Recent content by Corvetius of Ruthgaard

Corvetius let Dante leave to enjoy his drink. He would allow his own men to gather their wits in the tavern too; they knew where to find him. In the meantime, he would promptly begin all necessary preparations, including fishing out coin for their newest sellsword. As he walked through the...

Corvetius stepped in wearing his finest attire. A dark-green chaperon plumed with a long, white swanfeather, a thick-quilted black doublet covered in golden chain necklaces to show his station as bailiff and green-and-black pluderhosen that puffed out his thighs along with his chest, while...

"Corvetius Tinworth Pettybrand of Ruthgaard reporting for duty."

Corvetius paused. Adjusted a sleeve as feigned absence. Glanced skyward as if a particularly interesting avian soared majestically through the sky. Stomaching the rude behaviour of this mercenary was, and would be, difficult. But there was an experience to this man that was hard to deny...

"Storta," Corvetius said in a satisfied manner, as if the name helped civilise the sellsword's manners a tad. "Well, you see, Master Storta, I and my company will soon embark on a task of no small significance. We are widening the reach of Lord Ruthgaard's domain, the Baron of Vendenvale and now...

Corvetius paused, pressing his flat hands together in contemplation. Perhaps having Dante instead of three men would eventually turn cheaper, over time. Considering how much three men ate and drank . . . one to replace three might save a lot in maintenance, even if the same amount of coin was...

The men crumpled, cursed and rolled over one another, scrambling to find their footing. Laughter and snickers rippled through the tavern. Corvetius' finger was still halfway pointing at Dante, as if incapable of understanding how the simple order hit him had resulted in this debacle. Gradually...

The three remaining men stood and gawked, too shocked to immediately react. Corvetius had taken a step back, face twitching with disbelief. It took a stumbling second or two for Corvetius to find his words, much of his former pomp drained before brutal necessity: "Well—well don't just stand...

Corvetius looked him in the eye. Then he threw back his head and chuckled, looking at his men. One stared blankly back at him. Corvetius had to give him an encouraging clearing of his throat and overt expression. The man rapidly guffawed, leading the others to chortle. Four laughing faces around...

"Market for-- take two docatto-- ten zoldo a week?!" Corvetius spluttered out his indignation, and his company looked confused. Probably too many numbers tossed about for them. But as Lord Ruthgaard's prime bailiff, these numbers ran quick metrics in his mind, which was an outrageous sum for a...

"Pah! Another one." Whoops and braying laughter erupted behind Dante. Upon turning, he would see a middle-aged man wearing an impressive chaperon of scarlet velvet laced with gold, and a similarly styled tunic with broad, frilled sleeves. About him sat three men-at-arms, faces about as beaten...

When fear seized his senses, Corvetius resorted to one particular method. A method oft practised in his iron mirror before a public hearing, or exercised in his hot tub the day before a hanging. He spoke to himself. "Very well, Corvetius, a small setback, nothing major--" his eyes locked on a...

Corvetius' hand twitched for the hilt of his blade, but it wasn't forthcoming. "Lampfrey, where in the bloody blazes have you gone? Sword!" There was no sign of the man-at-arms. However, the shambling dead came steadily closer, red eyes honing in on Corvetius. Sweat trickled down his brow...