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Entry tags:
16
Who: Walter and anyone
Where: Forest
When: 25th, morning
Style: Either
Status: Open
[He'd woken up and promptly left, leaving the tunic behind in exchange for his shirt.
Walter doesn't quite make it as far in the forest quadrant as usual before he finds a fairly unused clearing (so the undisturbed patches of grass tell him). His march coming to a gradual close, he gives the area a quick once-over. Then he exhales, and pivots on his heel to kick out with his dominant leg in a wide arc.
He's been asleep too long; he can feel it in how his movement is clumsier without his eres than it should be. At the very least, there's little in the way of muscle soreness despite the prolonged period of rest, but he won't consider that an excuse to let his performance deteriorate. A curse must have taken place when he was dormant, and he's not interested in the details: Working out the laziness (among other things) is a priority.
A series of kicks, then a deep right hook, then another kick—then his fingernails flash a dark blue, and the next punch comes even harder than the first. Just as quickly, the light dissipates and his strength falls considerably to a more ordinary level. Soon enough, he's worked up to the familiar sting of climbing exhaustion and takes that moment to stop abruptly.
Assuming a noncombat stance, Walter extends an upturned hand. His nails flash again, and this time a black light gathers together to form a small creature (with a more bat-like appearance) of the same color. It flutters about, shedding dark purple flecks of light. And so everything seems to be in order . . .
Still as the ground beneath him, Walter appraises it in silence, his expression impassive.]
Where: Forest
When: 25th, morning
Style: Either
Status: Open
[He'd woken up and promptly left, leaving the tunic behind in exchange for his shirt.
Walter doesn't quite make it as far in the forest quadrant as usual before he finds a fairly unused clearing (so the undisturbed patches of grass tell him). His march coming to a gradual close, he gives the area a quick once-over. Then he exhales, and pivots on his heel to kick out with his dominant leg in a wide arc.
He's been asleep too long; he can feel it in how his movement is clumsier without his eres than it should be. At the very least, there's little in the way of muscle soreness despite the prolonged period of rest, but he won't consider that an excuse to let his performance deteriorate. A curse must have taken place when he was dormant, and he's not interested in the details: Working out the laziness (among other things) is a priority.
A series of kicks, then a deep right hook, then another kick—then his fingernails flash a dark blue, and the next punch comes even harder than the first. Just as quickly, the light dissipates and his strength falls considerably to a more ordinary level. Soon enough, he's worked up to the familiar sting of climbing exhaustion and takes that moment to stop abruptly.
Assuming a noncombat stance, Walter extends an upturned hand. His nails flash again, and this time a black light gathers together to form a small creature (with a more bat-like appearance) of the same color. It flutters about, shedding dark purple flecks of light. And so everything seems to be in order . . .
Still as the ground beneath him, Walter appraises it in silence, his expression impassive.]