12-06-2020, 05:01 PM
xSalem never enjoyed the idea of assisted living. He never asked to be blind and lame; then again, nobody ever requests hardship. Since his sight and - for the most part - his ability to walk was taken from him, he'd fought help with every strangled breath. Yet, time and time again, he'd find his way into settlements, the pity of strangers making it easier to live on borrowed time. He only wished he could cook, hunt, and fight for himself - the simple rights any human being should have in this forsaken wasteland. However, no miracle would grant him such things. Thus, he'd begrudgingly make due.
xIt was explained to him that no doctor could help him when he was examined, something he very much expected and would've rather skipped the visit due to it. His tone remained curt, and the people here remained ever patient - a virtue he greatly lacked. He was guided to a small home in a village he'd never heard of - "Flintlock Lodge" it was called. It was the biggest settlement he'd ever been in and the amount of people had him feeling claustrophobic. After being informed someone would be assigned to watch over him, he was sent indoors and told to wait where it was warm. However, Salem wasn't much for making the smartest decisions, even when other's were being kind to him. Thus, he haphazardly set his backpack down, listening to the fishing rod clank against the wooden panels, and tapped his cane definitively on the floor. He listened to the reverberations for a few seconds before he turned and slowly found his way to the door. He opened it, the cold air stinging his face but no sensation touching his already numb nose. He shuffled outside, found his way to the rocking chair on the porch, and struggled into it with a pained grunt.
xSalem waited for his aching body to settle, then he listened. Large animals of burden dragged carts, mutts barks, livestock stirred, and chattering people passed from hither and yon. It was unlike the hushed tones of those in the huts and tents he'd come across, or the quiet rustling of wild animals. The loudest thing he'd ever heard that came to mind were the rapids - mouths of great rivers gushing water to lands he'd never visit. The amount of noise here was near overwhelming, but he allowed himself to stay in the cold to grow accustomed to it.
Apologies for how brief this is; life's been hectic!
' To name his evils would be his greatest act. '
bio --- tags --- heartchart --- [abbr=no link here yet]plotting[/abbr] --- [abbr=salem birch lonan ; 'tapeworm' ; male + masculine pronouns ; local burnt toast of flintlock ; always ic opinions!]quick info[/abbr]