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Post by azmoham on Apr 16, 2018 17:38:47 GMT -8
" 'Leks'?"
He asked, arching a single eyebrow as he strode just behind her.
"I take that to be Blood then, aye?"
He realized he still didn't know th man's real name, for the duration of their knowing each other, he had known the man simply by his moniker 'Blood'.
"Well, I'll be glad to see it. Especially if I can finally discover the exact nature of this 'strangeness' as you call it. You certainly do know how to intrigue me."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 16, 2018 17:44:32 GMT -8
"Oh, yes, right... forgot. He goes more by Lekalis nowadays. 'Blood's a silly name, anyways." Tilly slipped her hands into her pockets once more as she lead the way down an alley beside the tavern, past a collection of large, albeit ramshackle houses. Already she was learning the quickest path there. "And, y'see, this magick-business is some bad news piled onto some good news, if that makes sense. So I'll be sharing the good news first." The shack itself began to come into view as they approached: [Onwards to Misc Buildings! ] |
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 17, 2018 10:25:59 GMT -8
[Returning from the Under the Ash Expedition]
The tunnel, as it were, seemed to lead up and wind up around to a hill roughly a quarter-day's walk from the patches of farmland on the fringes of the Hamlet.
But the walk back to town was quiet, and peaceful, a welcome break from the despair of the Warrens.
The tower of the sanitarium pierced the sky from afar.
Jack:
Walking along, the boy seemed to be wasting before their very eyes as the infection in his shoulder festered. It smelled foul and leaked a grey fluid.
He did not complain, however, and instead stared ahead with heavy, half-lidded eyes. The bear in the crook of his good arm hung limply.
With his feet dragging along the road, Jack seemed ready to pass out at any moment.
Libourg:
On the journey back, he would begin to feel a slight chill despite the relative insulation his armor provided. There was a dull pain that radiated along his thigh; it had likely taken up some infection or another where the meat he had fallen in collected.
Sicherlein:
She would begin to feel under the weather, too; a wet cough she had developed on the way back would render her breathless at times.
The tomb-raider would find herself a touch sore and fatigued for the moment.
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Post by relentless on Apr 17, 2018 13:59:50 GMT -8
Libourg trudged and hiked his way up the tunnel that bore freedom in a basket of fruit, helm directed upwards as he breathed with growing strain, the pain at his crotch and the surrounding area was growing to a noticeable level, making winces and grunts of subtle pain.
=====
Though in Libourgs mind, other sounds had began to deafen, his footsteps against mud and gravel had ceased to be. Instead, as he closed in on bleak sunlight, the soft chime of piano would call out to him. High in tune, and in rhythm, though occasionally breaking the song into pieces with one misplaced minor key.
In his mind, despite the crimson chorus of affliction, a crystal clear blueness just like the mans iris would blink as a voice from memory sang to him.
"No no; here."
The voice tutted with a chuckle, a smile could be felt from the masculine, happy undertones. A momentary pause, a cease fire on all fronts from the soothing voice before a quick chorus of piano keys rang out, dipping from a soothing high to a bassy low. A melody of perfection.
"Good Libourg! Haha, good work son!"
The voice congratulated, a strong fatherly tone present. Then there was another pause, before the blue light began to blink again as the voice made itself known.
"Don't worry son. A piano, as elegant or as shoddy as it may be; as long as it works, you'll find yourself, me and mother there always."
The voice left a lasting note, before reality began to reach back out at him with tar covered hands and existential pulling. Before Libourg knew it, he was glasping the walls of the tunnel that hung just outside.
=====
With a hard tug up, the knight rose from the stinky catacombs, a foul snarl erupted from him as the mixture of fresh air in his visor made him realise how badly he actually smelled. Infact, his helmet was a gas chamber, and the stink of the Warrens would be the mustard gas soon enough. Meeting the pleasant dirt caressed by wagons passing by long ago, he took more steps away from the tunnel until he had moved past the smoothed dirt road, and onto the small ridge of the hill overlooking the quiet farmland where wheat flowed, and cattle wander. His breathing was fatigued and heavy, his mace held loosely by his side in a non aggressive position whilst the other hand eventually moved up to fish at the underside of his barbute. Libourg could feel the embrace of normal air touch his lips and skin, a welcome sensation than any wine or kiss. A rustle of metal was all that occurred as Libourg took his helmet off, the faceplate creaked open and close as he waggled the helmet down to his side where his longsword remained holstered. Although the smell of the pigs wasn't entirely removed, it was muffled by the smell of mankind's buildings and inventions near by, carried along the wind. The mans beard was frayed, the sensation of black mottled with pinpricks of gray on the horizon, though entirely obscured by the depthness of the mans bulky, but short beard. His head of hair faired worse, with loose strands seemingly sticking unattractively despite the linen wrapping to tie up his hair. For a moment, Libourg, the knight of Germanic lands stared onward across the sea of agricultural work, his mace hand holstering itself knowing that he was in the clear, with the hand combing back up and taking out the wrapping of linen that bound his ponytail, and the rest of his hair. With a graceful flourish and sway of the head from left to right, his hair was freed at last, resting on his pauldrons of German architecture, and the back of his Gothic cuirass. For a moment, he felt solace at last, away from the stress of his companions; especially the dark skinned one that he deemed untrustworthy. His mind began to wander now that he could think straight, onto whether Celeste had actually survived or if he had actually gained any friends today. He didn't know the answer for Celeste, but he knew the answer for the second. All his courageous friends, valiant of heart, had perished or gone mad. All that was left in Libourgs eyes were scoundrels, thieves, rogues or heretics. Libourg stared down at the dirt in silence for a brief moment, not at it, but seemingly trying to look through and below. Silence had overcome him, and he wore a neutral expression other than his eyes that held an accusing glint to them as he looked down. "War." He murmured under his breath, his lip quivering into gritted teeth after a few seconds passed as he raised his foot and kicked at the dirt, a clump dancing down to demise. Without another word, the knight swayed his head again to let his hair relax, and he started down the path toward the Hamlet in silence. Thinking all the way. |
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Apr 17, 2018 14:19:46 GMT -8
/Sicherlein/
Whether it was fatigue or the ailment which haunted her out and unto the Hamlet Streets, Sicherlein sniffed and viciously tore off her left glove to bring it up to her forhead.
Wiping away some sweat that spotted her brow as she brusquely stomped her way to the front of the group, past them and into the fresh air wherein she breathed deep.
And respectively coughed wetly, her moment of upturned bliss turned to hunched over misery as she stumbled her way over to sit upon the end of the bridge which led to the Hamlet.
The fit came to her after stubbornly holding it to smaller spats beforehand, and she sat for a moment clearing her lungs, spitting a globule of mucus out and onto the ground with due distaste.
She watched her comrades on behind with a toxic squint, before she coughed and squeezed them shut, the fit seeming to come to a short end as she sighed and resigned to running her ungloved hand along her temple.
This sickness had to be remedied... She could probably bring the flower to the doctors in the Sanitarium to derive its affects while she bought a remedy.
But... She'd need to get gold first. Sicherlein doubted her Employers would spare an expense for her menial illness. A Cold, perhaps. A Fever at worst... It'd make a lot of people happy if she'd died from poisoning herself, she knew. The souls she condemned to Hell would point and laugh then...
... She swallowed hard and stood up, shakily, before pointing to the boy,
"Get the boy to the Sanitarium. I am going to the Heir to collect the reward." She declared as she strode on angrily towards the house of the Heir.
With some comradic respect, she shouted over her shoulder;
"I will meet you in the Sanitarium, or you can ask for me at the Tavern... Don't worry, either way, I'll find you, or you will find me. Mhmm." She huffed and rubbed her throat tenderly, stifling a cough again. Though it made her nose run.
She never won anything...
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Post by relentless on Apr 17, 2018 15:30:50 GMT -8
/Duval/
Just outside the Abbey, resting on the patchy, grassy slope beside the stone foundation, Duval layed down his overcoat flat on the ground and was resting ontop of it, a rollup stuck out from inbetween his middle and index finger. He was laid out straight, eyes closed and blowing out reminants of a previous inhalation of tobacco smoke. His expression was blank, though a light swear was apparent on the mans forehead, his skin tone being somewhat pale and hand shaking partially as he held the rollup.
A light breath of air escaped his nostrils, eventually opening his eyes to stare at the gloomy sky, slipping his left arm under his head to act as a pillow.
/Libourg/
The knight trudged his way quietly across the bridge before any of the others had managed to catch up with him, pausing as he stood at the end, and faced the Hamlet. It felt like it had been too long since he had been here, a welcome sight nevertheless of the time amiss. Though as the air cleared, the smell of his armour became more apparent, his nose scrunching up. It was clear he needed a wash, a half arsed one for the time being so he didn't cause passerbys to retch. Sighing, he turned back to catch a look at Sicherlein, with the others slowly walking up to their position. For a moment, he provided a lasting stare at the group, before he settled on Sicherlein with less amount of time; chuckling somberly.
"-Splendid, try not to run off with the bounty, will you?"
Libourg jested, though the words he mentioned alone roused suspicious from within himself. Would she keep it all to herself? Would she truly be that villainous to ensure that their work gone on for nothing? He hoped he was wrong, for the sake of his own social sanity. Although his words back inside the tunnels may of been harsh, he hoped that at least one of the members, even Sicherlein, would count him as comrade. Turning to the left, he began to move toward a more secluded section of the river, to remove his armour fully and wash them down the best he could.
"I'll be over here if you must wish upon me. Take care, rogue!"
Libourg called out to Sicherlein as she stomped on by, before he swept away the brush.
It wouldn't take him long to find a nice resting spot atop a medium sized rock good for sitting. The man carefully slumped his way down ontop of the rock, his boots readjusting themselves into a foothold as he sat near the river. The gentle trickle of water moving by was a pleasant activity alone, a good enviroment to think, to plan, and to collect oneself. For a moment, he raised his barbute to his face, staring at the faceplate he now held in his hand, that wobbled with the barbute. It was like he was staring at a cold visage of himself, the scar of the carrion worms tooth had carved its way through the plate, his thumb running across it.
With an exhausted sigh, he set the helm down into the warm,and began to clean it out.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 17, 2018 20:17:59 GMT -8
On the outside of the stone shell that walled off the Heir's abode was a guard, leaning heavily upon the stonework.
His arms were folded over his belly and his chin was tucked into his chest.
It was Meriwether, and he seemed to be lightly dozing.
He never enjoyed the night-shift very much. So he rested his eyes and listened distantly to the ambient sounds of the Hamlet.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Apr 18, 2018 5:36:26 GMT -8
/Sicherlein/
Her lips suddenly drew tense as she neared the Heir's House; her eyes catching the familiar light frame of a Guard. Even from a distance, she knew his foot size, and felt a mixture of dread and excitement both brew in her gut like a vengeful tonic.
Each step was a chore, perhaps from her illness, but most definitely from a worry in her own capacity to keep her tact and guile up amidst both guard and youth.
With a sigh, she let go of a breath she didn't realize she was holding until but a few paces away from the gently dozing Meriwether, she cleared her throat politely and scuffed her boot on the cobblestones to get his attentions, waiting patiently for him to awaken with her hands quickly pulled behind her back.
The vague aroma of oppressive sweetness from the flowers began to grow rank in her nostrils, and she only hoped it smelled better to others than it did to herself.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 18, 2018 6:10:55 GMT -8
The moment Meriwether opened his eyes was when his sleepy demeanor changed to one of alarm.
"S-Sicherlein?" He stammered as he took in the full sight of her, looking and smelling like she had slept in some carcass overnight.
"What did you... are you alright?"
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Post by rumsztyk on Apr 18, 2018 6:14:36 GMT -8
Although he did not seem to have been affected by any mundane disease, Ibrahim seemed to be suffering from a headache. HE was constantly rubbing his temple, sweating. Loud and deep breathing seemed to have a minor calming effect.
He nodded unenthusiastically to Sicherlein. "Yes, yes. huff Let us meet in the Tavern soon."
His attention was more focused on the sick boy, whom he approached. He exchanged a look with Nasuada - the boy was on the verge of consciousness, so Ibrahim did the only sensible thing. He lifted him, and cradled in his arms.
"Go Nasuada, and find a doctor. We will follow." He said, wincing.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Apr 18, 2018 6:14:40 GMT -8
/Sicherlein/
She gave a sad sniffle and shrugged,
"Ja. I'm fine." She assured him sweetly but curtly as she stepped to the side and held back a cough with a small huff, shaking her head and waving her hand dismissively at the boy.
Sicherlein wiped a hand over her brow and took in a breath,
"Everything is alright; I need to speak with the Heir please? We found a boy, I intend to inform the Heir and..." She cleared her throat and mumbled,
"... collect the reward."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 18, 2018 6:40:29 GMT -8
Meriwether:
Meriwether tilted his leather cap away from his face, as if the adjustment would allow him to see more clearly.
Mouth drawn tight, he seemed to be holding back a grimace.
"You... don't look so good. Are you sick? You should rest..." Fretted the guardling as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
He pointed to Sicherlein's well-grimed boots.
"And I can't let you in while you're tracking..." He took a breath to steel himself to describe what she'd run through, and let the breath go as he decided against it.
"...all this. So the Heir doesn't get sick."
Jack:
He was light to carry, but he gave some weak resistance and a small whimper to being carried; it seemed to aggravate the pain in his shoulder.
When he feeling abated, he relaxed some.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Apr 18, 2018 12:38:31 GMT -8
/Sicherlein/
That... was a terribly fair point, Sicherlein supposed. With a groan she looked over her shoulder to where Libourg had broken off from the path to bathe himself.
It was a much better idea, she admitted, and she quietly kicked herself for not following suit.
Biting back a sneer, Sicherlein looked back to Meriwether with a renewed smile,
"Ah! I'm just... a little sick." She admitted, though she felt her nose running as she spoke and she was forced to pull up the kerchief about her neck up to dab at her nose.
"Mm, but... I see. Is there something you can do?" She almost whimpered, begging the boy as she took an insistent step forward,
"Perhaps tell the Heir you found the boy? Then give me the reward? It will be a win-win that way, you know?" she offered with a little laugh that hurt more than it was worth.
She coughed wetly a few times again and sighed, palming her brow, looking off to the Sanitarium; surely they'd have some remedy.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 18, 2018 13:04:10 GMT -8
"Hmm..."
The prospect made Meriwether deeply uncomfortable.
"Eh..."
The guardling shifted on his feet as he audibly considered the proposition. He scuffed the dirt indecisively, but gave a concerned wince as she began coughing.
"I'm... not meant to leave my post 'til noon." He told her, but reached into a pocket near his hip and found an amount of coin totaling roughly 65 and held it out for Sicherlein, stepping back to a more sanitary distance from the sick woman.
"...But you can have this to wash your clothes and get a good, hot bath in that fancy bathhouse in the Abbey. It should help you feel better."
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Post by relentless on Apr 18, 2018 13:05:35 GMT -8
/Libourg/
The knight spent his time washing and throwing the rivers flowing water on his armour as it move past, a handkerchief pulled out from his satchel that was mucky from extensive cleaning of his helmet, cuirass, pauldrons, vambraces and more of his armour pieces. It was tiresome work, and the handkerchief was beginning to see its final days of polishing, until the roughness was removed somewhat. It would require a much harsher clean near the forge, a pail of forge heated water to remove any muck that may cling to the metals finish. But for now, it held a somewhat sparkling sheen.
All the while he was sat at the stone, occasionally extending himself forward to dab his piece of silk cloth into the water, pressing and moving the cloth in a circular motion to clean it. At the moment, Libourg had his left leg extended, rubbing his leg down with the wet handkerchief. His sabatons would remain a mess until he could pick apart the mud and shit stuck on the bottom, since he didn't want to ruin his sabatons just yet. The mans plated gauntlets had the cloth pinched tight as he ran it across the kneecap, giving it a hard press and swirl, water trickling down the metal until it dripped onto the soil beneath him. All the while Libourg held a neutral expression, staring off into the woods. He wasn't scanning for threats, as evidenced by the lack of his pupils moving across the border, but he seemed focused on one point. It wasn't like he saw something, but as if he were daydreaming. Thinking.
Although this time his thinking wouldn't remain as detached as before, he eventually came back to reality, looking to his left leg to see a blurred, murky and partially fractured reflection of himself across the mans steel reinforced thigh. He could see himself, kitted out and grown up. It was odd, least for him how far he had come. All the others that had been roused to service; Roderick, Cadvan, Ronin, that halberdier knight that he seemingly forgot the name of... Silence, or some nickname similar.
Collecting the thoughts of those people, he smiled to himself and chuckled, an accidental spurt through the mans recovering mental state.
"I'm here. Are you all here with me?"
He asked no one in particular, raising his head to look at the area around him, only brush and thickets apparent in sight. The smile withered, and it sulked momentarily, looking down to breath shakily. Though his hand would be raised to his chest, handkerchief clenched tight. For a moment, he contemplated, pondering if their valor, courage and strength would be within him, passed down like the good nature of his true father and the fighting prowess of his stepfather.
Nevertheless, he moved on, polishing his armour without a second thought. The action of maintenance were autonomous, coming naturally as if he were learning how to walk. So he swapped legs, and carried on polishing with the other.
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