ardent

koi wolves fishing ISN'T cannibalism



Kuroki

Hemlock
Sundowner

Master Fighter (240)

Master Hunter (260)

An icon representing the specialty Marauder Marauder

An icon representing the specialty Bloodletter Bloodletter

age
4 Years
gender
Male
gems
197
size
Dire wolf
build
Balanced
posts
296
player
Ali

Samhain 2022Statue 4 WorshipAll Oozed OutOoze ImmuneThe Ooze ParticipantDouble Master
Ooh La LaOverachieverSnake EyesHow many times do I have to teach you a lesson?! VengeancePride - Bisexual
Mammoth Hunter
07-25-2021, 09:33 AM
Crafting post 1/3





Dove Island

Kuroki wasn't much of a craftsman. His toes were fairly dexterous, and his talons made cutting and trimming easy but he just didn't have the patience for it. He found no joy in slowly chipping away at a project, at putting in time and effort and not getting immediate results. Instant gratification was where it was at, he lived for the here and now. Damn the consequences that lurked further down the road, he was a prince for crying out loud. To hell with it all.

All that being said, Kuroki didn't hate fishing. Sure, maintaining the nets and casting them out was more effort than he'd like but it was well worth the reward. He didn't care what anyone said, seafood was the shit and the more he ate, the happier he was. Even he realised it'd be a waste not to eat their fill, since Ashen had more shoreline than what they knew to do with. Crafting on a scale like this wasn't really something he could, or even felt like, doing alone and so he tipped his head back and let out a casual call for his siblings. He doubted Take would show up, he rarely did as silent as he was, but he figured at least one of his sisters would trot on by.

As he waited he padded his way down the beach, dark paws already stained yellow with sand as he dragged up one of the many nets that had been left on the shore. It was torn in places, strewn with tangled seaweed and loose bits of fish bone. From the looks of it, it had been deployed on another island but had washed up after a rough storm, with the anchors that had it set up on the shore long gone. Probably sunk at the bottom of the bay.

With a grunt he began ripping off the seaweed, hoping to get a better look at the damage, to see whether it was worth salvaging or scrapping. Hooking them with his talon he flicked them aside carelessly, his tongue clicked against his teeth as he found a splintered rod of drift wood tangled in the centre. What a pain.

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