Cassius Crow...

[Tyrannus]

..Spring, 514 AV, Day 91.. The sunlight had beams of heat descend from the skies above. Cutting through the air and going against the dusty terrain of the wooden area. Pints of dust spiraling around, accelerating with the beauty of one simple thing. Free will. Even though they were inanimate, here they were, doing what they wanted to. But of course, they were still binded by fate. The true doctrine of free will above them unbeknownst. Feet touched the stone-cold ground. Sweat beading down an olive-skinned brow that furrowed in confusement. The golden hue of the ball of fire that ascended over the beautified domain of Laviku focusing all upon him in a grin that made him cover his face. The cool breeze that wasn't felt in quite a while blowing out in ghastly screeches. Slowly, Cassius rose onto his feet. He recognized this as just another day, where he would go buy food, eat, drink, and talk for a while with the barely interested men at the bar. Gnashing their lustful teeth at the woman of prostitution. He huffed out, his nostrils flaring like a beast's. That is at least what he felt like.. a great monster within society, though instead of being feared he was disregarded as a simple older man. He was too old to say this, but, indeed, he would show them. He was reminded of this lingering force of dissapointment within his heart and others when he strapped the dagger onto the brown-skinned leather. The sleeve tattered and hit by dust that was found upon the barely vegetated-sod glissaded slowly down his anubis, making its way slightly above the wrist. The dagger was bent and at least two inches, curved inward to cut swiftly. The hilt itself patterned with leaves from his hunting experience. Usually he used this to straighten up his wooden buckets that he used to collect water, pooring it within the small bucket he used to bathe or to drink. But in all truth, he was training with it. Learning how to cut through his enemies with it. So he could be a force to be reckoned with, like his old father was said to be by the many elders of the town. Cassius knew he would never find his father, or be like him -- Because he never met him. His mother was gone, probably dead. His father an idiot, a coward, who ran out on his family. He was still said to have skill in fighting and especially stealing. He had stolen most of the little currency they had in the house. Leaving them broken down and abandoned in the small shack in the cold without cover of cloth besides their tattered clothing The older man grunted as the boots of torn and old leather had come to tighten upon his feet that flatly came onto the ground. The heels making a click-clack as the soles decorated the wooden, unleavened floor with dirt of the ground. A huff was cut through his beard. Rubbing, brushing his phalanges through the hair to untangle it. He was truly frightened by only the gray in his hair. He still believed he had much to live for -- Especially a woman. The staff was thrown onto the back of his neck, bending left and right as the wooden buckets swayed left and right. His blue oculars shined out onto the ground as he sighed. The window opened was put to use when he stepped upon the platform held by the tight ropes. His dagger unsheathed slowly. Ripping in a quick gash that sent a 'whip' out, sending both parts of the rope flying. Cassius descended, toppling down onto the side of the wall and crashing into the ground. The ringing sound echoed through his ears that stuck to the sides of his dome. A loud groan expanded from him as the citizens turned, staring at him. Beating the ground with his fist, lifting onto the heels of his boots. Grasping his snapped buckets and tossing the staff on his shoulders and beginning towards the water. The older man continued out, moving, sinking into the depths of the.. 'bad' part of town. The many drunkards and thieves staring at him. To him, he was just a middle class man. But to them, he was a rich one. His tattered clothing gold to him, his boots, the shoes, the sandals of a king. Risen from the depths was a loud 'pat' against the ground. And thats when he knew The buckets swacked against his eyes as his hand grabbed his dagger. "Oh.. shit." Was all he could mudder before getting hit into the gut. Coughing up spittle into the air. His foot caught the dagger that was being dragged from a drunkard upon the ground, bending his knee and yanking the foot up to catch the dagger. With a sharp turn, it was unsheathed, cutting through air. Loud groans touching the air and hitting his ears as he finally batted away the wood that blocked his eyes. Staring at the thieves holding their hands upon their stomachs. In a large slash, he left a three-part gash upon all of their stomachs. Immediately, he turned and scrambled away with his buckets over his shoulders. Running as fast as he could, breathing out as he thought about the wintry arms of Laviku's sea kingdom touching his hot hands, filled with blood. He dropped sharply onto his knees, letting the flem and yesterday's food flow up into the dirt. Coughing into the point between his anubis and brachium. His brow furrowed as he scrambled back onto his feet. "What a bother..."