- Messages
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- Character Biography
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"This ale tastes like troll shit."
The grumbling half-elf couldn't help himself from griping over at the dwarf seated beside him between swigs from his flask, peering at the wagons that were gathering at the gates of Osteriam from his spot on the steps leading up to the Hag's Head Tavern. It was only dawn, and already the chilly air of the old mining town was biting at the skin of his face. The short little runt beside him? He didn't really remember his name. He was one of those recruits that had come in with the latest batch of fresh meat; a dwarven caravan seeking to peddle goods. The Jagged Emeralds had, of course, rounded them up in the Hag's Head, taken those willing to work for Gella, and killed the remainder.
Induction day was always good fun.
The Dwarf, whose name was actually Njarlborn. peered up at Gella, eyes full of caution and unease. He'd been summoned by name in the early hours of the morning to meet with Gella Rerra here, and yet so far those had been the only words said to him. The half-elf leader of the Jagged Emeralds had a bad habit of dispatching those who said the wrong thing to him, and he had no desire to be fed to the 'pet' Gella kept behind the tavern. In the interest of self-preservation, the Dwarf merely nodded with a simple "Yeah." to Gella's complaint. The notorious male's dark green eyes didn't even flick down in his underling's direction, instead watching as the wagons near the gates lined up in a straight formation, all facing Gella and Njarlborn. His gloved hand raised to his mouth, and his teeth bit down as he scanned over each and every one of them, as though he were choosing a bride from a selection of beautiful women, and he needed to suss out any imperfections.
Njarlborn couldn't stand this any longer. What was he doing here? Why was he working for this lunatic, staring at a bunch of horse-drawn wagons so early in the morning? He had to say something. "Sir, please don' take this the wron' way, but you asked for me 'ta be here this mornin'. Is there somethin' I can help ya wit'?"
He tried to sound as timid and meek as a dwarf could possibly sound, and Njarlborn, with crimson red hair braided down to his waist and a beard as thick as a morning fog, couldn't sound very meek.
Gella's eyes flicked down to his dwarfen associate, a small little smirk tugging gently up on the corner of his lips as he pulled his hand from the grip of his teeth and patted the short man's head with it. "Patience is a virtue, short-stack, but since you've mentioned that... I'd like to ask you something. You came from Belgarath, yes? Some outliers who never left the old relic?"
Njarlborn was taken aback by the sheer amount of disrespect he'd been shown in just two or three sentences, his eyes going wide and mouth slightly agape as he stared back up at Gella. "Y-Yeh, but I don' thin--"
"Good, then you might just earn yourself some extra coin today if you play your cards right." He giggled, almost unsettlingly as he patted Njarlborn's back. "I need you to be back here in this spot in, oh, about 3 hours. Bring your weapons, and some food. Don't be late."
The last warning was spoken with extra emphasis. The poor little thing wouldn't want to make Gella go behind schedule, and Gella had plans for him. There was preparations to be made, and he hadn't the time to chat with the new blood any longer. He rose from the steps and dusted the fallen snow off of his jacket. The rabbit fur it was lined with inside protected him quite nicely, but the outside of it was beginning to get a bit dirty...
The grumbling half-elf couldn't help himself from griping over at the dwarf seated beside him between swigs from his flask, peering at the wagons that were gathering at the gates of Osteriam from his spot on the steps leading up to the Hag's Head Tavern. It was only dawn, and already the chilly air of the old mining town was biting at the skin of his face. The short little runt beside him? He didn't really remember his name. He was one of those recruits that had come in with the latest batch of fresh meat; a dwarven caravan seeking to peddle goods. The Jagged Emeralds had, of course, rounded them up in the Hag's Head, taken those willing to work for Gella, and killed the remainder.
Induction day was always good fun.
The Dwarf, whose name was actually Njarlborn. peered up at Gella, eyes full of caution and unease. He'd been summoned by name in the early hours of the morning to meet with Gella Rerra here, and yet so far those had been the only words said to him. The half-elf leader of the Jagged Emeralds had a bad habit of dispatching those who said the wrong thing to him, and he had no desire to be fed to the 'pet' Gella kept behind the tavern. In the interest of self-preservation, the Dwarf merely nodded with a simple "Yeah." to Gella's complaint. The notorious male's dark green eyes didn't even flick down in his underling's direction, instead watching as the wagons near the gates lined up in a straight formation, all facing Gella and Njarlborn. His gloved hand raised to his mouth, and his teeth bit down as he scanned over each and every one of them, as though he were choosing a bride from a selection of beautiful women, and he needed to suss out any imperfections.
Njarlborn couldn't stand this any longer. What was he doing here? Why was he working for this lunatic, staring at a bunch of horse-drawn wagons so early in the morning? He had to say something. "Sir, please don' take this the wron' way, but you asked for me 'ta be here this mornin'. Is there somethin' I can help ya wit'?"
He tried to sound as timid and meek as a dwarf could possibly sound, and Njarlborn, with crimson red hair braided down to his waist and a beard as thick as a morning fog, couldn't sound very meek.
Gella's eyes flicked down to his dwarfen associate, a small little smirk tugging gently up on the corner of his lips as he pulled his hand from the grip of his teeth and patted the short man's head with it. "Patience is a virtue, short-stack, but since you've mentioned that... I'd like to ask you something. You came from Belgarath, yes? Some outliers who never left the old relic?"
Njarlborn was taken aback by the sheer amount of disrespect he'd been shown in just two or three sentences, his eyes going wide and mouth slightly agape as he stared back up at Gella. "Y-Yeh, but I don' thin--"
"Good, then you might just earn yourself some extra coin today if you play your cards right." He giggled, almost unsettlingly as he patted Njarlborn's back. "I need you to be back here in this spot in, oh, about 3 hours. Bring your weapons, and some food. Don't be late."
The last warning was spoken with extra emphasis. The poor little thing wouldn't want to make Gella go behind schedule, and Gella had plans for him. There was preparations to be made, and he hadn't the time to chat with the new blood any longer. He rose from the steps and dusted the fallen snow off of his jacket. The rabbit fur it was lined with inside protected him quite nicely, but the outside of it was beginning to get a bit dirty...
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