10-03-2013, 11:59 AM
Thonro is Currently : About ready to drop in front of a desert outpost.
![[Image: bjorndone.th.jpg]](http://imageshack.us/a/img4/4282/bjorndone.th.jpg)
This picture sums up this guy except for a few key differences that will be noted in the appearance section.
Race: Mesalian
Gender: Male
Age: 52 (or 53. Something like that.)
Backstory
As a child he was born and raised in a (quite literally) underground guild of rebel mesalians before the war of Veld, 15 years before it started was his birth. He grew quickly; much like his future son would grow, and became a strong boy.
His parents were killed when he was 3. He does not even remember their names, and from that point on Darius had taken him in. He wasnât much of a father figure, but he still cared for the boy â if you could even call it that. Darius may have tried harder to bond with his adoptive son, but the fact of the matter was that he was far too busy with higher matters to do so. Thonro rarely made friends, and when he did they would be scared off by his cold as steel personality. He was the definition of alone, and that was the way he liked it. He had more time for important things this way.
From the age of 8 he was under the instruction of Darius, whom was an expert swordsman. Much like all of the children his age he was put to work in sword training. He was whipped should he not train as hard as Darius deemed his potential was. And so he trained. And he enjoyed it enough, for he looked to Darius and saw the man he wanted to be at the time. Fierce, efficient, no nonsense, and determined to do whatever it took to achieve his goals. He needed no other role model. However, he never spoke to the man much. He wasn't even close to what one would call a friend. He was his mentor. Once his training was over, and once he became a man he knew he would never be able to speak to him, for it would be a nuisance to do so because of how busy Darius is with other children's training. For five years he ate, slept, and breathed war training. On his 12 birthday he was deemed responsible enough to start a secondary skill training. He chose blacksmithing as his trade. He figured that perhaps one day he would not need to go to another man to get a sword, and instead forge his own weapons. He was also advised to learn how to properly use a shield, as it could be a lifesaver on the battlefield, should it ever come to it. He agreed and practiced this way. At the age of 14 he was practicing shielded combat with a broadsword and smithing. Not too many people could say oneâs childhood was so squandered, yet so rich with experience.
When he was 15 the War of Veld broke out. They didnât have much time before it would be time to join the battle. They were little known of, hiding in harsh terrain in the caverns of a mountain range that dove deep under the land. They had some time, in which they stressed Thonroâs training to itâs limits. His childhood crushed long before it had a chance to blossom, it made no difference to Thonro what they did with his body. He knew what he was going to be, just like the rest of the boys and men : weapons. Tools. Hands for the higher ups to use against the Xitians, and even more so now that the Lucinâs were backing them.
It seemed that the Xitians were on their doorstep a year later, not more than a month after Thonroâs 16th birthday. The Xitians, from the surface, saw only a small cave system from the outside, but when they tried to take it from Thonroâs people they were caught with their chainmail leggings down. Thonro was deadly on the battlefield, along with many of his companions. He was taught to work together as a team, and that is what they did. Though, outside of this they did not speak much with Thonro, and neither did he with them. It was his way for a long time.
After many months of battling which shed enough blood to coat the walls of the cave in paint many lives were lost on both sides. Many bodies were charred remains of what once was a man or a woman, or even a child. Thonro had his first taste of blood, figuratively, and he didnât like it. His comrades told him he would get used to it, that itâs an acquired taste. He could never get used to it. This was the equivalent of murder, in his eyes, and for every man, woman and child he was forced to kill that he did not know, he was pained deeply. He hated war, and everything to do with it. It wasn't like sparring, dueling, teaching to defend yourself. This was bloody genocide through and through. The only thing that kept him fighting in the battles was the simple fact that the other side, no matter who they were outside or before the war, were trying to kill him now. And he knew, as well, that maybe they hated him, but maybe they were indifferent. Maybe some were as he was, unwilling to kill but being forced to. He was a tool, a weapon, just like the rest of the boys and he knew it. He was bred, born and raised for the same reason his sword was forged - and that was to kill.
The war of Veld lasted ten long years. Ten years taken from Thonro that could have been spent doing something else, instead of taking lives of people he didnât know and relieving families of their fatherâs, sons, and husbands. It ate at him from the inside, but he kept it bottled inside. What else was he to do? Take pity on the Xitian forces just so they can kill everyone that Thonro knows? No, that is not an option. He would do what it takes, no matter how much it killed him.
During the war he was switched to several duties, his main two were being on the front lines (which was always close to homeâ¦) and working the smith to make new weapons. Sometimes he would be put to work in the mines as well, giving him some base knowledge that would be useful to him in later years. When the war subsided there was a hollow place in Thonroâs chest that could not be filled, not even when the news came that the Xitians were no longer a real threat and that their portal to the Nether had been destroyed. The only thing he was relieved of was the obligation to kill again, or so he thought.
Two years passed in which time he did little more than eat, sleep, smith and mine. Of course, the need for weapons and armor was severely cut down in this time, for which Thonro made more utilities, tools, and other nicknacks and what not. In the last year before the Purge he started tinkering with glassblowing, making various glass objects for practice. He started taking up this skill because he wanted to craft something beautiful for the woman who had his eye. How he got Darius, whom he scarcely talked to now, even compared to before the war, to teach him was beyond even his own comprehension. This wasâ¦postponed when he was ordered to gear up and head to a town. He was to live there and be the executioner for the Xitians during the purge.
For the length of the purge Thonro was forced to kill Xitians far more than he would have liked to. Many of them looked innocent as children and were merely the families of what was once a Xitian soldier. Some were simply children which the âguardâ deemed dangerous. When it was all said and finally done Thonro was relieved. He decided now was the time he would never have to kill another being again, not for such horrendous reasons at least. Why had they made him carry out these actions? Did the Gods look down upon him and see nothing but filth? Did they really think he needed more blood to coat his hands than he already had?
Though, he was restless and quickly took up the hammer and began smithing again, remaining in this small town. He made a pretty penny with his work and soon enough the business of working and dealing with customers pushed the painful memories of the war from his mind. He made some friends, or at least got acquainted with them, and would talk to some of them from time to time. He was becoming more social, and with that he was in better spirits. He gradually got more cheerful over the months and even decided to do something heâs never done before.
He started visiting the town tavern. He had never had booze, ale, whiskey, or any of that sort of thing until then, and the only reason he started drinking it was to try and out do another man who had the eye of a beauty that Thonro had his own eye on. Thonroâs shear size was enough for him to be able to drink more than his fair share of alcohol without keeling over. He spent more time looking over the woman and decided to take up something he hadn't done for years; glassblowing.
At first it was shaky and awkward little glass sculptures, but as the months went by he got the hang of it again. He decided to make her some earrings. It wasn't magnificent, but it was enough to woo her away from her husband for a night, and then another, and another, and many more.
And then the people had demand from him a new thing. Glass. Many did not have glass windows, and were simply boarded up, and would love to have them. Everything from windows, to sculptures, to fine jewelry like he had made his mistress. It took him some time, and much trial and error, but in a few months he was able to make these supply some of these demands. Many carpenters would come to him for windows, which was convenient because he had no idea how to make such things. Some came to him for glasses, or monocles, which was especially difficult for him. He had to get them to look through many different lenses to find the one that worked for them, as he had no real knowledge outside of what trial and error brought him.
All was perfect for Thonro. He had a loving woman, even though she may be an adulteress he still adored her and she did he. He had a job he loved doing, and a few choice hobbies. He never had to buy iron from anyone to make work steel as he could get it himself from the mines. Alas, all that is perfect shatters eventually.
The night they attacked was a bloodbath. He heard the screams of a woman first only for her voice to be cut off with a gurgling sound just outside of his shop. He sounded the large bell in the upper level of the forge to signal distress, if it weren't for him the entire town may have been destroyed. Bjorn drew steel once more and moved out with the rest of the guard to take down their foes.
They weren't a particularly large group, but they were enough to do serious damage and take many lives before they were ultimately extinguished. Needless to say the plan had backfired for the Xitians and no one lived to tell the tale. Thonro nearly came out of it unscathed, if it weren't for a burning building collapsing on him. The beam landed on his leg and broke it and the flames that blazed on it caught to his leg. It took far too long for anyone to hear his screams of agony, or maybe do anything about it. It took 3 Lucinâs to quench the flames and get Thonro out. His leg was a charred mess, and he knew it was already gone when he realized that he couldn't feel it. Even pain wouldn't grant itâs stinging kiss of life to his leg.
The doctor, if you could call him that, amputated the leg and replaced it with a wooden peg. Thonro was pissed, thereâs no other real way to word that, Iâm afraid. He had to get used to walking on a wooden leg, but also hated how it looked. It took no more than a few days for him to decide what he was going to do about it.
As the town started getting ready to pack their things and leave for an island off the coast they were on where they would be safe, Thonro was drawing up the plans for a new, more effective prosthetic leg. It would be made of iron with a hollow in the center for the wooden peg to fit snuggly in. When he was satisfied with the plans he started to work on it. It took him the entire time it took the town to get ready to craft this metal knee high boot, but it was worth it. Thonro could walk somewhat normally now, it felt more natural, and oh how he loves the sound it makes every time he steps. The clang is music to his ears, and for the trip to the new land it was what helped him keep his balance on the ship.
Once on the ship he had gotten a good look at his son, Bjorn. Until now he had no idea it could be his, instead of the man whom rightfully bedded Thonroâs mistress, but the resemblance was shocking and uncanny. The way the boy was growing, the strength, everything lead back to Thonro. Somehow no one made the connection.
On the ship he gave Bjorn an old practice sword that Thonro had made a while ago for children to beat each other senseless with. It was made of wood, but it was still a decent size. Bjorn was thrilled and was beating the thing off of anything he could, whenever he could.
After many months at sea they arrived to the new land they would from that point on call home. Immediately they started constructing the key things needed for a proper, thriving town and community, such as the forge. Thonro was given the responsibility of making tools, and also glass for windows and doors. He did this willingly and without complaint. Once the forge was finished and he had a nice stockpile of glass set aside he took his son in as an apprentice.
Bjorn had shown interest in Smithing and Thonro took notice of it. Thonro took great pride in his work, and by extension, Bjornâs work that was a result of Thonroâs instruction. Bjorn had turned out to be a natural at the trade and excelled in it very quickly. For years Thonro and Bjorn shared drinks and each otherâs company in the forge, homes, and at the tavern. It pained Thonro that he would never be able to tell Bjorn the truth about who he is, and what he really is to Bjorn. When Bjorn announced that he was leaving for the forbidden lands it sank in quickly that Thonro may very well never see Bjorn again after he leaves, and as a result became depressed.
He watched his son and his mother and her husband exchange goodbyes. The woman had long since abandoned Thonro for fear of her husband finding out what went on between her and the blacksmith. How he wished he could be the man that stood beside her and embraced his son, but he would never have the chance, not anymore.
The few years after Bjorn had left filled Thonro with unrest and misery. The place he lived was no longer a place he could honestly tell himself that it was home. He thought of it for a long time before finally deciding to seek out Bjorn. As the day came closer to his departure he became more and more excited, happy even. He was to finally meet his son again. This time, he would tell him who Thonro is. He would be able to embrace him like the father he should have been, and heâll be able to put his mind at ease, knowing Bjorn would finally know the truth.
He brought with him only a few things. His sword, an old pickaxe, his cloths, some food, and a keg of rum for the voyage to Auria. However, when he arrives in Auria he finds it fairly destroyed. He almost loses hope for his son, but he finds some of the locals of this ruined town. They tell him that the group had left by boat for new lands. He followed suit, taking the ship he came on to the island where they started their journey. The man did not rest, he did not linger for more than a few days at a time, and even then it was at key places that had food (and possibly something to drink). The farm is where he stocked up the most. After many months he came to an outpost on the edge of a desert. He scrounged for food, water was not much of a scarcity so he stocked up on it. He had heard many things about deserts, and even fought in one, but this one was much larger. He looked to the beacons that dotted the ocean of sand in the distance and nodded to himself.
He advanced through the sands following the beacons and found several places to take shelter in, morbidly noting the corpses of the dusk spawn that dotted these places He, traveling much faster than the clearly large group was traveling, was catching up with speed and before long he found himself in a chamber with a pit of spikes in the middle. Fairly fresh blood was everywhere and the place smelled of death. He hoped to Rhise that it was only a wound, and even more so that it was not his son. He pressed on and found himself climbing a tall hill of sand to reach the next beacon and the best place to observe where he was in relation to the others. Taking a swig of water, he finishes, wipes his mouth of remaining liquid and tilts his head back down to see the next camp that they are staying in. He chuckles, almost manically before regaining his composure. He smiles.
"Found at last... 'bout fuckin' time." He muses.
Thonro's Journal. TBA
Additional Notes:
As for his artificial leg the actual workings of it are not as ridiculous as one might think at first glance.
It's basically a metal boot with little pockets wherever he could fit inside the steel to make it lighter, and then wears it OVER a wooden pegleg as a sort of boot. It's not nearly as heavy as one might think, and is most certainly not solid steel through and through.
![[Image: bjorndone.th.jpg]](http://imageshack.us/a/img208/4282/bjorndone.jpg)
This picture sums up this guy except for a few key differences that will be noted in the appearance section.
Race: Mesalian
Gender: Male
Age: 52 (or 53. Something like that.)
![[+]](/images/collapse_collapsed.png "[+]")
AppearanceBackstory
As a child he was born and raised in a (quite literally) underground guild of rebel mesalians before the war of Veld, 15 years before it started was his birth. He grew quickly; much like his future son would grow, and became a strong boy.
His parents were killed when he was 3. He does not even remember their names, and from that point on Darius had taken him in. He wasnât much of a father figure, but he still cared for the boy â if you could even call it that. Darius may have tried harder to bond with his adoptive son, but the fact of the matter was that he was far too busy with higher matters to do so. Thonro rarely made friends, and when he did they would be scared off by his cold as steel personality. He was the definition of alone, and that was the way he liked it. He had more time for important things this way.
From the age of 8 he was under the instruction of Darius, whom was an expert swordsman. Much like all of the children his age he was put to work in sword training. He was whipped should he not train as hard as Darius deemed his potential was. And so he trained. And he enjoyed it enough, for he looked to Darius and saw the man he wanted to be at the time. Fierce, efficient, no nonsense, and determined to do whatever it took to achieve his goals. He needed no other role model. However, he never spoke to the man much. He wasn't even close to what one would call a friend. He was his mentor. Once his training was over, and once he became a man he knew he would never be able to speak to him, for it would be a nuisance to do so because of how busy Darius is with other children's training. For five years he ate, slept, and breathed war training. On his 12 birthday he was deemed responsible enough to start a secondary skill training. He chose blacksmithing as his trade. He figured that perhaps one day he would not need to go to another man to get a sword, and instead forge his own weapons. He was also advised to learn how to properly use a shield, as it could be a lifesaver on the battlefield, should it ever come to it. He agreed and practiced this way. At the age of 14 he was practicing shielded combat with a broadsword and smithing. Not too many people could say oneâs childhood was so squandered, yet so rich with experience.
When he was 15 the War of Veld broke out. They didnât have much time before it would be time to join the battle. They were little known of, hiding in harsh terrain in the caverns of a mountain range that dove deep under the land. They had some time, in which they stressed Thonroâs training to itâs limits. His childhood crushed long before it had a chance to blossom, it made no difference to Thonro what they did with his body. He knew what he was going to be, just like the rest of the boys and men : weapons. Tools. Hands for the higher ups to use against the Xitians, and even more so now that the Lucinâs were backing them.
It seemed that the Xitians were on their doorstep a year later, not more than a month after Thonroâs 16th birthday. The Xitians, from the surface, saw only a small cave system from the outside, but when they tried to take it from Thonroâs people they were caught with their chainmail leggings down. Thonro was deadly on the battlefield, along with many of his companions. He was taught to work together as a team, and that is what they did. Though, outside of this they did not speak much with Thonro, and neither did he with them. It was his way for a long time.
After many months of battling which shed enough blood to coat the walls of the cave in paint many lives were lost on both sides. Many bodies were charred remains of what once was a man or a woman, or even a child. Thonro had his first taste of blood, figuratively, and he didnât like it. His comrades told him he would get used to it, that itâs an acquired taste. He could never get used to it. This was the equivalent of murder, in his eyes, and for every man, woman and child he was forced to kill that he did not know, he was pained deeply. He hated war, and everything to do with it. It wasn't like sparring, dueling, teaching to defend yourself. This was bloody genocide through and through. The only thing that kept him fighting in the battles was the simple fact that the other side, no matter who they were outside or before the war, were trying to kill him now. And he knew, as well, that maybe they hated him, but maybe they were indifferent. Maybe some were as he was, unwilling to kill but being forced to. He was a tool, a weapon, just like the rest of the boys and he knew it. He was bred, born and raised for the same reason his sword was forged - and that was to kill.
The war of Veld lasted ten long years. Ten years taken from Thonro that could have been spent doing something else, instead of taking lives of people he didnât know and relieving families of their fatherâs, sons, and husbands. It ate at him from the inside, but he kept it bottled inside. What else was he to do? Take pity on the Xitian forces just so they can kill everyone that Thonro knows? No, that is not an option. He would do what it takes, no matter how much it killed him.
During the war he was switched to several duties, his main two were being on the front lines (which was always close to homeâ¦) and working the smith to make new weapons. Sometimes he would be put to work in the mines as well, giving him some base knowledge that would be useful to him in later years. When the war subsided there was a hollow place in Thonroâs chest that could not be filled, not even when the news came that the Xitians were no longer a real threat and that their portal to the Nether had been destroyed. The only thing he was relieved of was the obligation to kill again, or so he thought.
Two years passed in which time he did little more than eat, sleep, smith and mine. Of course, the need for weapons and armor was severely cut down in this time, for which Thonro made more utilities, tools, and other nicknacks and what not. In the last year before the Purge he started tinkering with glassblowing, making various glass objects for practice. He started taking up this skill because he wanted to craft something beautiful for the woman who had his eye. How he got Darius, whom he scarcely talked to now, even compared to before the war, to teach him was beyond even his own comprehension. This wasâ¦postponed when he was ordered to gear up and head to a town. He was to live there and be the executioner for the Xitians during the purge.
For the length of the purge Thonro was forced to kill Xitians far more than he would have liked to. Many of them looked innocent as children and were merely the families of what was once a Xitian soldier. Some were simply children which the âguardâ deemed dangerous. When it was all said and finally done Thonro was relieved. He decided now was the time he would never have to kill another being again, not for such horrendous reasons at least. Why had they made him carry out these actions? Did the Gods look down upon him and see nothing but filth? Did they really think he needed more blood to coat his hands than he already had?
Though, he was restless and quickly took up the hammer and began smithing again, remaining in this small town. He made a pretty penny with his work and soon enough the business of working and dealing with customers pushed the painful memories of the war from his mind. He made some friends, or at least got acquainted with them, and would talk to some of them from time to time. He was becoming more social, and with that he was in better spirits. He gradually got more cheerful over the months and even decided to do something heâs never done before.
He started visiting the town tavern. He had never had booze, ale, whiskey, or any of that sort of thing until then, and the only reason he started drinking it was to try and out do another man who had the eye of a beauty that Thonro had his own eye on. Thonroâs shear size was enough for him to be able to drink more than his fair share of alcohol without keeling over. He spent more time looking over the woman and decided to take up something he hadn't done for years; glassblowing.
At first it was shaky and awkward little glass sculptures, but as the months went by he got the hang of it again. He decided to make her some earrings. It wasn't magnificent, but it was enough to woo her away from her husband for a night, and then another, and another, and many more.
And then the people had demand from him a new thing. Glass. Many did not have glass windows, and were simply boarded up, and would love to have them. Everything from windows, to sculptures, to fine jewelry like he had made his mistress. It took him some time, and much trial and error, but in a few months he was able to make these supply some of these demands. Many carpenters would come to him for windows, which was convenient because he had no idea how to make such things. Some came to him for glasses, or monocles, which was especially difficult for him. He had to get them to look through many different lenses to find the one that worked for them, as he had no real knowledge outside of what trial and error brought him.
All was perfect for Thonro. He had a loving woman, even though she may be an adulteress he still adored her and she did he. He had a job he loved doing, and a few choice hobbies. He never had to buy iron from anyone to make work steel as he could get it himself from the mines. Alas, all that is perfect shatters eventually.
The night they attacked was a bloodbath. He heard the screams of a woman first only for her voice to be cut off with a gurgling sound just outside of his shop. He sounded the large bell in the upper level of the forge to signal distress, if it weren't for him the entire town may have been destroyed. Bjorn drew steel once more and moved out with the rest of the guard to take down their foes.
They weren't a particularly large group, but they were enough to do serious damage and take many lives before they were ultimately extinguished. Needless to say the plan had backfired for the Xitians and no one lived to tell the tale. Thonro nearly came out of it unscathed, if it weren't for a burning building collapsing on him. The beam landed on his leg and broke it and the flames that blazed on it caught to his leg. It took far too long for anyone to hear his screams of agony, or maybe do anything about it. It took 3 Lucinâs to quench the flames and get Thonro out. His leg was a charred mess, and he knew it was already gone when he realized that he couldn't feel it. Even pain wouldn't grant itâs stinging kiss of life to his leg.
The doctor, if you could call him that, amputated the leg and replaced it with a wooden peg. Thonro was pissed, thereâs no other real way to word that, Iâm afraid. He had to get used to walking on a wooden leg, but also hated how it looked. It took no more than a few days for him to decide what he was going to do about it.
As the town started getting ready to pack their things and leave for an island off the coast they were on where they would be safe, Thonro was drawing up the plans for a new, more effective prosthetic leg. It would be made of iron with a hollow in the center for the wooden peg to fit snuggly in. When he was satisfied with the plans he started to work on it. It took him the entire time it took the town to get ready to craft this metal knee high boot, but it was worth it. Thonro could walk somewhat normally now, it felt more natural, and oh how he loves the sound it makes every time he steps. The clang is music to his ears, and for the trip to the new land it was what helped him keep his balance on the ship.
Once on the ship he had gotten a good look at his son, Bjorn. Until now he had no idea it could be his, instead of the man whom rightfully bedded Thonroâs mistress, but the resemblance was shocking and uncanny. The way the boy was growing, the strength, everything lead back to Thonro. Somehow no one made the connection.
On the ship he gave Bjorn an old practice sword that Thonro had made a while ago for children to beat each other senseless with. It was made of wood, but it was still a decent size. Bjorn was thrilled and was beating the thing off of anything he could, whenever he could.
After many months at sea they arrived to the new land they would from that point on call home. Immediately they started constructing the key things needed for a proper, thriving town and community, such as the forge. Thonro was given the responsibility of making tools, and also glass for windows and doors. He did this willingly and without complaint. Once the forge was finished and he had a nice stockpile of glass set aside he took his son in as an apprentice.
Bjorn had shown interest in Smithing and Thonro took notice of it. Thonro took great pride in his work, and by extension, Bjornâs work that was a result of Thonroâs instruction. Bjorn had turned out to be a natural at the trade and excelled in it very quickly. For years Thonro and Bjorn shared drinks and each otherâs company in the forge, homes, and at the tavern. It pained Thonro that he would never be able to tell Bjorn the truth about who he is, and what he really is to Bjorn. When Bjorn announced that he was leaving for the forbidden lands it sank in quickly that Thonro may very well never see Bjorn again after he leaves, and as a result became depressed.
He watched his son and his mother and her husband exchange goodbyes. The woman had long since abandoned Thonro for fear of her husband finding out what went on between her and the blacksmith. How he wished he could be the man that stood beside her and embraced his son, but he would never have the chance, not anymore.
The few years after Bjorn had left filled Thonro with unrest and misery. The place he lived was no longer a place he could honestly tell himself that it was home. He thought of it for a long time before finally deciding to seek out Bjorn. As the day came closer to his departure he became more and more excited, happy even. He was to finally meet his son again. This time, he would tell him who Thonro is. He would be able to embrace him like the father he should have been, and heâll be able to put his mind at ease, knowing Bjorn would finally know the truth.
He brought with him only a few things. His sword, an old pickaxe, his cloths, some food, and a keg of rum for the voyage to Auria. However, when he arrives in Auria he finds it fairly destroyed. He almost loses hope for his son, but he finds some of the locals of this ruined town. They tell him that the group had left by boat for new lands. He followed suit, taking the ship he came on to the island where they started their journey. The man did not rest, he did not linger for more than a few days at a time, and even then it was at key places that had food (and possibly something to drink). The farm is where he stocked up the most. After many months he came to an outpost on the edge of a desert. He scrounged for food, water was not much of a scarcity so he stocked up on it. He had heard many things about deserts, and even fought in one, but this one was much larger. He looked to the beacons that dotted the ocean of sand in the distance and nodded to himself.
He advanced through the sands following the beacons and found several places to take shelter in, morbidly noting the corpses of the dusk spawn that dotted these places He, traveling much faster than the clearly large group was traveling, was catching up with speed and before long he found himself in a chamber with a pit of spikes in the middle. Fairly fresh blood was everywhere and the place smelled of death. He hoped to Rhise that it was only a wound, and even more so that it was not his son. He pressed on and found himself climbing a tall hill of sand to reach the next beacon and the best place to observe where he was in relation to the others. Taking a swig of water, he finishes, wipes his mouth of remaining liquid and tilts his head back down to see the next camp that they are staying in. He chuckles, almost manically before regaining his composure. He smiles.
"Found at last... 'bout fuckin' time." He muses.
Thonro's Journal. TBA
Additional Notes:
As for his artificial leg the actual workings of it are not as ridiculous as one might think at first glance.
It's basically a metal boot with little pockets wherever he could fit inside the steel to make it lighter, and then wears it OVER a wooden pegleg as a sort of boot. It's not nearly as heavy as one might think, and is most certainly not solid steel through and through.
![[Image: a88823d4-5335-49cc-91b4-f8c511e214f8_zps...1409225114]](http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g158/mnguy3/a88823d4-5335-49cc-91b4-f8c511e214f8_zpsf21a961a.png?t=1409225114)