chronicle_tenko
LR's Lovable Idiot
- Joined
- Apr 7, 2006
- Posts
- 12,402
(OOC: this story is closed for myself and the truly wondrous and sexy Sinful_Whispers. Read along and enjoy but please do not post here.)
Firo Ma'A Chex looked at his hands. They were knotted, Muscle and scar and callous layered upon them, cracks in the skin form work on the ropes or rigging in hot sun, and gouges in the webbing of his hands and fingers, white lines against the tan flesh from where the barbed and spiked chains he worked with had stung him fiercely stared back. Each white line, each divot a reminder of the cost to be as good as he was. A reminder of the kind of man he was. His hands disappeared into gauntlets, specially worked to release easier, and to allow him to handle the chains without self injury.
His arms and body looked back at him in the mirror, Baked lines and burns littered parts of his flesh. A map of time and pain, gouges and scars, a bumpy road across his chest and back a product of the weapon he used that he made part of himself, and that bit him as hard as his foes. Wraps of cloth covered him, since there was no room or place for real armor on a boat, and as the chains followed them, the barbs bit into him through the cloth anyway. Over and over he wrapped until the shine of his weapons covered each shoulder the steel hand ring affixed securely in the center of his chest and the two heavy ends swung freely over each shoulder, waiting for his hands to grip them.
He moved, his feet practicing the dance of death, that turned him into a dervish of flying steel, and slashing metal, that ripped limbs in twain like rotted driftwood, and crushed bones and swords alike. Each practiced step another closer to perfection, Closer to Kali with her many arms blazing death. Closer to never needing to fight again. His feet stopped moving, and the few swinging chains grazed him as he stopped moving. The clink and tinkle of his weaponry stopping as he gazed into the mirror.
Only the mask stared back, the man was gone, and the smooth chrome mask covering his features stared back, the visor from a forgotten time, keeping his face an expressionless mystery. Fearsome with it's jagged teeth and leering grin. His door knocked and he turned as one of the crew came to see him. "The crows have spotted a vessel near, it looks to be a pleasure cruiser, likely a lot of fat booty aboard for the men to split about. It looks like we won't be scuttling it so we're going to fight aboard. Are you ready champion."
"Have I ever not been? Show me the vessel and i will be ready to take those aboard who defend it to hell, as long as I keep first pick after the captain."
the crewman swallowed trying to find anything in the mirrored grip of the mask, Firo Ma' A Chex was sure the crewman could feel Firo's eyes burning through him even now. "Of course Firo. Of course."
In the distance Firo looked surely able to mark the vessel where it sailed, little did it know what hell awaited it.
Firo Ma'A Chex looked at his hands. They were knotted, Muscle and scar and callous layered upon them, cracks in the skin form work on the ropes or rigging in hot sun, and gouges in the webbing of his hands and fingers, white lines against the tan flesh from where the barbed and spiked chains he worked with had stung him fiercely stared back. Each white line, each divot a reminder of the cost to be as good as he was. A reminder of the kind of man he was. His hands disappeared into gauntlets, specially worked to release easier, and to allow him to handle the chains without self injury.
His arms and body looked back at him in the mirror, Baked lines and burns littered parts of his flesh. A map of time and pain, gouges and scars, a bumpy road across his chest and back a product of the weapon he used that he made part of himself, and that bit him as hard as his foes. Wraps of cloth covered him, since there was no room or place for real armor on a boat, and as the chains followed them, the barbs bit into him through the cloth anyway. Over and over he wrapped until the shine of his weapons covered each shoulder the steel hand ring affixed securely in the center of his chest and the two heavy ends swung freely over each shoulder, waiting for his hands to grip them.
He moved, his feet practicing the dance of death, that turned him into a dervish of flying steel, and slashing metal, that ripped limbs in twain like rotted driftwood, and crushed bones and swords alike. Each practiced step another closer to perfection, Closer to Kali with her many arms blazing death. Closer to never needing to fight again. His feet stopped moving, and the few swinging chains grazed him as he stopped moving. The clink and tinkle of his weaponry stopping as he gazed into the mirror.
Only the mask stared back, the man was gone, and the smooth chrome mask covering his features stared back, the visor from a forgotten time, keeping his face an expressionless mystery. Fearsome with it's jagged teeth and leering grin. His door knocked and he turned as one of the crew came to see him. "The crows have spotted a vessel near, it looks to be a pleasure cruiser, likely a lot of fat booty aboard for the men to split about. It looks like we won't be scuttling it so we're going to fight aboard. Are you ready champion."
"Have I ever not been? Show me the vessel and i will be ready to take those aboard who defend it to hell, as long as I keep first pick after the captain."
the crewman swallowed trying to find anything in the mirrored grip of the mask, Firo Ma' A Chex was sure the crewman could feel Firo's eyes burning through him even now. "Of course Firo. Of course."
In the distance Firo looked surely able to mark the vessel where it sailed, little did it know what hell awaited it.
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