princeben07
07-11-14, 05:35 AM
Ramblings of certain madmen inspired true genius when it comes to this creature; he rested at the Harbour, taking in the fresh scents and the air into those lungs of two, wondering about his next victim.
Where would he be able to pick up scents of Iron, Potassium and Salts that nourished the body that he sensed so well? How could one even fathom the thought of simply taking blood from someone without any reason, rhyme or justification?
The Morning mists danced amongst the misfits; they true abyssal misfortune of the next person in line was inevitable; noone was going to miss a miscreant that dismissed the rules of respect, honour and truth, right? HOI!!! HOI!!! Enter the strange world of the Blood Farmer; Cyrix Tepes Gothra, age unknown.
He donned a nice pair of leather sandals for his feet; he did not like wearing closed shoes at all. A white shirt with one left pocket adorned his upper body. He did not wear any fancy armor, carried any shields or swords either. The illusive and sick imagination that his Grandmother had only allowed for him to carry an item; a very strange item that would make the minds of certain people only melt in trying to gather the Synaptic Activity to being a train of thought to ponder this question; who would carry something that large and heavy? For the matter at hand, WHAT WAS Gothra carrying that either intimdated people so or made much of conversation everywhere that he made a foot fall?
He was to take notice of a younger man, perhaps in his twenties or so that always hung around the Harbor from day to day. The young man did not look unclean; he was shaven properly and had on Royal attire to some point. His attitude and demeanor were up in question though. He had laid hands to many a lady that did not obey him, and that was going to be fatal in his end of living.
The young man seemed to have money at all times and guards that walked with him everywhere that he went, but that was not Gothra's problem at all; for even the mighty of the mightiest could fall to the whims of say, a 221-pound Blood Farmer.
Exactly what WAS Blood Farming? Why do the words sound so eerie when pronounced from a person's lips? What did it entail? How often does one have to Blood Farm? Does this skill or abiltiy pay well? Only Gothra knew that answer, and it was not only a matter of time, but a matter of being patient that all were to find out in a horrifying light of what this event simply was.
Where would he be able to pick up scents of Iron, Potassium and Salts that nourished the body that he sensed so well? How could one even fathom the thought of simply taking blood from someone without any reason, rhyme or justification?
The Morning mists danced amongst the misfits; they true abyssal misfortune of the next person in line was inevitable; noone was going to miss a miscreant that dismissed the rules of respect, honour and truth, right? HOI!!! HOI!!! Enter the strange world of the Blood Farmer; Cyrix Tepes Gothra, age unknown.
He donned a nice pair of leather sandals for his feet; he did not like wearing closed shoes at all. A white shirt with one left pocket adorned his upper body. He did not wear any fancy armor, carried any shields or swords either. The illusive and sick imagination that his Grandmother had only allowed for him to carry an item; a very strange item that would make the minds of certain people only melt in trying to gather the Synaptic Activity to being a train of thought to ponder this question; who would carry something that large and heavy? For the matter at hand, WHAT WAS Gothra carrying that either intimdated people so or made much of conversation everywhere that he made a foot fall?
He was to take notice of a younger man, perhaps in his twenties or so that always hung around the Harbor from day to day. The young man did not look unclean; he was shaven properly and had on Royal attire to some point. His attitude and demeanor were up in question though. He had laid hands to many a lady that did not obey him, and that was going to be fatal in his end of living.
The young man seemed to have money at all times and guards that walked with him everywhere that he went, but that was not Gothra's problem at all; for even the mighty of the mightiest could fall to the whims of say, a 221-pound Blood Farmer.
Exactly what WAS Blood Farming? Why do the words sound so eerie when pronounced from a person's lips? What did it entail? How often does one have to Blood Farm? Does this skill or abiltiy pay well? Only Gothra knew that answer, and it was not only a matter of time, but a matter of being patient that all were to find out in a horrifying light of what this event simply was.