Amaranth Barclay's Questionnaire

Town, City?

Amaranth did not live in town or city. He lived in village. Place with family, tribe, home. In new times there is no such thing, but Amaranth now lives in his mountain hut that the black suit men in Italy let him have for killing the man who owned it last. Was he a bad person? Black suit men said he was, that he steal, that he betray his friends, but Amaranth doesn't know the truth of their words. Black suit men often lie, but they are the only people who will hide Amaranth from the world, only people who ensure he gets where he needs to be when he needs to be there. That is enough for him.

The hut itself is simple. There is no door, no windows, no lights. Amaranth has no need for any of those things. Just an old abandoned building where Amaranth hunts to provide for his daily needs and sells the hides back to the black suitmen in exchange for finer goods and services. 

It is hidden, and he doesn't have to deal with the screaming of modern society, so Amaranth thinks this is good. For now. 

Amaranth is squatting over the corpse of some mafia rat, and in seconds, it regresses from being a corpse to a puddle of protoplasmic slime. 

Amaranth stands up and turns towards a man in a black suit who nods and hands over a wad of bills that Amaranth looks quizzically at and shakes his head. 

"Me not want paper, pay for food, home, feed for metal horse."

The black-suited man shrugs and stuffs the bills back into his jacket; a material trade over hard cash didn't take much convincing for an industry that routinely had trouble washing cash. This was typical for Amaranth; outside of plane tickets for the occasional wanderlust, he never asked for anything green, but they kept offering every time. Mostly to satisfy a betting pool on who could get the caveman to accept their worldly money, but they did. So in truth, Amaranth doesn't have much money though he does occasionally steal whatever especially colorful or strange smelling bills the mafia hits have on their person. 

Amaranth looks up at a cave painting. It's not incredibly complex, it's not a masterwork of art, but it is his, and it conveys his truth.

A figure stands before another more petite figure, a stick in hand with the traditional arrow point to denote its intended use as a spear. The figure in the following image offers it to the more petite figure, and then the pair is seen running through lines that may be grass or perhaps trees; either way, they come upon another figure, this time some form of quadruped. The more prominent figure holds a hand to the more petite figure, and they arch over as if to indicate crouching, and then, the larger one guides the other, miming the motion of a toss before allowing the smaller one to try and through the teachings of the larger one the spear lands true.

A tear falls down Amaranths cheek, a memory of what was lost, what was now so distant in the past as to be unattainable and with a roar of fury and a slam of both his fists he smashes the wall to pieces.

He would do anything to have it back, and even if it meant his death he would get back to his family or failing that rebuild a new one.