Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20200423213810/@comment-25808351-20200610205841

Lance/Tikkit/Isaac/Knight:

Marcus stands still upon the front porch of his home, the wind gently fluttering his long black coat as he stares undistracted into the evening sky. The lit match in his left hand burns all the way down to his fingers, he does not flinch or shout. He doesn’t even feel it. It isn’t until his mind recalls where he is that his eyes look downward and notice the smoldering match.

The Wardog drops the burnt out match and strikes another upon his boot. He lifts the new match to his cigar and finally lights it. He puffs the cigar several times, bellowing large clouds of smoke. He continues to stare off into the evening sky, his instincts screaming at him. He could smell things burning, he could smell blood. He could almost hear screams. The evening sky was red, only further provoking his instincts.

Once again, he does not put out the lit match. So preoccupied was he with the smells on the wind, that he forgets of the match burning down to his fingers.