|
|
Post by black379 on Apr 16, 2018 17:29:21 GMT -8
She supposed it made sense, to have a sort of will, in the event of a knight's passing. But the whole idea seemed unfair too, that one person who had been so entitled could solely decide the worth of another, even their own student.
Courcy hardly knew the boy, but she sympathized with his spirit. He may have been young and timid, but obviously yearned to be recognized. It was one thing to be prideful, and another still for someone to be proud of you.
At his inquiry, the hellion shrank. She felt for the scar on her wrist, but it was wrapped up anyways, beneath the dressings of her newer wounds.
"Yeah... A friend." The ginger nodded as her face fell sullen. "I wish I knew he could hear me."
|
|
|
|
Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Apr 16, 2018 18:14:57 GMT -8
/The Squire of Ser Promos/
"Ah, I see..." He nodded wisely, his free hand planting its palm firmly on his own thigh as he looked at her with all his might,
"... He will hear you. Whether you shout it or whisper it, he will hear it. As long as your heart is behind your words; speak true and speak strong." He, again, recited as he leant back and relaxed, as he bowed his head.
Soreness had worked into his shoulders, so sitting felt nice but... He had a burning sensation in his gut, and he cleared his throat dryly,
"What are your plans for the day?" he decided to ask.
|
|
|
|
Post by black379 on Apr 16, 2018 18:33:40 GMT -8
Her lips moved, but in place of a verbal 'thank you', she barely nodded her head. Courcy let a heavy breath in and out before rolling her head about her shoulders.
"I have none, really. I'm... bound for another expedition soon enough." The redhead sat upright and leaned towards the Squire. "But a friend of mine is being married in a fortnight. I'm biding time until then."
She searched for his eyes beneath the helmet and meanwhile patted the head of her halberd, then clambered up onto her knees.
"I wasn't really sure what to expect from this. From mentoring you."
|
|
|
|
Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Apr 17, 2018 7:58:07 GMT -8
/The Squire of Ser Promos/
He mimicked Courcy's rise, nodding in kind as she did.
"Another expedition?" He latched onto the word and stood, somehow, straighter,
"I'd like to come with, if you'd have me." The Squire nodded again, eagerly as he checked his belt, fixing his helmet fast about his arming cap beneath.
"As for... expecting things; it's good practice just to talk. I'm sure I can learn something from you, like you can learn from me!" He sighed and made a small bow before turning to walk back to face the dummy, stricken with deep woody grooves from his blade.
"I'll be here, if you need me? Unless you want me to follow you..." He paused his squaring up to look at Courcy curiously.
|
|
|
|
Post by black379 on Apr 18, 2018 11:48:29 GMT -8
Courcy stood, teasing the boy's decorous stature by puffing up her own chest and raising her nose a little. With a chuckle, she fell into a more relaxed posture before poking at the Squire's side.
"I would have you. On my next mission! That'll be some real practice." The redhead rolled her shoulders and began to stroll backwards.
"I'm going to find myself a wash. I'll fetch you." She didn't make for the exit too quickly, in part because of the ignorance of her surroundings by backpedaling, but also in case the knight-to-be had any parting words. "'nless you worked up a sweat yourself?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Apr 18, 2018 12:41:41 GMT -8
/The Squire of Ser Promos/
He winced with a small chuckle, more out of seeing her hand motion than actually feeling it beneath the metal and padding. She couldn't have been much older than himself, he realized with a mixture of emotions.
The Squire of Ser Promos cleared his throat and presumed to straighten and don a familiar disciplined state,
"Understood. I'll be here; there 'ought to be a basin or two to wash my face in around here. Don't worry." He assured her, already turning to break off and look for the predescribed basins...
|
|
|
|
Post by black379 on Apr 18, 2018 15:01:58 GMT -8
“Then here’s where I’ll find you!” Courcy called out to him as she finally turned to walk properly out of the guild hall. Her smirk slowly subsided until it was gone from her face. Already she was attacked with anxious thoughts of her next meal, let alone her next expedition. A relaxing bath ought to suit her well, so she left for the abbey.
|
|
|
|
Post by Kidney on Apr 23, 2018 18:31:33 GMT -8
It had been a long time.
Leoman sat against the back of the cell, throat red, shirtless, gloves off. His demeanor reinforcing his past activity, his bloody nail-bits scattered on the rock, his newly-raw fingers outstretched, his hands tensed and numb. There was always the worry of infection, although the gruel he forced himself to eat and the water he was gifted helped him remain slightly healthy, among the damaging acidic liquid he had to take.
He checked the lump on his chest, checking the width, seeing that over the nights he had spent here, it had grown easily an inch in diameter. He cursed to himself, something akin to a "fuck" or a "piss off," referring to the lump in question. Anything would have been better than dying, though. To die, he surmised, would be a final resort.
Leo smacked the floor, "Shit. Still numb."
He checked his lump again, seeing the same swollen purplish egg-shape underlying. "Havin' fun down there, big guy?"
|
|
|
|
Post by relentless on May 21, 2018 16:16:15 GMT -8
/Duval/
The overcoat clad man walked amonget the hard stones and variety of training dummies being batted down by adventurers and guards alike. He walked with growing discontent, a displeased look on his face, hands wrapping around his form and gripping the wool around his abdomen as if he were about to be sick. He snivelled and choked on shame, misery and blatant sadness.
He would shambles into the jailing area, moving toward George's office with pale skin as he attempted to readjust himself. A single, shaking hand reached out to his wrist collar, only for the vulture woman, clad in pink tissue and naked glory to extend her long fingers forward, dancing across the wool before they straightened up his wrist collars. She disappeared quickly with a giggle, arms slipping behind his back.
He stood there for a moment, temporarily paralysed, his hand gripping his wris tight until it began to ache. His eyes shook, quaking, before he released his grip and attempted to manage a casual saunter to George's office.
|
|
|
|
Post by twostepsback on May 21, 2018 18:18:31 GMT -8
A small, grey feminine figure slips inside the Guildhall as a guardsman leaves through the front door. Charis, now garbed in the prowler's wear her friend Bernard sent her, loitered on the periphery of the Guildhall, content with 'casing the joint' for the moment.
|
|
|
|
Post by rumsztyk on May 22, 2018 8:34:57 GMT -8
He raised his head from a stack of documents, glaring angrily at the intruder. "Who the fu-" Came his raspy voice, and cut off rapidly.
"Duval." He blinked once, twice. "Come in. Have a seat." The Warden motioned to the simple wooden chair opposite to his desk. George rummaged through his cupboard, fetching two glasses and a bottle of fine rye.
"It's good to see you." He gave a half-hearted smile.
|
|
|
|
Post by relentless on May 22, 2018 8:50:21 GMT -8
His head raised slow in recognition of George's appearance, a shaky breath following through as the words seemed to chime through his head louder and louder. At his back, the vulture cawed quietly, almost like a giggle, fingers clasped onto his shoulders as it hung on like a koala hugging a tree. Its beak rested on the top of his head, a flickering mental visage of symbolic intent plaguing Duvals mind. His eyes closed tight as he took a pause, standing still around the doorway, out of sight from George.
Duvals fist was clenched hard, the crackle of leather tightening as his fist shook, before he relaxed his hand and opened his eyes. With a pale face, he swung around the corner a few seconds later, idly walking into the room.
"Hey mate... same."
Duval coughed dryly as he gripped the chair by the top with one hand, the rasp of the chair legs grinding against the stone floor was prominent, along with Duvals grasp seeming loose on the wooden furniture. Flicking up his woolen behind, he sat down and smoothed his forearms across the armrests, head leaning back only to feel the vultures soft muscle pressing against the back of his head, eyeing him from behind. He tried to ignore it the best he could, though there was a pained wince as he felt the non-existent flesh prickling his neck.
"Wait, you're still working here? I thought you got the boot already."
Duval hummed with mild bemusement, shuffling in discomfort soon after.
|
|
|
|
Post by rumsztyk on May 22, 2018 10:56:44 GMT -8
"Hah! He can't boot me even if he wanted to." George challenges Duval with a nasty smirk. "No one in this god-forsaken shithole will take the job. I am, as they say, indisposable."
His friends discomfort was apparent, so George did the most sensible thing - he poured a glass each, first making sure to dispose of all the paperwork littering his desk. He didn't even ask Duval if he wanted it - he was sure he did.
"So. How's life treating you?" He tried to strike up small talk.
|
|
|
|
Post by relentless on May 24, 2018 7:50:13 GMT -8
He craned his neck from left to right, a crack occuring as he met the maximum turning point, before going in the other direction, finally settling his head straight as he looked on at George, cracking a weak smile at him despite his mental condition.
"Could be worse, could be better I guess."
Duval nodded at him, before his eyes came down to the glass to see his reflection distorted in the portion of rye, the brass tint making him see submerged within its tide. Unconsciously, his hand reached forward fast, but stopped as his fingertips tickled the very surface of the glass itself. He thought to himself, looking to the door to see a faded blur of what looked to be a beak pressing against the doors barred window, before he looked to the glass and retracted his hand swiftly; leaving the rye unattended.
"-Aye, what about you hm?"
His hands settled into his overcoat has he leaned back, a mistake as he felt the prickle of naked muscle against the warm wool of his coat. Duval jolted out of shock, as if he had been scared out of his pants, a sigh of discomfort leaving him followed by a shiver, before he looked back at him.
"The raid not keeping you busy?"
|
|
|
|
Post by rumsztyk on May 25, 2018 9:09:03 GMT -8
"Raid itself ain't. It's the bloody mountains of paperwork..." George huffs, pointing at a locker in the corner. Though, he did so half-heartedly, observing his friend closer. He, too, inspected his reflection in the glass for a moment, awkward silence ensuing.
"Hey, Duval..." He started, with a small smirk. "No hard feelings about that redhead, right?" He chuckled uneasily. "She played me like a damn fiddle... Did all the right moves." He took a long sip, observing his friend's reaction. Was that what troubled him? Nah... Can't be.
|
|
