12-25-2018, 04:36 AM
[align=center]action — "speech" — thoughts
PHYSICALLY HARD | MENTALLY MEDIUM | MAGICALLY MEDIUM | ATTACK IN [b]#757f96[/b]
[div style="background: linear-gradient(to right, #464C5A, #757f96, #464C5A); width: 500px; height: 2px;"]Crow's eyelids drooped as he set a bottle down on the table, then his gaze shifted to the window where a sliver of moonlight wafted lazily to the floor. It was late. Not too late, but late enough for the day-dwellers to have retired to their beds. But those like the silver feline would be up for a little longer before sinking into sleep. Drinking was foolish, and he knew it, and that awareness struck him almost as hard as his snout was struck by the table when he stood. A grunt slipped from his mouth as a searing pain ebbed through his face, and instinctively he brought his paw to his nose.
Blood, so much blood. It was on his paw, his face, and now it dripped to his floor.
His emerald eyes fixated on the splatters that were slowly appearing beneath him and he felt his gut turn. It was not like Crow to be sickened by blood, especially his own, but that was not what was on the feline's mind. He had to clean this up, or else they would smell it.
They. A very vague term, but to Crow, it fit like clockwork. The vile creatures of the swamp. He did not know what was out there, but certainly something was. Something dangerous. Something that was going to hurt him...
As he pressed a cloth against the stains, he heard something. The wind perhaps, or maybe an owl, but that was not the case for the feline. His form began to shake, his breath quickened, and without thinking he bolted out of the door, blood still dripping out of his nose. They were coming, and fast! He did not have time.
Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe it was his own paranoia that lead him to begin scaling the side of his house. His feet scrabbled to get a hold, kicking loose a large metal sheet which fell to the ground with a deafening clang; everyone in the vicinity was bound to hear it, but that was the last thing on the feline's mind.
One would find his frail form crouched atop his roof trembling with fright and muttering to himself. The crimson liquid now stained the tips of his pearly chest fur. His nose had long stopped bleeding, but the damage had still been done. Crow looked like a crime scene.
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tl;dr: crow fell, got a nosebleed, and is currently hiding from monsters on his roof