Re: Chapter 4 - The Caravan "A Town Called Slaughter"
In reply to Bill (msg # 17):
The toothpick that hung from the corner of Sam's mouth shifted as the Southerner gauged their surroundings, concealing his indifference, disappointment whatever it was. Even when his facial features were neutral he seemed to exude an perpetual grin by his very demeanor. Almost like nothing could be taken seriously anymore, though little humor seemed to remain for anyone else, as if he was privy to an inside joke.
Standing a few meters away from Bill, his gaze drifting over the bland features of the main street, one dirty hand maintaining a semi-loose grip on the handle of his long, viking-style fire axe as the rest of the group began to dissolve into the town, leaving them alone. Turning to Bill after the man put a voice to wariness, Sam was visibly relaxed by comparison. "Now that our chaperones are gone, what do you say we go to the pub for a drink?" Sam suggested, his tone allowing for one to assume humor and serious interchangeably. His wolfish eyes assessed his older search-companion for something or other, before slowly walking towards the sealed bar, holding up who knew how many biters.
"Don't tell me you don't want a lil' swish, chief? We can tell the others the booze was for, ah, medical purposes, yes, yes that it." The tall, rugged and morally questionable man raised and rested the axe over his shoulder in a lackadaisical pose as he walked up the bar steps, causing the wood to creak as he put down his steel toed boot.
"Young bucks like us shouldn't have a problem clearing these snappy patrons out, should we? Lordee Lordee, we might even be hailed as bona-fide heroes. Especially if we can salvage some of the ol' be joyful." Sam continued, stopping at the door, grinning to himself ever so slightly as he knocked faintly on the door, eliciting some groans from behind it. followed by the sound of fingernails clawing at the door.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:49, Sat 02 May 2015.