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</div><span style="font-size: 26px"><b>Clayton Barker</b></span><br/><b>Chosen By:</b>Cernunnos (Celtic)<br/><b>Location:</b>Village, dorm shared kitchen then forest<br/><b>Date/Time:</b>Noon, Dec 21st<br/><b>Wearing:</b>Dark blue t-shirt with 'YEEE BOI!' on the front in bright pink text, faded blue jeans with the left knee torn, black steel toe shoes appropriate for hiking, grey jacket with 'ARMY' on the front; unzipped.<br/><b>Tagging:</b><a class="username" data-user-id="9509" data-username="ravynraver" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/9509/">ravynraver</a><br/><b>TRIGGER WARNINGS:</b>N/A<br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/>Nothing stood out to Clayton as a decent spot to leave his offering. None of the trees, none of the rocks, nothing. It was fine, he wasn't exactly in a rush to get back home, since he didn't know how long the whole ceremony was going to last at the shrine. At least there were enough people on the island that it was unlikely that his absence would be noticed. He stopped under an old tree and peered up at the branches. In winter, it was always hard to tell which trees were alive and which were dead…For anyone besides him, anyway. Gently, he touched the bark and frowned. Very dead and likely had been for several years.<br/><br/>The wind shifted slightly and brought with it the scent of wood smoke, along with the hint of something herbal. Weed. Clayton knew that smell from miles away on account of how often he smoked it. Curious at who'd be in the middle of the woods, he started in that direction because obviously they weren't going to the shrine, either. As he walked, he noted the shift in the plants and spied small, brown capped mushrooms.<i>Galerina marginata</i>, probably, maybe. There were dozens of mushrooms that were small and brown capped. While not plants, fungus still came under his control, but he ignored the ones in front of him. Typically, they were pretty damn toxic, tasted bad, and didn't have anything useful. If they would have provided some sort of high, he would have grabbed them, but there wasn't much point.<br/><br/>Continuing on, he quite suddenly stumbled into a pretty odd clearing, and immediately felt that something was<i>off</i>. The colorful house…Thing was at odds with the wrought iron fence, and he was pretty sure the dude who was under the canopy was way, way taller than him. Clayton shifted the backpack on his shoulder and scrutinized the other man for a moment before speaking in a clear Georgian accent. "…I bet my weed's better."