by the side of the stump where she told us these things;
WHO: ofthewilds, OPEN.
WHERE: Central Park.
WHEN: Thursday, January 21st, all-day.
WARNINGS: Morrigan's perpetual sense of misanthropy.
SUMMARY: Guess who lives in a make-shift little hutch in the Park? Morrigan spends her time wandering around the park, foraging for various herbs and plants, pretending to be a very large spider bear wolf, and generally being a witchly hobo wearing way too little clothing for her own good. She's also a bitch. Clearly you should meet her.
FORMAT: Quicklog with para-intro.
Just north of the Reservoir, in the center of a small clearing walled-off by thick-trunked trees, there is a small make-shift lean-to of a shack. It is surprisingly well-made, given the nature of its construction, and the hands that fashioned it must be well-practiced to have managed it. Those that look hard enough, or that wander long enough, may possibly come across it. If they are lucky -- or perhaps, arguably, unlucky -- maybe somebody will even be home (a tall, slender woman with dark hair and golden, cat-like eyes).
If not, the fire is smothered and its embers are scattered underfoot. There are a handful of odd belongings here and there (a few vials and pouches containing unidentifiable things, the pelt of animal, beads on string) but anyone with any real sense of self-preservation would best off not trying to touch any of them. As to where the person who lives here as gotten to, who can say? Perhaps she has traveled far and wide and has abandoned this place for good. Or perhaps she is watching from the woods, looking to see who will wander by.
WHERE: Central Park.
WHEN: Thursday, January 21st, all-day.
WARNINGS: Morrigan's perpetual sense of misanthropy.
SUMMARY: Guess who lives in a make-shift little hutch in the Park? Morrigan spends her time wandering around the park, foraging for various herbs and plants, pretending to be a very large spider bear wolf, and generally being a witchly hobo wearing way too little clothing for her own good. She's also a bitch. Clearly you should meet her.
FORMAT: Quicklog with para-intro.
Just north of the Reservoir, in the center of a small clearing walled-off by thick-trunked trees, there is a small make-shift lean-to of a shack. It is surprisingly well-made, given the nature of its construction, and the hands that fashioned it must be well-practiced to have managed it. Those that look hard enough, or that wander long enough, may possibly come across it. If they are lucky -- or perhaps, arguably, unlucky -- maybe somebody will even be home (a tall, slender woman with dark hair and golden, cat-like eyes).
If not, the fire is smothered and its embers are scattered underfoot. There are a handful of odd belongings here and there (a few vials and pouches containing unidentifiable things, the pelt of animal, beads on string) but anyone with any real sense of self-preservation would best off not trying to touch any of them. As to where the person who lives here as gotten to, who can say? Perhaps she has traveled far and wide and has abandoned this place for good. Or perhaps she is watching from the woods, looking to see who will wander by.