Private Tales Hate or Glory

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
"We're losing light," came the quiet observation from Euan Cawdor.

He was an unassuming boy, cursed with a youthful face, narrow frame, and the thick eyelashes of a particularly bashful cow. From a single glance, you wouldn't have guessed that he was a Dreadlord Initiate, trained to be the arcane hand of Vel Anir's military might.

"No shit, Cawdor,"
Limont quipped in return, making a face at the boy as if to suggest he was an idiot. From the back of the horse, the lanky Initiate made a sweeping gesture to the horizon where the setting sun was nestling behind the trees. "We've all got peepers, y'know."

"O-oh, sorry, I was going to suggest that we stop for the day."

Marcia frowned. Initiate Cawdor's suggestion was perfectly valid, but their assignment was time-sensitive. They had been sent out to locate a pair of their missing peers, who had been sent out on a fact-finding mission on the road between Vel Anir and Vel Stratholm on the back of reports of 'suspicious activity'. With Anirian focus settling on Cortos, and the vague and dubious nature of the reports, they had sent Initiates in place of Dreadlords or the Guard. However, when the pair did not return it warranted the dispatch of double the Initiates.

"I feel like we're close,"
she muttered, narrowing her eyes in the hope that she was going to spot their missing peers in the next five seconds, which didn't happen.

"Well, I'm starving," Catrina Bletzin chimed in, clearly irked by Marcia's intention to carry on searching into the night.

Limont was prepared, looking back at the martial artist with a lop-sided grin that suggested he was prepared for this eventuality, and he was; he had the map. "You're in luck, sweet cheeks, we should be coming up on an inn shortly. A hot meal, a few rounds of ale, real beds. The whole damn dream."

"I didn't say we were fucking stopping."

It wasn't the first argument that had sprung up on this venture, and it likely wouldn't be the last.

"Marcia, I don't mean to offend, b-but who put you in charge?"
Euan chimed in, his tone nervous as he challenged the authority she had inflicted on the rest of them, immediately sending Limont into a frenzy of cheers, fist-pumping dramatically at the other boy's stand.

"Wowee, Euan's got a pair! Standing up to tyranny! Hope you're wearin' a cup, she might kick you in the dick,"
He grinned, reaching over to awkwardly fist bump the shy Initiate from across horses, a gesture which was not reciprocated. It didn't hinder Limont's stride. "Didn't you know, Marshall Marci? We're in a dem-o-cracy now! Thought you were all well-read and shit."

"Right. Hands up for stopping,"
Catrina announced, her well-toned arm immediately shooting into the air, followed by both of Limont's arms and then a tentative hand up from Euan. "Then it's settled. We're stopping."

Marcia wasn't going to take it lying down, shaking her head and gritting her teeth at the other three out of sheer frustration. People were missing, and when people went missing, everything became dictated by time. The time that wasn't spent searching was time that the two missing Initiates could have been moving further away from them. A long rest could have been the difference between life and death. Yeah, she was hungry and tired too, and the thought of fumbling in the dark looking for them wasn't an attractive prospect, but there were things more fucking important than their comfort.

"How would you feel if one of us went missing and the search party was more excited to eat, drink and get fucking merry?" The short Initiate seethed, making sure to look at every single one of them in the eye as she lectured them. Cawdor couldn't meet her gaze, Limont shrugged but looked away at the challenge, but Bletzin held her stare.

"If you went missing, Marcia? I wouldn't even fucking look."
 
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Limont’s claim that they were 'coming up' on the inn had not been the entire truth, much to Marcia's frustration, as they left the open main road and down a branching path leading into the forest. Mercifully, for the scoundrel, the conversation had evaporated into terse silence following Bletzin's biting comment, so he escaped a further tongue-lashing for the time being.

The light fled as they moved deeper into the woods, the setting sun a memory for another day. It spurred Bletzin to increase the pace, riding ahead of the group at a canter before Limont joined her. They seemed to be engaged in a hushed conversation, but Marcia remained too angry to give a single shit, quietly hoping that the martial artist fell off her horse instead.

"I'm sorry about earlier, Marcia. I didn't mean for things to get heated," Cawdor piped up at her side, his big, tragic eyes apologetic, "but maybe they stopped here?"

"Maybe," she replied stiffly, in a manner that made the boy recoil somewhat.

"W-well, there's no harm in asking around."

The Aching Hooves Inn was an unassuming place. Its function was evident as a point for weary travellers to rest before continuing their journey—nothing more, nothing less. It nestled into the trees on a bend in the road, the branches having begun the gradual reclamation of the roof over time like creeping hands. A lone lit lantern outside the door was the only indication that it was occupied.

Joining the other two at the small unattended stable, Marcia quickly leapt from her mount and made a beeline for the door. "Take care of the hoses," she announced, waving a dismissive hand back at them, "I'll go ahead and get us a room."

Limont's squealing protest did not evade her ears as she walked away.

"A room?!"
 
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Initiate Limont Portrait.png"I don't understand," Euan said, perplexed and showing himself to be the most enormous virgin going since, well, ever. "What's wrong with a room?"

"Oh, my sweet boy," Limont remarked, shaking his head as a slippery smile reached his lips. His hands clasped down on the shorter Initiate's shoulders. It was time for a father-son chat, no, the father-son chat, and who better than to impart such wisdom than he? "You see when a man and a woman-"

"Fucking hells," remarked Bletzin in the background, the only person making an effort to put their horses into the stables.

"Please stop," Euan practically begged, looking up at Limont with great pleading eyes, like a sad calf missing its mother, "I understand now. You want multiple rooms, so you can..."

"Uh-huh."

"...sleep with..."

"Mmmhm."

"...ah, I don't want to know, Limont," Cawdor finally finished, his features screwing up in revulsion as he delicately picked up the scoundrel's hands and freed them from his shoulders. Even if he didn't want to know, he could see the boy's brows twitching, no doubt trying to fathom which one of them he was going to attempt to shag. Limont leaned backwards, trying to catch a glimpse of Catrina's arse as she faffed about with the horse tack before looking back and waggling his brows at Euan.

There were few visions of the female form that didn't appeal to the taller Initiate, but Bletzin had that muscle mother physique. The type where you wanted to put your head bet-

"I said I don't want to know!" Euan squawked loudly, clearly reading Limont's mind from the look on his face, the boy's hands gesticulating wildly in a rare animated moment from the support mage.

"He's just chatting shit, Cawdor," Catrina bellowed from within the small stable, a hint of mischief in her voice, "Limont's dick hasn't worked since Marcia booted it."
 
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Euan Cawdor Portrait.png"It doesn't matter anyway," Limont remarked sulkily, his pride wounded by Catrina, "Marshall Marci's probably got us bloody bunkbeds or something."

"Do inns even have bunkbeds?" Cawdor inquired, scurrying into the stable to offer the woman inside doing all the work a helping hand (although, really, it was to escape lecherous Limont). Judging from the scowl she offered him, he arrived precisely when she had just finished.

"Prolly not, but I bet she's building them as we speak!"

"Can we talk about any-fucking-thing else other than that nasty little dwarf?" Catrina asked, although, upon closer inspection, Euan found it more of a demand.

The boy's face turned sullen, the healer's mind drifting back to the argument they'd had on the road prior. Cawdor couldn't help but exude wounded puppy dog energy, both a curse and a boon, depending on the scenario. Bletzin caught the expression and sighed. "Go on, spit it out."

"I'm worried about Gosia and Beckeln," he admitted, his gaze cast downward at the dirt, Marcia's words having hung a noose of guilt around his conscience. "What if they're really in trouble, and they need us? M-maybe we shouldn't have stopped..."

"We're hungry, and we're tired. If they're really in trouble, it's best we're at full strength."

"I suppose..."

"Good," Catrina said with a resolute clap onto Euan's back, which was more like a thud. "Now let's fucking eat."
 
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Catrina Bletzin Portrait.pngCatrina strode past the boys with the unflinching will of a titan, the desire for a hot meal triumphant over all other needs and wants.

At least on the surface.

The young woman would have been lying if she claimed not to be troubled by the disappearance of the others. Gosia and Beckeln were no slouches, more than capable of handling themselves when the need arose, the former having her shit together more than most of the Initiates combined and the latter a shoo-in for the Anirian Rangers. What didn't sit well with Catrina was that their mission brief had been horrendously vague; suspicious activity could have been anything. It reeked of piss-poor information.

Entering the inn, she was immediately greeted with the sight of a tavern almost entirely devoid of life. A lone man pottered behind the bar, his head snapping to look at the three Initiates.

"Jeezy peeps, talk about a ghost town," commented Limont under his breath before he loosened a low whistle.

Given the lack of patrons, it wasn't challenging to locate the stunted arsehole with delusions of leadership sitting in a booth wearing her usual constipated expression, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Bletzin took a deep breath in preparation for another arduous, stilted conversation with the prickly Initiate before approaching and sliding into the opposite side of the booth. Limont was fast to sidle in next to Catrina, leaving Cawdor stuck next to Saint Marcia the Miserable.

"Did you get us rooms?"
Bletzin asked curtly.

Marcia looked up from her no doubt furious considerations regarding the fighter with little more than frustration. "Yeah, and a meal. It's on the way."

"Good."
 
There was something disconcerting about an empty tavern.

When Marcia first entered, nobody was there. Just layers of dust soon to be disturbed by their presence. The only indications of life in this place were the lit candles along the walls and the fireplace that softly crackled in greeting.

Her entrance did summon the proprietor, who rushed through to the bar at the sound of the heavy slam of the front door closing behind her. There was an innate sense of relief at the sight of him, half-dispelling the instant unease that the desolation had placed in the back of her mind. The man himself was a haggard creature, gaunt and wiry, likely from the stress and lack of income from owning an inn without patrons.

Marcia skipped pleasantries and went straight to business, describing the missing Initiates and asking if he had seen them at all in the last month.

He had not.

She then asked if he had any rooms available for the night.

He did (obviously).

Once that had been settled, the girl set about ordering their supper, the menu restricted to a single stew due to the lack of business. It would do. Naturally, in place of ale, no doubt gone sour in its barrel, Marcia opted to order them water. The Aching Hooves didn't have much but it did have a well, as the man was sure to assure her.

The act of paying was half arduous as the inn owner kept filling the empty air with all the excuses of why his inn was empty. 'It was off the beaten track' and 'Nobody travelled that road anymore' before launching into a tirade about people becoming self-sufficient enough to make camp instead. Marcia practically had to force the coins into his hand to get him to stop talking.

Eventually, she escaped to a booth and awaited the arrival of her peers.

Bletzin was clearly still sore about what happened at evaluation, her curt words and caustic attitude painting her as petulant to Marcia, who managed to keep her temper merely simmering.

"Limont, get the map out," she ordered, "I've spoken to the barkeeper, and he's not seen them, so we should take stock and go over what we know so far."

"Maybe there's something we're missing," Cawdor agreed, showing himself to at least somewhat care as Limont reached into his pack, pulled out the map, and unfurled it onto the dust-covered table. "Yeah, two Initiates..." the lanky scoundrel mumbled.