Anton

The hulking man was talking and talking, that trap was not stopping. They were asking the same questions in different words. Of course he would help someone that was broke, no matter he seemed to deal in metals. Maybe he will come to be useful after all. The man would say his name and ask for his but really his name didn’t much matter. Later maybe but not now. Beginning to get a headache from all consistent talking that seemed like it would never stop. Rubbing his temples with both of his index fingers. He would hear the wooden craft splash into the water, thank the heavens. Opening his eyes a

“A twist to the right, under, up and around and voila” getting up from the ground with hands slightly raised as he was eyeing his masterpiece. Making triangles with his finger and framing the dimensions of the boards to make sure that were all aligned the correct amounts. “OH you need something to paddle with, would want you falling overboard trying to use your hands.” Glancing around quickly to find something that could be used as such. Catching something that might do the trick he takes out a measuring tape and holds it against the long board. Pressing a thumb against that number he would th

Wandering down the beaten path, not stepping in anything that looked like a hole or lake that he could sink in. He had sent his people out three times to get what he needed and every time they came back with less than nothing valued pieces of shit. If he wanted it done right he had to do it himself. With his hand made black poncho over his frame, he wanted to make sure that he didn’t get wet if this damned floor poured down on him. Catching some lizards of all different assortment of colors, he needed to carve the scales off them slowly and lightly so that he didn’t ruin the texture of the pri

The shindig was already firing off on all cylinders, creating an endless tapestry of all manner of styles and shapes to the tune of flamboyant and elegant design. A renowned yet concealed tailor amongst the rabble rousing, here to admire the stark colors and enjoy a day to taste the bittersweet temptation of men that at least took some pride in their appearance and fitness. Among the gaggle, there were a couple of choice specimen. The host @Oscar sporting a couple bonus cans in his six pack and a jawline that could cut diamonds, or the clearly toting ball and chain @Wulfrin also affixed himsel

Traveling down the beaten streets of Deepedge, the city was rather packed with all manner of faces. Players, NPCs, the odd guided cattle. All that was missing was a kitchen sink. Anton was among the many, clad not in all that tacky medieval crap that people love to plaster themselves in. What amounted to leather bags and paint cans in terms of aesthetics. No instead he was wearing a simple black travel cloak, unassuming but cut from a fine bolt of fabric and fitted in such a way that it resembled a finely made poncho. Enough to not droop nor drag, but to protect his more important attire from

The city of Athenia was alive with the NPC that frequented the floor, bouncing around on every building and clambering for every door. A lively place where the populous would screech and argue, chattering would create an endless white static of a crowd that seemed to follow you no matter where you went. The bright green locks of a man who twists to look at a chiseled fellow's ass, finding it leaving just a little to be desired. "Eh. Could do better." The man remarks without an ounce of compassion, the NPC being utterly unaware he was just sized up for a good party. Wandering down the bronzed s

Twisting his face in a very 'and I am supposed to care why?' sort of way, an eyebrow raised with an irritated quiver on his lip. He looks to the familiar, still hiding, so he wouldn't get thrown out a damn window. "I don't make hats." spoken with a snide twist. A screech of the wheels as he shoves off the space around the girl. Opening small drawers and plucking out small bits and buttons, He stands from his stool, "This isn't 20 questions." The dude stared at her blankly, a glint in his eye. "Shut your trap. Thanks." Lifting a foot and placing it on the thing and flinging it off to the side,

Leaving the needle in his teeth like a toothpick, he lifts his hands and creates that portrait frame again. "I can work with this, and leave your modesty at the door. I don't swing your way. I like my lovers hard." The dude reaches to a band around his left bicep and pulls a small strand of cable out. Pushing the stool making the wheels squeak, that needle still poking out of his lips. Immediately, that cord wraps around the girl's upper thigh. "Damn near skin and bones. one and a half." He quips, releasing the tension and leaving a little, tiny line on her leg. Pushing to her knee with a bit

Peeling up the slip of paper, clicking his tongue before he pins it to a board on the back of his station. Spinning around on his stool, leaning into his hands as his elbows rest on his knees. "Why are you still here?" The guy was serious when he told her to kick rocks. If she was looking for pity, she came to the wrong dude. Wheeling that thing forward, with a shove off of that workbench. "Got that right, ever heard of moisturizer? I can see the grease on your skin from here. That's what baths are for." A wide grin as he stared up at her. Cackling wildly, "A suit? yep that makes sense. Why no

Lowering his hand from his face, his demeanor immediately sours. "Excuse me, what the hell do you know?" Sizing the girl up and down, looking like someone punched a stick figure out of a sheet of construction paper. "That explains a lot, you look like you crawled yourself into a burlap sack and decided to make it your clothes." Turning around and returning to admiring his work, it flashes blue and then shifts into a vibrant orange. Demonic quality. "So take your raggedy ass and get lost. I only deal with people that understand art when they see it. I don't make clothes for uncultured swine, wh

A nearly empty space, the peal of a needle through fabric being the first thing heard. Light poured in through a pair of massive windows, and in the streets below one could see quite a bit of the city from the high rise. It was small~ish, but what was kept almost insistently tidy. Some bright greenish colored bolt of linen, a pair of sheers dragging past the sewn piece, cuts off a section. The door opens as a ratting tap on the door, which immediately meant that whoever it was, was obviously 'new'. "What? Can't you see I'm busy. Wait over there." The guy barks with a dismissive wave of his han

Username: Anton Real name: Anteon Halil Age: 24 Gender: Male Height: 6'1 Background: A simple child, that becomes a simple man. Anteon Halil was brought up in Amfissa, Greece. A small town with little to keep one busy besides ones own devices. Anton (He hates his given name) set his sights on fabrics and clothing, enjoying the ability to create something out of nothing with such a ready use. Somewhat supportive parents, but even still the guy has quite the secret in his closet that he has yet to share with them. His sexual preference. A bit brash, Anton has a habit of alien