(OOC note: The time frame is set for July, as to not confuse itself with the previous threads in this area and to prevent paradoxing).
The first thing Riley knew he had returned to the old air of Caislin Hallows was the smell. It was a tentative mixture of greenery, the smell of the darkened earth passing through the ages, and only the tiniest hint of pollution on the horizon. It was different from the states; a combination of asphalt, acidic air, and grime that always left a blackened stain on his flesh that could only be cleaned away with hours of bathing. Although he was born in the states, he never felt at home there. Maybe his old mind would find solace in the freshly cut manicured grass, the plastic swing sets, and the smell of oil from old pickups; however, that child was long gone. He made sure of that with the amount of exposure to the darkest parts of human society.
Fear. Pain. Death.
Those three dreadful predicaments followed him as he left Caislin Hallows several months before, haunting him like an everlasting boil on his skin. Popping up at the worst possible moments, and reminding him of his frailty and insignificance as a lone human being in society. No matter how much he toned his body, calibrated the left arm with a variety of tools and weapons, and awakened deeper powers within... he was only one man against the world of fools. In many cases, a sledgehammer that someone else controlled from the shadows. No matter how far he ran, how abysmally stretched himself to help control his emotions, his character, his sanity, and his inner peace... there was never enough time to find the consolidation and fulfill many of his wishful goals that had been wrecking his mind since he had first arrived at Cailsin Hallows. There was one particular item that had never withdrew itself from his mind, a driving force that was cynical in its own right. A feeling that lead him astray across the globe, digging himself into a variety of things and yet inevitably driving him back to the great land from which he escaped.
What was his purpose?
No matter how much he sold himself, bought, saved, donated... and even killed, he could never feel satisfied with many of the odd jobs he accomplished. He tried the everyday life, running a small shop in a forgotten town. Found someone, and attempted the dream of an everyday, ordinary life. Nevertheless, those who dip their hands in blood can never find the everlasting peace they deserve. They are constantly on the run, always fighting and driving back their worst fears and enemies alike.
He had to keep moving, the beast within would not let him settle down. It craved for excitement. It also reminded him that it was still there, always tempting him with delectable delights and memories from his previous days when they were more bright and cheery. It would use them as a tool to help control Riley and attempt to gain control of his body one step at a time. It had gain control before several times at Caislin Hallows, and a few times when he had left. Blood and destruction always drove it mad, and through shear emotion, it would break the bounds Riley constricted it to. Even so, Riley was no fool. This was his place, his body, and he was not going to let take what small portion he valued more than anything else.
His freedom.
At that thought, the creature stirred within and gave a mighty growl. Riley adjusted the rutsack as he stopped in an alley way to examine his surroundings. Over the last several months, the city began to shift at a dramatic pace. There were two parts to the city now; there was a more industrialized section, which was under construction when he left, and the old city in which he was exploring now. He thought about going to the castle first, as many of his belongings were kept in storage secretly in the caverns of Caislin, but it was already late and he needed to rest his head after several days of travel. Craning his head, he began to look for an inn, tavern, or motel so he could get a bite to eat and crash into some stale sheets for the night.
It was alot colder in Ireland than in the southern parts of the States during this time of the year, so he could get away with wearing long slacks, a dark long sleeved over shirt, and thick shoes that hid many of his tools and instruments that he could hide on his person at one time. The rut sack was mainly for show; it would look weird if a person traveling did not carry his luggage with him. Nevertheless, it contained the necessary toiletries and a couple changes of clothes. Everything else was going to be shipped in by a steam of small packages from the states. It was costly, but it helped to keep suspicion down and it made the load easier for the travel across the Atlantic.
When he took a step towards a possible solution, he felt a voice whisper in his mind. It was quite eerie, but was accustomed to it now. The creature within loved to toy with his thoughts, and in many cases, give sound advice. It also kept him preoccupied when he was alone for days on end.
How does it feel to be back?
Cracking his neck, Riley merely sighed at the thought. Its dark alley ways, twisting corners, and dart forest that surrounded the land made it a stalkers playground and a victims nightmare. The limited overcast of maybe a few hours of sunlight per day made it easier for men to move in the shadows to find their targets. The random arrangement of buildings and lack of real security made movement a breeze, only restrictive by the outsiders. The taverns were easy to come by, and everything was paid in cash. It was a living nightmare to track someone in this hell hole, and yet harder to stay invisible if someone caught his scent. The thoughts rolled in the back of his head as he began to approach the 'Hog Head' tavern,his mind a mutable rumble of thoughts. Answering the creature with a calm, sour grace, he kept his piercing blue eyes forward without any remorse for his sanity or nearby persons within earshot.
"Nothing like home sweet home..."
The first thing Riley knew he had returned to the old air of Caislin Hallows was the smell. It was a tentative mixture of greenery, the smell of the darkened earth passing through the ages, and only the tiniest hint of pollution on the horizon. It was different from the states; a combination of asphalt, acidic air, and grime that always left a blackened stain on his flesh that could only be cleaned away with hours of bathing. Although he was born in the states, he never felt at home there. Maybe his old mind would find solace in the freshly cut manicured grass, the plastic swing sets, and the smell of oil from old pickups; however, that child was long gone. He made sure of that with the amount of exposure to the darkest parts of human society.
Fear. Pain. Death.
Those three dreadful predicaments followed him as he left Caislin Hallows several months before, haunting him like an everlasting boil on his skin. Popping up at the worst possible moments, and reminding him of his frailty and insignificance as a lone human being in society. No matter how much he toned his body, calibrated the left arm with a variety of tools and weapons, and awakened deeper powers within... he was only one man against the world of fools. In many cases, a sledgehammer that someone else controlled from the shadows. No matter how far he ran, how abysmally stretched himself to help control his emotions, his character, his sanity, and his inner peace... there was never enough time to find the consolidation and fulfill many of his wishful goals that had been wrecking his mind since he had first arrived at Cailsin Hallows. There was one particular item that had never withdrew itself from his mind, a driving force that was cynical in its own right. A feeling that lead him astray across the globe, digging himself into a variety of things and yet inevitably driving him back to the great land from which he escaped.
What was his purpose?
No matter how much he sold himself, bought, saved, donated... and even killed, he could never feel satisfied with many of the odd jobs he accomplished. He tried the everyday life, running a small shop in a forgotten town. Found someone, and attempted the dream of an everyday, ordinary life. Nevertheless, those who dip their hands in blood can never find the everlasting peace they deserve. They are constantly on the run, always fighting and driving back their worst fears and enemies alike.
He had to keep moving, the beast within would not let him settle down. It craved for excitement. It also reminded him that it was still there, always tempting him with delectable delights and memories from his previous days when they were more bright and cheery. It would use them as a tool to help control Riley and attempt to gain control of his body one step at a time. It had gain control before several times at Caislin Hallows, and a few times when he had left. Blood and destruction always drove it mad, and through shear emotion, it would break the bounds Riley constricted it to. Even so, Riley was no fool. This was his place, his body, and he was not going to let take what small portion he valued more than anything else.
His freedom.
At that thought, the creature stirred within and gave a mighty growl. Riley adjusted the rutsack as he stopped in an alley way to examine his surroundings. Over the last several months, the city began to shift at a dramatic pace. There were two parts to the city now; there was a more industrialized section, which was under construction when he left, and the old city in which he was exploring now. He thought about going to the castle first, as many of his belongings were kept in storage secretly in the caverns of Caislin, but it was already late and he needed to rest his head after several days of travel. Craning his head, he began to look for an inn, tavern, or motel so he could get a bite to eat and crash into some stale sheets for the night.
It was alot colder in Ireland than in the southern parts of the States during this time of the year, so he could get away with wearing long slacks, a dark long sleeved over shirt, and thick shoes that hid many of his tools and instruments that he could hide on his person at one time. The rut sack was mainly for show; it would look weird if a person traveling did not carry his luggage with him. Nevertheless, it contained the necessary toiletries and a couple changes of clothes. Everything else was going to be shipped in by a steam of small packages from the states. It was costly, but it helped to keep suspicion down and it made the load easier for the travel across the Atlantic.
When he took a step towards a possible solution, he felt a voice whisper in his mind. It was quite eerie, but was accustomed to it now. The creature within loved to toy with his thoughts, and in many cases, give sound advice. It also kept him preoccupied when he was alone for days on end.
How does it feel to be back?
Cracking his neck, Riley merely sighed at the thought. Its dark alley ways, twisting corners, and dart forest that surrounded the land made it a stalkers playground and a victims nightmare. The limited overcast of maybe a few hours of sunlight per day made it easier for men to move in the shadows to find their targets. The random arrangement of buildings and lack of real security made movement a breeze, only restrictive by the outsiders. The taverns were easy to come by, and everything was paid in cash. It was a living nightmare to track someone in this hell hole, and yet harder to stay invisible if someone caught his scent. The thoughts rolled in the back of his head as he began to approach the 'Hog Head' tavern,his mind a mutable rumble of thoughts. Answering the creature with a calm, sour grace, he kept his piercing blue eyes forward without any remorse for his sanity or nearby persons within earshot.
"Nothing like home sweet home..."