With nothing left in the village you care about leaving was the easiest thing you have ever done. The soon you could prove those pompous ingrates wrong about you the sooner you could make them lick the mud off your boots. Wade cared all that he ever had. The tradition of the village was to make attire that instilled fear into your enemy and to use everything as a weapon. Wade Stood a stout five foot eleven. With a Black White and blood red tipped Dreaded mohawk that came down to about chest length. He Had Tanned white skin. Being the summer months he wore a black Short Sleeve shirt dyed with intrinsic patters of war from his tribe. His pants were baggy for movement but covered in straps, chains and pockets. Everything he wore served a purpose, the down side a lot of it were heavy so it required a sturdy belt. One that he was particularly fond of since it was made from Zalt's horse that he won a few years back. Wade smiled thinking back to the look on Zalt's face when he lost his horse in a bet and found out that he would slaughter his horse for food and make its hide into a belt. Wade loved the insult to injury it gave cause it was a small retribution to the hell he had lived for the past 16 years. His belt buckle was one of the few things that his mother ever gave him of value it was one of great bloodshed the executioners guild. The symbolic cross poleaxes and decapitated head in the center was renowned as people of gore, but like everything he had he made his own. Originally it was a buckle to the pack his Grandfather once wore. Now his belt buckle. His Black mud stained boots were obtained after he killed a rouge attempting to pouch on the little land he had. The boots were simple black mountain warfare boots. On his back he bore a pack he had crafted from deer and alligator hide. It bore his essentials, and finaly slung on his shoulder was his grandfathers ceremonial Executioners Poleaxe. This also was made his own after he broke the haft of the axe. The haft now fashioned together with a dragon spine. The dragon was a small one that was injured in there territory. After killing the dragon of course no dirt warrior was allowed to partake of the meat but left only the stuff no one wanted. He took the spine. "Wont break now'' he said to himself with a wicked smile as his fingered fitted in between the vertebrae of the haft. His boots crunched as he made his way from the swamp to
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