Solo A Mercenary's Morning

Halvar does some stuff.

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

A Mercenary's Morning

Postby Halvar Frostfawn on January 30th, 2015, 7:23 am

2nd Day of Winter, 514 AV

It was perhaps half a bell until dawn, and Zeltiva was bathed in the pale grey of twilight. A gentle, chilling breeze whispered through the old buildings, as well as the new. It made its way over docks, ships, and sails, sending the latter fluttering if they weren't properly secured. Steep cliffs were grazed, and tidal pools were caressed. Sand stampeded in a miniature flurry of activity as it rushed along the coast, eventually overtaking the lone figure who ran its length. Halvar left deep impressions in the sand with every step, pushing forcefully off the ground and propelling his body forwards. Pumping his arms in time with his breathing, which was comprised of deep, laborious breaths, the mercenary made his way parallel to the water. It lapped periodically against the shore, pushing further and further inwards with each passing chime.

The beach was a small one, and Halvar had been pushing his body to its limit over the course of the morning. At random intervals, he would drop to the sand and complete a series of sit-ups, push-ups, or both before springing back to his feet and continuing the run. With the exception of his helmet, Halvar was wearing all of his equipment, and he held his unstrung shortbow firmly in his left hand. He was exhausted. Using his free hand, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. With every tick his muscles cried out in aggressive protest of their treatment, and sand had made its way into all manner of bodily crevice. When it became too much, he stumbled to a stop and planted his hands firmly on his knees, retching as he desperately tried to pull air into his lungs.

Whysar preserve me, Halvar thought when he'd regained enough sense for his brain to function. Collapsing to the ground, he sat and watched the waves, taking regular sips from his water skin. Halvar's relationship with the ocean was an odd one. He suffered from violent seasickness whenever he had to travel on a boat, so he avoided the water.
Sure does look refreshing though. It was a thought he'd had often, especially after exercising. What came next was usually an awkward internal debate in which he would convince himself to go into the water, except he never had. Thinking about the whole thing objectively prompted a chuckle,
"Thinking about it objectively, it almost seems like I'm afraid of the water..." Halvar mused aloud, his tone oddly monotone. Shifting his weight slightly caused sand to grind against places it shouldn't, and he cursed under his breath. Ticks turned to chimes, and-
"Petch it!" With an impulsive growl, Halvar sprung to his feet and started removing pieces of clothing. His belt dropped to the sand with a thud, weighed down by his sword. Pieces of clothing were removed and piled up one after the other, and within a few frenzied chimes Halvar was standing stark naked on the beach. Sparing his gear a final glance to make sure it was properly weighed down, he turned an intense gaze towards the water and hardened his resolve.

"Halvar's Words"
Halvar's Thoughts

"Reimancers are an arrogant lot, really. 'Ladies love fireballs,' they say. Bah! Bet they've never been to Sunberth; whores there will give you the nastiest case of fireballs you've ever had." - An overheard story
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Halvar Frostfawn
Mercenary. Woodsman. Storyteller.
Posts: 30
Words: 26573
Joined roleplay: January 12th, 2015, 6:11 pm
Race: Human, Vantha
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Storyteller secrets

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