Aytea is a dangerous place full of thieves, bandit's, and murderers. Secret criminal organizations plague some kingdoms while others aren't. There's only few countries in Aytea and those are the sandy deserts of Koojie, the forests of Imiroth, the island of the Peacekeepers, the fire covered island of the dragon rebels, the mixed islands of Melekar, and the forest covered lands of The Templest Empire which it's super volcano is rumored to be about to explode. So you dear traveler, blacksmith, mage, adventurer, citizen, soldier, Peacekeeper, or rebel. You can decide the final outcome of Aytea but you can't do it alone.
(RTK is in effect so there should be no senseless killing or godmodding, unless somebody owes you money or they've wronged you somehow in a major way you can kill them.)
The link of Aytea's map is right here. https://plus.google.com/u/2/109323080731237344085/posts/NDyTGMy7nth?pid=6233987709051405026&oid=109323080731237344085
(RTK is in effect so there should be no senseless killing or godmodding, unless somebody owes you money or they've wronged you somehow in a major way you can kill them.)
The link of Aytea's map is right here. https://plus.google.com/u/2/109323080731237344085/posts/NDyTGMy7nth?pid=6233987709051405026&oid=109323080731237344085
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I stood up hazily from my bed and I took a step onto the floor. I looked around and got on my clothes along with my iron armor and I proceeded out the door of my small wooden cottage.
"God damnit..."
I'd look up from my dining room table, realising I had fallen asleep.
He'd grab a nearby dish-towel, and wipe his face off.
I'd stand up, and straighten out my clothes.
I saw a man sitting at his dinner table through my window. Damn neighbors. I thought to myself, it was twelve at midnight after all.
I walked to my front door, and grabbed my makeshift fishing rod, a small net, and a container of worms.
I'd store the worms in my messenger's satchel my mother had sewn for me, out of a strong linen.
The cold midnight air whisked across my face as I got onto my horses back and I whipped the lashes. "C'mon get going!" I yelled probably waking up some other neighbors.
I'd grab my box, with hooks and spare line, and make my way out of the front door.
"God damnit.., Dillon's up."
"******* waking us up, damn lanky ass skinny abused horses."
I'd make my way down to the edge of the forest, and walk sideways down the hill, to the nearby creek that had run into a pond.
I heard cussing coming from inside my neighbors cottage and with that my horse took off down the dirt trail that my neighbors liked to call a road.
I'd look over a the spot I had buried the body, not wanting to remember.
I'd make my way down to the creek, and settle down.
I'd tie a nice steel hook.
I'd thread a worm onto the stick with the line tied to it, and plink it into the water, weighed down by the lead weights.
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