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Post by Kidney on Mar 17, 2018 14:49:16 GMT -8
A slight change to the face. A stroke of the chin, thought.
Roard made little noise as his thumbs twiddles together jerkily, the disease making his joints strange to move. He looked back up Ponytail, he had a habit of dropping his head down. Life was tiring. "Well, I have tried many places, but I was told the people here would work with anyone at all."
He seemed sincere, and he raised a hand at the strange building in the Hamlet, "Is that the "Heir's"? I heard he gives out much coin to venture into the wilds around this damned place."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 17, 2018 14:51:09 GMT -8
Ponytail gave him an incredulous look as he quirked his head.
"Eh... 'venture'? Why? You are sick." He pointed out with a frown.
"Why do you not rest in the sanitarium and return when you are well?"
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Post by Kidney on Mar 17, 2018 14:54:02 GMT -8
Sick. He kept speaking of it. Strange.
Roard spoke again, as plain as day. "Yes, I am sick. I have a rare form of leprosy that only effects one in a large group of people. I got it from a burglar. What's your point?"
He spoke plainly, and with that, he reached to pat the back of Ponytail, but stopped short, as to not create actual contact.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 17, 2018 14:56:49 GMT -8
The hunter's eyes widened, and he looked to the traveling hand in some small degree of alarm. The bluster was gone, replaced by morbid intrigue.
"Lep-ro-sy...? What is... how do you know it only affects a small number of people? And how did the burglar give it to you?"
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Post by Kidney on Mar 17, 2018 15:02:07 GMT -8
Roard nodded, this required no thought, might as well have been muscle memory. "He broke into my home, a long time ago. He cut his neck on some glass when he slipped while climbing into my attic window.. Died right there. I found him, realized he had these black blisters on his arms and his face. He got me good, under my nails."
All that, and Roard didn't remember much of it. The instinct of the same story was excruciating, and in this, he felt a tad disappointed in himself. "Now, I am far worse than he was."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 17, 2018 15:03:57 GMT -8
Ponytail scooted a touch further away from the man. There was no glory in sickness.
He insisted, "Yes, but how do you know you cannot give it to others? You must go to the sanitarium right away."
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Post by Kidney on Mar 17, 2018 15:06:52 GMT -8
Scared. Shit. Tell him you're sorry.
Roard raised his hands in surrender. "If you wish. So be it. Although, I will have to be escorted."
He spoke with a level head, he knew this would be another process of tests till he could show people he wasn't as toxic as they thought he was. He looked back at Ponytail, shrugging. "I understand your concern, but I am not a plague-ridden war machine. I am simply a man."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 17, 2018 15:10:32 GMT -8
"How can you be certain?" Ponytail folded his arms and rubbed them, as if he was suddenly itchy, and he hopped right off the wall. "A man bled in front of you and sickened you! But you walk around and wish to be taken on a journey, where you may bleed in front of others?"
He made a small motion to the Sanitarium, behind him.
"The sanitarium-- it is the biggest building here. Why do you need an escort?"
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Post by Kidney on Mar 17, 2018 15:25:45 GMT -8
A breath, suspicion, and the taste of blood in his mouth.
Roard slipped with a thunderous thud to the ground. He landed on both feet, although the wobble of his upper body threatened to put him on his behind. He looked back toward Ponytail, "I wasn't asking for an adventure. I don't ever have to go on one. I'm sorry, Ponytail," Roard stood high, at full height, walking forward with hands open as a sign of peace. He stopped about a foot from Ponytail, "I am. I do not wish to alarm you. I cannot infect you with anything but the sniffles. I promise."
He looked down at him, slowly pulling his glove off. His bandaged hand almost entirely covered, except for the occasional peak at purple skin and ragged fingernail. "I may be scary, but I am nothing to fear."
He extended the hand.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 17, 2018 15:30:50 GMT -8
Ponytail gave a small 'ahah!' and pointed his finger to the sky, as if he had caught Roard in some logical fallacy.
He backed away from the hand, slowing but surely beating a retreat.
"Ah, you insist! But you cannot prove, no!" He shook his head. "You cannot say how you know, but that you simply know. My friend, you are dying before my own eyes! You must seek out a healer, and only when you are well will I visit you."
He tipped his hat at the fellow and sped his escape, "Farewell, Roard of Badger's Cross! I wish you good health!"
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Post by Kidney on Mar 17, 2018 15:44:36 GMT -8
He's leaving.
Roard groaned, rubbing his oily face. Before suddenly, a thought came to him. He called out to Ponytail, surely, this amount of hurt would be worth the apprentice friendship. "Ponytail! How can I prove to you i'm worth being around?"
He coughed, hard, internally. The harsh rumble hurt him, and he felt the blood touch his tongue from his throat as the irritation filtered into his maw. He thought about spitting it out, but he appeared to be clean. He swallowed it back, and shrugged again. "How?"
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Mar 17, 2018 15:46:33 GMT -8
/Taas/
With a sigh, Taas emerged from the Sanitarium like a creature from a cave; stretching her arms out and yawning loudly before palming her brow and starting off and down the Sanitarium steps at a jog.
With a passing glance, she caught the eyes of a stenchful fellow, laden with a depressive ailment and pox, as well as a much more spriteful fellow that seemed to have had his fill of the other. Taas couldn't blame him, from her own experience, those infirm were more of a dragging weight than anything... It was a passing and amusing thought to see why the bundle of weakish flesh plod on still.
Though she paused at the bottom of the steps, looking towards either the Guild Hall and its strong architecture, then the Tavern with some wanton need. Her shoulders still ached and, while the bones had long nestled themselves back into place, the joints still felt to grind jarringly against eachother from the exertions of her longspent day.
Indeed, she still couldn't remember the last time she'd seen herself to a proper bed... Again, she rolled her shoulders, rubbing the back of her neck as her mind focused solely on plodding over to the Tavern for some much needed rest.
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Post by Kidney on Mar 17, 2018 16:31:45 GMT -8
The urge. To write, to speak, to tell.
It was dashed by the leaving of perhaps a friend in another life. Roard understood, though, the implications. Trust was earned, not given. He turned back, grabbing up his sword in one hand, ripping it up from the ground. He grabbed with another hand, slamming it once again onto his right shoulder as always, a gruff groan of exertion with it. He looked back, one and then slowly walked towards what appeared to be an Inn.
He moved without much grace, but with purpose, and got to the door in a minute or so. He pressed a hand against the door, lowering his blade to the ground, and pushed the door open.
He grabbed up his mighty edge, and held it with both hands, shouldering his way in.
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Post by ContinuumBlamesVan on Mar 17, 2018 22:02:31 GMT -8
/Ulysses/
The silence the world had been enveloped in ended as the man put the sword back away, almost like breaking out of a trance. As for the memories that had enveloped him, he found that it was harder to recall anything during what had seemed like a brief examination of the blade. That probably should have disturbed him more than it did, but the day was already long, and now he was done waiting. He'd been patient, and if the white-haired woman actually wanted what she said she did-
And just like that, there she was. Down the stairs, scanning square and clearly eying the tavern. Well, that was her own lookout, then. He on the other hand had his own bed, his own locale, and while it would take some explaining as to why he had suddenly decided to stay, the nice part about being mute was that he never gave away his lies with audio cues. He stood, his armor clattering slightly as he stretched and then looked at her one last time. He could just vanish, but. . .He sighed, and rapped harshly on the wall for her attention. The metal echoed loudly, and quite clearly, as he took a few steps into her line of sight as she began to trudge away.
He held up a hand, pointed at the tavern, then waved, and pointed back around the side of the Sanitarium. Apparently, he lived over there, with a free bed and room for at least one. A hand gesture followed, like a pillow. He was tired, he was leaving to go to bed. He held up the alcohol that he had bought them both earlier, sloshed it, made a 'cheers' motion with it, and proceeded off.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Mar 19, 2018 10:17:58 GMT -8
Mithra jumped slightly as Villon made his presence known, she had been so focused with moving forward and keeping herself steady she barely registered him. He looked like one of her elders with the cane of his, made a pang go through her heart as she was reminded of home, shaking those thoughts away she gave a simple nod and made her way outside of the Sanitarium. Turning to Villon she rested herself on her weapon, wondering what the old man wanted to talk about.
“Speak now elder, I wish to give our victory to the heir before he assumes us dead and robs us of our prize. What is so important?” She spoke, her voice not fit for the usual harsh calm of hers, so it was replaced by a more weak but quick speech, the look in her eyes still pained and tired despite having healed considerably well. Villon would notice she still had the bandages around her gut, the clothing tucked away so that it had room to breathe and not construct her as much.
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