Warren

Crafting on 9/11/25

Crafting on 8/11/25 Finalized Crafts:

randomline to make it look better c:

“Be here,” Sin echoed. What was that supposed to mean? As if she could read her mind, Lysette continued. “Don’t keep going around acting like you’re the only one here. It’s a give and take. You watch our back and we watch yours. You got the first part, now do the second.” Sin nodded, crossing her arms over her chest as she let out a heavy sigh. She just wanted to be the one people relied on. But this whole thing had shown her that not only was she not necessarily required, but that everyone else knew what role they filled. She didn’t. But she was the Guild Treasurer. And ou

Warren quickly stepped up to the plate. He struck fast and quick and hard, lashing out with his weapon and striking in quick succession four times. Each attack found its mark. Each attack killed one of the flailing Sand Dollars. He didn’t say anything to Sin. No salt in the wound or teasing remark. Because that would get her goat more than anything he could have possibly said. No, instead, his fingers dove into the front pocket of his coat. He produced a square metallic case, thumb pressing against the clasp on the side. The case folded open, revealing a row of neatly-arranged cigarettes

Warren, for his part, had to fight the urge to Howl at a time like this. He had wanted to tank, but he also wanted to deal damage. So his build put him in this weird spot between the two of them. He had plans, but right now he was not as effective at doing either. That being said, doing nothing and Howling when the boss was already getting rocked as hard as it was wouldn’t be a good idea. Zero damage was less than the lowered damage that he did now. So rushed past Lysette and Abellio, not even pausing to tease them for losing focus. He couldn’t blame them in the slightest. Warren doubted

For Warren, it was only a matter of time before Oscar struck off to make his own Guild. He had the in-built charisma necessary. And despite what he got up to in his free time or the length he went to in the name of safety, Warren knew it was all for a good cause. He had blood on his hands too, after all. So he knew better than most the dark calculus one needed to compute in order for a man to reach the same conclusion that Oscar did. He didn’t agree with everything Oscar did. Especially in the shadows, away from the light of day. But he trusted him. And that was enough. He didn’t eve

“Nice one, Oscar,” Warren said simply - hot off the heels of Kyra’s line in the sand. Oscar shook his head, allowing Kyra to fully exit the building before shooting to his feet and shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go handle it.” As Oscar made his exit, Warren turned his attention back to his sandwich. The tension in the room was replaced by an awkward silence. Warren had no idea who the blonde sitting opposite him was. Oscar’s social circles were generally kept distant from one another. And sequestered in his shop as Warren tended to be, there were no stories of the ‘Guardian of

Lessa rushed in - a flurry of blonde hair and belts - before Warren was able to speak up to address Kyra. Rapid-fire questions and a look of abject worry on her face. Kyra must’ve called her when Dazn started in on her. Smart. “Stalker,” Warren replied. “Other stalker, I mean.” He was over playing his hand, but he felt comfortable doing so. He didn’t so much hear Oscar’s footsteps - he never did, really. But it was hard to hide when you were blotting out the light filtering in from outside. Oscar’s laughter filled the restaurant. He stepped forward, placing his hand on Lessa’s

If only it didn’t take journeying to a remote, creepy town for Warren to have some peace and quiet. Though, peace and quiet might not have been the proper phrase. Alone with his thoughts, was more accurate. There was a time when he had been nothing but. A self-imposed hermit left to his own devices. Tinkering and toiling day in and day out. A fitting act of penance, he thought. Yet once more he found the webs of camaraderie wound about him. He’d not sought it, content with solitude. It was suffocating, in its own way. Owing and being owed compounding. A perpetually unsettled debt, quid pr

Would that Warren could so easily throw himself into the fray. Old habits from the real world, however, kept his feet rooted to the ground. Not out of fear, but out of caution. He doubted that such a low-level quest boss would prove to be any real challenge. Especially not after his crustacean encounter of the weird kind with his group. But, every fight warranted the proper reverence. Warren planned to live a long life and see home again, after all. Which meant that he intended for Firefly to do much the same. As Queen’s Guard flashed into his hand, Warren activated his Focused Howl

It had been a long day. Logistically speaking, Warren knew in his bones that there were entire raids that hadn't had this many moving parts. And he was hungry. So when the purple-haired woman made her approach, Warren was in the midst of stuffing his face. She wasn't talking to him anyway. And there was food. When she asked for a beer, he was three burgers and seven crab legs deep. Warren had to admit, Oscar was a hell of a cook. It couldn't have possibly been simply his Profession rank. Dude had to have been a cook or something in the real world. With a massive gulp, he swallowed his food. Wh

As loath as Warren was to admit it, actually getting out of his shop had done wonders for his mental health. The man had not quite realized how isolated he’d kept himself these past few years. He still enjoyed his ability to just tinker with things in the privacy and the quiet of his own home. But, getting out and spending time with new people and friends wasn’t a bad thing. Almost enjoyable for the misanthropic former soldier. But could he really say that he was a former soldier? He was kept busy. Another cog in the machine. Given authority that, by rights, he should not have. Why h

Warren had to admit, Kyra’s concerns were valid. Or would be valid if Oscar cared one whit about making that sort of power play. He couldn’t help himself. As the picture of the giant in a constable uniform ticketing some poor soul for jaywalking manifested in his head, he could only laugh. It was rude, he knew. But if Kyra could peer into his mind, he imagined she would laugh at the scene too. “I think you misunderstand,” he said, his voice colored by his laughter. “There’s really only one crime that the most prolific PKK in Aincrad cares about. It’s in the name, really.” He took a sip f