Thread: The Cursebreaker

The beauty of his host had not gone unnoticed for the Cursebreaker, so when caught that first glimpse of what had been hidden underneath thick and ragged clothes his interest peaked. There was no harm done in looking, right? Besides, she had lived on that farm for so long, he expected her to know just where everything was. Was she teasing him? Or did she just truly not care who might see her? The thought of her knowingly going through these motions in front of the open window would join his dreams that night as he settled into a deep slumber. One filled with vivid images of his host and how he could help ease some of the loneliness she was no doubt feeling. But first things first, Bolivar had a beast to content with, afterwards, he could offer his other services to the widow. Despite the pleasant images of his naked host at his side, Bolivar's sleep was interrupted by the occasional nightmare. It wasn't uncommon for him, or others of his kind. Their line of work had them see and experience things no man were meant to see or experience. It left scars, deeper than on the flesh, scars no potion could heal. It wasn't enough to wake him from his slumber, but it was enough to cause the Cursebreaker to shift and grunt in his sleep. As morning dawned, Bolivar rose from the hay he had settled himself into. The roof had proven a valuable ally in his battle against the elements that night, the hey had done wonders of keeping his body warm and despite the crudeness of it all, it was far better to sleep in than the ground he was so used to. All in all, when he awoke, nightmares aside, Bolivar had the best sleep he could remember. Well, nightmares and Sorceresses aside. That image filled his mind for a few good seconds before those two were gone. Business, he kept telling himself, business first, pleasure after. It had kinda been his rule of thumb when it came to his work, he had a reputation to uphold after all. Or in some parts of the world, a reputation to build. Reaching over for a bucket of rainwater, Bolivar splashed the cold water unto his hardened, exposed chest. He had not worn his armor that night, so all he was wearing when he woke up was his leather breeches. Using the collected rain water, he began washing himself down. Allowing his calloused hands to rub against his scared and burned flesh. Sure, there might be potions or magic that could remove said flaws of the skin, but Bolivar wore his scars with pride. It was proof of the life he had lived, the things he had done. And it was a constant reminder not to get complacent, a reminder that there would always be something out there stronger. And thanks to his alchemical skills, the wound caused from the bolt the day before had healed up fully, leaving nothing but a small scar where the bolt entered. Another one for the collection. Finishing up by splashing a good amount of water into his face, Bolivar eventually reached for his magical elf-mail chainmail and thew it over his head. As soon as it fitted itself around him, the shimmering metal warped and changed. And instead of him standing wearing a metal armor, he was wearing nothing but a leather jacked and a white shirt underneath. For all intents and purposes, he looked harmless and defenseless. Reaching over, he clipped the two belts carrying his magical sheaths around his chest. They had been a reward from another Sorceress he had done a contract for back west. They went well with his armor, adding to the image he liked to travel in. For despite him wearing not one, but two massive, two-handed sword enchanted to be as best they could, once he wore them, they turned invisible to everything but the most powerful scribe. It allowed him to walk armed and armored into placed where weapons were not permitted, it meant that no matter what, he would always be armed and dangerous. Once everything was done, Bolivar sat down on the hair again and pulled out his alchemical gear from the saddlebag he had retrieved from Banter. Should he run into any dangers like yesterday, he'd need to be prepared. So spending the next hour or two, Bolivar began to brew various potions, mutagens, Extracts and bombs. All neatly fitting into pockets, satchels and special holders on his chest and harness. All in all, despite the lack of weapons, he stroke an intimidating figure for sure, his massive, thick build accented by a rugged yet oddly beautiful face with a few scars here and there to add to the hardened, rugged look. It was time to get to work, packing everything away again, Bolivar made his way to the western forest, looking for any and all clues that might help him. On his way there, he peeked into the bedroom of his host, had she been awake he would greet her a good morning, if she had been awake, he would continue on his way in silence.