[Seasonal Event] For Gourd's Sake

Gods above, the gourds were everywhere. In fact, they had become so common that Sarya was sure she would never manage to remove all of the innards from the bottom of her boots. It made her quite irritable. She loved her boots, and they were tailor-made for her needs, with hidden sheaths sewn into the sides for her knives. "If you bloody demons ruin these boots..." She left the threat unfinished, grunting as she punted a new attacker away. At least there didn't seem to be as many now as they had been before. The gourd Sarya had kicked smashed into a tree, exploding into pieces. Slimy orange goo stuck to the bark. Seething, the woman stalked to the tree, examining the remains of the gourd. "Good riddance," she muttered, considering her handiwork. The gourd was a mess. She hated this, the brutal killing. There was no skill to it, no art. All it took was a little muscle. She missed her days as an assassin. Tracking and killing humans without leaving a trace took skill. The innards stuck to the tree caught her eye; there were round, flat seeds in the goo. "Hmm." Carefully, she scraped the slime off the tree and checked around its base to see if any large pieces of gourd remained. Her lip curled as she handled the gourd's guts, carefully picking out the seeds. She remembered eating pumpkin seeds as a child. Perhaps, if she could find a way to cook them, these would be okay too. text. "talk" Sarya Daemenor so the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing

Deimos the Reaper You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this long and lonely road to hell the throne must be such a sad and lonely place Death and massacre was a habit, a reckoning, a motivation. The Gourds kept him entertained at the very least – destroying them was something to do besides wallowing, brooding, or pondering over which inept folly would strike him down next. He’d spotted them in the forest several times, and had relished in kicking them across pathways, against bark, delighting in their anguished thud, in their brutal collapse, in their untimely demise. On some occasions he’d come up with more barbaric devices, taking a sharpened stick or two and seeing how far he could land one in the spine or ripples of a pumpkin’s side, harpoon a few down the lanes when their eerie gazes flashed his way. They weren’t the most spine-tingling of enemies, but they were a diversion. The intonations of another nearby sparked his curiosity, and he followed the wayward lines of gourd chasing to the shouts of threats, then quiet muttering. The woman was kneeling nearby, either inspecting her latest kill (for he clearly wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the zeal, the rush, the kindling sensation of annihilation; it resurged and made him remember childhood days of destruction and mayhem for the simple relish of amusement) or divesting it of any usable materials. The Reaper’s gaze swept over the nearest portions of a latest kill, only a long branch sticking out of its side, and plucked the entirety of the sanction by its stem, treading quietly towards the stranger, and holding the fallen ware out to her. “Do you require more?” It was a proffering of assistance in his detached, nonchalant way; no reason or note for pleasantries, for an exchange or reciting of the weather – action in its blunt, keen eloquence.

_{Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary}
Also brief mentions of Wessex ;D Captain Clueless continuing to report for duty.

”What are you planning to do with them?” Vervain’s voice echoed down from the tree above, having been watching as the stranger kicked one of the troublesome pumpkins against it. She hadn’t been intending to spy, much preferring to mind her own business especially out in the wild, but the collection of the gourd seeds and the approach of a second person had piqued her interest. She had been collecting branches to use as arrow shafts, but honestly this looked much more interesting. Bundling what she had grabbed so far into her quiver, she dropped down to the forest floor and smiled between the two of them. ”I run the Rathskeller - if you think we can make something of these seeds, perhaps we could serve them there?” It was only a suggestion but it couldn’t hurt to ask, right? vervain she's a wild one with an angel's face