Recent content by Marta Martigan

Wide eyed, Marta stared at the results of the duel. Mouth hung open in disbelief, an arm wrapped tight around Monroe as she squeezed her close in the anticipation that had built up. Strong arm wrapped around the knight like a vice. "And Weiroon Takes the victory!" the announcer cried out...

Marta's eyes went wide. "Weiroon?" she muttered under her breath. Half laughed. "Well shit on a shingle," she shook her head. "A bloody Great Houser," she looked to Monroe with a tart grin. "Too bad'n he don't want to be serenaded by ya, now aint it?" she laughed again, and went on to smack the...

Marta blew a raspberry through pursed lips. "Just a bunch of show," she smacked Oliver's plated shoulder with the back of her gloved fist "Chop em down," she grinned, and mimed a low kick. "Big and top heavy as the bastard is, try and go for the knees," She flicked a finger at the big bastard...

Marta's grin peeled all the wider. "That's the spirit," she clank clanked her tankard on the table, and offered up a salute, as her sister had. "To the future champion of the melee!" she raised her tankard up for a clink, a bit of drink spilling over her knuckles. Monroe Olvir

Martigan listened to their words. A waste not to compete. She huffed some. Maybe she was right about that. "Well, suppose'n I can throw in to the pugilist competitions" she said with a half laugh, stroked her chin with one hand as she bared her teeth. "Or the oil wrestling," thumped the table...

Marta pushed a little laugh through her breath as she eyed Monroe. "Still no luck in your gambling, eh, Monroe?" she teased. "Must mean you've got yourself a love," she winked before Ollie went on. Her eyes turned to regard the young man, hands nursing her drink. She took a sip as he mentioned...

An easy smile crept across Marta's face, like butter across a hot pan. A bit of froth from the last pull of her drink still clung to her lip. She wiped it away, and gave a couple of nods. "Sense in that," she said "Coin caries a long ways," a huff of a laugh. Smiling and youthful as the lad...

A grumble came from Marta's throat. Not the first time some feathering twink pretended she were stage dressing. Luckily, Meanroe assuaged the situation. Bucket of mud that she pretended to be, Marta had come to know the Syr to be a real pearl. "Charmed," Marta gave in response to the exchange...

Marta raised a brow at the young man. Lips pursed with questions she would not give voice to. If only for that moment. "No, you wouldn't be much use, would you, pup?" she grinned. Half laughed. "But!" she gave him a tap on the shoulder. Which was more like a shove really. "There in lies the...

An arm looped about Monroe's neck, with all the grace of a python, bout ready to squeeze its pray. "Aye, if you're offering," a short haired, wide grinning, Marta asked. "In the spirit of the tournament, of course," she winked at the Anirian. Adelard stood to the side, and took a puff from...

A grin at the sound of her title. "Making the rounds, pup," she started flatly. "Little and more beat the foot patrol, and whilst the City Guard do their part, they leave us Shallows folk more or less alone," she moved with a purpose. Steady and sure, her long strides made her faster than most...

Gulls cried overhead, and salt spray hung thick in the air as the large barges that made the Tides' stage rocked easy underfoot. A loud thump smacked hard against the sunbaked wood of the worn table. Cheers erupted from the crowd that had gathered around. Coins clattered and clinked as bets...

Marta's gaze was sharp with scrutiny. The way he chewed on the question, and let it work its way through him. His next word came sharp. Almost startled her. Her eyes, widened, ever so. Her lip, curled up, just a touch. Made the whole of her hard and angular features look just the itty bittiest...

A string of curses spilled out from his mouth. Breath was forced out through his teeth. "Damn it! I don't know! I don't know!!!" Marta watched on, cold eyed as she pulled down the last bit of her sleeve. "Any markings," Marta offered. Like a line thrown out to a drowning man. Her voice far...

Leather trousers slipped on easy over well muscled limbs. Belts sinched tight across wide hips, and fingers pulled tight the folds of her tunic as it slipped down. A few adjustments across the shoulder. She set her knife on her belt. Felt her hands shake and tremble with the movement. Grit her...