Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20190929011112/@comment-5543592-20190930185511

"Fuckin' weirdo." Scaldor was muttering under his breath. "Gimme one excuse, need only one excuse."

He threw the shirt aside, exposing his series upon series of criss-crossing scars, looking like some kind of patchwork horror show. No person should have been able to walk around after that many grevious injuries. There was a cluster of thirty-something stab wounds centered over his liver, a long puckering line across his gut where it looked like he'd been eviserated at one point. The six overlapping scars on his throat from being hung, usually concealed by his high collar. And the large divot in his arm, what looked to be an improperly healed bite wound of a kind, given to him by some kind of large predator. The surface of it was uneven and bumpy. What wasn't scarred was leanly muscled, taut with striations.

He stripped off his pants too, and his legs were no less spared from a lifetime of punishment. Burns, both chemical and regular, slash wounds, ringed scars from shackles. The worst seemed to be on his lower legs. Around his right calf there was a parallel row of five scars, wide and deep, delivered by a claw of some kind.

"Standing here with my dick out." Scaldor said, kicking his pants away. "Any day now."