It was a dark, gloomy night, skies clad in whirling clouds, thick enough to turn the moon into the blurred, barely visible circle in the skies, but not low enough to predict a storm. A small, nasty rain fell on the damp soil... barely even a rain. Something in between a fog and a drizzle, drops small, barely even noticeable, falling fast, as if made of granite. Absolutely disgusting weather, which made too many people growl into the skies, mentally yelling "Just make up your mind already!", wanting the nature to whether start a real thunder, or proceed with the fog.
Further from the narrow dirt road through the plains, cut from it by a small, but thick grove - probably a courtesy of a dryad or a treeant - on a small rocky hill, there was a fire, crackling and burning almost impossibly well for the weather around, with a small cooking pot, bubbling with some nice-smelling brew, its aroma crawling between the trees and the shrubs into the thicker parts of the grove, and disappearing in it. Two figured sat by it. A fairly large, munching and slurping as it gnawed on something dog: its rose ears flyffy, and fur long, like of shepherd's dogs. The ribbon around its neck was dirty, and the burgundy colour barely noticeable. And a man, leaning over a rick, hood covering his head from the drops, arms crossed and shoulders up, as if he was insulted by the weather around. At his side, on a bedroll, was a large backpack, not even half-full by the looks of it. He looked both like experienced traveller and not. On one hand, the backpack was worn, and the clothes were suiting for walking: comfortable shoes, long coat with a thick hood to fight the weather, all clothes made from good, soft leather, a simple rapier still on his belt waiting to be used against any wildlife or ne'er-do-wells. But on the other hand, it did not look like he had a lot of things with him. Not even a tent. Maybe it was a short distance to walk, but with a weather like this people usually tended to pack up more.
Sill chomping with mouth opening wide and slurping round, the dog lifted its face, scanning the surroundings as it heard a few branches break, but dismissed it as another animal in the woods, getting to her food soon. It was wet. Much wetter than it should've been under this 'rain'. Probably a result of a wide river on the opposite to the road sign of them - usually reflecting the light of the stars, but now black, and silent, looking more like a turf of a big field underneath the hill. The man, however, didn't heat the sound, or just didn't bother to check. He was whether sleeping, or deep in his thoughts, only occasionally bobbing his head, as if nodding to an unseen and unheard person.
Further from the narrow dirt road through the plains, cut from it by a small, but thick grove - probably a courtesy of a dryad or a treeant - on a small rocky hill, there was a fire, crackling and burning almost impossibly well for the weather around, with a small cooking pot, bubbling with some nice-smelling brew, its aroma crawling between the trees and the shrubs into the thicker parts of the grove, and disappearing in it. Two figured sat by it. A fairly large, munching and slurping as it gnawed on something dog: its rose ears flyffy, and fur long, like of shepherd's dogs. The ribbon around its neck was dirty, and the burgundy colour barely noticeable. And a man, leaning over a rick, hood covering his head from the drops, arms crossed and shoulders up, as if he was insulted by the weather around. At his side, on a bedroll, was a large backpack, not even half-full by the looks of it. He looked both like experienced traveller and not. On one hand, the backpack was worn, and the clothes were suiting for walking: comfortable shoes, long coat with a thick hood to fight the weather, all clothes made from good, soft leather, a simple rapier still on his belt waiting to be used against any wildlife or ne'er-do-wells. But on the other hand, it did not look like he had a lot of things with him. Not even a tent. Maybe it was a short distance to walk, but with a weather like this people usually tended to pack up more.
Sill chomping with mouth opening wide and slurping round, the dog lifted its face, scanning the surroundings as it heard a few branches break, but dismissed it as another animal in the woods, getting to her food soon. It was wet. Much wetter than it should've been under this 'rain'. Probably a result of a wide river on the opposite to the road sign of them - usually reflecting the light of the stars, but now black, and silent, looking more like a turf of a big field underneath the hill. The man, however, didn't heat the sound, or just didn't bother to check. He was whether sleeping, or deep in his thoughts, only occasionally bobbing his head, as if nodding to an unseen and unheard person.
Last edited: