04-29-2014, 05:16 PM
Finch has become a regular at Temple. He participates in almost any ritual if requested and will more often than not ask the other Priests of the Sword to teach him things that he does not know. He spars with anyone willing to waste their time on the fallen bastard of the Roses and he ... well, he is ok with that.
But there is more to Finch than that. He keeps his nose to the ground and his ear to the wind. He's listening to the words people are speaking and the rumours that so easily spread like wild fire among the undead.
He's begun leaving things at various sewer entrances too. Trinkets that a rat might appreciate. Day old bread and fruit, all of the local newspapers. Maybe a CD gets tossed down the grate or crumpled up bits of paper with awful Haiku's written on them.
[... freedom comes
after warriors clash
precarious peace
... your destiny calls
and you refuse to pick up;
your in-box is full. ]
The Toreador is a man on the street. He moves in and out of VIP rooms and rubs shoulders with some of the most talented artists in the Denver area. He even parleys with a few of the local 'thinkers', the boys and girls that worship Anonymous and follow in their foot steps.
[...this is a time when brave men and women like yourselves must don masks and fight for your freedom without renown or regard...]
He even found a chess group on meetup.com and spends a few nights there.
No matter what curse has been laid upon the Sword or the Tower or anyone beneath, above or in between ... Finch is still being Finch, fabulously.
But there is more to Finch than that. He keeps his nose to the ground and his ear to the wind. He's listening to the words people are speaking and the rumours that so easily spread like wild fire among the undead.
He's begun leaving things at various sewer entrances too. Trinkets that a rat might appreciate. Day old bread and fruit, all of the local newspapers. Maybe a CD gets tossed down the grate or crumpled up bits of paper with awful Haiku's written on them.
[... freedom comes
after warriors clash
precarious peace
... your destiny calls
and you refuse to pick up;
your in-box is full. ]
The Toreador is a man on the street. He moves in and out of VIP rooms and rubs shoulders with some of the most talented artists in the Denver area. He even parleys with a few of the local 'thinkers', the boys and girls that worship Anonymous and follow in their foot steps.
[...this is a time when brave men and women like yourselves must don masks and fight for your freedom without renown or regard...]
He even found a chess group on meetup.com and spends a few nights there.
No matter what curse has been laid upon the Sword or the Tower or anyone beneath, above or in between ... Finch is still being Finch, fabulously.