About



I am not that good at talking about myself... I am a pretty nice guy, I cant help but be one no matter how hard I try not to be. I watch "traditional" anime, since American voice actors suck, at least when it comes to anime. And... I play lots of video games... Cant really think of anything else. Message me if you want to know more.

Role Play
User Image

Garan

The snow raged around him, like an angry child wishing against his cheek, feet pounding deep trenches into the accumulating waves of ice, cracking under his shoes. Rocks, their shapes no longer familiar under the soft blanket, sent him sprawling, and he dragged himself up a walking pile of snow, he had almost become himself. He had no idea what direction he had taken, enveloped by unreasoning panic and hardly able to breathe for the pain that clawed out of his lungs with every aching breath. All he could hear was the voice in his head shouting at him. “You will hang for this, see if you don’t. My revenge is inevitable, and you’ll think about that when the rope goes around your neck and the black hood comes down. There will be no one to save you from my wrath.”

The sound of the shot was so loud it had chocked him, and he couldn’t remember whether he had slammed the door behind him or left it standing. He could still smell the blood, it sticking to the back of his mind like being nailed to a cross. He felt the terror, a snake that coiled and writhed in his stomach, making him ill, and the drumming, its wild beat in his head. They would catch him, there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Unless he died in the snow, which pleasantly hung there tempting him to just lay there and quit. He’d seen the frozen body of a dead lamb once, stiff and hard, half rotted and sad. The ravens had been at it, he hated ravens.

Half of the countryside knew he’d been a troublemaker since that autumn. Restless, unhappy, growing out of himself and his clothes. They’d look at what lay in that bloody room, and they’d hunt him down to his dieing breath. He was crying now, tears scalding on old skin, and the voice was so loud it seemed to be following him, and he ran harder, his breath gusting in front of his face, arms pumping, pushing his way through the snow until his muscles burned. “You’ll hang for this, see if you don’t!“ He would rather die in the snow of exhaustion then that with a rope around his neck. He’d rather run until his heart burst than drop through the hangman’s door and feel his throat close off... Even with the thought ravens eating him, the snow was cleaner. “You’ll hang for this, see if you don’t! My revenge is inevitable....”

Some time later he fell, the air whipped out of his body and his chin buried in the snow. For an instant he lay there, listening. Was it his heart beating so hard that it choked him, or was it the crunch of footsteps coming down the swale after him? Frantic, he clawed his way to his feet again. He turned to stare into the darkness behind him, but the sky and the land seem inseparable, a blank, gray-white swirl that offered neither hope nor sanctuary. There was no one behind him, there couldn’t be, and yet he could almost feel the warmth of a body coming towards him. He could see shapes dissolving and solidifying in the wild eddy of flakes caught by the bitter wind, like a ghost. He began to cry again as he ran on, wishing it was over, wishing that he was dead, like the other, but he couldn’t be dead like the other. He would be hanged when they found him, and the last thing he would ever feel was the jerk of the thick rope around his neck.

Hours passed before he came to a barrier, and his numb mind tried to identify what his hands and his feet could feel, hard, icy stones blocking his path. Beyond them he could see the snow moving, like an ocean of shifting flakes, but it wasn’t the sea, it couldn’t be. A walled pen, then, for the sheep who wintered on the fells. He could smell them now, the heavy odor of wet wool. The bellwether often took the flock to shelter when weather came down, or the owner and his dog would drive them here, and huddle together, their own warmth would see them through. It was easier to find and care for them when they weren’t scattered about the hillsides, nearly invisible lumps in the snow.

With a last spurt of effort he clambered up and over the rough stone wall and slipped in among them. Snow-covered himself, he could crouch here and be safe for a little while, until he got his wind back and the snow slacked off. If anyone came, the sheep would know it before he did. The shapes closest to him sneezed in alarm as they caught his sent, but they were accustomed to men, and when he made no move to drive them out into the wind, they accepted his presence. Sidling back towards him seeking the shelter of the wall on their own account, they surrounded him and eventually included him as one of their own. Unthreatening and in need in this storm, their warmth as they pressed around him in the lee of the wall, warmth that would linger through the night, might as well be the breath into his lungs, saving him from an icy death, that was sure to have followed