Death of the Author

Tags

character, narrative, purpose, roleplay, rp, sorry, story, this is probably my woriest post ever, writing

Snow, she decided, was incredibly boring to see already.

The cold wasn’t an issue–Steel Wolf was dressed for that, more or less.  It was the snow.  How it coated everything in her vision.  How it sat on every surface.  How it even floated across the very air.  It was a relentless, oppressive blanket of boring, chilling white.

The immense Roegadyn woman shrugged in to her armor, the fur-lined collar pulling up closer around her neck and ears.  The wind cut across her form like a series of magical blades.  She had elected to keep her chocobo stabled at the fort that was behind her, the idea being that she would be able to more nimbly adjust to whatever danger the lands of Coerthas held.  She was beginning to regret the decision.

Then, she heard a shriek of fright.  Forms in the distance, one trying to pull away from the other two.  Steel unhooked her massive battleaxe from the baldric lashed across her chest and broke in to a full run.  Questions could be asked later.