Survival Lessons [ Vakko || Alis ]
Feb 27, 2015 23:12:32 GMT
Post by Skylinne on Feb 27, 2015 23:12:32 GMT
[ this RP takes place 7 years ago - Month of Rains, 8284 ]
For an autumn day, it was colder than usual. The pine trees stood tall and proud in the glade's silence, beautiful to look, but Vakko had always found forests eerie in general. He couldn't exactly point out why, but for some reason they made him uncomfortable. That had not, obviously, stopped his father to extensively use them in his so called `survival lessons`, ones that had spawn over 4 years now and had given him more scars than he'd like to admit. His paranoia sometimes worried Vakko, as the old man lived a constantly weary life, always watching over his shoulder for a hand and a blade that might never come. Vakko wouldn't lie, he too, had his worries about his mother's intentions but it had been over 10 years since they last encountered one of her mercenaries, so the fact allowed him to settle his mind at ease, or at least lie about it to himself.
He had been holding completely silent, sat in the border of the glade leaning against a tree as he listened to the forest, looking for the sounds who might give his enemy away. The new scar on his leg still itched, more of anger than of actual itch. He loathed loosing, even more to one as stern as his father, which made it all the worst, as what he saw in the older man's single eye was not disappointment, but fear. Fear his kid might not be fit to survive what awaits him outside the bitter Valsk. He had pulled his scarf to cover his breath and muffle any sounds, as he had been panting for running so fast. His father had always been a great runner, but the halfling was starting to beat him, if with some difficulty. His fingers played around with the throwing paint balls. It was a bit unfair that his father would have a sharp blade and a bow and he'd be stuck with those for an attack. I know how to aim, kid, you're still learning it. He had told me that what, 6 years ago? Vakko thought, annoyed. His own blade was only allowed for defense here, those were the rules of their game.
A soft crackle on the dry vegetation ground snapped his head to the left and made his entire body tense up, ready to either run or dodge. His eyes scanned the tall trees around him, but found nothing. Where are you, old fart?
For an autumn day, it was colder than usual. The pine trees stood tall and proud in the glade's silence, beautiful to look, but Vakko had always found forests eerie in general. He couldn't exactly point out why, but for some reason they made him uncomfortable. That had not, obviously, stopped his father to extensively use them in his so called `survival lessons`, ones that had spawn over 4 years now and had given him more scars than he'd like to admit. His paranoia sometimes worried Vakko, as the old man lived a constantly weary life, always watching over his shoulder for a hand and a blade that might never come. Vakko wouldn't lie, he too, had his worries about his mother's intentions but it had been over 10 years since they last encountered one of her mercenaries, so the fact allowed him to settle his mind at ease, or at least lie about it to himself.
He had been holding completely silent, sat in the border of the glade leaning against a tree as he listened to the forest, looking for the sounds who might give his enemy away. The new scar on his leg still itched, more of anger than of actual itch. He loathed loosing, even more to one as stern as his father, which made it all the worst, as what he saw in the older man's single eye was not disappointment, but fear. Fear his kid might not be fit to survive what awaits him outside the bitter Valsk. He had pulled his scarf to cover his breath and muffle any sounds, as he had been panting for running so fast. His father had always been a great runner, but the halfling was starting to beat him, if with some difficulty. His fingers played around with the throwing paint balls. It was a bit unfair that his father would have a sharp blade and a bow and he'd be stuck with those for an attack. I know how to aim, kid, you're still learning it. He had told me that what, 6 years ago? Vakko thought, annoyed. His own blade was only allowed for defense here, those were the rules of their game.
A soft crackle on the dry vegetation ground snapped his head to the left and made his entire body tense up, ready to either run or dodge. His eyes scanned the tall trees around him, but found nothing. Where are you, old fart?
