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Vorenus stood straight as any standard, his face a hard, impassive mask. Wrapped in his finest island clothes, worn but clean, his body thrummed with carefully contained energy, his sword a shining silver where it hung from his side, glittering in the noonday sun. His hands did not tremble, though his fingers were wrapped tight in fists, ( Read more... ) -
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The night was quiet as he gazed out at the ocean, Vorenus' pale eyes fixed on the water that moved forever towards shore, yet never seemed to reach him. The salt on the air mixed with the tang of blood. It filled Vorenus' nose as the dull ache filled his body, his knees protesting their long hours spent thrust down into the sand. Before him was ( Read more... ) -
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The Market did a fine job of keeping a man on his toes, even a man as restless as Pullo, Vorenus was pleased to find. There was order to be kept, and even if order kept itself well enough without their help, sometimes it just did a man good to stand about and look menacing ( Read more... ) -
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The distance between Isabel's hut and that of Charles Guiteau was great, yet Vorenus traversed it in what felt like mere moments, leaving the undergrowth crushed and twisted in his wake.
The match was not suitable. The man could not provide for her. By the look of it, he could barely provide for himself, and Vorenus did not care if Isabel loved ( Read more... ) -
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The mailbox of Lucius Vorenus. You may leave letters for Pullo if you like.