Bloodknight
The Artist
Deep into the dark vacuum of space lied an abandoned spaceport.
In this spaceport walked a seasoned bounty hunter that went by the codename Hazard.
Hazard walked the decaying streets of the spaceport, looking at the crumbling duracrete buildings that used to house countless goods and merchandise. In the pitch blackness of the unpowered port, the night vision of his HUD made visible obstacles formed by pieces of building and craters in the ground that definitely weren't created by age damage as he scaled a few fallen chunks of duracrete to position himself on top of a bridge connecting the upper levels of two buildings. He didn't know why he was here, only that he was somehow attracted to this place. So now that he was here, he spent some time exploring the space port for inspiration for his next art project.
The way the place was damaged seemed to paint a picture of massacre and destruction in his mind's eye. He smiled at that.
"Real artistic."
He said softly to himself and his voice echoed throughout the spaceport for a good minute. The official name for Hazard's profession was Bounty Hunter, but he would never call himself that. He was an artist, but his idea of art was far from the norm. To him, fighting was an art and so was the way his victims laid splayed out on the floor. And let's not forget about the way their blood splattered against nearby surfaces; that was , in his words, excellent.
As a result he'd kill just about anybody if he could find a way to make doing so look pleasing to him. Not because he was cold or heartless by any means. He simply had a different moral standing on death and killing. To him, killing was just about as mundane as any other thing one could consider an art like playing an instrument. Likewise, his job of killing people for money is just like getting paid to sing. His bounties were his art projects. There was nothing wrong with that. There was nothing wrong with him. Nothing at all.
So he observed the place from his position on the high bridge, smiling at the scorched, decaying and battle-torn scenery. He kept in mind that he had no idea what he was doing here. Maybe the spaceport wasn't as abandoned as he thought?
[member=Mira Albion]
In this spaceport walked a seasoned bounty hunter that went by the codename Hazard.
Hazard walked the decaying streets of the spaceport, looking at the crumbling duracrete buildings that used to house countless goods and merchandise. In the pitch blackness of the unpowered port, the night vision of his HUD made visible obstacles formed by pieces of building and craters in the ground that definitely weren't created by age damage as he scaled a few fallen chunks of duracrete to position himself on top of a bridge connecting the upper levels of two buildings. He didn't know why he was here, only that he was somehow attracted to this place. So now that he was here, he spent some time exploring the space port for inspiration for his next art project.
The way the place was damaged seemed to paint a picture of massacre and destruction in his mind's eye. He smiled at that.
"Real artistic."
He said softly to himself and his voice echoed throughout the spaceport for a good minute. The official name for Hazard's profession was Bounty Hunter, but he would never call himself that. He was an artist, but his idea of art was far from the norm. To him, fighting was an art and so was the way his victims laid splayed out on the floor. And let's not forget about the way their blood splattered against nearby surfaces; that was , in his words, excellent.
As a result he'd kill just about anybody if he could find a way to make doing so look pleasing to him. Not because he was cold or heartless by any means. He simply had a different moral standing on death and killing. To him, killing was just about as mundane as any other thing one could consider an art like playing an instrument. Likewise, his job of killing people for money is just like getting paid to sing. His bounties were his art projects. There was nothing wrong with that. There was nothing wrong with him. Nothing at all.
So he observed the place from his position on the high bridge, smiling at the scorched, decaying and battle-torn scenery. He kept in mind that he had no idea what he was doing here. Maybe the spaceport wasn't as abandoned as he thought?
[member=Mira Albion]