Post by Lord Damon Arryn on Nov 11, 2012 16:53:43 GMT -5
Tyrun walked through the snowy forests, a bag of food and goods on one shoulder, and his favored crossbow on the other. On his waist, a simple coin purse was strung to his belt. Overhead his only friend, a hawk flew. He heard a rustle behind him, and turned to it, but it was only a rabbit. Underneath his mask and hood, he smiled as he jumped over the small stream and made his way uphill to his small, one room cabin. Tyrun opened the door, and stepped into the house, brushing the snow off his clothing before entering. He tossed the bag onto his bed, and lay his crossbow next to the door. His sword he hid underneath the bed. He stripped off his clothing, and let his white hair shake to get some of the sweat off. Only wearing a simple tunic and pants, he ran outside and gathered some firewood, which he used to light the fire place inside the cabin. He looked down and noticed a small spot of blood on his hands. He smirked and used his own spit to wipe it off. Godsdamned shamed that they fought, he thought, as he warmed his hands by the fire.
Three hours later, he sat at his small desk, fingering a map of the North, crossing off various areas where he had struck with a pencil. His hand wavered over Winterfell, the only area that he had not visited on business. He hesitated, glancing over the almost crossed out map, and then with a smirk on his face, he circled the city of Winterfell. Your next.
Three hours later, he sat at his small desk, fingering a map of the North, crossing off various areas where he had struck with a pencil. His hand wavered over Winterfell, the only area that he had not visited on business. He hesitated, glancing over the almost crossed out map, and then with a smirk on his face, he circled the city of Winterfell. Your next.