The Guild Hall

[relentless]

"Righto Georgie! Hehe.."
Duval shouts after him, producing a slight jog to catch up to him whilst dragging the door closed, followed by a loud slam to announce their exit.

(Duval exits the guild hall.)

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Cross/

"This is goooood..." He affirmed, nodding pleasantly, the lens of his mask almost seeming to perk upwards in excitement; though he was only looking to Maria. Albeit, at his height, even sitting, he needed to do little more than look to his left and up a touch.
"... Thank you Maria, mhmm." He nodded and reached out, patting her shoulder as he cleared his throat and settled his bony bum against the head of the chair.

The Tall Doctor motioned to the serum, quirking his head to one side in curiosity.
"Have you taken a draft of it yet? Do you need to?" He hummed, and tapped the carrion nose of his mask after Maria had cleared the entrance of the chamber, Cross stalked in, the best he could.
He was thankful for the fact he was not all too broad in any sense, so, despite his height, he managed to squeeze in rather easily. Albeit, the scent of formaldehyde and other fleshly preservatives only barely covered the scent of dead rat at this distance.

The Doctor Cross opened up his palm to reveal his own phial of red origin, like blood, but all too ripe.
"My own decoction, borne from fungus of theoretically magical origin as well. Later, I would like to see its affects on you, given further observation... Into your... What shall we call it, Maria--" The Doctor looked to her now, as he stood, stooped over with his cane,
"-- His Cyst? A tumor perhaps..? Err... Hmmm, A parasite, maybe." He grumbled, digging into the floor boards idly with the end of his cane in thought.

//

[Shinzon]

There was something deeply disturbing about the way Cross was excited. For such a person to be eager of a discovery, it seemed like an ill omen to the still-superstitious woman, a part of herself legitimately scared by the doctor's whole personality. Swallowing and focusing back on the objective at hand, her face became a stern mask once more as she listened to the man's questions directed at... whatever their prisoner was.
Lost in thoughts, she was suddenly pulled back to reality as a question was directly asked to her, to which she raised her head and spoke in a cold tone.
"I think we can consider this to be a Parasite, in the worst of cases."

As she spoke, she casually retreated from the cell, pulling back her arm as if she was simply stretching, whie in fact preparing to perform a violent incision with her blades in case the subject went completey out of control.

[Kidney]

Leoman turned for a moment, his face defiant as he took a step back, spinning to face the two. "I have already taken my draft."
He clutched the vial so forcibly, it almost seemed as if he would shatter the glass. His hand shook, and his shoulders heaved. He was getting more and more petrified as the moments wore on, the excitement in the giant brought him the single most uneasy feeling in his guts he had ever experienced. So he vomited.
It was a dull yellow watery substance, steaming and bubbling like a strange acid. He fell to one knee, scooting back, falling down. He sat in a sideways heap on the floor, eyes wide and hand viced around the vial. "I don't...want your serum."

[Unter]

The Guild Hall was a much better place than the streets. The polish Knight went into the circle in the middle of the hall, and touched his sword. Francois "admired" the interior of the building : A stony building, with stony windows, stony stairs and stony trainers.
"You want to test my mettle ? Oh, all right ! I'll show you the might of the knights of France."
This was pretty much a lie. Francois never knew the battlefield, and he still had that academic rigor. And academic predictability.
He would not back down from a fight however, and he stepped inside the circle.
"But. Let us cover our blades with thick clothe. I am not armored, and I don't want anything to happen in a stupid fight."
He waved at a man in the back, requesting the said clothe. He wrapped his own blade with the tissue, and tossed a ball of clothe to Radzyg.

[beholder]

"The might of the knights of France? I don't see any white flag 'round here", mocked the lord as he unsheathed his sword and wrapped it in clothe, as the French instructed. Of course, it was stupid: he could still very much kill him with a thrust, considering the tip would very much penetrate past the clothe. Taking wooden swords or having his opponent clad in armor would have made for a much better fight, but he was not going to complain: he would show the pretentious youth that he could beat him, even on his own terms.
Gazing at his foe as he lowered his klappvisor, he took a stance, slowly circling around him with his blade pointed at him, ready to pierce - or deflect a coming blow. He was gauging his opoonent's stance, and waiting for him to make a move.

[Unter]

Francois looked at the stranger from head to toe. Only scorn filled his eyes, and a disdain so great filled him that he immediatly sheathed and sword and snorted in a haughty "Ugh.". The man was either an idiot, a ruffian or a mercenary claiming to be noble. He had no problem with staying with other mercenaries of course, even if the filthiest would rub his nose the wrong way, but there was no way he could become acquainted with this... this man. 

"I see I was mistaken." he said coolly. "I will let you boil in your misbegotten fluids and be away from this place. Try not to fall on that sword of yours."

Francois left quickly, he did not want to look at the man, or stay in this place, any longer. Hopefully, he wouldn't meet him again. The hamlet was sure to be a big place. Now, he wanted to see what awaited him in the muddy streets. Let Hell swallow the polish mercenary, for all he cared.

[black379]

[Arriving from Misc. Buildings - Fanuschrat's shack]

Courcy lumbered toward the hall, using her halberd much like a walking stick, and with her satchel slung behind one shoulder. She appeared almost as a nomad, happening upon the Darkest estate for the first time. But she wore scars, and carried regrets that told otherwise.

The hellion longed for her early days in this place, when her arrogance went without challenge and her ambition had yet to prove futile. She wished for her friend, always at her side, quietly caring. All of that was gone, no matter how much she missed it. Her dire hope was to start anew.

As she entered the courtyard to the training grounds, so near the all too familiar barracks that housed the prison cells, Courcy wondered if she might see George. Whether or not she would have liked to run into the Warden was uncertain. Instead she pursued to find the nameless squire boy.

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Squire of Ser Promos/

Whether it was the dull thud of metal striking wood, or the Boy's grunts, both made it easy to find the Guild Hall's rather vehement resident. Striking away like a miner in a quarry, he still wore the same tabard and chainmail when Courcy had found him first; though notably cleaner and smelling of smoke.
There were deep gouges in the wooden dummy stood up infront of him, and he seemed to have recently gotten his shortsword stuck in its woody shoulder. He gave two quick grunts of effort before he fell to panting, he pressed his still helmeted forehead against the dummy and swore before he gave it a quick kick and a final tug, wherein his blade slipped free and he seemed to notice Courcy from his periphery.

A stiffness immediately struck him, as he turned to face her curtly, dropping to one knee. He still wielded his shield on his arm as he bowed his head in reverence.
"M'Lady." He called out.

\\

[black379]

The redhead quickly enough spotted the boy, wrestling with an armless manikin for his sword. It was the first she saw of his combative 'prowess', since, at the beach, the squire carried his Mother to safety before the real fight ensued. She approached him with a smirk.

"Aw fuck, you can skip that." Courcy tapped the flat of the boy's helmet, then offered her hand to help him to his feet. His chivalrous formalities made her uncomfortable, yet she did grin and her cheeks filled with color at being called 'm'lady'.

"Please call me Courcy." She caught the edge of her lip in her teeth as she looked down to him. "I'd like to have something proper to call you."

[beholder]

"Misbegotten fluids? That's a first. Especially coming from a French."
Watching the so-called "knight" leave brought a smile to his face, and the noble raised his visor once more. Today wouldn't be the day when he'd get a duel after all: and it was quite frustrating. After all, if he was to delve in some decrepit ruin to fight off what the others called "unspeakable horrors", then he'd have to train and get his reflexes back.
Sighing, he sat down and contemplated moving on to another part of town, although a quickly-approaching redhead caught his attention. Ildly listening to the chatter she started with a visibly exhausted young man, he placed back his sword in its sheath and waited.

After all, maybe he'd get something out of this: information, or simply gossip. Both were fine to pass the time.

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/The Squire of Ser Promos/

"I am The Squire of Ser Promos?" The Squire of Ser Promos offered hopelessly, awkwardly taking Courcy's hand and murmuring thanks as he pulled himself up, immediately taking a step back, he sheathed his shortsword.
"You may call me Squire." He proposed with a nod, confident as he squared his shoulders and bowed his head respectfully.

[black379]

"Fine fine. For now." Courcy rolled her eyes, though they eventually set on the boy with dull interest. It was uncommon, uncomfortable even, to be treated so formally. She cleared her throat, cocking and stooping her head to peek into the squire's bowed peripherals.

"Chin up. My tits are up here." She scoffed crudely, yet became immediately self-conscious of her own jest. The hellion always found it easy to be promiscuous. Tilly made it sound easy - 'treat yourself as you'd like others to treat you' - but it would be a tough obstacle to overcome.

Her hands rested on her hips and she eyed the squire from boot to shield to helm. Armor always seemed so cumbersome, and Courcy hardly knew what she could teach him about fighting with a sword.

"Ahem... I've never been ac- acquisitioned? Least not to spar." The ginger chuckled softly again.

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/The Squire of Ser Promos/

The Squire of Ser Promos tentatively rose his eyes, respectively, to Courcy's predescribed tits, before immediately sending his eyes back down.
"Should I look at your... Chest?" words failed him as he shifted from one foot to the other. He wasn't sure what she wanted from him, and he hoped it didn't show.
Knees straight, hands at his sides.

"... Oh! Yes... Courcy..." It felt strange not to have some official title tagged to a name... They were deserving of much respect.
Names, that is. Though, the warrior before him most definitely so.
"... Have you not had a pupil before?" He spoke slowly now, but with less of a stammer as the dark veiled eyes of The Squire of Ser Promos looked up to Courcy's own for a moment. Then immediately shot back down in due respect.

He felt utterly foolish.

[black379]

"Sorry..." Courcy crossed her arms in front of her chest to be faintly less revealing. Maybe she ought to have held onto the cloak that Tilly loaned her, but she still wasn't perfectly comfortable with herself cadging for food, shelter, and clothing on top of that.

"You don't have to ogle me," She sighed, though most would leer at her without any mind to her dignity. "but you can look at me. I'm no royalty." The redhead lowered her head and scuffed the ground with the toe of her boot. When she lifted her eyes again, she would have liked to share a gaze with the Squire.

"I used to have some friends. We traveled, took jobs, fought together. But we were equal." She answered with a raise and slump of her shoulders. "No, I never had a pupil."