481/1000 WORDS
LOTHRIC
I will carve my own path through this wretched earth.
HP: 150/300
SP: 200/200
MP: 100/100
Active Spells:
Active Techniques:
Passives/Buffs: 120% Strength, 75% Speed, 50% Magic Damage
Weapon: None
Items Used:
Enemies Killed: 1/1
SP: 200/200
MP: 100/100
Active Spells:
Active Techniques:
Passives/Buffs: 120% Strength, 75% Speed, 50% Magic Damage
Weapon: None
Items Used:
Enemies Killed: 1/1
She'd never been religious—but the moon, it was...
She couldn't stop staring at it.
Full, laid bare in the sky—such gleaming confidence. Lothric had not the confidence to show much more than her legs, and even that was only for practical purposes... And budget purposes. Or, was she defining confidence wrong? She'd little confidence of any kind until the last night she'd spent here, drawing blood as per usual. She'd done so again tonight, the ruins of some six-legged beast not far behind her; but, confidence. Confidence in her ability to do what she'd just done? Astronomical. Confidence in her physical appearance? She liked how she looked well enough. Confidence in... What, emotions? None. She'd spent the past week running through jobs with reckless abandon, fighting with vigor to make it to the next day. Starvation was, unfortunately, not something that this curse was going to save her from; and she didn't particularly enjoy pain. T'was why she looked naught but purely pissed right now.
A scar of deep red was cut into her left arm, not appearing enough so to be fatal over time, but having been more than enough of a scent to draw any opportunists. Thankfully, there was a far more enticing meal dead behind her than the swordsman who stood, slowly, and began to walk away from it. Her right arm stayed holding the handle of Kusanagi, her left unmoving. Better to keep it that way, she thought. Rather, she did not think that; she was far too occupied separating her current jewel in her head to think about anything else.
At her hip were her two swords: the nameless black katana what she had used for a decade now, and Kusanagi. Her family's heirloom, and the one reminder she had of her homeland. The darkly garbed Samurai was cloaked in a thick black trench coat, unbuttoned in the front and far too big for her. The sleeves overtook her hands if she curled her fingers into fists, and it was so long that it dropped almost to her ankles; she was a slightly-less-diminutive 5'8 nowadays, but it still didn't help her case much. Burns scarred the back, and the hem was torn to practical shreds. The left arm sported a hefty gash stained with subtle red—a red what leaked down the arm inside the sleeve, drawing a thin line wherever she walked. Though it was not the easiest to see her stalk through the tree-shade of a moonlit night, it was more than easy to smell the ironscent she brought with her, or notice how she twitched at the slightest sound, spreading her stance until she discerned that she was safe and moved on. T'was not a quick journey to the outside world, but... Something about the cherry blossoms at night. A scene she couldn't quite remember.
Lothric sighed; a bitter thing; and kept walking.
She couldn't stop staring at it.
Full, laid bare in the sky—such gleaming confidence. Lothric had not the confidence to show much more than her legs, and even that was only for practical purposes... And budget purposes. Or, was she defining confidence wrong? She'd little confidence of any kind until the last night she'd spent here, drawing blood as per usual. She'd done so again tonight, the ruins of some six-legged beast not far behind her; but, confidence. Confidence in her ability to do what she'd just done? Astronomical. Confidence in her physical appearance? She liked how she looked well enough. Confidence in... What, emotions? None. She'd spent the past week running through jobs with reckless abandon, fighting with vigor to make it to the next day. Starvation was, unfortunately, not something that this curse was going to save her from; and she didn't particularly enjoy pain. T'was why she looked naught but purely pissed right now.
A scar of deep red was cut into her left arm, not appearing enough so to be fatal over time, but having been more than enough of a scent to draw any opportunists. Thankfully, there was a far more enticing meal dead behind her than the swordsman who stood, slowly, and began to walk away from it. Her right arm stayed holding the handle of Kusanagi, her left unmoving. Better to keep it that way, she thought. Rather, she did not think that; she was far too occupied separating her current jewel in her head to think about anything else.
At her hip were her two swords: the nameless black katana what she had used for a decade now, and Kusanagi. Her family's heirloom, and the one reminder she had of her homeland. The darkly garbed Samurai was cloaked in a thick black trench coat, unbuttoned in the front and far too big for her. The sleeves overtook her hands if she curled her fingers into fists, and it was so long that it dropped almost to her ankles; she was a slightly-less-diminutive 5'8 nowadays, but it still didn't help her case much. Burns scarred the back, and the hem was torn to practical shreds. The left arm sported a hefty gash stained with subtle red—a red what leaked down the arm inside the sleeve, drawing a thin line wherever she walked. Though it was not the easiest to see her stalk through the tree-shade of a moonlit night, it was more than easy to smell the ironscent she brought with her, or notice how she twitched at the slightest sound, spreading her stance until she discerned that she was safe and moved on. T'was not a quick journey to the outside world, but... Something about the cherry blossoms at night. A scene she couldn't quite remember.
Lothric sighed; a bitter thing; and kept walking.
Just stand by and watch.
IVYLEAF33
Last edited by Lothric on 3rd December 2021, 9:38 pm; edited 1 time in total
