way he roamed about the caravan and analyzed anything slightly out of the ordinary reminded him of, well, a dog. He thanked the gods he had a little leather pouch with a fine spirit in it. It helped him get through the unbelievably long and boring days of journey.
He hardly paid attention when he was sitting on his horse, staring into the distance. "How did i get stuck with these losers, Lii? What did I do to join in with the most boring lot to be found at the North Gate. Why couldn't it have been a group of travelling female acrobats..." Sometimes he drooled when he thought about women, because he imagined kissing and licking their bodies. He must have been a very tragic sight when he sat there with empty eyes, a drooling grin and a strong alcoholic smell coming from his pouch.
However, he did try to converse with Zygmund every now and then, him being the only one of the three to have had the manners to introduce himself. He was together with a creep, a freak, and a sort of hulk that seemed a bit dim in the head. He didn't try anything past smalltalk, unless the incentive came from Miroslaw.
At dusk or dawn, if they weren't on the road already, Deerfield tried to shoot some game to roast, but he wasn't a very good shot. While he did get better in the process eventually, he didn't have enough arrows with him for one to find home. Maybe there was a pinch of bad luck involved as well, the whole story seemed to be full of it for him. He spent most of his time on a hunt searching for the arrows he shot into the forest.
When they arrived at the hill and could look down on that disgusting area of warped swamp, he rolled his eyes at his bad luck. He wasn't a fan of magic, and it was going to be a long day in what clearly had to be magic to him. They probably just wanted to analyze it. He hadn't even asked what their objective was, but he didn't even want to know. He just wanted to go to the next whorehouse.
Therefore, he didn't even bother to ask their names, especially since the freakish zombie guy didn't even seem to have one. The way he roamed about the caravan and analyzed anything slightly out of the ordinary reminded him of, well, a dog. He thanked the gods he had a little leather pouch with a fine spirit in it. It helped him get through the unbelievably long and boring days of journey.
He hardly paid attention when he was sitting on his horse, staring into the distance. "How did i get stuck with these losers, Lii? What did I do to join in with the most boring lot to be found at the North Gate. Why couldn't it have been a group of travelling female acrobats..." Sometimes he drooled when he thought about women, because he imagined kissing and licking their bodies. He must have been a very tragic sight when he sat there with empty eyes, a drooling grin and a strong alcoholic smell coming from his pouch.
However, he did try to converse with Zygmund every now and then, him being the only one of the three to have had the manners to introduce himself. He was together with a creep, a freak, and a sort of hulk that seemed a bit dim in the head. He didn't try anything past smalltalk, unless the incentive came from Miroslaw.
At dusk or dawn, if they weren't on the road already, Deerfield tried to shoot some game to roast, but he wasn't a very good shot. While he did get better in the process eventually, he didn't have enough arrows with him for one to find home. Maybe there was a pinch of bad luck involved as well, the whole story seemed to be full of it for him. He spent most of his time on a hunt searching for the arrows he shot into the forest.
When they arrived at the hill and could look down on that disgusting area of warped swamp, he rolled his eyes at his bad luck. He wasn't a fan of magic, and it was going to be a long day in what clearly had to be magic to him. They probably just wanted to analyze it. He hadn't even asked what their objective was, but he didn't even want to know. He just wanted to go to the next whorehouse.