Ignore I'm an idiot running on coffee and three hours of sleep:')

Armand Cain | Male | 23 | Hunter | mentions: No one, open

There was something awful and dreadful about the cold. It nipped at whatever piece of skin that was exposed. Tiny knives drove themselves into his lungs with each breath he took. Frigid air settled into his bones, making them feel frozen and heavier than they would be had he been in more accommodating conditions. Armand breathed out a breath of warm air feeling thankful that today was unlike those times in the usually frigid town.

Emotionless eyes watched the people who inhabited this strange village. Lips pursed tightly together as he watched for any sign of anything peculiar, anything to report. There was a strange drunken feeling that came with the status that he unspokenly had over the natives as a hunter. It was a feeling that imbued him with the will to do whatever he deemed necessary to these poor helpless people so that his people may cleanse them of their shifter problem.

Who would've ever heard of such a curious thing?

A town that was full of shifters. He wondered how it even came to be in the first place. Legend has it that the human's accepted them into their town in return for safety and protection. Armand's father would be reeling thinking of humans needing protection from shifters. Abominations are what his father would call them. Crimes against nature, things that had no right to exist in this world and threw off the balance between man and beast. Nothing like that should exist, according to the graying man.

Armand sighed out, his eyes closing as he parted his lips slightly, warm air slowly escaping his lips as he thought about his father who was such a callous and bitter old man. Though who could blame him after losing most of his family to an illness that was said to have been introduced to his village by shifters. Mortimer, his father, hated each and every shifter with a passion that burned hotter and fiercer than the pits of hell. It was an admirable thing really, to know that his father was a man that had such strength in his beliefs and held onto them tightly without ever letting them waver by outside opinions. He would consider them from time to time, but in the end, his values were strong and had it been for something that wasn't inclined towards the genocide of an entire species of sentient beings, perhaps Armand would've expressed his admiration towards his old man's stubbornness.

Armand opened his eyes again, a slight heaviness settled in his chest thinking about Mortimer and their falling out when Armand expressed that he didn't hate the shifters for the deaths of his siblings and mother. It had been a tragic and terrifying thing because for the first time in his life his father looked at him with something other than cold indifference and instead looked at him as though he were something more disgusting than a slug inching across the ground. Armand had never been so upset and felt so betrayed, his father cursed him from their home. The deaths of his family still a fresh wound and to hear his son express such a sentiment was like mixing alcohol and rubbing salt into a deep and still bleeding gash.

Armand simply sighed at the memory as he lazed on the rooftop of one of the various cottages in the town square, blank gray eyes watching the townsfolk, his attentiveness never wavering.

Michael Sorenson - Male - 25 - Baker - mentions: His mother.

The soothing scent of freshly made bread filled the little cottage as the young man stood near the counter kneading dough to be shaped into loaves that would soon be put into the stone oven. In the open window were a couple of the freshly made loaves cooling in the morning air. Flour coated the apron and arms of the young man as he worked with a little bit dusting the tips of his hair.

Michael was humming as he worked thankful to be one of the few that would be up so early in the morning. It was a time he could clear his mind and not worry about getting pulled into trouble by his friends. Even though he loved them dearly, sometimes he wondered what it would be like to stay in the bakery and perfect his tarts.

A hand ran through his hair to clear it from his eyes but added more flour to the golden locks making them more of a white than a blonde. Soon he was putting in a new loaf and turned to grab the couple from the window carefully setting them on the counter before cutting them and wrapping them to be delivered later in the day.

If Michael wasn't busy at his own bakery, he would offer his help to a couple of the others around the town since he never wanted to have idle hands. Maybe it was his way of avoiding those that liked pulling him into shenanigans or he was trying to practice his skill set. His humming stopped abrubtly when he opened the new sack of flour he had recieved and got a puff of the finely ground material covering his face.

The young man blinked his eyes a couple of times to clear them of the powder before letting the laugh that rumbled in his chest escape his lips. "Of course only you would be the one covered in flour from head to toe." His mother's soft voice cutting the laugh short as he turned to look over at her with an innocent grin.

"You know I never plan to make this much of a mess ma'. I try to hard to keep most of the flour in the dough and bag when I am working." The woman was already at his side wiping the white substance from his hair and face as he spoke. It may have looked childish to those looking in but something in the male couldn't stop his mother from repeating the actions she had done when he was just a small child.

Marietta Pleasant - Female - 18 - Scout - Badger - Mentions: Just her family

Out in the garden, a lone female sat, watching the clouds drift by. Her dark curls blew in the wind, and she let them. Today she didn't care if her mane of curls blew in her face, blocking her sight and making her slightly uncomfortable. It was only fitting. She stared off into the distance, the air feeling nice against her skin. She enjoyed the days when it was less cold, though they were very rare. It reminded her of when she was younger...

The sound of her father snapped her out of her thoughts. "Marietta! You've got a job to do! Get up and do it!" Marietta chuckled and stood, straightening out her torn skirt and white tunic. She then tied her hair back out of her face, leaving one curl out of her ponytail. She didn't bother yelling back to her dad and ran out of the garden, a small smile on her face. She loved her job and she loved her town. She loved how unique each and every person was, from their family life to their animal form. Every thing about Fellborn is special, in so many different ways.

She ran to the woods, and kept her eye out for any game she could inform the hunters of or any signs of predators in the area. She walked along a dirt path, scanning each area of the forest for something worth reporting. She would look at the ground, squinting her eyes slightly to see if anything would look clearer. When she saw something shining on the ground, she would bend down to take a look, only to find a small rock. Her dark curls bounced slightly in the ponytail as she walked, taking in her surroundings. So peaceful... The sun would shine down through the trees, illuminating useless pieces of wood and stone. Nothing worth using. With a sigh, she sat down on a large log, her brown eyes still scanning the woods surrounding her.

Shay Cormac Connolly - Male - 29 - Baker - Mentions: None for now

If Shay could think of a word to describe how he felt at the moment... It wouldn't be exhausted. No, that would be too much of an understatement. As of late he'd found himself struggling to fall and stay asleep, thanks to his mind always staying on what he had and hadn't done that day. Adding less sleep with some of the strenuous work he had to complete during the day, such as hauling certain ingredients, it left him feeling completely drained at night, and no better the next day.

Mentally, he reminded himself that he was still young; this should not be such an issue for him. He still had energy, he didn't have to worry about any major aches or pains that came with age. And yet, he was finding it harder and harder to accomplish enough to feel as if he'd completed enough work. Maybe he just needed some time out, alone. Not that he wasn't already on his own most of the time.

He worked completely on his own, seperated from the other bakers and cooks of the town. Shay liked it this way. It gave him peace of mind, not having to take orders from someone else. Well... Besides the occasional delivery he made when asked to. But he was content to stay in his own place for the most part, hence why he was so rarely seen outside, save for when he needed to get extra ingredients that he didn't happen to have on hand.

At the moment, Shay wasn't working on anything, simply idly poking at the embers of the dying fire beneath his stove. Earlier, he had been experimenting with a few recipes, but given that they hadn't turned out the way he'd been wanting, he'd decided to take a break to think of a better way to go about it. However, inside here, he couldn't think. Perhaps, Shay considered, he could head into the forest for a bit, try and clear his mind.

Yes, that would be a good idea. Hopefully no one would try and bother him. He doubted anyone one, but it never hurt to think about. Standing, he retrieved his cloak, despite absolutely not needing it, and his knife. Strapping his knife at his waist, and throwing the cloak over his shoulders, as he reached for his gloves, he paused for a moment as doubt hit him. Maybe he shouldn't go out..... Perhaps it was better to just stay in, and keep trying.

Shay shook his head, clearing those thoughts. No. He wanted to go to the forest, and that was what he was going to do. Before doubt could settle in again, he pulled his gloves on, and headed for his door. He quickly opened it, and giving himself little time to adjust to the light, as sharp contrast from the interior, Shay stepped outside.

Too late to turn back now, he supposed.

Nalaea Leogwyn - Female - 22 - Hidden Shifter/Horse Breeder - White Panther - mentions: Horace, his father, then Marietta

Had the pair been talking about buying horses? The large feline picked up the salmon tails watching the father and son pair for a few moments before dashing into the trees once again. She carefully climbed up one of the larger trees and stretched out setting the tails on the bark holding them with her paws before starting to eat them. Maybe a deal could be struck...I need to talk with Dreyvon.

Of course she would write a letter to thank the pair for giving her something to eat and have Dreyvon offer a helping hand for using a horse and wagon. They had many that they could spare and now was the time for working the stronger horses. Her tail lazily swung from the branch as she worked on her meal happily purring softly.

Maybe later in the day she would try and swim in the lake to clean the dust and grime from her skin that was beginning to bother her. Normally she wouldn't risk being caught but she had waited long enough and night wouldn't appear fast enough for her to wait. Her ears perked hearing the sounds of someone approaching. She quickly ate the last of the fish and brought her tail up moving father into the dense growth of the trees.

When the human sat down on a log not far from the feline, Nala carefully inched closer keeping her body tight to the branch making sure nothing would alert the person below to her presence. Right now she didn't want to fight, she just wanted to find a place to climb down from the tree and disappear into a deeper part of the forest to shift before heading to the lake. Her bright blue eyes watching for even the slightest hint that her position had been given away.