08-04-2010, 03:54 PM
First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player.:
.. I'm Sill Abendroth, that's my legal name. I smoke a lot, and used to roleplay a lot when I was younger. I like to troll. I'm a highly narcissistic person at times. I like this server, but I feel like you're almost hinting at elitism. Basically, if I play, and get an eighty. I'll roleplay everyday with you guys. Promise.<3
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?
Germany. German.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
From Starcraft, in about '02. Got Warcraft Reign of Chaos, and eventually bought The Frozen Throne. I started playing WoW in August of '06. I quit because of personal reasons and I've been floating around private servers every few odd months because of PvP nostalgia.
What made you seek our server over others? (or How did you find us?):
Forever ago I looked up roleplaying WoW private servers for google. You're the only werthwhile[sic] one.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I like chill RP, but not 'lets go all sit in the tavern and stereotype roleplaying.' I like roleplaying stoned, but I like impressing people more. So intellect takes the seat over bud.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
Forsaken Warlock. Back in '06 I ran a Troll Hunter, beautiful classy, pardon the pun, choice for a character. Feathermoon (US). My mate and I decided to hop on WoW two summer's ago. He rolled a troll hunter, I decided Forsaken Warlock. Fell. In. Love.
What are your expectations of this server?:
Not elitism, canon movement, no fgtry, and respectable people instead of fgts.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
Fuckin' eh, some shite you got about people having to be mature. Shoot me in the head if I'm trying to PvP on another server and I'm fighting an eleven year old donor from his parent's money rollin' a rogue. Dankeschön, CoTH.
Lastly, tell us a story! It can be short, it can be long; but most importantly, we want to see your work in action. Go!:
Dark. Dark, and silent. It always was. Prisons are rowdy, bright, and loud places. So why was it always so dark, and silent? Solitary. It was because he remained in Solitary. From day one, the man's imprisonment was in Solitary Confinement. He had attacked a zealous guard, right out in the open, for all the others to see. The warden decided Drake should be locked up, kept away from the others. Like an animal. Day two, upon receiving food from another disrespectful guard, Drake unleashed his fury upon his second staff member. Now, he was shackled to the wall by his wrists, hanging forward at a forty-five degree angle in the dark, silent room, only released to feed or use the facility's nearby restroom. They treated him like a monster.
Drake sat on his knees, hanging forward, his arms strained against the chains as always. He never stopped trying to break free, until he slept or ate. The guards were in force when he was fed, armed with blades and maces, making sure he was kept down like the monster they saw him as. Drake's black, mangy hair hung about his face, still straight and unkempt as always. The shirt and pants forcefully placed on his body were dark green, though nobody could tell if they were a bright aqua, or pink, in the darkness of his cell. The shirt always itched his back, too.
A low creaking sound finally brought Drake to a silent attention. As the bright gold light of a hallway lined with torches forced itself into his cell, his eyes remained shut. The usual sound of food, a dozen footsteps and the shuffle of leather-made armor, did not come. Instead, two soft, padding footsteps alongside what sounded like iron boots greeted him. Drake's dulled, amber eyes opened slowly, and he raised his head to look up at the fat, balding warden and his iron-clad guardsman.
“Sure looks like you could use some exercise,†the fat man said, a whistle from the hole in between his teeth sounding at every “s†as he tugged on the lapels of his white, spruced coat. The warden released Drake into the prison-yard every time a large scuffle broke out, the mere sight of the still-handcuffed man (surrounded, of course, by a few armed guards) usually being enough to bring a small riot under control. Drake got his best exercise when the riot -didn't- calm down, and he was released into the smaller groups. The latter had only happened three times during his six-month incarceration.
“Times have changed, my young boy,†the warden said, toting himself about the cell as if he was a prized trophy. He scratched idly at a spot of grime on the wall with his thumbnail.
“It seems some horrible creatures have found their way into the prison. I need your help to keep them under control.†He smiled down at Drake, whose emotionless face and dull eyes discouraged him slightly.
“Food,†Drake muttered, his voice deep, scratchy, and dark. He was not as simple as he led on, but food was on his mind most at the moment. The warden leaned in slightly, peering down at the shackled man.
“You'll get yourself a full pardon, young man, with my signature, if you help save my staff and myself.â€Â
Drake stayed perfectly still, staring right through the warden's strangely optimistic demeanor. The fat man found himself backing up slightly, though he beckoned his guard toward Drake.
“Ivan here will release you, as a show of good intentions. Ivan?†The guard walked over and calmly unlocked the shackles, and Drake caught himself before face planting into the cold cement. The young man stood, cracking his neck and knuckles, and stared down at the warden. He was six feet two inches tall, towering above the short fat man.
“I shall be released?†he asked, his voice cracking slightly from lack of use. He cleared his throat.
“Yes, yes, you shall, pardoned by yours truly. Now then, Ivan has something for you.†The warden motioned to his guard, who handed Drake a short sword made of steel. It was shined, and sharpened; likely unused. Drake lifted the blade a few times, getting used to having a weapon other than his hands.
“Now then,†the warden said, looking slightly uncomfortable, “let's move along and rid ourselves of these pesky beasts.†He led the way out, stepping quickly and deliberately while Drake plodded along behind him, keeping up with his longer strides, and Ivan brought up the rear, now armed with his own steel blade and shield.
The trio traversed the hallways from Solitary and encountered no opposition whatsoever on their way, and reached the mess hall within a few minutes. There, dozens of dead bodies strewn about knocked-over tables, the ground, and in some cases more than one place, greeted the three. Drake halted suddenly, looking over the massacre with an expression of displeasure. He kneeled at one of the bodies, a black prisoner, and studied it. Huge gashes had been ripped into the man's flesh, tearing through his uniform like wind through rain. He had likely bled to death very quickly.
Drake heard the warden and his guard conversing quietly a way ahead of him.
“I‘m not allowing a monster to survive this mess. Not the beasts, nor that man!†the warden whispered angrily, unaware that months in a silent cell had heightened Drake‘s hearing. Ivan made to protest, but the warden cut him off. They looked back at Drake, who appeared to study the body more, and Ivan nodded.
“Now now, best not to dawdle,†the warden said, a nervous bounce in his step. He led Drake and Ivan through the mess hall and out into the main keep. Here, they stood on the bottom floor of a three-story room, nearly one hundred square feet in diameter, looking out over more desiccated remains. The walls were lined with open, and mostly bloody, prison cells on either side, and one of the stairwells had been destroyed entirely. The rubble laid on the bodies of a few unfortunate prisoners. Drake noted that there were guards, and other staff, amongst the dead. What caught his attention most was the lack of something: A monster.
The room's heavily torch-lit glow darkened slightly, and the air grew heavy. The warden almost squeaked, and resigned himself to hiding behind Drake, as Ivan tensed up with his blade ready. Drake took a few steps out into the room, as the lighting grew darker and the atmosphere heavier. As he looked around the room, he noticed the shadows along the ground becoming greater and thicker, seeming to cover the ground in a liquid darkness.
Suddenly, a dark shape came barreling out of a prison cell on the top floor, launching out of the darkness and plummeting down towards the trio of men. Ivan burst out from behind Drake, slamming his shield into the shape and sent it sprawling. As it came into focus, the beast stood, resembling a werewolf made of some dark, shadowy material. It cracked its neck, standing perfectly upright, and let loose a deep, dark growl. It roared, tilting its head back and arching its back, filling the room with the primal display. Then, just as sudden as the monster had appeared, Drake was upon it.
He crashed into the beast, his shoulder leading the way as he sent it tumbling to the ground. The man leapt into the air, crashing down on the monster with his blade, striking right through the heart before pulling the sword out and slamming the flat side across the monster's jaw. It yelped at first, then tried to furiously beat the attacker off of it, but the flailing claws struck air as Drake ducked and slammed the blade once more into the monster's chest. He twisted the sword, and the shadowy beast burst into a dark swirl of energy before dissipating into nothing. Drake wiped the sword on his pants, but there was nothing to clean.
He stood, looking back to his two captors, and saw horrified faces to greet him. Out of nothing, it seemed, they had been surrounded. Twelve snarling, growling beasts slowly walked toward them from all sides. All at once, they attacked. Drake ducked a snarling form and sidestepped another, a shadowy claw missing his side by less than inches. He broke out into a full run, abandoning the fat, treacherous warden and his spineless guard to the fate they no-doubt deserved. The screams Drake heard might as well have fallen on deaf ears.
He sprinted, his heart racing but his head calm, through multiple torch-lit hallways as the darkness seemed to creep closer and closer behind him. The beasts were giving chase, he knew, and he would be caught without mercy. Drake came to the end of the final hallway, a small entrance room where the new prisoners would be “filed†(usually involving a hastily written name and a slap on the back of the head to encourage faster walking) and found the entrance's gate wide open. He burst through, out into the dawning sunlight of the prison's yard, greeted by an absolutely -huge- open area surrounded by fifteen-foot walls of concrete topped with spearheads. The main gate was blocked by rubble and debris, as if it had been blasted down and covered back up.
Drake slowly came to a walk, and then stopped, his eyes darting around to something, anything, he could use. His eyes, now glowing a bright gold with the surge of adrenaline, fell upon a few small barrels of combustible liquid used mostly for mining the nearby hills and caves. Now, Drake thought, they would serve him better than a simple profit. He dashed over, grabbing and gingerly setting the barrels at what remained of the entrance. He hurried back over to the prison's first room, and peered inside to find the place nearly covered in shadows. He could feel the monsters staring at him, waiting for him to venture in out of the light. They must have come in the night, he thought, to escape sunlight and feed.
Boldly, and without caution, Drake dashed into the entrance room, stealing a lit torch from the wall as six of the monsters descended upon him. He dropped his sword and grabbed another torch, wielding them in both hands, taking a swing at anything to come near him. The flames' heat and light kept the beasts away, but only a few feet, and Drake could see the malice in their glowing yellow eyes. He could feel their hunger. He broke for the exit, his arms flowing behind him as he sprinted outside into the light once more. Imagine his surprise when one of the beasts soared through the air and tackled him into the ground, sending the torches out of his hands. They tumbled, and landed face-to-face with Drake on the bottom.
It was screaming, he could hear, and visibly sizzling in the soft morning light. Drake felt the monster's sheer desperation as it drove a huge, shadowy claw through the air to his heart. He snatched the beast's arm midway, feeling a sudden chill as three nails pierced his chest but a fraction of an inch. The beast was dying slowly as he held it still on his body, ripping its hand from him and grabbing its throat with an unbreakable grip. It gasped for air, for the darkness it loved so much, as it wildly flailed its other claw at the meal it wanted so badly. But, Drake shifted and turned, slamming the creature into the ground and holding it there as it screamed.
He rolled from it, leaping to snatch up one of the torches, crashing to the ground as he wrapped his hand around the stick just as a cold claw gripped his leg. Drake looked back, seeing the last desperate attempt of what he thought was a simple beast trying to feed, and took note of the unbelievably pained look in the shadow creature's eyes; they could feel. He threw the torch with everything he could as he felt the icy claws slowly climbing up his legs, trying to drag him closer to the prison's cold, dark clutches. The torch connected. Drake felt a sharp pain in his side as the beast gripped his body hard, the nails once more stabbing through his flesh with icy precision. The barrels lit. He turned his head back to take one last look at the horrible, starving monster, watching as the other claw shot through the air to try to stab his spine.
The explosion rocked the ground, blasting away the entire mountain of debris, shocking the entire air with a light so bright and fiery the beast exploded into darkness on top of Drake's prone body. Drake covered his head, as bits of rock, concrete, and earth crashed into the ground all around the prison yard. Then, stillness. Drake forced himself back up onto his feet and ran. He ran as fast as he could, feeling the still-icy pains in his body, feeling the dreaded darkness fading away behind him, feeling a sudden flooding sense of relief as he passed the remains of the gate and realized he was free.
Truly free.
Twenty minutes of sprinting later, Drake fell to his knees. He was now immersed in the light woods that covered the area surrounding the Imperial Prison. During his run he had seen no tracks, no bodies, and no lost items; he was the only survivor of the onslaught. Drake panted and gasped for air as he stood and leaned against a tree, his wounds now seeping blood. Anybody with a pair of eyes could follow the droplets and hunt Drake down, and his massive blood loss combined with sheer fatigue tugged at him to rest. His adrenaline died in an instant, his eyes returning to their usual dull amber, and he fell on his ass against the tree. Drake slept, not recalling the horrors of his prison life or escape, but having good dreams for the first time in six months.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
Roll a doobie?
.. I'm Sill Abendroth, that's my legal name. I smoke a lot, and used to roleplay a lot when I was younger. I like to troll. I'm a highly narcissistic person at times. I like this server, but I feel like you're almost hinting at elitism. Basically, if I play, and get an eighty. I'll roleplay everyday with you guys. Promise.<3
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?
Germany. German.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
From Starcraft, in about '02. Got Warcraft Reign of Chaos, and eventually bought The Frozen Throne. I started playing WoW in August of '06. I quit because of personal reasons and I've been floating around private servers every few odd months because of PvP nostalgia.
What made you seek our server over others? (or How did you find us?):
Forever ago I looked up roleplaying WoW private servers for google. You're the only werthwhile[sic] one.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I like chill RP, but not 'lets go all sit in the tavern and stereotype roleplaying.' I like roleplaying stoned, but I like impressing people more. So intellect takes the seat over bud.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
Forsaken Warlock. Back in '06 I ran a Troll Hunter, beautiful classy, pardon the pun, choice for a character. Feathermoon (US). My mate and I decided to hop on WoW two summer's ago. He rolled a troll hunter, I decided Forsaken Warlock. Fell. In. Love.
What are your expectations of this server?:
Not elitism, canon movement, no fgtry, and respectable people instead of fgts.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
Fuckin' eh, some shite you got about people having to be mature. Shoot me in the head if I'm trying to PvP on another server and I'm fighting an eleven year old donor from his parent's money rollin' a rogue. Dankeschön, CoTH.
Lastly, tell us a story! It can be short, it can be long; but most importantly, we want to see your work in action. Go!:
Dark. Dark, and silent. It always was. Prisons are rowdy, bright, and loud places. So why was it always so dark, and silent? Solitary. It was because he remained in Solitary. From day one, the man's imprisonment was in Solitary Confinement. He had attacked a zealous guard, right out in the open, for all the others to see. The warden decided Drake should be locked up, kept away from the others. Like an animal. Day two, upon receiving food from another disrespectful guard, Drake unleashed his fury upon his second staff member. Now, he was shackled to the wall by his wrists, hanging forward at a forty-five degree angle in the dark, silent room, only released to feed or use the facility's nearby restroom. They treated him like a monster.
Drake sat on his knees, hanging forward, his arms strained against the chains as always. He never stopped trying to break free, until he slept or ate. The guards were in force when he was fed, armed with blades and maces, making sure he was kept down like the monster they saw him as. Drake's black, mangy hair hung about his face, still straight and unkempt as always. The shirt and pants forcefully placed on his body were dark green, though nobody could tell if they were a bright aqua, or pink, in the darkness of his cell. The shirt always itched his back, too.
A low creaking sound finally brought Drake to a silent attention. As the bright gold light of a hallway lined with torches forced itself into his cell, his eyes remained shut. The usual sound of food, a dozen footsteps and the shuffle of leather-made armor, did not come. Instead, two soft, padding footsteps alongside what sounded like iron boots greeted him. Drake's dulled, amber eyes opened slowly, and he raised his head to look up at the fat, balding warden and his iron-clad guardsman.
“Sure looks like you could use some exercise,†the fat man said, a whistle from the hole in between his teeth sounding at every “s†as he tugged on the lapels of his white, spruced coat. The warden released Drake into the prison-yard every time a large scuffle broke out, the mere sight of the still-handcuffed man (surrounded, of course, by a few armed guards) usually being enough to bring a small riot under control. Drake got his best exercise when the riot -didn't- calm down, and he was released into the smaller groups. The latter had only happened three times during his six-month incarceration.
“Times have changed, my young boy,†the warden said, toting himself about the cell as if he was a prized trophy. He scratched idly at a spot of grime on the wall with his thumbnail.
“It seems some horrible creatures have found their way into the prison. I need your help to keep them under control.†He smiled down at Drake, whose emotionless face and dull eyes discouraged him slightly.
“Food,†Drake muttered, his voice deep, scratchy, and dark. He was not as simple as he led on, but food was on his mind most at the moment. The warden leaned in slightly, peering down at the shackled man.
“You'll get yourself a full pardon, young man, with my signature, if you help save my staff and myself.â€Â
Drake stayed perfectly still, staring right through the warden's strangely optimistic demeanor. The fat man found himself backing up slightly, though he beckoned his guard toward Drake.
“Ivan here will release you, as a show of good intentions. Ivan?†The guard walked over and calmly unlocked the shackles, and Drake caught himself before face planting into the cold cement. The young man stood, cracking his neck and knuckles, and stared down at the warden. He was six feet two inches tall, towering above the short fat man.
“I shall be released?†he asked, his voice cracking slightly from lack of use. He cleared his throat.
“Yes, yes, you shall, pardoned by yours truly. Now then, Ivan has something for you.†The warden motioned to his guard, who handed Drake a short sword made of steel. It was shined, and sharpened; likely unused. Drake lifted the blade a few times, getting used to having a weapon other than his hands.
“Now then,†the warden said, looking slightly uncomfortable, “let's move along and rid ourselves of these pesky beasts.†He led the way out, stepping quickly and deliberately while Drake plodded along behind him, keeping up with his longer strides, and Ivan brought up the rear, now armed with his own steel blade and shield.
The trio traversed the hallways from Solitary and encountered no opposition whatsoever on their way, and reached the mess hall within a few minutes. There, dozens of dead bodies strewn about knocked-over tables, the ground, and in some cases more than one place, greeted the three. Drake halted suddenly, looking over the massacre with an expression of displeasure. He kneeled at one of the bodies, a black prisoner, and studied it. Huge gashes had been ripped into the man's flesh, tearing through his uniform like wind through rain. He had likely bled to death very quickly.
Drake heard the warden and his guard conversing quietly a way ahead of him.
“I‘m not allowing a monster to survive this mess. Not the beasts, nor that man!†the warden whispered angrily, unaware that months in a silent cell had heightened Drake‘s hearing. Ivan made to protest, but the warden cut him off. They looked back at Drake, who appeared to study the body more, and Ivan nodded.
“Now now, best not to dawdle,†the warden said, a nervous bounce in his step. He led Drake and Ivan through the mess hall and out into the main keep. Here, they stood on the bottom floor of a three-story room, nearly one hundred square feet in diameter, looking out over more desiccated remains. The walls were lined with open, and mostly bloody, prison cells on either side, and one of the stairwells had been destroyed entirely. The rubble laid on the bodies of a few unfortunate prisoners. Drake noted that there were guards, and other staff, amongst the dead. What caught his attention most was the lack of something: A monster.
The room's heavily torch-lit glow darkened slightly, and the air grew heavy. The warden almost squeaked, and resigned himself to hiding behind Drake, as Ivan tensed up with his blade ready. Drake took a few steps out into the room, as the lighting grew darker and the atmosphere heavier. As he looked around the room, he noticed the shadows along the ground becoming greater and thicker, seeming to cover the ground in a liquid darkness.
Suddenly, a dark shape came barreling out of a prison cell on the top floor, launching out of the darkness and plummeting down towards the trio of men. Ivan burst out from behind Drake, slamming his shield into the shape and sent it sprawling. As it came into focus, the beast stood, resembling a werewolf made of some dark, shadowy material. It cracked its neck, standing perfectly upright, and let loose a deep, dark growl. It roared, tilting its head back and arching its back, filling the room with the primal display. Then, just as sudden as the monster had appeared, Drake was upon it.
He crashed into the beast, his shoulder leading the way as he sent it tumbling to the ground. The man leapt into the air, crashing down on the monster with his blade, striking right through the heart before pulling the sword out and slamming the flat side across the monster's jaw. It yelped at first, then tried to furiously beat the attacker off of it, but the flailing claws struck air as Drake ducked and slammed the blade once more into the monster's chest. He twisted the sword, and the shadowy beast burst into a dark swirl of energy before dissipating into nothing. Drake wiped the sword on his pants, but there was nothing to clean.
He stood, looking back to his two captors, and saw horrified faces to greet him. Out of nothing, it seemed, they had been surrounded. Twelve snarling, growling beasts slowly walked toward them from all sides. All at once, they attacked. Drake ducked a snarling form and sidestepped another, a shadowy claw missing his side by less than inches. He broke out into a full run, abandoning the fat, treacherous warden and his spineless guard to the fate they no-doubt deserved. The screams Drake heard might as well have fallen on deaf ears.
He sprinted, his heart racing but his head calm, through multiple torch-lit hallways as the darkness seemed to creep closer and closer behind him. The beasts were giving chase, he knew, and he would be caught without mercy. Drake came to the end of the final hallway, a small entrance room where the new prisoners would be “filed†(usually involving a hastily written name and a slap on the back of the head to encourage faster walking) and found the entrance's gate wide open. He burst through, out into the dawning sunlight of the prison's yard, greeted by an absolutely -huge- open area surrounded by fifteen-foot walls of concrete topped with spearheads. The main gate was blocked by rubble and debris, as if it had been blasted down and covered back up.
Drake slowly came to a walk, and then stopped, his eyes darting around to something, anything, he could use. His eyes, now glowing a bright gold with the surge of adrenaline, fell upon a few small barrels of combustible liquid used mostly for mining the nearby hills and caves. Now, Drake thought, they would serve him better than a simple profit. He dashed over, grabbing and gingerly setting the barrels at what remained of the entrance. He hurried back over to the prison's first room, and peered inside to find the place nearly covered in shadows. He could feel the monsters staring at him, waiting for him to venture in out of the light. They must have come in the night, he thought, to escape sunlight and feed.
Boldly, and without caution, Drake dashed into the entrance room, stealing a lit torch from the wall as six of the monsters descended upon him. He dropped his sword and grabbed another torch, wielding them in both hands, taking a swing at anything to come near him. The flames' heat and light kept the beasts away, but only a few feet, and Drake could see the malice in their glowing yellow eyes. He could feel their hunger. He broke for the exit, his arms flowing behind him as he sprinted outside into the light once more. Imagine his surprise when one of the beasts soared through the air and tackled him into the ground, sending the torches out of his hands. They tumbled, and landed face-to-face with Drake on the bottom.
It was screaming, he could hear, and visibly sizzling in the soft morning light. Drake felt the monster's sheer desperation as it drove a huge, shadowy claw through the air to his heart. He snatched the beast's arm midway, feeling a sudden chill as three nails pierced his chest but a fraction of an inch. The beast was dying slowly as he held it still on his body, ripping its hand from him and grabbing its throat with an unbreakable grip. It gasped for air, for the darkness it loved so much, as it wildly flailed its other claw at the meal it wanted so badly. But, Drake shifted and turned, slamming the creature into the ground and holding it there as it screamed.
He rolled from it, leaping to snatch up one of the torches, crashing to the ground as he wrapped his hand around the stick just as a cold claw gripped his leg. Drake looked back, seeing the last desperate attempt of what he thought was a simple beast trying to feed, and took note of the unbelievably pained look in the shadow creature's eyes; they could feel. He threw the torch with everything he could as he felt the icy claws slowly climbing up his legs, trying to drag him closer to the prison's cold, dark clutches. The torch connected. Drake felt a sharp pain in his side as the beast gripped his body hard, the nails once more stabbing through his flesh with icy precision. The barrels lit. He turned his head back to take one last look at the horrible, starving monster, watching as the other claw shot through the air to try to stab his spine.
The explosion rocked the ground, blasting away the entire mountain of debris, shocking the entire air with a light so bright and fiery the beast exploded into darkness on top of Drake's prone body. Drake covered his head, as bits of rock, concrete, and earth crashed into the ground all around the prison yard. Then, stillness. Drake forced himself back up onto his feet and ran. He ran as fast as he could, feeling the still-icy pains in his body, feeling the dreaded darkness fading away behind him, feeling a sudden flooding sense of relief as he passed the remains of the gate and realized he was free.
Truly free.
Twenty minutes of sprinting later, Drake fell to his knees. He was now immersed in the light woods that covered the area surrounding the Imperial Prison. During his run he had seen no tracks, no bodies, and no lost items; he was the only survivor of the onslaught. Drake panted and gasped for air as he stood and leaned against a tree, his wounds now seeping blood. Anybody with a pair of eyes could follow the droplets and hunt Drake down, and his massive blood loss combined with sheer fatigue tugged at him to rest. His adrenaline died in an instant, his eyes returning to their usual dull amber, and he fell on his ass against the tree. Drake slept, not recalling the horrors of his prison life or escape, but having good dreams for the first time in six months.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
Roll a doobie?