Recent content by Hugo Farlance

Lourke Melscythe swore under his breath. He jogged up to the Dreadlord, cursing his luck in that she would arrive right as he was to exact his revenge. "Deal with him, lads! I'll bring her up to speed--" The three remaining guards charged Hugo - and Hugo responded, blades a flurry of steel...

The shadow of a smirk tugged at his lip, almost pulling his mouth sideways, before he wiped his face clean, still looking past the marshal in professional deference. Birds of a feather recognised one another, indeed. "I served during the Siege of Alliria, sir. When every spare blade was...

As Hugo walked through the complex, he was amazed at the intricate web of people working together here. It felt well-oiled, timed and organised like some grand mechanical contraption, cogs and gears grinding through lives and passing them along with on-point punctuality. And if he didn't fit...

Hugo hesitated for a beat. His arm tightened around his old, raggedy uniform and hidden hat. They seemed to want a lot of information out of him, but that appeared to be the way with these Allirians. Wedded to their own rule of desks, paper and ink. It felt dangerous to divulge this. But he...

Hugo smiled - a small slash of teeth between his straw-coloured beard, reminiscent of a content snarl. He was happy to recognise the familiar roughshod humour of men-at-arms. Though he would have to get used to serving alongside orcs. "Good to hear. Sounds like the Lord Commander's got proper...

Hugo stepped into the courtyard of Allir Keep, dusty boots thudding cautiously over flagstones, leather and gear creaking softly, as he admired the mighty walls. Being a former officer of siege engineers, he could appreciate the strength of its walls, the clear funnel of coin that kept its...

A village near the border between Maraan and Vel Anir. "Well, look what we got here, lads." The voice of the guardsman rang out with harsh glee, muffled by his helmet. "The old Lieutenant Farlance himself. Back from the dead, it seems." The four, armoured silhouttes sidled up through the...

"Very well," he answered. Hugo felt an itching on the back of his hand. Pulling his glove partially off, he looked at it - and saw a new growth of a small, white mushroom sprouting from the blood where he had cut the previous one. Damn it. They truly were infected. But by what, exactly? As...

Hugo watched the two, content to let them tear at each others' throats for a spell. It was a strange encounter, to be sure. Perhaps rival bandits fighting over territory and victims to claim? He raised his sword, pointing its tip in a balanced stance at neck-height, aimed for Mongrel's back. He...

Hugo stayed bitterly silent, though he took in Grul's words all the same. Don't trust your eyes. It can get inside us. It was a good thing Grul hadn't witnessed Hugo's personal illusion. What he had seen had brought out the worst in him, and he had found himself uselessly attacking a broken...

Hugo furiously threw the pot off his head, sitting up from the ground. Disoriented like a drunken bell-ringer bashing around in his own bell, he wiped chicken-soup off his face. He peered at a strand of bloody mucus on the back of his hand, produced from his wet nose. Terrible headache already...

The bandit laughed in his face with unearned confidence. He had the gall to mock him, after dashing his pot and frustrating his journey? Insubordination. He was reminded of the military term for such behaviour, and how he and his fellow officers had whipped discipline back into any wayward...

A metallic clang echoed through the woods. Hugo rose at the sound, his arm cradling a bundle of firewood and tinder. He thought it had come from the direction of his camp . . . Ice gripped his heart. He broke into a sprint, rushing to get back, dropping precious bits of firewood on the way...

Hugo stirred his pot of precious chicken soup with a carved stick. He'd already sold the dagger he used for eating. For his first night in the year, he would have to eat with his hands and this improvised stick he had cut into a primitive spoon at one end, stake in the other. The road to Maraan...

Hugo continued on his strange, charmed journey through the St. Clover's faire. He needed to hold onto this token for as long as possible. No doubt there would be some thieving hand somewhere. An angler, perhaps? He'd heard of those thieves in Alliria, sitting up high in the safety of a window...