Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Lantern Wood Fatnasy Village RP

She looked at him at his offer "you can braid thick curly hair like mine? Go for it." She said and put her back to him and put all of her hair behind her. She didn't know if he had something to tie it with. She did have a ribbon her mother had given her as a baby that she always kept on her, so if he didn't have anything, he could use that. When she saw him take out his own, she handed it to him and smiled "here." She said, giving him the yellow ribbon.

Vincent chuckled slightly at the sight of the young boy. He thought it ought to hurt using your arm like that but it seemed he underestimated Wylie. Vincent tried his best to move his arm forward enough to shake his hand but couldn't, instead he just put his hand on the boys head and ruffled his hair a bit.

"Okay! I think I'll go talk to the people you're hiding from... Who're they again?" Vincent asked as he peered over the barrels, nearly tipping them over as he put his weight on them.

Wylie poked his head up over the barrels, and described to Vincent a fairly tall, dark-haired man wearing a pale sweater, and beside him, a woman with short brown hair haggling with a butcher over the body of a ewe. These he identified as John, his sister's husband, and his mother, Ann.

Wolfe gathered her hair in his hands, taking the ribbon, and began a careful process of plaiting it. It was more difficult than he was useful, and he wasn't sure it would turn out beautifully, but it would probably do the job. He took his time, careful not to pull, his slender lutist's fingers perfect for the job.

When he was finished, she felt it, and it felt really nice. She turned to face him and smiled "I like it, thanks. I may never take it out." She said. Even if she slept with it in, it still wouldn't get messy, she had the gift of her hair not getting easily messed up. She would've hugged him, but decided not to. She felt like a new person almost, now that her hair was pulled back and her hair out of her face.

"Got it." Vincent got up and walked to the two people and the butcher in the market. The butcher seemed a fairly large person with a large stomach that pushed up against his tanned leather apron. "Morning, Have you got some venison? Preferably some that is fresh. Oh hello! Was I interrupting? I'm sorry" Vincent rambled on for a while before pointing the two individuals in the direction of a hunter selling his catch. With their backs turned towards the Wylie's hiding spot behind the barrels.

Wylie took his cue and scrambled over the barrels, past stalls and vendors, bumping into a few people and dropping two bread rolls in the process, but made it eventually through the marketplace and into a side-street, from where he could make his way home unseen.

He smiled back.
"You're welcome. It's not my best work, but..."
He trailed off as he caught sight of a small blond figure running up the road and through the field towards them.

"Hullo." announced Wylie, somewhat out of breath. He moved Wolfe's lute out of the way to sit down, and pressed a slightly well-travelled bread roll into his brother's hands.

"Glad for you to join us Mr. Mischief." She said jokingly and smiled. Then she let them eat in peace unless they wanted to converse while eating. Her stomach grumbled, though she coughed over the sound so they didn't hear it. The smell of the rolls smelled wonderful, she wished she'd eaten one of them before leaving the inn.

"Do you want some?" offered Wolfe, out of politeness rather than knowing she was hungry.
Wylie simply devoured his roll, as one of the dogs hoovered up the crumbs that fell in his lap.

"No, it just smells good and that's why my stomach is grumbling." She said "but thanks for the offer." She smiled softly at him, then looked out at the field, slouching. Then she looked down and played with some grass until they were done.

A few hours later, the Hanged Man rose from his nap. He decided to leave his armor off for the time being, wearing his humble tunic and trousers downstairs. His arms were displayed for all to see, now, crisscrossed with an excess of scars. He settled himself down by the fire in the common room and packed his pipe, then lit it with a small brand from the hearth. The fire's glow seeped into his skin and warmed him to the bone, lessening his myriad aches and pains.

After getting an earful from the butcher about sending his customers away Vincent turned to the road leading into the forest, past the foresters hut and through the glade, to his small hunters lodge deep in the forest. It wasn't a treacherous route but wasn't easy to follow either; the cobbles that led to his hut had long been covered in dirt and grown over, so it was hard to tell where to go. if not for the red cloth, tied to the trees and rocks marking the correct path, to guid the way.

When Vincent arrived at his lodge it was around the end of midday, the sun high above the tree line, he took off his sword from his waist and placed it by the door, closing it behind him, grabbing his bow he gathered some materials and stat down on his bed and started to make a quiver of arrows. It had been a while since he had last been off duty and he'd rtather hunt something and relax the day away.

Vincents, long sleeved, lenin shirt was tight around his shoulders and breast and he decided to change into something more loose and comfortable. A short sleeved and baggy tunic would do just fine. He threw his shirt into a pile by his bed before getting back to work on his arrows. He had a relaxing few days ahead of him.

The Hanged Man continued to relax in the tavern's common room. His feet were propped up on a bench right beside the fire. His bad ankle ached, but the warm flames nearby soothed it somewhat. He gnawed on the long stem of his pipe and watched the smoke curl up, but rarely actually puffed. Eventually he began to sing very quietly to himself. His voice was raspy and pitchy, but nonetheless softly haunting, like a voice from the distant past.

"At the bottom of the lake,
My two eyes are shining like the stars ..."

The stranger trailed off with a long sigh, pipe smoke pouring from the corners of his mouth. His stomach growled, but he knew his funds were limited and he had to pace himself. He closed his sunken green eyes and leaned back in his chair.

The day dragged on, as the boys watched over the field. Wolfe took up his lute again and continued his practise, though he hummed rather than sung in the presence of Sage, somewhat shy. Wylie climbed the tree that they were sat beneath, and stayed up there until a light rain began to fall.
Sooner or later, they bade Sage farewell, Wylie thanking her again for the bread.
As the sun began to set, Wolfe, Wylie, and a few of their dogs set about gathering the damp sheep into the barn for the night, and then headed indoors for their supper and their beds.