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Post by EloHim on Apr 16, 2020 16:21:08 GMT -8
[Elohim]
He chuckles. Maybe this will be easy. At least its some entertainment.
"You heard me."
He gets his dagger out. The metal glints in pale hands, as the man smiles. There was no threat coming off of him. Only...pity?
"Well, I may feel a little bit charitable today. A piece of free advice...from this parched sack of flesh to a newcomer. If you are not ready to give up everything...your gold, your blood, even your very humanity... you better turn back, get onto that carriage and go. As far away from here as possible. Because trust me... you will lose so much you never knew you could lose...and then some more."
He raises his head to look towards the skies. He breathes in through his nose, smelling the air. Then he sets his eyes on the man again, his left seemingly glinting with red through the veil of a rag covering his head.
"This may be your last chance. The air is filled with silence, that will soon turn into a storm. Change is coming and unless you run along, back to where you came from... you best be ready for it. So... what will it be? A gulp of blood for a parched beggar? Or are we feeling...lucky these days?"
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Post by speakeroftruths on Apr 16, 2020 17:27:08 GMT -8
Lucius' face grows steadily more incredulous as the stranger's strange, threatening request gets more and more aggressive. Then, halfway through, realization dawns. He is very careful to keep his amusement at this clearly intoxicated beggar's antics off of his face. The man has a knife after all, he could still be dangerous. And whose to say what strange drugs ran rampant in this wild country. He allows his grip on the polearm to loosen once more, falling into the crook of his arm, and reaches into his pockets.
"Rrrright, well, I'm sorry you've fallen on hard times friend, but that's no way to greet a traveler. Here."
He pulls a small, parchment wrapped chunk of bread and a rind of hard cheese from his clothes, and sets them on the ground, taking a few steps back from it.
"I hope this at least makes your night better, and thanks for the directions!"
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Post by relentless on Apr 17, 2020 13:40:25 GMT -8
/Gandry/
Where the stone statue hung, the gamberson and leather clad bandit, wrapped in their wolf pelt, with the green warped around them in ragged displays, wrapped their arms around their waist. The bandit stirred briefly, a shrug of the shoulders, and the body laxing in one direction, before it resettled, with a loud snore to follow through the mans helm, retracting respectively with what could only be described as a mild gag, before whistling out a wheezing snore again.
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Post by Kidney on Apr 17, 2020 14:39:43 GMT -8
Flamel, out of boredom, had taken leave of the Tavern to take a walk. The reason had been to stretch his legs, get a deep breath of open air, though if you asked him what he may be doing he would have told you he was on a mission from the Queen. He didn't trust the Hamlet yet, and that was evident, the taller, thicker frenchman was clad in his armor and armaments, shield on his back and spear in hand. For now, the spear served as a semi-good walking stick, a heavy one, at that.
He was certainly more flashy than Gandry, though Gandry's sleeping form and overall position at the statue brought the man pause, so, he decided to wake him.
The first thing Gandry would feel would be a light pat on the shoulder, followed by an understanding, lightly-accented voice. "Hard at work, no?" Flamel said, bearded face alight with a smile, hair freeflowing over his shoulders and hanging at places over his upper chest. He passed his spear to a hand further from Gandry, and leaned against the Statue alongside him. "I remember guarding statues. Was boring, glad to see you alive and well at your post, though." His smile remained, but he ceased the light teasing for now. "Flamel Anders."
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Post by relentless on Apr 17, 2020 14:46:08 GMT -8
/Gandry/
The man simply would not stir from the pat, the gamberson and wolf pelt made the pat practically unfelt. Instead, he would reply, with a long, drawn out, echo filled snore from within the helmet, before he yawned loud, clicking his tongue and relaxing his lip beneath the helm. The man remained ever so quiet in his standing slumber.
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Post by Kidney on Apr 17, 2020 15:01:44 GMT -8
Flamel let out a light "Ah! C'mon...Don't make me say my greetings a second time!" The man waited for a good amount of time, deducing that yes, the man next to him was still asleep, standing against the cold stone Statue. "Oh, my days." Said the Sellsword, he took the time to reach and give Gandry a little shake, "'Allo? Flamel Anders here, trying to make a friend!" He giggled, taking a small sidestep back, trying to avoid the possibility of a punch coming his way.
"Sleeping on the job isn't good, y'know."
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Post by relentless on Apr 17, 2020 16:01:56 GMT -8
/Gandry/
The man would gag one last time on their snore, as they were shaken, they stirred to their senses, seemingly shrugging off the mans hand as they came around. They yawned loud, before shaking their helmet, they turn groggily to the man beside them.
"... Wot."
They grunted with mild annoyance at the flamboyant militiamen, the mans features obscured by the helm, the only semblance of his identity, the skin pallor and the obscured glint of his sharp eyes. He need not say more, as the man, clearly disturbed him, spinning his left most shortsword with a twist of his palm, making it spin and flick in his grasp.
"You're posh."
The bandit remarked, a grit in his teeth could be felt as he spoke those words. He'd have spit at the ground if his helmet wasn't on.
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Post by Kidney on Apr 17, 2020 16:28:40 GMT -8
Flamel smiled wide, looking through the helm best he could as he tried to ascertain some insight on the man. He found none, and leaned harder against the Statue, perhaps to mock the way Gandry had moments before. "Flamel Anders, for the third time." He said, a touch of indignance stemming from him, underneath humor. He rolled his shoulders, and let his spear rest against the stone statue, picking up one foot and letting it press against the Statue's base. It was not comfortable, and Flamel couldn't understand how one could have fallen asleep against it.'
At the idea of being Posh, Flamel huffed, "I'm french, actually. Couldn't you smell the cheese?"
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Post by Kidney on Apr 19, 2020 13:22:38 GMT -8
Rellen nodded curtly with a smile, chuckling when his new acquaintance tapped his chest. He gazed around promptly before turning his attention back. "The joke is in good taste friend, they come in many colors, and... smells." He noted the spear and shield. "Though, people like us have them mixed and muted."
Flamel rolled his shoulders while listening, taking in what Rellen said, the man's diction evoking some sense of learnedness that Flamel admired, and was slightly attracted to. His smirk grew wider, and he placed his hands behind his back, casting long glances that shifted between the stars above and Rellen below. " Aye. I like to think I smell like cheese. Would be a funnier world, no?" |
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Post by ricarditoreyes on May 1, 2020 11:42:27 GMT -8
Another night, another drunken stupor. Joseph Blazkowicz, a once young and ambitious fellow, stumbled out of the tavern with an empty bottle loosely clutched in his hand. Once again, the young man had drunken himself to the point of bliss, feeling nothing but the money now missing from his pockets. Joseph continued in his drunken endeavor, wandering aimlessly with no particular destination in mind. The screech of wheels being grinded to a halt stopped Joseph dead in his tracks. The young man turned to face the now stationary stagecoach, with the understanding that once again, a fresh arrival had come to the hamlet seeking fame, fortune, or some other personal goal. This was not an uncommon sight to Joseph at this point, albeit his life in the Hamlet had been quite short and uneventful. As Joseph adjusted his hat and turned turned away to continue his aimless wander, a huge figure emerged from the unstable stagecoach doors that froze the young man. A quick gander at his garb taught Joseph that he had come ready for a fight, and likely heard of the fabled dungeons that attracted so many ambitious adventurers from all across the lands, Joseph included. The man seemed extremely well built, and something made Joseph feel that this man would be a worthy accomplice were he to accompany Joseph on an expedition. Furthermore, the lonely lifestyle Joseph had been living up until now rendered economically inefficient, and the cold stares Joseph received from the local townsfolk was starting to wear on the young man. All this cause Joseph to decide that he would approach this menacing figure. "G'day to ya. Welcome to the hamlet. It ain't much, but it's served me well. What brings a warrior like you here?" After finishing his sentence, Joseph straightens himself, seemingly recovering from his drunken state in the process.
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Post by zolosan on May 1, 2020 13:17:15 GMT -8
Money. Fame. Fortune. Blood. Guts. Glory.
These were all things Markus searched for in jobs and in life. He was retired, in his own right, but someone with his life experiences and his particular wants never stopped seeking these things. Be it bounty hunter, body guard, caravan escort or any other sort of physical job, Markus always sold his prowess to the highest bidder and the hardest job. However, in the recent months, he'd been hearing rumors. Rumors of a cursed place where man dare not tread, and even the most bold warriors tread lightly. Hah, he has spit in the face of death many a time, why should this place be any different? Oh, the reasons why were not hidden. Not in the slightest.
His massive frame barely fit in the stagecoach to begin with, and while he's certainly ridden in worse, this was no pleasure cruise. His rucksack of gear and his spare shield were expertly tied and packed to conserve space, held between meaty thighs as the carriage bumped along. What kind of dangers would he face here? Bandits? Beasts? Perhaps people like the witch that had once cursed him...Bah! Magic was for puny idiots and gutless cowards! What good would fancy words and glowing books do when a dagger across the throat did the job twice as fast with twice the blood?
His train of thought is interrupted at the sudden halt and he takes this as his cue to leave. He just about kicks the door open, squeezing out and landing heavily on both feet. Heavy boots crunch in the gravel below him as he grabs his kit and slings it over his shoulder. Almost immediately he's greeted by some spindly, drunken street urchin. He gives the other a look of disgust, but remains polite.
"Ave, advena. Apertum est locus in quo est?" He asks. Then, he remembers that his language was not commonly spoken here. Clearing his throat, he tries again. "Hello. Where is...an open room?" It's quite apparent that English, or the common language, was his second language. That, and he doesn't quite care to answer the other until he knows where he can get some food, a room, and a bath.
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Post by ricarditoreyes on May 1, 2020 19:27:58 GMT -8
Money. Fame. Fortune. Blood. Guts. Glory. These were all things Markus searched for in jobs and in life. He was retired, in his own right, but someone with his life experiences and his particular wants never stopped seeking these things. Be it bounty hunter, body guard, caravan escort or any other sort of physical job, Markus always sold his prowess to the highest bidder and the hardest job. However, in the recent months, he'd been hearing rumors. Rumors of a cursed place where man dare not tread, and even the most bold warriors tread lightly. Hah, he has spit in the face of death many a time, why should this place be any different? Oh, the reasons why were not hidden. Not in the slightest. His massive frame barely fit in the stagecoach to begin with, and while he's certainly ridden in worse, this was no pleasure cruise. His rucksack of gear and his spare shield were expertly tied and packed to conserve space, held between meaty thighs as the carriage bumped along. What kind of dangers would he face here? Bandits? Beasts? Perhaps people like the witch that had once cursed him...Bah! Magic was for puny idiots and gutless cowards! What good would fancy words and glowing books do when a dagger across the throat did the job twice as fast with twice the blood? His train of thought is interrupted at the sudden halt and he takes this as his cue to leave. He just about kicks the door open, squeezing out and landing heavily on both feet. Heavy boots crunch in the gravel below him as he grabs his kit and slings it over his shoulder. Almost immediately he's greeted by some spindly, drunken street urchin. He gives the other a look of disgust, but remains polite. "Ave, advena. Apertum est locus in quo est?" He asks. Then, he remembers that his language was not commonly spoken here. Clearing his throat, he tries again. "Hello. Where is...an open room?" It's quite apparent that English, or the common language, was his second language. That, and he doesn't quite care to answer the other until he knows where he can get some food, a room, and a bath. Joseph recoiled in confusion as he heard the unfamiliar words spoken by the imposing man. The language was completely foreign to him, but something about it made the tongue seem so recognizable. It had been spoken fluently and eloquently, and sounded almost like the chanting he heard back in his early days when he attended church. Thoughts flooded the young man's mind. Theories and speculations on this figure's point of origin. Speculations that he was some sort of nobleman or church figure were quickly shot down by Joseph himself, simply due to the fact that the man's attire proved otherwise. Joseph's train of thought was interrupted, however, when he heard the man inquire about a place to stay. Joseph knew quite well that trips on the stagecoach weren't the most luxuriantly comfortable, and could barely imagine what this towering figure must have felt crammed in that little carriage for what seemed like an eternity. "Well, all that time hunched over in that carriage must have you knackered. The tavern is about the only building in town where you can sleep at night without worrying about being robbed or shanked. Come on, I'll walk you over." Joseph turns around and sought to lead the man to the tavern, just as he remembers his objective. The young man knew that some extra hospitality might be needed to convince this weary traveler to accompany him in the future. He turns back around and procures a small flask from one of the inner pockets of his coat. "You drink?" he asked while warmly offering his flask to the stranger. Of course, that question was one that Joseph had already known the answer too. Everyone drunk in this town, and if they didn't, they sure as hell started too after the first few expeditions. |
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Post by zolosan on May 2, 2020 11:44:25 GMT -8
He doesn't understand these words. Knackered? Shanked? He can assume the latter means something not good but he wasn't about to waste brain-cells learning these words. He does, however, stretch his back lightly, listening to it crack as he rolls his neck. Good as new. The other seems to want to rush off but Markus didn't rush off with anyone in particular. He liked to take his time with things, especially with new and unfamiliar places like this.
The wind whips his leather coat lightly, exposing the fact that he was indeed not wearing a shirt. He holds his free hand up to decline a drink from the other. "No. My head must be clear." His voice is gruff, but not terrible on the ears. As he steps forward into better light, the other would be able to see from the gap in his coat that Markus was built like an absolute brick shit-house, with an impressive scar running diagonally from his left pectoral to just about his right hip. Whatever this man had been through, it evidently was a lot. "Where is...the tavern?" He asks, staring at the statue in the middle of the street. Whoa. "Who is that?" He points as he walks. Staring at the statue sent a somber wave through him. Whatever was going on here was not entirely what he had been expecting.
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Post by ricarditoreyes on May 2, 2020 12:04:29 GMT -8
He doesn't understand these words. Knackered? Shanked? He can assume the latter means something not good but he wasn't about to waste brain-cells learning these words. He does, however, stretch his back lightly, listening to it crack as he rolls his neck. Good as new. The other seems to want to rush off but Markus didn't rush off with anyone in particular. He liked to take his time with things, especially with new and unfamiliar places like this. The wind whips his leather coat lightly, exposing the fact that he was indeed not wearing a shirt. He holds his free hand up to decline a drink from the other. "No. My head must be clear." His voice is gruff, but not terrible on the ears. As he steps forward into better light, the other would be able to see from the gap in his coat that Markus was built like an absolute brick shit-house, with an impressive scar running diagonally from his left pectoral to just about his right hip. Whatever this man had been through, it evidently was a lot. "Where is...the tavern?" He asks, staring at the statue in the middle of the street. Whoa. "Who is that?" He points as he walks. Staring at the statue sent a somber wave through him. Whatever was going on here was not entirely what he had been expecting. While he was offering his flask, Joseph tried to pay close attention to the imposing man's attire. His years on the road had taught him a thing or two about how to read one's past by inspecting certain physical elements. As the soft night breeze whipped past the two, the young man first noticed the large scar crossing the man's torso. Joseph knew very well that scars were more than just injuries, and served to tell tales of deeds past. In this case, Joseph was fairly certain at this point that this man was some sort of army commander or high-ranking officer, given his impressive figure. Joseph's theory was further supported by the man's refusal of alcohol. Any normal traveler would lack the discipline required to refuse a nice drink after a weary journey across the lands. Joseph silently admired the man's cold and weary attitude as he retracted his flask and took a swig himself. He stopped drinking only to answer the man's question regarding the Tavern. "Tavern's right down the road. Should be to ya left." Joseph said as he nodded in the general direction of the tavern. "As for the statue lad, no clue. I got here not too long ago meself." This was true. Joseph was never the most observant person, and the mysterious statue at the center of town had never really crossed his mind during his time at the hamlet. He had always assumed it was one of the Hamlet's original settlers or some nobleman of sorts. However, there was no time for ponderings on the origins of some statue. The streets were descending further into the night, and the young man knew his guest would rather enjoy a comfy bath and room in the Tavern over a cold dialogue in the streets with some strange young man. "Y' must be tired, crammed up in that cart. I'll walk ya to the Tavern if you don't mind." |
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Post by zolosan on May 2, 2020 14:13:39 GMT -8
Basic directions and no new information. Hm. It might be that this particular man was of no help and did not know anything in particular, or it might be that they were untrustworthy. Of which, Markus did not know. He would give them the benefit of the doubt. Regardless, he waves a hand up ahead. "You go. I follow." He would not walk in front of them. Many a fool had tried to guide him to somewhere at his side only to slip behind him and try to wedge a knife in that slab of meat he called a back. He had learned. He would follow them nonetheless. A hot meal and some rest would be wonderful. That, and he could get to work on properly maintaining his weapons and even maybe procure something new and exotic to train with.
"This place. It is cursed." He was not a superstitious person, but the Romans had their gods and he could tell when a god was displeased with someone or something. Evidently, they were displeased with this place. He was not afraid of man or beast. But the otherworldly he had not faced yet. What kind of foes would he face here. "What has happened?"
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