Sci-Fi RP ~Lux in Tenebris~ (Brit)

She took it, tilting her head "Gaudy..." She murmured, brushing her hand over the blade "Engravings..." She frowned as she held it up to test the balance, finding it... really well balanced "Hmm... Good." She then ran her fingers along the edge, bringing them up and seeing the cut "Sharp."
 
Eris raised an eyebrow but nodded, pointing at him "Wait." She said, before heading back inside and returning a few minutes later, having changed from the loose fitting robe she had been wearing to a set of furs that were much tighter, as well as having multiple loops to hold her blades "Go." She started to walk past him, heading for the woods.
 
As they hunted, he was…surprisingly amazing at getting kills, even if he had mentioned that he wasn’t to his father. Then again, he was always humble and thinking less of himself.

As he let an arrow fly from the bow his mother had carved for him, Eris would specifically notice the sheer shirt he wore, more resistant to cold weather than most. Chione let out a hot breath of air, steam rising from his lips. When did he become so, confident? His arrow surprisingly made its way into the middle of a deer’s eyes, killing it instantly.


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(Oooh nice :3)

He just sighed, giving a glance to her as she turned, but suddenly a stray arrow from somewhere flew, heading towards Eris. “Eris watch out..!” He yelled and stepped in front of her, moving her just in time before the arrow struck his upper shoulder. He cursed at the pain it sent through his body and he looked around for whoever had shot it. When he didn’t and couldn’t pinpoint he cursed underneath his breath. “Probably some fucking amateur..”
 
The other sighed, “I’m sure we’ll find another,” he mentioned and shook his head. “Pity too, she was quite the looker,” and they moved on, looking for their next victim.

Chione looked confused but didn’t argue, leaving Eris to handle the situation.
 
The shooters were rejoicing, going over to see who exactly they were. Then one of them felt their blood run cold when the saw the male. “Hey- dumbass!” He strikes his companion over the head with his bow, “Do you have any idea who this boy belongs to?!” The slavers were of elven race, and the markings of this boy meant he was descended from Faerwyn’s bloodline. It had been supposed that their princess had perished, but with the boy in front of them, that hadn’t been true apparently.
 

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