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Post by relentless on Mar 20, 2018 0:56:24 GMT -8
Villon scoffed, letting the door shut hard with an echoing thud to permit throughout the halls of the sanatorium, standing out in the cold wind, providing a frown to Mithra as she wanted to get this done quick.
"Ye' can barely feckin move, like piss you're gonna sweeten the pot with whoevers in that fancy pants manor!"
He blundered with a blubber and huff, shaking his head at her before he waggled his cane at the ram-shackle bench.
"Let's sit, n talk. Be a bit of a shit handful. About Taas."
Villon sighed, rolling his eyes at the premise before he began limping down at the steps.
"-can hold onto me' shoulder if ye can't wobble along."
Villon offered with a glassy smile sent Mithra, waiting for her reply, then continuing afterwards.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Mar 20, 2018 7:20:27 GMT -8
Mithra sighed, she had no idea what Villon meant by ‘sweeten the pot’, she meant to just inform the Heir they had survived so he wouldn’t write them off as dead given their long time away. But then he spoke of Taas and her face lit up in both worry and curiosity, her mind going back to the Weald and that fateful scene of monsters and a comrade turned beast which caused her to shiver.
“Fine, but I can walk alone, I am not a little ba—“ She didn’t finish her sentence, the moment she started walking again her foot and leg almost gave out from under her, very close to falling down the stairs in a rather spectacular fashion. Her composure had fallen instead of her thankfully, she slouched with heavy breathing, and she looked keen to fall over. So, she did what she had to do, incredibly reluctantly she used Villon as support so that they could both get to the bench and sit down, grunting with exertion with almost every move.
“T-talk Elder, tell me what needs to be said before my mind can slip.” She let her weapon down, and let herself try to relax while preparing to listen and absorb what the man had to say without high emotion.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Mar 21, 2018 15:59:53 GMT -8
// A Returning Party //
Aria kept walking, one step over another, her face screwed in a permanent frown as her arm throbbed with pain. It had been silent half of the trip, but now the wound had started its job again, slowly bleeding while the rest of the limbed turned blue due to no more circulation, a sign of much needed immediate amputation. The rest of the group was around her before they entered the Hamlet, and now there was the short talk.
”Dominic, I’m trusting you to head to the Heirs so you can get our reward, give him this and say it’s for the ruins extermination. I’ll be in the Sanitarium.....to f-fix my arm, thank you a-again for healing it before...” She said, handing over the sealed list containing information and details of all they had killed. With a sign of defeat, and sorrow, the woman headed off on her way to the Sanitarium.
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Post by Mr. Swagwalker on Mar 22, 2018 13:24:55 GMT -8
"Sissy Charrie?" Brenton could not refrain from letting out a small laugh. "The last thing I would call you is a sissy. In fact, I don't believe I've even seen a hint of fear in your eyes since we met. You are a bold one."
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Hearing Charis tell about the nicknames she had recieved, including the one given by children, made Edgar do something inconceivable. He smiled. It was a warm and genuine expression - an extreme rarity on his part.
It was all so strange. Here they stood; captor, prisoner and nun, sharing a decently happy moment.
Perhaps Brenton was starting to warm up to Charis? Maybe she had the power to change that despicable man? Was it possible for there to be peaceful solution to Edgar's predicament as slave in all but name?
In truth the chances for such a miracle were slim, and realistically it was nothing but a childish dream. But the thought did cross Edgar's mind. He held onto that image. Perhaps it wouldn't ever come to fruition, but perhaps it was something to strive for. Great things have been made real because of dreams, after all.
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Post by relentless on Mar 23, 2018 10:32:04 GMT -8
Villon ushered Mithra along, allowing his posture to adjust in order to allow Mithra to be comfortable. Once they lumbered down the steps, and Mithra sat herself on the nearest wooden bench, Villon sighed heavily as he threw himself down on the bench. His weight made the bench move slightly against the stone, before it stopped. He took a brief moment to compose himself, setting his cane down next to him before he turned to face Mithra, wincing as he did so.
"Now lass I need you to promise me one thing before I tell yah this. I've been a good and honest man for a long time now, and I keep my promises close to my heart like me own heart."
Villon started off, waggling a telling finger at Mithra as if he were about to tell off a young child. His expression was stern but still maintaining a sense of friendliness, from the lines of his forehead to the mans wrinkled lips. Eventually, he took another breath, staring her in the eye.
"What I be sayin, be kept between US. Else we'll all be getting in deep shit."
Villon warned with a mild bite, before leaning back, and rubbing his face in exhaustion.
"You know what Taas is right? Some weird... hybrid, wolf thing. Well, it's going to be as simple as I'm making it out to be lass, don't be fecking gobbin off 'bout it to anyone around here, else she'll be getting the pyre treatment! Well, maybe, unless this place is even stranger than it has been so far..."
Villon finished off, before a wide smile was brought about his face, and he turned to face Mithra with a more pip and jolly expression.
"-See Mithra? Ain't that hard is it!? All's we gotta do is keep our traps shut, and forget about it. Mainly because Taas hinted she'd gut us all but eh, tis probably a bunch of bark and no bite."
Villon chuckled reassuringly, his smile briefly flickering to a cringe, before it returned to a small smile as he patted her on the arm.
"She'll be fine, we'll be fine. Unless that silly git of a Muslim has yapped about it..."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Mar 23, 2018 19:05:02 GMT -8
/Returning from The Cove Expedition : Mortus Caligere : Lekalis, Courcy, Tilly]/ Like ghosts of some sailor's tale, a collection of Five individuals slowly marched their way into the Hamlet amidst a slowly dissipating rain. Mist seemed to still fog their footsteps before leaving them as they finally crossed the premises of the Hamlet, entering a familiar palette of cobblestone grey and ashen mud. Lekalis had managed to scavenge one last Sapphire in the wake of Tilly' hoard; though that wasn't particularly his focus. Stored in a small box were several intricately harvested organs, skin patches, and the head of one of the Fishmen. And, of course, he took several blue tendrils from the Eldritch summoner. However, Lekalis' morbid harvest was grossly outdone by Tilly's own vigorous pursuit of loot; with six emeralds stowed away with three chunks of jade, and four sapphires. Though, sans the glittering gems, she still managed to gather a hefty sum of 550 gold pieces. Of course, there were some small tokens to earn favor with the Heir; such as a refound marble head-bust, with a parchment of claims to boot. She'd also scoured the Cove's beach to find a unique enchanted dagger she named "Beansprout", along with a more mundane but flashy scale-mail tunic. Lastly, was a curiously smooth and unmarked black box. Meanwhile, Courcy's own coffers and sack were rather bereft of anything but menial supplies, which she might be able to pawn off for 750 gold pieces, if she pursued it. Or she could always hold onto the collection of food and torches for a rainy day. They weren't alone, though, in their triumphant but solemn return; A boy bedecked in chainmail and a red tabard marched behind them, carrying a middle-aged, dark haired woman who wore a dampened dark robe over a nightgown. A twinkling bronze-star necklace glimmered around her neck as they entered. The two paused at the center of town, and looked to their escort with due appreciation; "Thanks." The Boy said with a rigid bow, looking up to the Abbey, then back to the party, "If you've need of us; we'll be there..." His gaze drifted to Courcy, "... Where might I find you?" \\ /Lekalis/ "Our pleasure, really." He assured them with a smile and confident puff of the chest as he placed a hand on his hip, glancing over to Tilly and nudging her with his elbow. He leant in for a moment, not wholly whispering, rather, having a smaller and brief conversation. With a bit of shuffling, he produced the writ of expedition for their mission and offered it to her. "Think you could grab the reward for this? I'm going to see if Florence is here, in the Undercroft of the Abbey, and--" He hefted the box, "-- Whether or not she is, I need to drop this stinking stuff off." He smirked, with perhaps a bit more excitement than would be warranted for a mere delivery. |
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 23, 2018 19:18:23 GMT -8
Tilly nodded, though her attention was notably elsewhere; her eyes were on the sanitarium.
If Celeste was rescued, she would be there.
She agreed hastily, shifting anxiously from foot to foot.
"I-I'll go meet Celeste first, I think, and then drop by the Heir. Then we can meet by the statue?" She proposed quickly, accepting the writ for the expedition, which she stowed in a coat pocket somewhere inside the jacket rather than the outside.
She squeezed his hand momentarily before beginning to step away,
"I'll see you then!" She told him, already making to speed away.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Mar 23, 2018 19:26:26 GMT -8
/Lekalis/ "I'll be in the bath-house if I'm not at the statue then!" He agreed with a quick nod, giving her a two fingered salute before glancing to Courcy and doing the same with a quick bow, glancing between Courcy and the Squire with a risen brow. "Likewise, meet me there if you wish. Though I'll swing by the Tavern after all's said and done, get that wine I talked about." He added with a quick smile before darting off and away to the Abbey... \Lekalis departs to THE ABBEY\ |
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Post by black379 on Mar 23, 2018 19:30:40 GMT -8
Courcy watched Blood and Tilly intently as the first papers regarding her freedom were exchanged. She was rather eager to be finished with it, but another single delay at least was expected. The hellion thought perhaps that the warden was due for a visit anyways, but subdued the thought for now.
Her wrists and elbows wound with bandages could use more attention, so she shrugged a glance toward the sanitarium herself. Briefly she regarded the boy once more.
"Looks like I'll be by the statue, later." She smirked with pursed lips as the party already began to disband.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Mar 23, 2018 19:37:16 GMT -8
/The Squire and Elaine/
With a dutiful nod, he looked to Elaine, then Courcy with a sigh and turned to march in the wake of the red-cloaked man.
"Aye, ma'am."
\\
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Post by black379 on Mar 23, 2018 19:55:36 GMT -8
Courcy offered a wave as she was left alone. Though soon enough, she followed Tilly's steps to the medical building, parting still upon entering. She found assistance to properly dress her wounds.
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She remained there for as short a time as she could manage, insisting that she wouldn't strain herself. The redhead plodded down the steps, turning her eyes from one end of the hamlet to the other. It was good to be on familiar ground again. It was not so good to be alone again.
Courcy slowly made her way to the ancestor's statue, though her feet were tempted to carry her to the tavern for drink, or to George's desk for company. All the same, she ended up at the base of the relic, sitting on the edge of the pedestal by the stone statue's feet.
"I've... been around." She murmured to herself, idly tugging at the collar about her neck. "I still miss you most... y'know?"
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Post by Kidney on Mar 24, 2018 21:01:10 GMT -8
Her comment, although quiet, perked the ears of the masked musician loitering near a battered wagon. Suddenly, as if queued musical number had began, gentle strumming came from the dark corner. A single note, followed by another, a floral progression of a love song both Smoke and Hugo remembered. He spoke from beneath the dark blue mask, simple bells ringing from the ends of his strange footwear, a percussion forming from the thud of a hammer's head on a leather chestpiece. "Losing someone is hard. Been' through it myself. I don't think i'll understand your situation perfectly, but I can empathize."
He strummed, a chord from the depths of Hugo's shattered heart, held together with the wax of a long-dormant clown within. He entered into the light of the surrounding area, the frowning porcelain face was shining with a morbid glow, but the mannerisms were fluid and lovely to the eye of someone who cared. "Perhaps you can humor a clown? Listen to a song passed from lute to lute?"
He plucked a few strings with the point of the strange pick he produced from a internal pocket within a glove. "I don't even have to sing? Perhaps the lyrics can be forged within your own head, and i'll keep mine in my own?"
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Post by black379 on Mar 24, 2018 21:41:06 GMT -8
Courcy stiffened in alarm as the jester's figure peeled from the shadows. Her startled countenance was quickly replaced with one of annoyance. Not so much because she wanted to be alone - though a masked minstrel would never have been her first pick for company. Mostly she was perturbed by his eavesdropping. He certainly didn't understand, but the hellion knew it was a line anyways.
"You'll have to try your bit on someone else. I haven't got any coin." She muttered to Hugo, crossing her arms and slouching on the statue once more. She thought that might do to deter him, yet she didn't hate his idle strumming either.
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Post by Kidney on Mar 24, 2018 21:48:08 GMT -8
Pff. As if.
A voice rung out from the abyss again. The mocking tones, the burbling sickly-sweet lyrics. Hugo slowly took up his hand, his other moving down to pick light notes on the neck of the lute, quiet hums of musical intermission. He grasped at his mask, taking it off.
The slight breeze was ecstasy on his wrinkled, scarred face. He looked up, hair brushing against the sides of his head and temples. He bowed, fingers allowing for a brief and controlled crescendo. He slipped the mask's strap over the hammer, before walking and leaning against the statue's base. He was away from Courcy, but friendly in his distance as well. "I'm serious. No money required. Would you let me begin the song? You can stop me at any time."
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Post by black379 on Mar 24, 2018 21:55:20 GMT -8
She sighed and gave Hugo an unsure look. Scoffing, the redhead wondered what he was doing sneaking about and insisting to entertain for free. It was his own business after all, and she wasn't about to pry, lest he return the favor. So Courcy rested as comfortably as she could against the stone and nodded.
"Fine, go on."
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