Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-933831-20170116054242/@comment-24147026-20170118071222

The snow crunched under Tuckyr Gainsboro's boots as he galumphed across the frozen Solitas' earth, that of which lay unperturbed until it was freshly marred by the imprint of his well-traveled feet. It was clear he was not used to the conditions presented to him by the surrounding terrain, every footstep being stamped with trepidation and wariness. His arms hung heavily downwards, giving him a slouched posture (and one so unbecoming of the surname Gainsboro at that), being weighed forward by his own weapon and the large pack of supplies that hung from his back. His chaffed and battered armor did little to improve his visage, stuffed with two thermals the jacket he had managed to squeeze into, which was showing at certain points.

His initial departure from Mantle was still fresh in mind despite it being so far from him now in location, its people's meager appearances and gleaming Lien-hungry eyes being something he couldn't quite shake from memory. Those he had played customer to had little to offer in the way of wares, and what was available or useful now resided in the bag behind him, or had been used in some way upon his travels.

Where as others may have used more expeditious methods to travel the distance, Tuckyr had decided to walk from Mantle to the rumored outpost and the frozen marsh it overlooked. This act was not out of necessity or in some dire rush to unravel the speculations surrounding the area. Every lonely night out in the cold reaches of the continent and every exhausting step forward was a tortuous luxury, self-imposed, as it was solely the privilege of cowards and failures to experience as such. Both terms that would elegantly describe the young man who continued to slog forward. Step by step through ice and till, running from his team and the problems he left entire worlds away.

According to the map he had recently pulled from his bag (and subsequently stored away once more, lest he lose it like an ever bigger screw-up), he was close to his destination. The marsh and it's secrets were close at hand. He stopped moving. Surveying his surroundings with the hope he could remember this moment years after. He did his best to avoid looking behind himself and where he had come from.

"Showtime." He whispered to himself, his breath falling away like smoke from his mouth in the chill air. The word alone was enough to chase away the darker words lingering in his mind. It wouldn't be enough, not until he did what he had come so far to do.