Damien
"I never see you at the club!"
Okay? I never see you at the creek
Okay? I never see you at the creek
Listen, I know what you’re thinking. Why here? Why now? Or, more likely: it’s too damn cold! But Damien had picked what passed for a beautiful Halovian morning; clear skies, no real wind to bite through your bones, and only the usual kind of chill that nipped at fingers and toes. Call it perfect weather for a little voluntary hard labor. Chins up, buttercups.
The gentle murmur of a clear stream nearby added a quiet rhythm to the morning, the water trickling over smooth stones and winding through the clearing he’d chosen. The site itself was nestled in a natural curve of the pine treeline, a half-circle of tall, dark pines shielding one side from wind and prying eyes, while the open side sloped toward the stream, giving an unobstructed view of the sparkling water. Snow patches clung stubbornly to the shaded spots beneath the trees, but the sunlight already warmed the exposed drift, glinting off the frost.
A shallow firepit had already been dug, smoke curling into the crisp air from wood he’d split earlier. One side of the fire was claimed by a tent, its canvas taut and dusted with frost, while the other side bore the start of an organized sprawl: a stack of tools, a bundled tarp, extra blankets and rope. Damien wasn’t fool enough to assume everyone would arrive well-equipped, so he’d brought enough to cover the gaps.
He was dressed for the work: a thick, charcoal-grey woolen tunic under his well-worn leather coat, sleeves rolled to just below the elbow, paired with dark trousers tucked into well-oiled boots. His gloves were fingerless, giving him grip without losing dexterity, and a strap of belts and pouches around his waist carried the essentials: among those being a knife, hatchet, flint, and some extra cord.
For now he kept to the fire, the steady ritual of boiling water and spooning coffee into a battered tin pot filling the quiet. The rich, bitter scent bled into the air, carried with the smoke. Extra cups waited nearby, their metal edges glinting faintly in the fire and dawn light.
He poured himself the first cup and settled back on his heels, hands wrapped around the heat. A few extra tin cups sat near the fire, and he made sure the kettle was brimming enough for anyone who wanted a drink. Not that you’d call it an invitation outright, but the gesture was clear enough: sit, warm your hands, grab a cuppa if you like. For the moment, there was nothing to do but wait, the pale morning light reflecting off snowbanks and casting long shadows between the pines, until more people arrived and the real work began. And then—when the moment felt right—he'd set them all to work.
Hiii thanks for comin to Damien's PQ to build a supply cabin in the Greenwing. First things first: post your character arriving by whatever means and help themself to some coffee!
+ a notice was put on the palace board for those needing context
PQ Participants:
1. Deimos
2.Theea
3. Hawthorn
4. Marcus
The gentle murmur of a clear stream nearby added a quiet rhythm to the morning, the water trickling over smooth stones and winding through the clearing he’d chosen. The site itself was nestled in a natural curve of the pine treeline, a half-circle of tall, dark pines shielding one side from wind and prying eyes, while the open side sloped toward the stream, giving an unobstructed view of the sparkling water. Snow patches clung stubbornly to the shaded spots beneath the trees, but the sunlight already warmed the exposed drift, glinting off the frost.
A shallow firepit had already been dug, smoke curling into the crisp air from wood he’d split earlier. One side of the fire was claimed by a tent, its canvas taut and dusted with frost, while the other side bore the start of an organized sprawl: a stack of tools, a bundled tarp, extra blankets and rope. Damien wasn’t fool enough to assume everyone would arrive well-equipped, so he’d brought enough to cover the gaps.
He was dressed for the work: a thick, charcoal-grey woolen tunic under his well-worn leather coat, sleeves rolled to just below the elbow, paired with dark trousers tucked into well-oiled boots. His gloves were fingerless, giving him grip without losing dexterity, and a strap of belts and pouches around his waist carried the essentials: among those being a knife, hatchet, flint, and some extra cord.
For now he kept to the fire, the steady ritual of boiling water and spooning coffee into a battered tin pot filling the quiet. The rich, bitter scent bled into the air, carried with the smoke. Extra cups waited nearby, their metal edges glinting faintly in the fire and dawn light.
He poured himself the first cup and settled back on his heels, hands wrapped around the heat. A few extra tin cups sat near the fire, and he made sure the kettle was brimming enough for anyone who wanted a drink. Not that you’d call it an invitation outright, but the gesture was clear enough: sit, warm your hands, grab a cuppa if you like. For the moment, there was nothing to do but wait, the pale morning light reflecting off snowbanks and casting long shadows between the pines, until more people arrived and the real work began. And then—when the moment felt right—he'd set them all to work.
Hiii thanks for comin to Damien's PQ to build a supply cabin in the Greenwing. First things first: post your character arriving by whatever means and help themself to some coffee!
+ a notice was put on the palace board for those needing context
PQ Participants:
1. Deimos
2.
3. Hawthorn
4. Marcus
