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Thu, Apr 24 2025, 1:35pm PDTLogin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 123 ]


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Date Posted: Fri, Dec 23 2005, 6:23pm PST
Author: Jackson
Subject: (He went to his other ankle, where a leather strap was hooked to his lower calf. He hauled his pant leg up, pulling a studded dagger from the sheath there and handing it to her by the hilt. It was about eight inches long, pure steel, with gaelic words inscribed on the sharp blade. The hilt was wrapped with leather, studded with tiny black onyx stones, a small shield in the center and the grip was obviously made for a woman. He pointed to the tiny shield engraving and looked up at her.) 'tis the MacGregor crest.
In reply to: Jackson 's message, "
"
on Wed, Dec 21 2005, 7:07pm PST


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  • She let out a soft breath, her eyes moving over the workmanship of the dagger. "It's beautiful..." She murmured softly, gently playing her fingers over the smooth side of the blade before she held it up closer, her eyes taking in the words that were engraved into the silver. "Whats it say?" She questioned, her southern accent tilted with curiousity. She was intrigued by the history that went along with this man, the deep set pride that was so obvious in every tone of his words, the way he carried himself... (NT) -- jailynn, Fri, Dec 23 2005, 6:29pm PST

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