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Post by rumsztyk on Jul 23, 2017 3:29:49 GMT -8
"I prefer interesting to fancy. And this is an interesting question. Where to begin..." he hummed, tapping the healthy hand's fingers against the black ones. "There is a great evil in the surrounding lands, this squalid Hamlet the last bastion of humanity. The united efforts of the people are enough to hold it at bay. Whoever pledges themselves to the cause is worthy of respect, regardless of their beliefs and motivations." he sighed heavily. "Those are dark times."
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Post by Shinzon on Jul 23, 2017 4:02:31 GMT -8
"And do you think we can even win a fight against these creatures?" continued the repentant knight, somber as he spoke these words, passing his hand onto the scarred side of his face. "I've seen such horrors in the dungeons, and I question if we can ever win against the things who dwell down here."
Sighing, he looked down at himself, readjusting a pouch and munching on his pipe nervously, putting it in and out of his mouth, never ceasing to move the hand holding it. "The true monsters lie in all of us", he finally said. "The front line of this war isn't even in the dungeons, but rather, inside the mind..."
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Post by rumsztyk on Jul 23, 2017 4:45:17 GMT -8
"Fight, yes. Small victories on the way to the ultimate goal. While far from trivial, it is most certainly possible." he solemnly proclaimed, believeing in the words.
The next statement left Ibrahim stumped, trying to assess the man better with his unflinching, piercing gaze. Just how much he knew...? Xuul chuckled inwardly at the statement. He stared at Nich for a good few moments, unsure how to answer that statement without being an utter hypocrite, ultimately deciding against it.
"And what do you think of this place?" he retorted, the voice's tone a smidge colder this time.
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Post by Shinzon on Jul 23, 2017 5:40:16 GMT -8
"Guess we'll have to hold on to that hope then", he said with a groan. Despite the man's positive view of things, he still had a hard time believing in the hope that they'd be victorious one day... and he found himself somberly amused by the fact that the two of them might be dead before they even saw victory, should it ever happen.
Surprised by Ibrahim's change in demeanor and voice, he shrugged and tapped hips pipe against his lower lip.
"I think it is decrepit and hopeless. A den of sins and evils, where any light, no matter how small, is always welcome. Kindness and compassion shine brighter in such a dark place; and this place, if anything, allows for much things that would not be permitted in the Old World. It is damnable, and yet attractive to the banished, the outcast, the persecuted."
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Post by rumsztyk on Jul 23, 2017 9:04:59 GMT -8
"A... daunting perspective. Not far from truth, though." Ibraham begrudgingly admits, not sharing Nich's depressing point of view. "Yes, the place does attract all manner of folk; the best and the worst. I do not believe there is a choice in this, for the task ahead requires manpower." The scholar sighs, knowing well he would be one of the damnable, but caring little.
"Tell me, then, - if you are comfortable, of course - of the horrors you witnessed. I find it both dreadful and fascinating." Ibrahim cleared his throat. "If you do not wish to speak of it, I understand. Perhaps I could share some of my experience and insight."
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Post by Shinzon on Jul 23, 2017 11:01:22 GMT -8
Nicholas stopped for a moment as Ibrahim asked about his own experience. His gaze lost in the distance, he lit his pipe almost unconsciously, bringing it to his lips in silence as he remembered the day where his pride was shattered. His bulkwark of faith broken, and his zealous fury doused by his own failure. After smoking for a minute in silence, he finally snapped out of it, he looked into Ibrahim's eyes profoundly, speaking in a slow and grave tone. "Undead creatures barred our progress. Skeletons standing upright, animated by foul energies, standing guard like a soldier would - only with sickening corruption and foul intent."
Pausing, he leaned back into his chair and simply smoke silently, groaning and slamming his fist against the table as he realised he was running out of tabacco. "And then, he arrived. The accursed, malignant, heretical crow knight. Calidorn..."
He pronounced the man's name with hatred, his hand gripping the table with force, his facial experssion hardening.
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Post by relentless on Jul 23, 2017 11:33:07 GMT -8
Among the murky eyed, grinning stare downs and bantaful merry making, where some were intense and some incredibly jovial within the bar, that appeared quite active and jovial, for once. No fights, no cock measuring contests of the sort. It was just, nice.
For most... except Baltazar.
A young youth sat down at the middle section of the counter, his posture slumped as he scavenged over his own mug of bitter ale. A guard, clearly, as marked by the insignia upon his right leather pauldron. He left his mug of ale unintended for a time after he had took a sip, blowing a harsh, bitter blow of air through his lips, blowing a raspberry out of boredom. He had his messy head of lazy black leaning against his hand which was propped up on the counter, whilst the other tapped against the wooden grain of the counter.
"Mgh... two faced gobshite getting all the credit just cause' he cut the bastard's leg a lil..."
Baltazar grumbled under his tone, his bitterness practically leaking from his tongue. The man had gotten slightly less pay after that, though it was enough to get rid of the shield that had gave him a broken nose as he ran head first into a stone pillar. Though, a part of him was grateful for Meriweather, who knows what Fenrik would've done to him if he wasn't there.
At a time like this, he knew he shouldn't be so glum, especially when there were many people to converse with and get more acquantied with the mercenaries that would come and go as they please.
Yet, he was too lazy to give a shit. His break was halfway done, and he loathed to go back on duty with his Brother, since his broken nose was already making him self concious, making him easy to tease.
He sighed heavily, taking another sip of his mead and trying to look more positive.
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Post by Mr. Swagwalker on Jul 23, 2017 15:19:36 GMT -8
"Hmm. Very well then." Brenton muttered and looked over towards the big bartender. "Evening, mister! Where'd you get the hook, may I ask? I would love to have you share your tale with us!" he announced heartily through the yellowly-tinted teeth of his grin.
Edgar raised his head a little, just enough to glance at Hook in the corner of his eye. The topic had gotten his attention, and he was honestly a tad curious to know what could have caused his hand to be replaced by the sharp metal object. But at the same he felt a bit of dread.
Losses of limbs didn't tend to have pleasant stories behind them.
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Post by righteouscrusader on Jul 23, 2017 15:36:00 GMT -8
Tybalt curiously watched as Brenton asked Hook the question. The large bartender turned and lumbered towards Brenton. He squinted at the doctor and replied, "Stuck me hand up so far up yer mum's arse me hand broke off." The locals and other patrons all guffawed loudly as Tybalt tried to stifle a giggle.
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Post by Mr. Swagwalker on Jul 23, 2017 15:58:38 GMT -8
"Ha ha, yes, yes, good one...Very original...." Brenton sarcastically chuckled, his grin quickly stooping into a more neutral expression. Besides that there was no physical evidence of anger. But behind his mask of smugness and sophistication Brenton's fury was making his blood boil, and it took quite some effort to restrain himself from standing up from his seat and injecting the bartender with a syringe hidden in one of his pouches.
Feh. Pathetic peasant. he inwardly scoffed spitefully. Brenton thought he was being polite with Hook, and was only repayed with an insult - if a weak one in his view. He was so tempted to whip up a harsh insult straight back to the man, but his better judgement decided against it. The last thing he needed right now was enemies.
Edgar looked over at Brenton for any warning signs. He found plenty in the face of the goggled doctor. To others the expression would seem harmless, if a bit defeated. But Edgar knew the true nature of this man all too well, and he knew that Brenton was deep down thinking about doing terrible things to the bartender.
He remembers that face. That was the face Brenton had made during one of his experimentations long ago, where Edgar had spat him in the face in defiance.
What ensued shortly afterwards made Edgar shudder and clench his eyes shut in remembrance of the pain that followed.
And that twisted, sadistic grin Brenton made while making him suffer...
He had enjoyed it. Thoroughly.
"Sigh. Bloody hell... What's his problem? A mental illness?" Brenton silently asked Tybalt - his displeasure rather appearent in his deeply furrowed eyebrows.
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Post by Kidney on Jul 23, 2017 16:18:20 GMT -8
Tod sat alone, but was not for a moment as his ale was brought to him.
His shaking, blood-stained hands gripped the mug with both hands, bringing it in front of himself.
He now sat, hands wrapped around the mug, and now he brought the rim to his lips.
He took a drink.
It was quite possibly to most disgusting thing Tod had ever consumed in his life, and his coughing played out the evidence of not being a drinker.
Tears brimmed his eyes from the severity of the taste and the intense coughing, and he keeled over, the cup hitting the table as Tod squeezed it. His breaths now coming out of him as intense wheezes.
"Why...Did humans produce this?" He said to no one in particular, but he did say it out loud.
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Post by rumsztyk on Jul 24, 2017 12:34:08 GMT -8
"So the rumours of undeath are true..." Ibrahim nodded, having confirmed prior suspicions. "Unsettling, but ultimately unsurprising."
He mentally winced when Nicholas said the damned word: heretical. But the occultist kept calm on the outside.
"Calidorn? Never heard the name before. Crow knight, you say..." he let the sentence trail off, beckoning Nicholas to continue.
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Post by Shinzon on Jul 24, 2017 13:24:04 GMT -8
"I strongly recommend not to take your study to the field", said the soldier as he kept smoking from his pipe, smirking somberly. "These things? They aren't meant to be." He shuddered at the memory, one of his hand going onto the handle of his rapier, as the knight tried to cement his will. "Bones put to rest should not rise."
When Ibrahim spoke of Calidorn, he sighed and leaned forward, letting out an especially large amount of smoke from his lips. "Yes... although I'm not the one who knows most about him. He fought against other adventurers, time and time again, unable to be killed... but when he started targeting a young infant, the crimson knight protecting her ended him, once and for all. He was a corrupted, perverted knight, one I would of called brother years ago. His fall teaches us all the cost of bargaining with foul energies."
Tapping onto his breastplate, he nodded gravely. "I remember Calidorn, for he is a warning, to all of us. We cannot fight fire with fire, as much as I'd like to believe it."
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Post by rumsztyk on Jul 24, 2017 15:12:18 GMT -8
The warning was replied to by a raised eyebrow. Ibrahim did not appreciate it, but decided it was better to let the comment slide. "The dead should stay dead, I agree." he replied in an affirmative tone, nodding perhaps a bit too enthusiasticlly to hide his growing discomfort, which was further emphasized by the later statement.
"I respectfully disagree." he sat upright. "It is dangerous territory, that is true. Many were tempted and succumbed, many will. But handled with care and restraint, it is a great weapon."
"WORRY NOT. I PURSUE MY OWN AGENDA, MORTAL."
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Post by lightningfast on Jul 24, 2017 15:19:51 GMT -8
Mordecai enters the Tavern with his new acquaintance Fen in tow, in the middle of an old story about someone he'd barely been able to save the life of. "... but then I realized, his kidney had been punctured by the spear! Imagine my horror..."
He sits down on a barstool with an empty one next to it so that his new friend can sit beside him. "Two mugs of ale," he says, placing two large silver pieces onto the counter, "How much for that?"
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