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Post by Mr. Swagwalker on Feb 16, 2018 17:19:51 GMT -8
Brenton leaned forward to look upon the keyring more closely. Behind the dark veils of glass his brown eyes inspected the shape and even color of the metal keys.
"...Yes. These are indeed mine." he confirmed and took the keyring in his hand. He then slipped it back into one of his leather pouches, and he let out a relieved sigh. From the looks of it he hadn't noticed the absence of one of the keys.
"Thank you kindly for your assistance, sister Charis." Brenton said with a hint of genuine gratitude and made a small bow with his head. "You've proven to be a useful woman so far... Perhaps I could start calling you friend, even?" The doctor's trademark smirk crept into his face. "After all; helping one another is what friends do, is it not?"
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Edgar made a frown in response to Brenton's suggestion.
There it was again; the word 'friend' that the doctor liked to throw around so much.
There was visual disapproval in Edgar's otherwise timid gaze. If there was one man who could butcher and abuse words and their definitions it was Brenton Chandler.
'Friend' meant nothing to that man - he saw it only as excuses used to gain free favours.
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Post by beholder on Feb 17, 2018 12:26:06 GMT -8
"And to think I was a lord!"
The stage coach ride to the Hamlet was always a bumpy ride. The roads were ill-kept, some of its cobbles missing. Greedy eyes watched the transport, although no action was taken: bandits had taken a valuable lesson from attacking seekers full of energy and impatient to kill something - anything.
They arrived in the Hamlet in the morning, the exiled lord exhausted by the long journey. Between the irregularity of the road and the mad cackles of the driver, getting any sleep proved to be impossible.
Stepping outside, he coughed as soon as he breathed the town's air. It smelled foul, and the sight of the Hamlet was truly pathetic.
"Gott, this is a shithole", groaned the knight as he took his waterskin and drank a long gulp of cheap wine.
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Post by Unter on Feb 17, 2018 12:37:44 GMT -8
Francois had descended from the Abbey after his quick prayer. He was now in the rain bloated, muddy streets. This place wasn't getting any better, and if the stink didn't go away quickly he would use a tissue to cover his nose. He didn't have to smell those peasants ! He wondered what to do now. Probably find someone worthy of his presence, and someone that he could fight with.
Fortunately, there was a decent looking fellow that arrived in the Hamlet. A seemingly good knight. Francois approached him, with his proeminent french accent.
"Hello, good sir ! I am Sire François Louis Xavier de Paladines. What a nice day, is it not ?"
The tone was ironic, the morning was bleak and the sound that his boots made when walking didn't help the whole idea.
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Post by beholder on Feb 17, 2018 12:46:02 GMT -8
The french accent made Radzyg spit out his wine, clearly in shock. Immediatly turning to glance at the person who adressed him, he let out a sigh of relief.
"Hell's name, boy, don't you frighten me like that! I thought you were one of them French lords come after me for a moment!"
Approaching the man with an arm raised in a futile attempt to block out the rain, he let out an exclamation of distaste.
"Does everything stink that bad in this place?"
Looking around in search for a shelter of sorts, he shrugged and pointed at the Guild Hall, having recognized its use only by the fact that it was the only remarkable thing among the squalid homes of the populace. "Fancy taking cover from that rain?"
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Post by Unter on Feb 17, 2018 12:54:43 GMT -8
Francois did not quite like the man's tone.
"Boy ? Oh, you Pollock bloke I know you've surely been fighting your share of French peasants in your life but I am your equal and I won't tolerate such a thing. So, Sire let us take cover indeed."
He followed the polish knight to the guild hall, expecting an interesting answer.
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Post by beholder on Feb 17, 2018 13:09:48 GMT -8
"You're full of piss and vinegar, aren't you?", answered Radzyg as he held up his finger at the younger knight, amused by the response. "And as far as I'm concerned, you're not my equal 'till you've proven it, understand boy?"
With that, he pushed the door open, taking in his surroundings. A place just as miserable as the rest of the Hamlet, but it smelled of something entirely different: sweat and body odors, a mark of ceaseless training.
"Considering peasants, you'd be surprised at how crafty they can get. And they're more reliable than those fucking French lords."
With that, he gave the man a once-over, scoffing as he saw his sword.
"Think you can use that sword, eh?"
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Post by Kidney on Feb 18, 2018 13:25:47 GMT -8
Steps seemingly endless, a face hardened by sorrow, hand wrinkled by time.
The older guard made his way over towards the board. His hands dangled down by his sides, with each step of his came forth a grunt or a mumble. The people seem to have abandoned the square, he thought to himself. He reached down to his sword out of habit, tensions had been set high by the recent attack, and the pain in the guards ear forced him to remember every minute he spent fighting.
He did not draw it forth, but his hand sat trembling on the handle. In his other hand sat the paper that put him further into the realm of anxiety. Within sat the delicate scratching of a scribe, and the details of yet another expedition.
He let go of his sword, placing the paper upon the board. It slowly unfurled, the paper hanging in the breeze as the guard reached down into a pouch. He drew forth a single nail, a thick one, meant to hold boards together, but now it would be used to hold something horrifically nonconstructive against a board. He sighed as he sunk the nail's tip into the soft surface, the tearing of paper, brought through to hold it down.
He left it there, the paper almost immediately going askew. He sighed, tearing another nail into the bottom, holding the tough parchment in place. With another sigh, he raised a hammer, brought out from his belt-loop, and hammered both of the nails to their heads into the board.
A new expedition to complete, shrines to purify. Maybe one day, this would end.
One day, maybe people wouldn't have to risk their lives to save everyone else's.
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Post by twostepsback on Feb 18, 2018 20:00:02 GMT -8
Charis spared a glance towards Edgar, noting the disapproving look on his face. "I think 'Acquaintances' would be a more accurate term. Friends would imply that we've known each other for a while." Charis remarks diplomatically as she resituates her medical bag on her shoulder. Glove the Pied crow chooses this moment to remind the trio of his presence by crowing. Charis smiles a little, "Hey, hey... I haven't forgotten about you Glove." She remarks as she moves to remove the message Glove is carrying from his leg. "Now, let me see what the Upright Man wanted to tell me..." She then states as she begins to examine the parchment.
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Post by azmoham on Feb 19, 2018 13:30:54 GMT -8
The frail, wind-blown character turned his head to one side and then the other, his lips moved quickly but no sound escaped, as if he was speaking to himself. His head snapped back to the young man and for a second, he smiled, a horrid flash of too-white teeth that almost looked more like they were shaped of clay than bone, held within a fixture of features that looked as if its creator had never intended for any sort of mirth to grace the thin, dry lips of the gaunt figure. He nodded once to himself, short and sharp, before abruptly taking a long step up onto the railing of the bridge. Once stood fully atop the thin, wooden barrier,
"Will be in contact. Keep it secret, keep it safe."
He took a single, clean step off the railing and plummeted downwards towards the ditch below, and catching himself with his long gangly arms, swinging himself underneath the bridge with startling agility.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Feb 19, 2018 18:39:28 GMT -8
The young guard watched the sinewy fellow disappear on over the bridge. His numbed fingers were flexed tight against the book, as though to hold it close and ensure it wouldn't fly away after the man.
Meriwether let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and, after a brief moment of considering following the man, he made to go sit under a nearby tree with a trunk enticing enough to rest his back upon.
He examined the cover of the book, feeling it under the gloved pads of his fingers. Meriwether never learned to read; he'd found its usefulness limited outside the hushed walls of monasteries or universities-- that's what he told himself, anyway.
Hopeful for helpful illustrations or sketches, he propped it open upon his lap and made to open to the first page of the book.
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Post by Mr. Swagwalker on Feb 20, 2018 9:56:38 GMT -8
Brenton made a light-hearted chuckle and grinned widely at Charis, showcasing his slightly yellowed teeth.
"I can see your point, but friends can be made quicker than you might think." he said and tapped himself on the side of his head. "For some it takes months, others days - a few just an hour." The doctor adjusted his goggles with his left hand as more of a gesture than any practical reason. "These two eyes have seen a great deal, sister Charis, and they carry experience. Within you I see potential for a good friend, and believe me; my eyes never fail me."
Brenton's head turned swiftly towards Glove when he sounded his call. Nearly haven forgotten about the poor corvid he gazed upon it with his index finger inquisitively placed on his scruffy chin. However, once Charis made to open the letter, the doctor's focus jumped to the nun and the parchment in her hands.
"Well? What does it say?" he asked curiously. "Anything of interest?"
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Edgar was startled by the sudden caw from Glove and made a frightened jolt, letting out a small gasp. He turned his head, and to his relief saw it was Charis' crow who had expressed himself.
Ha...It's just him again. he thought with some relief. However, Edgar couldn't help but wonder why he'd be so shaken by something as simple as a bird's croak.
Had he truly gotten so cowardly that he'd be scared of his own shadow, or was it perhaps just the fact that Brenton was still nearby that made him uneasy and jumpy? Edgar wanted to think it was purely because of the latter, but still he feared the former was closer to the truth. He wasn't the same man he once was.
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Post by twostepsback on Feb 23, 2018 23:26:37 GMT -8
"...Word got out about you being sent off to go legit, now Papa Porker and his pigs are running themselves ragged trying to contain the hubbub... Took a good chunk of expense money to get someone to take some of your swag to THAT estate... Expect a care package any day, you know the mark." Charis reads off the parchment. "I guess Makris wasn't too happy about Abbess Deliah's overt removal of a 'threat' to her power base... That or I had made more friends in Karnaka Cathedral than I had thought..." She then muses.
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Post by Mr. Swagwalker on Feb 26, 2018 13:41:29 GMT -8
Brenton hummed and stroked the pine-like scruff on his chin in an inquisitive manner. "Intruiging choice of words..." he commented in regards to the letter's writing. "May I ask what it means? Cryptic messages have...never been a true specialty of mine."
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Post by azmoham on Mar 2, 2018 14:27:30 GMT -8
The book's opening page was simple, with few adornments. The Title was written in a heavy gothic font that seemed to almostsag on the paper under its own weight.
A TREATISE UPON THE UN-NATURAL CONTACKT WYTH OUTTER ENTITIES, VOL-1
Beneath this was a half circle, with a stylized sun setting on the right-hand side and a moon bearing a Cheshire grin rising on the left. Between them was an idyllic pasture, with a small shepard tending a flock of sheep. Instead of an author's name, below the half-circle was a distinct, black blot of ink, smudged to the side as if with one's thumb. The next few pages would bear spartan table of contents, although the names would be hardly legible: Whenever this book had been printed, it was obviously long before any pretense of standardized spelling existed. What followed after the table of contents was two dozen pages dense with text, with a few small prints included at the footer of a few pages. They would bear theuroglogical iconography, with a few bearing strange, swirling symbols.
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Post by twostepsback on Mar 2, 2018 16:17:28 GMT -8
"In English? It's an update on events in Karnaka. Seems my former patients are NOT happy about my sudden reassignment. Other than that, Bernard mentions that he's managed to talk, or maybe bribe, someone into bringing some of my belongings here. A Care Package, as Bernard put it." Charis explains as she folds up Bernards message and puts into a pocket on the outside of her bag.
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