The Gallic Mistress and a Libertonian Warlord

[Altejago]

[color=#FFFFFF]The year was 817, and the early spring on Curacao was a beautiful time of year. The hot season was just beginning and the plant life had just begun its transformation of colours symbolising the changing of seasons. A tall mysterious man was standing on his hotel balcony overlooking a vast aqua blue lake that was sprawled out like a large blue cloth. Mountains in the background, still covered in snow, stuck out like jagged broken glass.

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He soaks in the morning sun and breathes in lungs full of pure air, not the recycled crap he was accustomed too on the rock bases he was from. The mysterious bloke reaches into his pocket and withdraws a large cigar. He raises it to his nose and sniffs the skunky aroma that emanates from his over-sized blunt. "Nothing like a wake and bake!" he says aloud. He is utterly alone in his room, being a man of few friends and many more enemies had taken its toll on him. He was content being on his own but suffered loneliness when it came to needs desired from the opposing sex. Conqubines and high class hookers got his end away, but as inhuman as he wished himself to be he could not shake the little bit of humanity he had left inside of him. The part that desired female companionship.

Moments pass and the bloke is half way through his smoke, feeling pretty blazed and bloody good about himself. Things had been good in his business life. His rise to power in the short span he was within his group of rock dwellers had led to some angry and disgruntled people, but they couldn't deny the turning point of their organization once he took over. Gone were the days of scrubbing floors and kissing ass, and instead replaced with scuffing floors and having his ass kissed instead. He was a modest ruler, cared for his devoted followers and loved the way of life they led. The cash was plenty and the weed was always available, as well as any other devilish activities he felt compelled to do.



Drawing the last toke on his blunt, he gets up and takes a shower. It was going to be a hot day and he had yet to go get some breakfast from the restaurant some floors below. He washes and dries himself, and then proceeds to put on some casual clothes ready for breakfast. He had developed the usual munchies and poached Curacao Moa eggs sounded damn fine right then. He made his way down for some breaky with a new blunt in hand.

// For those who care, this is Twizel in New Zealand looking out towards Mt Cook, our tallest peak