The Flaming Fist Role-Play Thread

[Randall]

How many days has it been? Weeks? He had lost the count. Recluse in the dark, with only rats, hatred and himself to talk with, the mountain-man had been trough some very dark thoughts. Thoughts to end it all, thoughts to meet his wife again, in the afterlife. He was planning to leave this world before being locked in a cage like an animal. Under his somewhat smile, he was hiding those thoughts. He had enough of it, he simply wanted a rest. A long rest. To hold her into his arms again, to feel her love. He looked at the chains near him on the wall, walked to it, and started to tie them up around his neck. His eyes narrowed at something engraved on the cell wall.

There's plenty of time to be dead. Enjoy your life.

He stared at it, a long moment. A very long moment. The darkness in his brown eyes suddently vanished, as he understood. A name came in his mind, then another. He know that the sadness he had within him could go to another, if he ended his life like this. He knew that it would bring tears, perhaps even dark thoughts.

The beast untied his neck, and kept the chains into his large hands a moment as his sight lowered at them.

"Ye'll have your food soon, be ready."

The beast walked to the celldoor and rested himself against the iron bars.

"Hey... fister. What does a prisoner needs to do to get some paper?"

The fist barked a laugh and awnsered.

"Ye won't get anything, roach. Stand back, we'll feed you."

He threw a bowl of soup in the cell, but most of the food got spilled on the ground. A few laughs could be heard from the guards before Randall spoke.

"Want to know what I'd hate? Is to be able to write. I so freaking hate to write, that having paper and ink would piss me off like nothing else would, heh."

"Ye take me for a fool?"

The guards walked off, though, Randall tried to stay somewhat polite with the others that came near, and kept asking for paper and a pen.