I Like The Way It Hurts
Cirrus
Bloodletter
05-24-2022, 11:19 AM
Balthier had spent the last couple weeks traveling the southern shores of Boreas and as he was coming up on the eastern shores he was starting to cut his losses on finding the raft. Really he had taken the trip to clear his mind, hopefully come back better for Azzurra. It wasn't really going according to plan. But he was occupying his time better rather than festering his growing resentment towards her. Nights were harder, but that's what the wine was for.
As he walked the shores while the sun was setting in evening, he squinted at the sight of the brown mark on the ocean. He stopped from that far distance for a moment until he did realize what he was looking at. It was in fact the raft but the sheet that was strung up on the pole was ripped in shreds as it waved in the wind. Still, he jumped forward eager to retrieve it in whatever condition it was. For a moment he wondered if he was dreaming or hallucinating until me made actual contact with it.
In the low tide it was already beached, but he still grabbed it by the rope and pulled it closer into the mangrove. He worked to remove the ripped sheet from the mast, he'd have to search the isle come morning to find a new sheet for the sail. For now he kept it up on shore while he gathered wood for the fire. The winter of Boreas was drastically different than the weather of Auster. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle.
As the sun set early here from the winter months, Baltheir had pitched a fire nearby the raft where he would sleep. He wouldn't do so quickly though. Laying down comfortably by the fire he popped a bottle of wine from his supplies and started drinking. His expressions lost in the cracks of the fire. He may have been a sight for sore eyes.
"Balthier Destruction"
As he walked the shores while the sun was setting in evening, he squinted at the sight of the brown mark on the ocean. He stopped from that far distance for a moment until he did realize what he was looking at. It was in fact the raft but the sheet that was strung up on the pole was ripped in shreds as it waved in the wind. Still, he jumped forward eager to retrieve it in whatever condition it was. For a moment he wondered if he was dreaming or hallucinating until me made actual contact with it.
In the low tide it was already beached, but he still grabbed it by the rope and pulled it closer into the mangrove. He worked to remove the ripped sheet from the mast, he'd have to search the isle come morning to find a new sheet for the sail. For now he kept it up on shore while he gathered wood for the fire. The winter of Boreas was drastically different than the weather of Auster. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle.
As the sun set early here from the winter months, Baltheir had pitched a fire nearby the raft where he would sleep. He wouldn't do so quickly though. Laying down comfortably by the fire he popped a bottle of wine from his supplies and started drinking. His expressions lost in the cracks of the fire. He may have been a sight for sore eyes.
