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Post by relentless on Sept 4, 2019 4:14:17 GMT -8
The rattling of armor and the clacking of plated boot against stone echoed through the air as Roland pushed his way past the Abbey doors. It was an odd sight, a man covered head to toe with darkened steel and macabre iconography marching alongside a sister whose attire simply radiated the glory of the Holy Flame itself. However the two were both driven by divine purpose. A crusade was soon to be taking root. And it was only a matter of time before a proper warband to muster. Roland peered through his visor at the Hamlet Streets. The shadow casting down against his face concealing his eyes, leaving but the skull embossing of his helmet staring down judgement to those who may be deemed worthy of taking up arms against the coming darkness. The penitent crusader remained stoic, for it was not his place to speak. He was a sword, a tool of the Holy Light to strike down its enemies. And it was the duty of the Light's speakers to command. Such was the sacred balance between church and militant. // Harina //
The judge shuffled alongside the knight Roland, book kept close, and faith even closer. Carefully, Harina stepped down each step that led down from the Abbey with calmness and solidarity held in each step. Confidence was about her, finally, after securing this one ally. Perhaps more would follow in due time, for their faith already outshined the sun.
When they came to a stop, with the litany and engraving of death upon his sallet staring down the area of the hamlet square with what she could only imagine to be a searching gaze, much like scouts looking for the enemy on horseback, their eyes steeling against sand kicked up by the hoofs of the horses. She too would look along side with him as they shared their presence upon the soil of the Hamlet Square, though unlike the knight beside her who limited his vision, she could see an indication of the Eagle being near.
With a squint, she could make out a bandaged man draped in red, though that was all she could see of him from the distance they were at. Though she did notice the oats landing in a scattered line, one by one, toward them with some precision put to them. Clearly, this man must've had business with them. Or he was trying to be funny... if that was the case. Harina took a few steps forward, sandals pressing lightly against the ground, before letting her mace leave her hand and hang by the bound, twisted red silk around her wrist.
An oat was incoming, a mortar launching its projectiles, fashioned from the barley and the wheat as it arced down toward her with a slow grace. A hand raised and open, the oat was caught loosely in her hand and a fist was made to capture it. Lowering her hand, she examined it. Indeed, it was quite the oat.
Her eyes rolled up toward the man, and she turned back toward Roland, nodding her head in the bandaged mans direction. "I know not his intention, though perhaps the Eagle lies in his heart. Regardless, we must see if it is an Eagle, or a Jester in wrappings." Harina informed with a solidness about her tone, and that was not caution, it was an expectation for this to be an act of mockery against the light, for all that she had met other than Roland, had been such. Well, besides some. Looking ahead once again, with her mace gripped loosely in her hand, pivoting in a clockwise direction as she rotated it between fingers, Harina, and behind her, Roland the Pentient would make a due enquiry into the man.
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Post by Boo Ghostie on Sept 7, 2019 18:51:30 GMT -8
The Penitent's gaze now narrowed towards the wrapped up leper. Oats lightly clattering against the steel of his cuirass before scattering onto the cobblestone streets. An eyebrow was raised beneath shadowed visor with a hand firmly set on the hilt of his sword. There was an aura about the leper that Roland did not bode well with. A feeling of ambiguity, and a disparity of trust. The streets were often wrought with sinners, and a prayer man would be wise to take up suspicion in those who tread beneath the shadow of the Darkest Estate.
"An Eagle does not muse itself with thoughtless provocations." Roland let out as he halted his march next to the sister. With an oat crushed underneath heavy sabatons. "It is not my place to deem his worthiness however. For my flame remains extinguished."
His visor remained fixated on the leper. The well being of their mission being the only thing to bear his mind. And the safety of the sister would be integral to that.
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Post by azmoham on Sept 8, 2019 10:09:45 GMT -8
He scoffed, a look of incredulity on his face. "Fishing? Why I'm afraid not." A upbringing in a noble household had taught him well enough that his breed was one for lesser pursuits like that, hunting was one thing: there was glory there, and the thrill of the chase and the skill one must use when in pursuit of his quarry. But fishing? That was a peasant's hunt, nothing just lobbing a bit of meat on a string into a muddy pond and hoping something would be foolish enough to clamp on and let you haul it from the muck. No thank you. "Now, I do have some real business to attend to as a matter of fact, would you happen to know where a guard post might be, or perhaps the home of whoever is in charge of this place?"
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Post by Deleted on Sept 25, 2019 19:47:36 GMT -8
-Constantino
By this point, the young soldier could probably make his way through the Hamlet blindfolded with how much he'd been pacing through the streets. The task he'd given himself of learning the layout of the town was well accomplished by his third lap and the sound of his boots against the cobblestone no longer felt like an escape from the suffocating feeling of being pent up. It didn't help that his avoidance of the Abbey and no money to speak ofleft him with little sleep. Money.. That's something to do. There's bound to be some kind of job posted he could take up.
Turning on his heel, Constantino set his direction towards the bounty board he'd passed by a few times today prior. He was somewhat relieved to see a small crowd had gathered already as he rounded the corner. He caught only a bit of the conversation between them as he slid his way in. Something about fishing? Not that it mattered. Anything to get out of here if only for a brief moment.
"Good day! Apologies, I hope I'm not intruding but this wouldn't happen to be about a job would it?" The cheery tone of the young man's voice did well to mask how anxious he'd been but a moment prior. He'd hoped his amiable demeanor distracted from the fact that he strategically placed himself between the much shorter man and the performer to be at a bit of a distance from the other knight in the group.
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Post by rosallora on Oct 2, 2019 17:04:25 GMT -8
"You know, it certainly does." Her voice has an acidity to it as she looks at the little shiny tin toy in front of her. All pomp and circumstance without a shred of chivalry, she should've known. "And I think you'd be the perfect addition to a pleasant little fishing trip. Of course some of us are far above such things, but others know that where gold glimmers, it can be snatched up." She emphasizes every syllable, staring down the FORMER knightling.
Aurora shoves the netting and hooks and sticks into the newcomer's hands. "The job will provide you salary and we are in need of it, everyone is. Come along." She examines the map once more, taking a last look at the Russian. "Any final words? I intend to head out and be back before the sun is down. It is a fishing trip after all. How long could it possibly take." Strands of her wig tremble with her speech, arched in the same kind of aggression that her voice projected.
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Post by Kidney on Oct 9, 2019 11:48:26 GMT -8
Semyon eyed the woman, so very abrasive, she truly was. His mind wandered to her, fishing. No fish would come to her, she'd get too impatient, she'd rather shove her head into the water and take the fish by the mouth like an angry bear than act ladylike and fish like a person. Though, it wasn't his problem! He smirked, "Nope."
He shrugged, "Fishing can take a short time, or long time. I don't know." He took one last look over the folks around him, hands on his hips, eyes searching for any faults in their armor. He found none, or chose to see none. "I hope all of you have fun!" He said, waving to them all before turning on a heel and walking into the Tavern.
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Post by azmoham on Oct 13, 2019 9:21:23 GMT -8
Giles stared after Semyon, and had more than half a mind to simply dump the gear on the ground and follow the stout Rus, he seemed to have the right idea. His pride chafed, however his sense of courtesy forbade him such an act. Instead he simply looked to the woman with a flat look. "Well, best not to dawdle then, mm? I expect it may be some walk, and I'd rather not have to do it in the dark."
Hmmf. How ridiculous, some outlandish fool ordering a captain about, organizing a fishing trip of all things! It sounds like a bad joke.
Even as they spoke, the sun which now was near its zenith, slowly crawled towards the other edge of the sky and its inevitable rest.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 22, 2019 10:48:12 GMT -8
-Constantino
Tino was a bit taken back at the tension he accidentally walked into. Perhaps he should've waited a moment before trying to join in the conversation... Before he had the chance to apologize and excuse himself away from the growing feud though, he was having to awkwardly readjust the various items in his arms the performer dumped on him. "Oh! Yes ma'am." He kept his voice muted somewhat to avoid egging on the conflict while still keeping his habitual politeness.
The young soldier couldn't help but feel a bit relieved at how eager the remaining party had been to get out and get this over with despite the tension between them. Less time to dawdle and over think.
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Post by Kidney on Nov 12, 2019 13:31:14 GMT -8
Coughing. Lo, the coughing. Roard entered the Streets of the Hamlet as he had done many times before, fresh from a washing in the stream by the Water Wheel, with armor and bandages dried and cleaned as well, the Leper offered a presentation suitable for his Lady and Lord, should they be so inclined as to request him at this moment. Thoughts on Toustain clouded his mind. Every answer led to another question, every answer after that was best clarified by the woman herself. Though Roard thought not to bother her in the Abbey proper, they would not tolerate his presence. They would do as they always had, angered him beyond belief, offer him ways to end his own life. Cowards.
He shook this momentary rage from his mind with a quick jostle of the cranium, and adjusted his mask after. He coughed then, he coughed more often now than usual. It felt like some fungus clung to his lungs, suffocating him if he walked for too long. Once more, the cure came to mind.
It brought the rickety man to a halt before the Ancestor's statue. He settled against it, leaning his massive frame on the leg of the grand man who started up this town, and muddled its sanctity with the ideas of ripping a corpse fresh from the earth and exchanging his soul for another. So he thought, anyway. It scared him, deeper than any other fear. What would he feel, who would he see, who would he love? What could he do? Nothing, for now, he decided. Nothing at all. Rest. That's what he did. Rested his eyes.
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Post by speakeroftruths on Dec 23, 2019 16:52:08 GMT -8
Evening is beginning to fall, the last few rays of failing sunlight creeping behind the rooftops of the Hamlet as a new pair of boots stir the dust of the Hamlet road. New to these paths, at least. In fact, their soles are worn through from hard travel, the leather weathered by storm and mud. The robes above them fare little better, as they have not seen a wash in some time, and more recently, have acquired a long splash of spilled blood across the torso, not yet dried.
The figure wearing these robes is shivering slightly in the cold, dropping the saddlebags to the ground for a moment to fish a fur cowl from the contents, flinging it over their thin shoulders. There is a slight clicking under their robes as they pull their hood over the dark fuzz that has grown out over their untended scalp, their full shave unmaintained for a few days. Their head thus covered, they take up their bags and walk up to the archway over the front of town.
"...At last," they sigh, thin voice betraying a road-weariness that can only be physically seen through the dark circles beneath their eyes. They cock their head as though listening to something distant, nod to themselves, and enter.
There is an audible difference between the boots upon the road and the dewy cobblestones of the town square, their gait unwavering despite fatigue as they approach the large statue in the center of town. They observe it for a brief moment before taking shelter in the growing shadow emerging from it in the fading dusk. Leaning up against the base, they drop their bags to their side and reach for their weapon. Carefully, they ease back the string, un-nocking the crossbow without dry firing so as not to damage the arms, then let it fall to their side on the strap. A moment later, they have retrieved an aged wooden pipe with faded carvings from their robes, packed it with a small satchet of herbs, and put it to their thin lips as they snap a flint firestarter over it. As a thin trail of smoke emerges from the softly glowing herbs, they puff lightly as they stow the starter, then lean back against the base. They exhale a green-tinted ring of smoke, and gaze out over the wood and stone buildings of their most recent stop.
"Alright, Master. Your trail leads me here. Now where are you?" They muse to themselves.
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Post by speakeroftruths on Jan 20, 2020 17:35:18 GMT -8
Around noon, Andy is strolling along the streets, saddlebag still tossed casually over their shoulder. They walk seemingly without purpose, idly gazing at the various buildings as though taking stock of their surroundings in the few hours of sunlight that have deigned to peek through the mist and clouds that so often plague the Hamlet. While such behavior might be unwise for one of such unassuming stature who is unfamiliar with the locale, the cruel edged hunting knife that they use to sharpen the charcoal pen they bear puts off any unwanted attention from those with loose fingers and looser morals.
After half an hour of wandering through the buildings, taking mental note of points of interest, they settle down on a bench near the town square with a good view of the Ancestor's statue. The knife finds its sheath, crossbow and quiver both finding their rest up against the bench. Rummaging through their bags, they draw forth a worn journal, which they flip through to find an empty page. A quick glance up makes sure the light is right, a sighting along the pen determines the angle, and then the game is afoot. The charcoal meets the parchment. A cool, misty breath spirals out. The pen moves, barely touching the page, thin lines left in its wake, and Andy begins to sketch in earnest.
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Post by rosallora on Feb 12, 2020 19:45:55 GMT -8
Aurora saunters onto the scene, fresh from the barracks and the rows of sweaty sellswords. She had better places to be. Out in the sun, for example, if the sun was ever fucking visible in this shitstain of a town. She'd been here quite a while and nothing interesting enough was going on. Her funds were all but gone and she needed work, or she'd be sleeping with a stranger again, getting into their bed by merit of sweet words and melodies.
She spots, luckily, a budding artiste. Likely budding, no artist would ever come here, given how damn grey all their paintings would be. She comes up behind them and, after a cursory glance, keeps going. And she sets herself up right beside the statue, plucking the strings on her instrument to confirm it's in tune.
"Let me give you something interesting to draw, little artist," the woman says. "Much better than some old, dead fool. Don't you agree?"
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Post by speakeroftruths on Feb 12, 2020 19:55:01 GMT -8
Andy completely misses the fact that their subject has changed, engrossed as they are in taking down the facets of the town square and statue. That is, until their new subject speaks. Their eyes drift up as the first notes play, then back down to their work, then dart back up with a look of confusion.
...What?
"...What?"
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Post by rosallora on Feb 12, 2020 20:08:34 GMT -8
"What do you mean 'what'." Aurora idly clicks a few of the keys of her instrument, looking at the moon-eyed artist. Hm. Maybe they just didn't get what was going on. "I am giving you a more interesting subject than these dilapidated buildings and meagre everyday folk. Don't you want to put your pencil to paper over something so much grander and more beautiful than the ordinary? Surely you know the value of something unique when you see it."
She turns the handle and the drone out of the hurdy gurdy begins, low enough that it doesn't impede her voice or her hearing.
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Post by speakeroftruths on Feb 12, 2020 20:21:00 GMT -8
Huh. They are real. The excesses of the rich never cease to amaze.
Andy, setting down both notebook and pencil, simply looks over the figure in front of them for a moment. They take in the strange colors and fabrics, the mask, the instrument. They take in something that could be pulled straight from a bookplate, or an illumination. Something alien, and at once very clearly human. Like them, but so far beyond the scope of their experiences that they are left quite at a loss for words. For a moment, anyway.
"Map," They cough, averting their gaze as they collect themselves. "It's for a map. Landmarks. No doubt you are rather distinctive, but unless you plan to idle away your time in the square for months to come, perhaps it is better that the ordinary be put to page rather than the unusual."
They shrug, pointedly looking back at the paper as they take up the pencil. "Though if it's company you seek, I'd be glad for the conversation."
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