>>528461295
>[Somehow, still Yesternight]
A daring swordsman, the leader of this pack is.
Him and the rest of his troupe were resting in a place not-so-far-away from the famed plains, a relatively quiet village that only got assaulted by migrating cannibals every once in a while.
And by "every once in a while", we actually mean every two hours or so.
Like any self-respecting Cannibal Hunter, he has a nifty blade. One of them Falling Suns, manufactured by the finest of Catun's Scrapmasters.
Lots of heads had to be taken before he could even lay his hands on it, but it was worth it.
His name was Sharpe. Which made for quite a lot of unfunny jabs throughout his entire life. Even more so when he first got a blade of his own, which wasn't as sharp, 'cause it was a refitted one.
The only things in this man's mind right now are:
>"1. Get my hands on those cannibals and their village."
>"2. Get something good to drink."
As seen here, he's waiting for a drink. The fishermen are either going to give him grog or some Big Fish garum.
I'll get better pics of the other donuts when I pick up from where I left off yesterday. Promise. Trust.