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Post by Vanitypirate on Nov 26, 2018 21:40:12 GMT -8
"I hope she does." Tilly agreed, though with a non-committal shrug: she had learned through painful experience not to expect sanity from those exposed to insane sights. Moreover, she would consider them all blessed by fortune if they returned to find the Crowgazer in one piece in all manners mental and physical.
She held her tongue on the matter; it would do Lekalis no good to predict doom and gloom on his favorite shadow. They would see for themselves if she truly endured the experience.
At any rate, she was happy to find a more lighthearted subject as this chowder.
"I suppose I'll let you get to it then... unless you'd like me to join you?"
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Nov 26, 2018 21:52:02 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
More than happy to let the subject die, he nodded and pushed himself off from the Tavern wall,
"Aye! I can't imagine it'll be too terribly long, but I'd appreciate the company... You've yet to tell me of your day." Lekalis brushed off his leather chaps with some exaggeration before he strode on towards the Tavern door and held it ajar for Tilly.
"Come then, I can't imagine you'd a dalliance with devils. One of us has to live a mundane life, after all."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Nov 26, 2018 22:29:27 GMT -8
"I... went and had a bath with Courcy, by the river, and got her to come along with me to hunt for moths. Told her about the... Gunsches, and she said she'd watch our backs. Also told her about the little one, said she was welcome to join us as a family and all-- as a sort-of aunt, I suppose. She was happy for it-- but... maybe it is all a tad mundane, gods forbid." Tilly swept around Lekalis, instinctively minding a cloak that was no longer there. On that realization, she frowned at Lekalis, "Aren't you cold without your cloak?" (Tilly and Lekalis enter the tavern.) |
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Post by black379 on Nov 27, 2018 15:47:25 GMT -8
Courcy forced a smile, not because she wasn't truly happy to see Villiers, but because of the dire circumstances that had befallen her since they last met. There was much to talk about, to catch up on, and she hoped she could bear it. The hellion stopped just outside the tavern's entrance and looked back at Villiers over her shoulder.
"I hope you've got a bit of coin. I'm actually... kinda spent." She shrugged her hands and her sides and waited for her friend to catch up before moving inside.
[Courcy and Villiers enter the tavern]
-
"I don't understand." Adeney's shoulders sagged hopelessly. His eyes drifted down to the dirt, then he watched the woman's extended hand. The doctor still had much to learn. He wished he had asked Florence for some notes, what she already knew of souls and spirits. Then he might not be so bombarded with questions and curiosities.
"She... She is restored. Somehow I-" He stopped himself from saying more. No one should know what he and Florence had done. After all, he wasn't even sure of himself in reviving Audrey. It was her body, alive again, but was it really her? Adeney just wanted to get a handle on things and take a moment to wrap his head around all that had happened the last few days. He didn't know how Talea would help, or why, but she may have been able to explain some things.
"Alright. I accept." The doctor took Talea's hand firmly. He searched her face, beneath those dark russet locks, for some commonality.
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Post by relentless on Nov 28, 2018 3:34:39 GMT -8
/Gisheler/
The Sellsword didn't say anything but he did furrow his brows in some intensive thought. It was true that luck oft helped to inspire hope when one was feeling downtrod, but you didn't particularly need it... Not always. Or maybe you did, since the hope to find money frequently rose from the prospect of a lucky find of gold. But that was a measure of variability and not a definite state... Or... was it? It truly perplexed Gisheler and he brought a hand up to stroke the stubble on his chin. "OK." He stated flatly as he slowly began to amble his way towards the bounty board, leaving the curious box-opener Tilly to whatever whimsy they'd get to.
He wondered if he was lucky... He was alive when all other Black Crowns had died, but he certainly did not feel lucky. Not lucky enough to stumble upon coin by chance alone. Gisheler's verdant eyes flicked up to look at the bounty board's papers before him, hardly noting Libourg's only person stood before it, as he squinted at the papers worn papyrus and ink.
There were many odd errands; a need to clear out rats, to slay some bandits, or... swine-folk? and Fishmen. And Skeletons. Gisheler was surprised to see such peasantly terminologies pinned in such a civilized establishment, and it worried him some... But he was rather disappointed to see no mention of Orcs. With a sigh, he let his hand drop from his chin to rest on the pocket which hid his string of trophy teeth. He could feel the malformed molars and tusks there, and he felt some pride. He may not be lucky, but he was good with a sword, and that made him happy.
With some stiff abandon, he rose his swordarm up and began to rip down each bounty paper from the board.
After his seventh drag down the blade with his weathered whetstone, the man had grown quite bored. The two individuals that bickered before him were having a conversation that seemed rather personal, and he'd rather not get into it himself. Though there were some unusual mentions, ones he could only assume were about the woman he was suppose to protect for the duration of a week. Still, these were two people that weren't interested in him much, which he took a pang of pain from the idea itself.
He let out a shallow sigh, one that would most likely go unheard as he scanned his surroundings. He looked to the left toward the Abbey, nothing but passerbys and a dead town, but to the right he found to his surprise a multitude of individuals, though most entered the tavern, including that of the crimson coated noble and his soon to be maiden of blood, Tilly. Though there were others... such as the fiery redhead that had a few not-too-nice words to say to Libourg, and from the looks of it, a newcomer. He'd greeted the new adventurers and mercenaries that came on by to this place, and from the looks of it, the man seemed to be of the fighting sort.
A mild arousal of curiosity peeked, Libourg squinting at the mercenary with amusement, before he cleared his throat and made to stand with helmet and sword.
"I'll leave you to your disagreements, Doctor... and this shaman."
The last couple words were uttered with slight disdain and prejudice, though he managed to maintain a civil decorum to the tone itself. Uncivilized creatures that remain stuck in the past, like a stick in the mud, they were unusual and rather heated beasts, ones that would have to earn their common ground with Libourg the Knight. And with that, the crusader took his barbute and hooked it to his belt along with his sword, where it wobbled from the pin it had been stuck to as he walked toward the bounty board.
The mans presence wasn't that stealthy, not that he tried to appear as such. Libourgs padding and general armour rattled the air around him quite literally, sabatons sticking in the mud as he began facing the board. His eyes narrowed firmly on the bountys set before him, most notably the ones mentioning that of a Swine Invasion to a local village in Rampshire, along with other ones that seemed more focused on the Ruins and the Weald than anywhere else. It would be a breath of fresh air to fight something that wasn't piglike, just so he didn't have to deal with absurd mutations of the dark and damp Warrens that carried disease from left to right.
With the hand pinching one of the Rampshire bountys, he made to glance at the bountys the Mercenary had stacked in his hand, one that seemed all too willing to take on work. If only he knew...
"You seem to have your hands full, Sellsword!"
Libourg noted with a social snap to his words, giving out a small chuckle and an exhale through the nose as his hand trailed down the board, feeling up the wood of the board out of an idle nature, "A long days travel with no work?" Libourg turned his head to face Gishler, searching the man, trying to place him.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Nov 28, 2018 7:01:12 GMT -8
/Gisheler/
"Yes."
The man spoke before he looked to Libourg, a deed done with much delay as he flared out the proscribed bounties in his hand and read each with due diligence and comprehension, but everstill with a notable slowness.
He was out of practice.
"I will read them in this Barrack, and think about which I shall do while I--", Gisheler caught himself and his head slowly looked up to a fellow man dressed in steel.
Yet... Plate, gambeson... A full metal helm. Luxuries the Sellsword associated with only the most esteemed or well-off warriors.
"--Hello there." He remedied his introduction with due respect as Gisheler's eyes of jade danced over Libourg's frame and squinted at the man's sword. Impressive, too ornamental for Gisheler's taste's.
"Engraving's give you no tactical advantage... what so ever." He murmured some advice to himself, and partially to Libourg as he stared at the pommel of quaint design... though the words could easily be lost to the whimsy of human hearing.
Gisheler took the full measure of Libourg's face now; a scar, and good looks. A well kept beard.
The Sellsword didn't make it hidden that he was judging the Knight.
Accompanying that was good plate armor and... a fair odour. Light pouches, none hidden... A dagger, of some scale; ornamental, but useful if desperate. The man showed the signs of veterancy on his skin, not his armor.
"Were you interested in a particular bounty?", Gisheler's tongue stopped his flickering eyes, looking up to the well-to-do knight with measured and hesitant respect.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Dec 1, 2018 23:47:56 GMT -8
(From the Tavern.) "You were a soldier, though, weren't you? You went to war-- just on your own terms." Tilly pointed out, though with not much vim behind her words; she was more interested in prodding at the not-soldier than she was in arguing at that present moment. She indulged in another bite of bread. It was nearly gone. "How far North did you go...?" She queried further as they walked; the breeze of the late-summer Night was welcome after spending time in the stuffy tavern, warmed by the bodies packed inside alone. It was easy to fight the chill by walking. "I never got to travel much... I was on foot most of the time." She sighed. |
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Dec 2, 2018 0:04:51 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
"Being a soldier on your own terms is well and different than being a soldier on someone else's..." Lekalis disagreeably agreed, but nodded,
"... I did go to war, but I was the one giving the orders and not following them." He poignantly reminded at last, before he rolled his shoulders; remembering his skirmishes was the last thing he'd like to do in pleasant company.
"I digress; I went as far North as I could... Where it was cold in the day, and colder at night. Where men and women's anatomy changes so curiously that they sometimes don't resemble humans at all." Lekalis waxed on with a bards delight, though he'd not the hands to flow and dance, his eyes alone looked on distantly in recollection.
"Animals, man included, turned pale to blend in. No farms or plants grew so they fed off each other in a vicious cycle. It was as brutal as it was beautiful." He sighed and felt a shiver in his spine... From the cold or uncomfortable memories, even Lekalis wasn't too sure.
All the same, he peeled out and began to meander about the side of the Tavern,
"The Arctic, they'd called it. Our boat eventually found ice it couldn't break through, and we turned back with white pelts and curious tales to tell. Both fetched a good price; it was a grand time."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Dec 2, 2018 0:16:28 GMT -8
"What do the North-people look like? Were they white as ghosts?" Tilly asked; her interest had been successfully piqued as she, in some small way, was able to join Lekalis in his past, Northern expedition. It was exciting and enjoyable when she wasn't thinking about how it was a journey she would not embark on in this life.
She popped the rest of the bread into her mouth and, as she chewed, she tried to visualize a canvas of ice and snow that cut into the horizon.
"I've heard that, when you go so far North, the Night never ends and there's colors in the sky." She recalled dreamily, but piped up again,
"How North did you go? Could you get to the very tip-top of the world?"
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Dec 2, 2018 0:36:32 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
"They were huge... If I didn't have my wits about me I'd call them giants; though... not all of them. Some were of a height that I didn't have to crane my neck back to spot their eyes. They spoke in an utterly magical tongue... Taas knows some songs spoken in some derivative therein of their sooth, but the true language is locked far and away in mountains of black ice." Lekalis prattled on and felt the overwhelming urge to stroke his chin in recollection.
"My... views might be a tad eskewed. I can't have been more than ten and five when I arrived in a harbor what exported ice and fish... They were a quiet sort. Not quite so barbaric as one imagines but certainly as pale, though their hair varied... Some did have hair as pale as Taas'." He hummed and found himself fast approaching their denizen.
"There were Nights that seemed to never end, and they were illuminated by bands of blue and green as well as the moon... But I don't believe I reached the very tip-top." He chuckled at the last and shifted his grip on the chowder. It had begun to lose its warmth, but he doubted Florence would care much at all.
"I'm told a man's eyes can freeze when he reaches the very tip top... Others still claim there to be a mountain chain which circles a hole that drives clean through to the other side." Lekalis shrugged disinterestedly, as if his tale was little more than a casual remark of the weather.
"If we ever have the time, paint, and canvas, I could show you... Or perhaps we could vacate this locale for a time and I might take you there."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Dec 2, 2018 8:05:22 GMT -8
As though in surrogacy for Lekalis's lack of chin-strokage, Tilly stroked her own jaw (though it was certainly less satisfying with no beard to stroke) as she considered the possibility of embarking on some wild journey to the far North.
"It'd be cheaper to paint it..." Tilly supposed as they walked on past their shack-dwelling and onto the dwelling-to-be...
It seemed to be coming together nicely. That in itself was encouraging.
"...Maybe without the freezing-eyes. But did you ever see that big chain of mountains?"
Tilly's brows furrowed as she thought on another query,
"How'd Taas come to know those songs?"
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Post by relentless on Dec 2, 2018 10:30:08 GMT -8
/Gisheler/ "Yes." The man spoke before he looked to Libourg, a deed done with much delay as he flared out the proscribed bounties in his hand and read each with due diligence and comprehension, but everstill with a notable slowness. He was out of practice. "I will read them in this Barrack, and think about which I shall do while I--", Gisheler caught himself and his head slowly looked up to a fellow man dressed in steel. Yet... Plate, gambeson... A full metal helm. Luxuries the Sellsword associated with only the most esteemed or well-off warriors. "--Hello there." He remedied his introduction with due respect as Gisheler's eyes of jade danced over Libourg's frame and squinted at the man's sword. Impressive, too ornamental for Gisheler's taste's. "Engraving's give you no tactical advantage... what so ever." He murmured some advice to himself, and partially to Libourg as he stared at the pommel of quaint design... though the words could easily be lost to the whimsy of human hearing. Gisheler took the full measure of Libourg's face now; a scar, and good looks. A well kept beard. The Sellsword didn't make it hidden that he was judging the Knight. Accompanying that was good plate armor and... a fair odour. Light pouches, none hidden... A dagger, of some scale; ornamental, but useful if desperate. The man showed the signs of veterancy on his skin, not his armor. "Were you interested in a particular bounty?", Gisheler's tongue stopped his flickering eyes, looking up to the well-to-do knight with measured and hesitant respect. The knight gave a moments pause as he let the idea swirl through his mind before he spat it out, metaphorically speaking. The knight had taken up a protection job, much like he had done in the past... except this individual he was protecting was far from that of a priest, and shrouded in mystery and clear skepticism. Looking back at the board with a soft blow through the nose, jaw kept tight as he looked about the bounties set before him, he shook his head gently from the side to side. "I'm afraid not, Sellsword. A few days of respite, and I will be doing so. But for the mean time-" The knight rapped and tapped his knuckle on the paper twice, a grainy thud was applied to the ear, "A banquet of paper and ink for a man of your occupation." A slight chuckle in the throat of Libourg could be heard, giving thought to the things he had said prior.
A fair remark, but it wasn't a kind one to mock the design of a weapon. Giving the man as brief squint of momentary irritation, the knight twisted his upper body as he reached to raise the holster that contained his long sword. The nature of the ornament was weathered yet it still gave homage to what the knight believed in, no matter how tattered his resolve may be. "A memento of ones past glories can be powerful, Mercenary. For better or for worse, of course." The statement was left open to interpretation, and Libourg didn't really want to dwell so much on the topic of aesthetic, though it was clear there was a divide of taste. He rotated the ornamental guard, giving it a brief look over with the torch pommel glinting at the tip of the flame, before he lowered it to his side and gave the stack of papers a look over, eventually nodding to the papers.
"I would make sure you pick a suitable adventure, some stones are best left well alone without the proper company..." He shrugged, turning to look at the man, a steeled look to his face. He could see the judgement, but he had little time to be offended over such a trivial thing. After all, the man had just come from a realm of civilization, into a land of unexplained horrors, "Whats your name, Sellsword? I would remember it well, when the time for conquest comes."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Dec 2, 2018 13:55:44 GMT -8
/Gisheler/
"I am Gisheler." Gisheler introduced quickly and punctually with a nod as he looked to the apparent banquet of notes in his hands, then to Libourg's face again. It was difficult to gauge when a Knight was earnest or merely trying to soothsay into better graces, or to put on a face of chivalry.
Chivalry was as much a mask as religion... and a torch-design on the pommel of this Knight's blade seemed to imply that this man wielded both, Chivalry and Religion, in equal measures.
"Hmmm..." Gisheler pondered on the bearings of this Knight. Regardless of his intent, it would be important to make sure that this character would remember Gisheler... Fame was as important as gold to a sellsword. And just as deadly.
"... You are wise, about mementos. Disorients the enemy, if they recognize the past glories... Sometimes." Gisheler's brow furrowed, it was difficult to entertain a disagreeable perspective,
"Perhaps you would share your name with me? I do not know anyone here... I do not know: Proper Company." he sighed as he rolled the bounty papers up into a singular coil and slipped them into the pouch containing his whetstone.
The Sellsword quickly cut past Libourg and made for the Guild Hall's entrance before pausing, realizing he was about to leave without catching the name of the Knight,
"... If you could spare he time from your... Respite; I'd like to spar. I need training.", as Gisheler spoke, it became clear that he barely moved any muscle in his face besides his lips. Though his brows occasionally furrowed, as they did now, as he thought hard on the deed at hand.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Dec 2, 2018 14:20:34 GMT -8
As though in surrogacy for Lekalis's lack of chin-strokage, Tilly stroked her own jaw (though it was certainly less satisfying with no beard to stroke) as she considered the possibility of embarking on some wild journey to the far North. "It'd be cheaper to paint it..." Tilly supposed as they walked on past their shack-dwelling and onto the dwelling-to-be... It seemed to be coming together nicely. That in itself was encouraging. "...Maybe without the freezing-eyes. But did you ever see that big chain of mountains?" Tilly's brows furrowed as she thought on another query, "How'd Taas come to know those songs?" /Lekalis/
"Suppose it might; depends on the paint compared to the means of travel... I know some pigments that cost more than a whole ship." He mused with a hum and sigh, it was unlikely to put Tilly's mind to ease but it was a pondering all the same. "I never saw the mountains myself, but the odd captain or two claimed to've seen them... Or, at least, taken expeditioners there to wander and never return." Lekalis remarked on the last a bit gloomily; the stories they spoke on were always grand and fun, but when facing the facts of their story... It was unsettling to think of such an all consuming and unexplored locale. Not too unlike the Dungeons of the Estate.
"Taas' kin speak the Old Tongue; she doesn't usually sing those songs, I think 'cause they were too gloomy or the like. Maybe because no one really knows what she's saying when she's singing them..." Lekalis shrugged as he failed to recollect the true reasonings behind Taas' distaste for the tunes. "... She learned them from her kin before she set out with me."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Dec 2, 2018 14:30:58 GMT -8
Tilly had always wondered what lay at the uncolored spaces of the maps she had seen as a child, but she had since resigned to wait for someone else to uncover what lay beyond. She was in too deep in this muddy, remote Estate... it would be unwieldy to pick up and leave after establishing deep roots.
Perhaps their child, or their child's children, would succeed in filling in more of the map.
"Were her kin Northern, then?" Asked Tilly. It made sense, she thought; Taas was as pale as the snow of the North.
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