Board Thread:Mythical Roleplay/@comment-34928186-20180518193031/@comment-30780275-20180524013426

Scorpio lay against a tree by a low river bank, his body resting against the tree trunk between two roots that had grown massive above the dirt. Beside him in a leather casing, was a machete, his weapon of choice, but the blade had been dulled, worn down over years. He took a few deep breaths, but admist his attempts to calm himself he gagged, coughing up blood which he spewed to the side of himself. His apparel consisted of a black v-neck, overlapped with a black, sleeveless sweater that exposed his biceps, although it oddly draped further down in the back than a regular sweater. He wore unintentionally ripped jeans, that were covered in dirt stains and what seemed to be fresh blood, clouding lacerations. Over time of adventure and missions, his body had become tattered, despite his muscular figure, his back was slathered in blood from untreated wounds, and long, deep slash marks, which extended around his shoulders, stomach, and from sometime before had left a scar underneath his right eye. He wondered if this was the end, here on the bank, pondering with little hope as he closed his eyes, murmuring what seemed to be a mix of the celtic language and english slurs.