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peliginspeaks · 3 months
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Reference for Hallowrove's scars!
First death: Lost the Feducci duel, got impaled with his lance. Would have healed more messily if Oversol hadn't been there to take it out and help afterwards.
Shapeling Arts first aid: stabbed in a dock brawl, patched up creatively by Haarsink
Vake: first encounter with it in BaL, the text mentioned it raking its claws down the player's legs while holding their shoulders and the image just stuck with me
Upper River Beast: sometimes there's a Big Fuckoff Flesh Creature. Lingering scar from an out-of-game roleplay incident.
Others: no consistent canonical placement for the assorted small scars, except for none around the eyes. Definitely most of them are from monster hunting or clambering around over walls and other types of Hallowroveish Activities they get into out of curiosity, but a couple lighter and older ones are from absentmindedness when they used to do metalwork and mechanical stuff on the Surface.
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peliginspeaks · 3 months
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A gift exchange gift for @dawn-path ! (Text and item stats under the cut)
Swift's Catelogue of Fine Garments, 1899
No. 1
A notably well-dressed gentleman, in his typical day-to-day garb.
No. 2
A cold weather ensemble. Featuring two coats for warmth, and a softer, thicker hat.
No. 3
An outfit fit for a professional monster-hunter. Featuring a mask made from the scale of a plated seal, a hunting suit inspired by period-accurate historical wear, and a cane just well adorned enough to be Dreaded.
No. 4
A set of elegant attire for when one would rather spend the evening in a dress. Featuring a classic Victorian gown, an aptly decorated hat, and a veil that always seems to fall at just the right angle.
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peliginspeaks · 2 months
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That sound was not a part of the normal night-time hum.
Hallowrove does not stop. To the outside observer she might not have heard, but her senses now prickle with awareness, and her breath picks up with her steps in spite of herself. She is armed, of course - the usual bone knife at her belt and revolver in her coat in case of incident - but the noise still sends certain old fears trailing her steps like a man stood uncomfortably close at a soiree.
It might have been nothing.
It was probably nothing.
Counting the number of storefronts before the next well-lit street corner (five) is still a reflex, not a choice.
Three of those storefronts pass with nothing more than the muffled clump of boots on wet cobble. A lone hansom-cab passes, darkly lit water pouring over its wheels like dirty tears. In the wake of it, unmistakably, a footstep. It is the only one, but there need only be one. He is definitely being followed.
~
In which my two characters share a surprise meeting in the middle of the night, because nothing is more fun to me than letting my guys interact as weirdly and tangentially as possible. :)
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