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Synje Thistledown

Synje is half-Goblin, half-Elf, 100% annoying.

0 · 217 views · located in The East Pangic

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Blake Hardman

So begins...

Synje Thistledown's Story

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Hhmmm . . .

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I don't think this is it.

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It doesn't show my name.

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Just a box.

The setting changes from dark-woods to Gaia

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OOC: This is Blake. Am I visible?

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Synje Thistledown does something annoying.

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Synje Thistledown ambles through the woods. He does not hurry, yet he does not linger. There is a confident swagger about Synje's stride as he licks his fingers. Grinning, revealing twisted teeth, Synje wipes the blood from his hands onto his trousers and licks the remnants from his lips.

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Synje Thistledown Nuttin' better dan sweet meats o' screamin' var'aity.

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Synje Thistledown cocked his head slightly to one side, listening. With a quick sniff, Synje realizes he's not alone. In fact, he knows it. There is something to be said for the Gendoku--they trained their assassins well. It's a shame he had to kill them all. Regardless, he didn't mind being followed. He even really didn't mind being watched. What he did mind, however, was the fact that he was no longer alone to muse to himself. So, he decided to stand still . . . and wait. But not quietly.

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Synje Thistledown rests his left hand casually on the hilt of what appears to be a dagger. He reaches up with his right hand to absently stroke the red feather sticking out of his hat.

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Synje Thistledown appears to be just slightly over five feet tall, dressed in a blood-soaked tunic covered by a brown leather vest and wearing what must have at one time been a green pair of trousers. His features are not readily recognizable; if anything his face appears to be that of an elf which had a very unfortunate accident with a meat cleaver.

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Not even so much as an 'owdy? No manners in dis 'ere part o' da worl', eh? Guess Ah coul' ask da same, but it won' make no diff'rence. People lie. Call me Synje. So, ya gotta 'abit o' tryin' to sneak up on people?

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Synje Thistledown looks over Alistair, his yellow, violet-speckled eyes squinting slightly. Those slitted pupils look like nothing more than the eyes of snake, observant and menacing. A smile, slow and lipless, begins to form at the corners of his mouth.

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Synje Thistledown drops his right hand from the feather, waving it nonchalantly in Allistair's general direction, obviously indicating his appearance.

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Synje Thistledown lets his hand drop further, into a pouch at his belt, where he gently pulls out what appears to be the leg of an infant.

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Ah was savin' it fer later, but if yer 'ungry, an' it seem ya are, den ol' Synje don' min' sharin' sum.

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An' ya ain' dat pretty lookin' either, lad. Don' fergit it. 'Cause nobody else will.

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Synje Thistledown shrugs slightly and tucks the leg back into his pouch, that small, wicked smile just on the edge of his mouth. There is no malice there, though. There doesn't even appear to be wariness. Synje almost seems amused, like he knows something funny is about to happen but he doesn't want to tell anyone.

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An' dat's where yer only 'alf right. I guess if I weren' also 'alf sometin' ot'er dan elf, den mayhaps dis 'ere talk wouldnae be takin' place, no?

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That small smile on Synje's face only seemed to grow, by a fraction of an inch.

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Nah. Don' much favor yer kin'. Choke on dem bird bones ya got 'idin' back dere.

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Synje Thistledown clearly was able to discern Alistair's true visage.

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Synje Thistledown chuckles slightly under his breath, a raspy sound, like to sandstone being rubbed together. Shaking his head, Synje turns around and begins to walk off, the same careless canter he had before, obviously unconcerned with Alistair or his reaction.

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Don' gotta see nuttin'. Ya carry yerself wrong fer somone wit'out 'em, 's all.

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Synje Thistledown continues to walk about, but he responds, his voice barely audible above the rustling of the leaves.

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