04-04-2020, 11:09 PM
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[b]Sheogorath.
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a
[b]Sheogorath.
✖ ✖ what a wonderful world -- tags
It had been a few days since he had been attacked by that man on the beach, the man he had failed to kill despite having a gun pointed at the head of his foe. Sheogorath had stewed on the subject of why he had hesitated, why he hadn't been able to slay his foe as he would have in the past. Maybe it was the sickness, which was getting worse by the day, or the fact that it had been nearly over a year since his last murder, or perhaps it was all that guilt still forming nightmares that plagued his mind. Sheogorath didn't know. He didn't really care, because as the days went past, he began to deteriorate. He got weaker. He was in more pain. Overall, the man felt like shit. At first he had thought that it was simply the flu, and perhaps it was, but now with such a wicked knife wound on his forearm, Sheogorath began to worry about infection.
That evening, the red headed man unwrapped the bandage that protected his arm, and peered at the injury that had been carved into his flesh. It didn't look infected, but damn did he feel sick. The worst part was that the Badlands didn't really have any doctors on hand, so he was screwed if it was infection. He was going to die if he couldn't get some kind of healer to look over his injury. Thoughts turned toward Northstar, and the clinic they supposedly had there. He had heard the news, but quite frankly, Sheogorath had kept telling himself he wouldn't stoop to that low level, to seek out an enemy of the Badlands behind Salem's back just for a knife wound. But as the minutes ticked by, he knew his time was running out. And he knew Northstar was days if not weeks out, a challenging ride for a man as sick as him.
Unnaturally pale skin flickered with the shadow and light of a candle's flame as the sickly red head began penning a note, a piece of paper laid upon the wooden table he sat upon. What could he say? Was he really so desperate? He didn't want to die. A part of him feared what would come next. With a sigh, Sheogorath gave in to his desperation. He began to write.
"Badlands, do not worry. I have left to seek a doctor for my wound and sickness. I will return. Please don't burn down my library while I'm gone."
It was a simple and short note, but it was all he had the strength for. Rising to his feet, he had to hold onto the table to prevent himself from falling over. Fingernails dug into the wood as he gripped tightly with white knuckles. Steadying himself, Sheogorath began to think about what he should bring. Food. Clothes? No, those would be too heavy. His cane? How could he leave his cane behind? But it was too much of a burden to drag along too. His ferret? Of course Twister was coming. Who else would watch over the adorable creature? Food, water, and ferret supplies then. That was all he needed. He'd take a horse from the stables and ride hard for Northstar. Salem didn't have to know that was where he was going. Besides, he hadn't put that down in the note. As far as the Badlands would know, he had just left to find a healer. But where he had gone would likely be a mystery.
Gathering his necessary supplies in a small backpack, Sheogorath almost forgot his pistol, but he snatched it up alongside it's holster at the last minute. The ferret was held within a custom made sling at his waist, unable to escape, but comfortable, and with plenty of air to breathe, it was safer for Twister there than in the backpack with the food. Satisfied with his supplies, the fiery haired man staggered out of the library, using a hammer and nail to pin his note upon the front door. He could only hope the library wasn't ransacked in his absence. A cool ocean breeze tugged at his clothing and kissed his bare skin as starlight sparkled in the night sky above. Hopefully unseen and unheard, Sheogorath made his way to the stables, and selected a dappled grey mare from a stall. She seemed hardy enough for a long ride. Saddling the horse, Sheogorath led it outside, where the darkness swallowed them both. And then they were off.
When the sun came up to bathe the land in golden light, Sheogorath would be long gone, the heavy prints of his horse leading into the mountain pass, and into the world beyond. The note upon the library door was just one more clue as to where he might have gone.
thes code
That evening, the red headed man unwrapped the bandage that protected his arm, and peered at the injury that had been carved into his flesh. It didn't look infected, but damn did he feel sick. The worst part was that the Badlands didn't really have any doctors on hand, so he was screwed if it was infection. He was going to die if he couldn't get some kind of healer to look over his injury. Thoughts turned toward Northstar, and the clinic they supposedly had there. He had heard the news, but quite frankly, Sheogorath had kept telling himself he wouldn't stoop to that low level, to seek out an enemy of the Badlands behind Salem's back just for a knife wound. But as the minutes ticked by, he knew his time was running out. And he knew Northstar was days if not weeks out, a challenging ride for a man as sick as him.
Unnaturally pale skin flickered with the shadow and light of a candle's flame as the sickly red head began penning a note, a piece of paper laid upon the wooden table he sat upon. What could he say? Was he really so desperate? He didn't want to die. A part of him feared what would come next. With a sigh, Sheogorath gave in to his desperation. He began to write.
"Badlands, do not worry. I have left to seek a doctor for my wound and sickness. I will return. Please don't burn down my library while I'm gone."
It was a simple and short note, but it was all he had the strength for. Rising to his feet, he had to hold onto the table to prevent himself from falling over. Fingernails dug into the wood as he gripped tightly with white knuckles. Steadying himself, Sheogorath began to think about what he should bring. Food. Clothes? No, those would be too heavy. His cane? How could he leave his cane behind? But it was too much of a burden to drag along too. His ferret? Of course Twister was coming. Who else would watch over the adorable creature? Food, water, and ferret supplies then. That was all he needed. He'd take a horse from the stables and ride hard for Northstar. Salem didn't have to know that was where he was going. Besides, he hadn't put that down in the note. As far as the Badlands would know, he had just left to find a healer. But where he had gone would likely be a mystery.
Gathering his necessary supplies in a small backpack, Sheogorath almost forgot his pistol, but he snatched it up alongside it's holster at the last minute. The ferret was held within a custom made sling at his waist, unable to escape, but comfortable, and with plenty of air to breathe, it was safer for Twister there than in the backpack with the food. Satisfied with his supplies, the fiery haired man staggered out of the library, using a hammer and nail to pin his note upon the front door. He could only hope the library wasn't ransacked in his absence. A cool ocean breeze tugged at his clothing and kissed his bare skin as starlight sparkled in the night sky above. Hopefully unseen and unheard, Sheogorath made his way to the stables, and selected a dappled grey mare from a stall. She seemed hardy enough for a long ride. Saddling the horse, Sheogorath led it outside, where the darkness swallowed them both. And then they were off.
When the sun came up to bathe the land in golden light, Sheogorath would be long gone, the heavy prints of his horse leading into the mountain pass, and into the world beyond. The note upon the library door was just one more clue as to where he might have gone.
and i see fire, blood in the breeze
[sup]AND I HOPE THAT YOU'LL REMEMBER ME