ArcaneAnchovi
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Private Tales Inbound.
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A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Rodin Graveworn
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Rain soaked into Rodin’s bear skin cloak across his broad shoulders. The wind gently swept his dark locks of hair across his back as the gentle rocking of the Artimus, a small merchant vessel made it’s way tentatively over the next swell with a sigh of old oak and groan of well worn decking. Her sails were abloom with black and grey patterns adorning it’s four corners like a herald moth displaying it’s wings, fluttering every so often with every archaic billow. This voyage had taken only days, but it felt like weeks. Rodin hated the sea. Ever since he was a child, the great oceans that surrounded his homeland of Sheketh were a bad omen even on the calmest of days. Many a soul lost at sea. He thought to himself, carefully checking his small silver timepiece within the palm of his hand. “Still there?” He smirked at his reflection and folded it back up and underneath his ashen breastplate.
Having worked solely on land for the last decade, his forte was most definitely on solid ground. His thick legs that showed underneath the plated armour he wore, were still no match for the motions of the great abyss. Every so often he would find himself swaying across the deck like a newborn calf, much to the amusement of the sailors, who despite their mirth would not dare to poke fun. His figure was imposing enough, with pristine blade proudly worn at his side, there was no mistake; this man was a hardened veteran, and his gaze carried with it the conviction no man could mistake.
Not one aboard had the nerve to ask, but the story of his battles were of legend back home. His escape from the Thalmar after being taken hostage was whispered in taverns up and down the country. The sailors had noticed the scarification across his body, particularly his back and biceps when he was to wash, sent a few merchants’ stomachs to turn. Some knew that these marks were not only a tally of his victories, but also of the markings of dark magic he had learnt from the mages of the secret order. Symbols had been cut into his flesh some time ago upon his chest, marking the sigils of his craft. He carried a smaller dagger with him for this purpose, engraved with the moon goddess’ mantra: Her shadow guides.
Although he had renounced his faith within the order, he still practiced dark magic, conjuring powerful spells to aid his formidable martial prowess. His hands were marked with callouses, fingertips slightly burnt from fire casting the night before to keep himself warm.
“We should be making port this evening, sir.” A hunchbacked rigger motioned to the outline of a small peninsula upon the horizon. “Not much longer now.”
“Thank you” Rodin nodded, placing a kind hand on the mans shoulder as he passed by to secure another coil of rope and seaweed that had worked it’s way loose on the bow. “She’s a fine vessel, but I find it more of a comfort on land.” Making an attempt at smalltalk was not his usual, but having spent such time with the crew, he felt he owed at least a token of appreciation for their services in getting him there safely and in good time.
“Aye, that she is, sir. The sea isn’t for everyone.” He chuckled for a moment before stifling it and clearing his throat as he heaved up the serpentine rope with effortless skill “Been many a crew come and go, but I’ve been on her since she was brought into service. No doubt I’ll be here till I come out of my time.”
Rodin shook his head, took the timepiece out from underneath his breastplate again, feeling the familiar etching of silver and brass embossing. Stuck at two minutes past midday, the item had not worked since he was young but was the only reminder of his teacher he had. The hands were slightly askew, and face was tarnished and discoloured, wouldn’t have even bought him a warm beverage. Attached with a thin thong of leather around his neck, this silent companion was a reminder of better days. Not long now and I’ll be able to have an ale and a solid bed instead of a hammock. He smiled, almost tasting the refreshing beverage amongst the sea air. Then it’s time for business.
The docks were teeming with life as the Artimus rolled her keel towards the gangway. Ropes were slung in an orderly fashion and riggers saw to the moorings with a frantic pace. As she came about there was a slight lurch, which Rodin had to brace for, but he was glad to be back on dry land.
“Watch your step” He was warned as he made his way onto the gangway. A pair of gold coins were passed to the captain for the journey which was quickly hidden away in his pockets and Rodin was on his way.
“Without so much as a goodbye.” The captain scoffed, “Such a strange character.”
Rodin was short on pleasantries, for he felt rather seasick from the journey inbound and was looking for a barrel to heave into when a familiar scent of home cooked bread filled his lungs.
Now that is what I could go for. He thought. Settle my stomach with some bread and ale.
Veering past the crowds that were starting to form beside the Artimus he made his way towards the end of the docks. Pedlars of all sorts of wares were lining the narrow passageways from carpets to dates, nuts and berries to small cages with various creatures in them. He had no time to stop an browse any wares, and quickly dismissed any attempt to gather his attention to any one shop front. The evening was approaching, and gas lanterns were being lit, casting shadows upon the walls of the venders shops like ghoulish apparitions. He bustled past a woman of the night and her pimp, who tilted his head at the large individual and made a gesture unfamiliar to Rodin, so he kept going. Strange folk here he thought. Taking an alleyway to his left following his nose to the origin of the sweet smelling bread.
“The bucket of blood” He smiled, having stopped in an opening just before the tavern. It was adorned with various shrubs and vines, some candles were lit in the windows and flickered in the cool evening breeze. Not such a bad looking place for the name. He thought.
Pushing aside the large oak door, he stepped into a warm smoke filled room with a fire burning just off in the corner. A rather large lady with grey wispy hair and a flat cap manned the bar with a pleasant and welcoming demeanour. There were several stools occupied by individuals in various states of sobriety, one older man turned and gave Rodin a look over before returning to his flask and muttering a few words to himself.
“An ale and some bread please.” Rodin cleared his throat as he stood up against the bar, trying not to jostle anyone out of their seat or knock over anyones drink. The barmaid nodded and quickly fetched the two items for him, placing them down with an uncanny grace that someone with years of practice serving people would acquire.
“Two silver, please” She smiled, a tooth missing in her front or was it a gap? He wasn’t too sure, but paid the lady and nodded. “Any rooms for the night at all?” He motioned to the sign above her head mentioning accommodation for patrons upon request. “Yes sir, we’ve one for you. That’ll be one gold a night but you’ll sleep soundly. Nice and quiet up there despite the noise here. Not many people staying here tonight so you should have plenty of space.” She motioned to a doorway which led to the stairwell.
“Thanks, I’ll take the room for the night.” He drew out some more coins from his satchel tied to his waist and placed a gold coin in her hands. She took a moment to study it as if guessing the weight of it, and with a cautious eye proceeded to show him to the stairwell. “You can take your drink up with you if it’s too noisy down here for you.” She smiled again. Definitely a gap between her teeth he thought, smiled in return and nodded.
"I’ll sit by the fire for a moment, thank you.” He was surprised at his own manners this time. Be it the fact he was on dry land again and in a good mood may have had something to say for his pleasant demeanour, for he had no ale in his system yet.
There was a table unused beside the fire which he claimed, and sat with his back to the warmth, looking out towards the entrance of the tavern. He liked to see all exits and entries to a place, be it a tavern or any other establishment. He figured a window would suffice as as secondary exit should he get beset upon, however the likelihood of such a thing occurring was slim to none as he was quite considerably the widest individual within the tavern that night. He caught the glimpse of a few maidens beside the adjoining window who giggled and returned to their drinks and gossiping about this new individual to come in and sit by the fireplace looking like some sort of road worn knight. He was no such thing. Maybe once. Maybe a long time ago. But since his exile he spent his days as a mercenary. Sorting things out for those who were to weak or foolish to sort themselves. That was business and business was good in these parts, or so he had heard.
The fire crackled and spat out a small fleck of ember, which danced upon the table like a spirit for a moment before extinguishing itself in a gnarled part of the oak. The table looked moderately clean, all be it worn with the elbows of patrons over the years and the rivers of spilled alcohol upon it, there was a slight film. Rodin placed his plate upon it and began to devour the warm bread with a little butter, taking in his surroundings he could feel the damp of his clothes evaporating away besides the hearth. Not too bad. He thought, taking a sip of his ale he relaxed into his chair, counting his blessings he wasn’t on board that damned boat any more.
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Ostrum Brandish
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There were precious minutes before the arcane cold would overwhelm the barely adequate arcane mesh, a spiderweb of frost invasion across left arm bracer raised against the sorceror's last effort to do Ostrum in. A scornful look as the mess of sliced robes fell still from the knight in the tight alleyway, spates of frost firing from fingernails that turned the flagged stone floor cold and brittle as life escaped him. Ostrum, his left arm tensed and locked in shielding crook that was so arrested by the withering cold magics that still worked beyond the sorceror's lifespan, replaced his longsword with his free right hand into scabbard, even as the gnawing cold did with increasing bite grind it's teeth against his defenses arcane.
Weapon sheathed, he made militaristic turn quick on heel, pain increasing for his movement, each moment pressuring him on with a simple command.
Find heat.
He left his slain quarry to what dogs did roam such warrens. The ice blue robes so sliced powerfully soon turned bloody in their tatters.
His left arm still gripped by the vice of cold that seemed all the more bitter and contentious for the sorcerer's final breath. This lack of act of will seemingly redoubling for it's finality. Ostrum forced himself on, his arm a pillar of pains as his own warding spellcraft was being overwhelmed, his wreathing wards barely able to defend his armour and flesh from such an advance of cold.
He turned a corner, face affixed by determined rejection of the magic user's final curse. He could feel the creep of that spell across his body and rebuffed it with arcane wits to survive this. Already his limbs grew sluggish, each step slowing, yet driven on by disciplined will to survive. The street revealed it's signs and homes. One clear to his narrowing eyes as the frostbite curse did chew on.
The Bucket Of Blood.
Each step more difficult, each step that was made allowed a creeping of the frost to gain hold. Ostrum refused to indulge in thinking about damages were already being inflicted upon his armour, much less his fingers that remained locked in glove.
Through iron will and refusal of the spell's invitation to become a frozen statue, did Ostrum enter the tavern, the door yawning open, Ostrum's face full of consternation as he pressed on.
To the fireplace.
Each step became easier for the proximity of the hearth, the knight making steady progress, eyes locked with what he needed to preserve his fighting career. He felt his kneels weaken, but did not yield, he felt his mind's magic begin to become breached by the curse so bestowed, yet he did not refuse his own order to move on.
The hearth became host to the knight, who stood before it, left arm raised as if shielding himself from a volley or perhaps a galeforce wind, visible frost that did dance and ebb and turn to water as the hearth's fire did work to release the ice curse grip.
Through gritted teeth Ostrum did with all control and poise remain by the fire, the rest of him becoming heated as the frost curse did relinquish it's powers of persuasion. The light of his own warding magics gave final rejection to the spell so powerfully inflicted upon him, and Ostrum yielded himself, falling into chair that was beside Rodin.
He looked to the fire, his shoulders heaving, yet his decorum remaining. He allowed the pain to inform him, second by second. His left arm now crooked about his chest, free of frost, yet damage perhaps already done to precious fighting flesh underneath for that sorceror's tenacity of cold.
Ostrum cleared his throat, and the voice that sounded out by the hearth seemed undaunted by his potential condition. He spoke calmly, yet with all importance, eyes fixed to the fire as he braced himself for his new circumstances of the flesh.
"Might you possess the healing arts, good sir?" Ostrum asked quiet dry and hoarse, refusing to look at his left arm that beneath his plate was locked stiff by shocked tendon, as he made tense neck turn to regard the fellow Rodin beside him. His face a stern thing in spite of such condition weathered, his voice soft despite the panic that might beholden itself to lesser men.
His left arm was not blackened by frostbite beneath the armour that seemed to still be deciding if it might shatter for such wraths of cold, Ostrum's own fighting spirit still labouring for such proximity of such final freezing furies of sorcerer so cut down in alleyway closeby. He dared not move his left hand in any way. He knew his future fighting career might depend on his jurisprudence to his present state, and what his present company beside him might be able to loan with their assistance.
Rodin Graveworn
Weapon sheathed, he made militaristic turn quick on heel, pain increasing for his movement, each moment pressuring him on with a simple command.
Find heat.
He left his slain quarry to what dogs did roam such warrens. The ice blue robes so sliced powerfully soon turned bloody in their tatters.
His left arm still gripped by the vice of cold that seemed all the more bitter and contentious for the sorcerer's final breath. This lack of act of will seemingly redoubling for it's finality. Ostrum forced himself on, his arm a pillar of pains as his own warding spellcraft was being overwhelmed, his wreathing wards barely able to defend his armour and flesh from such an advance of cold.
He turned a corner, face affixed by determined rejection of the magic user's final curse. He could feel the creep of that spell across his body and rebuffed it with arcane wits to survive this. Already his limbs grew sluggish, each step slowing, yet driven on by disciplined will to survive. The street revealed it's signs and homes. One clear to his narrowing eyes as the frostbite curse did chew on.
The Bucket Of Blood.
Each step more difficult, each step that was made allowed a creeping of the frost to gain hold. Ostrum refused to indulge in thinking about damages were already being inflicted upon his armour, much less his fingers that remained locked in glove.
Through iron will and refusal of the spell's invitation to become a frozen statue, did Ostrum enter the tavern, the door yawning open, Ostrum's face full of consternation as he pressed on.
To the fireplace.
Each step became easier for the proximity of the hearth, the knight making steady progress, eyes locked with what he needed to preserve his fighting career. He felt his kneels weaken, but did not yield, he felt his mind's magic begin to become breached by the curse so bestowed, yet he did not refuse his own order to move on.
The hearth became host to the knight, who stood before it, left arm raised as if shielding himself from a volley or perhaps a galeforce wind, visible frost that did dance and ebb and turn to water as the hearth's fire did work to release the ice curse grip.
Through gritted teeth Ostrum did with all control and poise remain by the fire, the rest of him becoming heated as the frost curse did relinquish it's powers of persuasion. The light of his own warding magics gave final rejection to the spell so powerfully inflicted upon him, and Ostrum yielded himself, falling into chair that was beside Rodin.
He looked to the fire, his shoulders heaving, yet his decorum remaining. He allowed the pain to inform him, second by second. His left arm now crooked about his chest, free of frost, yet damage perhaps already done to precious fighting flesh underneath for that sorceror's tenacity of cold.
Ostrum cleared his throat, and the voice that sounded out by the hearth seemed undaunted by his potential condition. He spoke calmly, yet with all importance, eyes fixed to the fire as he braced himself for his new circumstances of the flesh.
"Might you possess the healing arts, good sir?" Ostrum asked quiet dry and hoarse, refusing to look at his left arm that beneath his plate was locked stiff by shocked tendon, as he made tense neck turn to regard the fellow Rodin beside him. His face a stern thing in spite of such condition weathered, his voice soft despite the panic that might beholden itself to lesser men.
His left arm was not blackened by frostbite beneath the armour that seemed to still be deciding if it might shatter for such wraths of cold, Ostrum's own fighting spirit still labouring for such proximity of such final freezing furies of sorcerer so cut down in alleyway closeby. He dared not move his left hand in any way. He knew his future fighting career might depend on his jurisprudence to his present state, and what his present company beside him might be able to loan with their assistance.
Rodin Graveworn
Rodin Graveworn
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“Might you possess the healing arts, good sir?” This stranger turned to Rodin. He surveyed the mottled mess of flesh and armour that was his left arm, this poor man’s frost cast had almost taken his arm off. He thought. Finishing his ale swiftly he nodded and raised a cautious eye to the patrons of the establishment. No doubt there would be some onlookers but there was no time to get him somewhere quiet to perform a healing. What was left of the flesh was turning black and necrotic, it wouldn’t be much longer if he didn’t act swiftly.
“Looks like you’ve had yourself a night of it.” Rodin nodded and raised a hand to the affected area of the wound, hovering his palm just above the sinew and bone made visible through caustic accelerated magic use. There was a brief pause in the air, a silence as if just before the breaking of dawn. Then came the warmth, a glow from the middle of each of Rodin’s palms like a thousand tiny fireflies dancing in the wind. This glow began to expend and wrap itself around the wound, covering Ostrum in small golden sparks of light. The warm and tingling sensation began as flesh engaged and was to revert back into its normal pigments of colour, the broken sinews wove themselves together with ease and the necrotic tissue fell away like ash from the fireplace and dissolved upon the table with a small hiss. “You were lucky to get here when you did, friend. Else the arm would have been no use. If you don’t mind me asking, what foul creature delivered such a spell? Ive only seen such a powerful cast a handful of times.” He finished the healing with a press of his hands together and a nod to the wound for not producing that much of a scar. Sure it was still slightly discoloured, but that would fade in time and Ostrum would be back and fighting fit in no time at all.
“Im afraid healing it completely was out of my skills range, you may want to take a day or two to recover and for the colour to return sir.” Rodin looked the wound up and down again, biting his lip as if studying some ancient relic. Not too bad. He thought to himself.
“Now, Ale my friend! Let me fetch you some.” He smiled, having known a knight when he saw one, knew that potential work would follow if he played his cards right. He was in much need of a good payday or two; motioning to the barmaid for two more ales she brought them across in due course with a look of fear in her eyes.
“Please sir, don’t practice your magic in here.” She motioned towards a stout fellow in a chain mail city guards uniform and tabard. “They don’t like to see it.”
“Noted, thank you.” Rodin sat down deflated, he did enjoy a good spell cast every so often and this new fellow was certainly interesting looking. “Rodin Graveworn is the name, friend. Drink up! You’ll need it for the pain soon.” Knowing all too well the aches and pains of regrowth. Having gone through it many a time. He knew this knight would be in for a fitful sleep, but come the morning it would be uncomfortable to say the least.
Rodin took a moment to study the knight, having not seen one for a few years there were always interesting conversations to be had. He took another sip of ale and turned to the fireplace as not to look him in the eye directly. Turning to a more sombre tone, and lowering his voice so just the two of them could hear he spoke with tentative reverence.
“So what is the deal with Alliria I’ve heard?” Before letting a comfortable silence grow between them.
“Looks like you’ve had yourself a night of it.” Rodin nodded and raised a hand to the affected area of the wound, hovering his palm just above the sinew and bone made visible through caustic accelerated magic use. There was a brief pause in the air, a silence as if just before the breaking of dawn. Then came the warmth, a glow from the middle of each of Rodin’s palms like a thousand tiny fireflies dancing in the wind. This glow began to expend and wrap itself around the wound, covering Ostrum in small golden sparks of light. The warm and tingling sensation began as flesh engaged and was to revert back into its normal pigments of colour, the broken sinews wove themselves together with ease and the necrotic tissue fell away like ash from the fireplace and dissolved upon the table with a small hiss. “You were lucky to get here when you did, friend. Else the arm would have been no use. If you don’t mind me asking, what foul creature delivered such a spell? Ive only seen such a powerful cast a handful of times.” He finished the healing with a press of his hands together and a nod to the wound for not producing that much of a scar. Sure it was still slightly discoloured, but that would fade in time and Ostrum would be back and fighting fit in no time at all.
“Im afraid healing it completely was out of my skills range, you may want to take a day or two to recover and for the colour to return sir.” Rodin looked the wound up and down again, biting his lip as if studying some ancient relic. Not too bad. He thought to himself.
“Now, Ale my friend! Let me fetch you some.” He smiled, having known a knight when he saw one, knew that potential work would follow if he played his cards right. He was in much need of a good payday or two; motioning to the barmaid for two more ales she brought them across in due course with a look of fear in her eyes.
“Please sir, don’t practice your magic in here.” She motioned towards a stout fellow in a chain mail city guards uniform and tabard. “They don’t like to see it.”
“Noted, thank you.” Rodin sat down deflated, he did enjoy a good spell cast every so often and this new fellow was certainly interesting looking. “Rodin Graveworn is the name, friend. Drink up! You’ll need it for the pain soon.” Knowing all too well the aches and pains of regrowth. Having gone through it many a time. He knew this knight would be in for a fitful sleep, but come the morning it would be uncomfortable to say the least.
Rodin took a moment to study the knight, having not seen one for a few years there were always interesting conversations to be had. He took another sip of ale and turned to the fireplace as not to look him in the eye directly. Turning to a more sombre tone, and lowering his voice so just the two of them could hear he spoke with tentative reverence.
“So what is the deal with Alliria I’ve heard?” Before letting a comfortable silence grow between them.
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Ostrum Brandish
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Ostrum recieved the healing magic, awash with some assurances that it was having affect by sensations of pain, yet freedom of movement, returning to him. He did flex his fingers once the ritual was completed and some stable heartbeats did resound, and felt the healing warmth mingle with the lashes of aching pain from his testing of dexterity.
Better than the agony of shatterings, Ostrum did think.
He composed himself, a quiet upon him from such a brief combat encounter turning so frigid upon him.
"Graveworn, my thanks," Ostrum said, his left arm held tentatively to his midriff, cradling it not in weakness but in caution. What magics that did heal would be needing of natural rest to compliment. Ambulating around would only cause further griefs he knew. So stillness took much liking to his frame.
The hearth did warm and comfort, flames that did work themselves well about fuel that did spend itself idly.
An ale presented. Ostrum nodded in thanks, still disquietened for his recent malady. He did take poiseful pull of the drink, and placed it down with shoulders that were still tensed.
"Most kind of you to aid me so, in libation and in healing," Ostrum did say, gaining more presence in the room. Sounds of other patrons began to shudder into his ears, the quiet of frost and slowness of his body returning to it's usual tempos. And the lurching pains that came were more than familiar, endured without much visual sign of his discomfort.
"The one that wrought this upon me before their final moment was a wild danger, a rabid sorcerer of quick temper and chill persuasions. I cut them down in the quick of their casting, their end lashing upon me instead of their target. Had I not intervened, their fancy to turn the living to frozen statue to shatter from hidden vantage would be have completed. And had you not intervened just now, I might have suffered the loss of this limb. My fighting days rendered, well," Ostrum said and shook his head. "Bears not to thinking about."
Another pull from the ale, smaller this time. Placed down gently, as if the quietness of the deed did provide his words more volume.
"You're new to this side of the world I do take it then. Welcome. May I offer introduction. I am one Sir Ostrum Brandish, Knight of the Order of Enshrined Blades. And I find myself in your debt. Allow me a little pause, but I shall lend you what wisdom I can muster. This land is much to many. And you have aided one availing to their oaths to it. You have my thanks."
Rodin Graveworn
Better than the agony of shatterings, Ostrum did think.
He composed himself, a quiet upon him from such a brief combat encounter turning so frigid upon him.
"Graveworn, my thanks," Ostrum said, his left arm held tentatively to his midriff, cradling it not in weakness but in caution. What magics that did heal would be needing of natural rest to compliment. Ambulating around would only cause further griefs he knew. So stillness took much liking to his frame.
The hearth did warm and comfort, flames that did work themselves well about fuel that did spend itself idly.
An ale presented. Ostrum nodded in thanks, still disquietened for his recent malady. He did take poiseful pull of the drink, and placed it down with shoulders that were still tensed.
"Most kind of you to aid me so, in libation and in healing," Ostrum did say, gaining more presence in the room. Sounds of other patrons began to shudder into his ears, the quiet of frost and slowness of his body returning to it's usual tempos. And the lurching pains that came were more than familiar, endured without much visual sign of his discomfort.
"The one that wrought this upon me before their final moment was a wild danger, a rabid sorcerer of quick temper and chill persuasions. I cut them down in the quick of their casting, their end lashing upon me instead of their target. Had I not intervened, their fancy to turn the living to frozen statue to shatter from hidden vantage would be have completed. And had you not intervened just now, I might have suffered the loss of this limb. My fighting days rendered, well," Ostrum said and shook his head. "Bears not to thinking about."
Another pull from the ale, smaller this time. Placed down gently, as if the quietness of the deed did provide his words more volume.
"You're new to this side of the world I do take it then. Welcome. May I offer introduction. I am one Sir Ostrum Brandish, Knight of the Order of Enshrined Blades. And I find myself in your debt. Allow me a little pause, but I shall lend you what wisdom I can muster. This land is much to many. And you have aided one availing to their oaths to it. You have my thanks."
Rodin Graveworn
Rodin Graveworn
Member
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- Character Biography
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“You’re new to this side of the world i do take it then. Welcome. May I offer introduction. I am one Sir Ostrum Brandish, Knight of the Order of Enshrined Blades. And I find myself in your debt. Allow me a little pause, but I shall lend you what wisdom I can muster. This land is much too many. And you have aided one availing to their oaths to it. You have my thanks.”
Rodin nodded,
“No thanks needed.” He took his ale and swigged another mouthful before placing it to one side again, watching the embers of the fire dance their merry dance within the hearth. “I am indeed new, having just left the Artimus’ company from the isles of Sheketh. You see me at my worst, friend. I find myself in exile and seeking fortune through hired blade or whatever venture requires my aid. I heard there were many an opportunity to make ones fortune here-.” He stopped briefly to scan the room, a commotion had broken out towards the back of the bar, but it was nothing to be concerned with. One of the guards had spilled ale over another patrons back. There was then a closely following jeer of intoxicated individuals who thought it hilarious. “-So i ventured out in search for my own.” Rodin turned to Ostrum, noting the well kept moustache he wore and how his armour was so meticulously repaired and kept in shape. I could learn a thing or two from this guy. He thought to himself, as once again the fire crackled and spat out a little ember onto the table. This time it span like a top, turning in place in a rouge ballet of glistening wonder before extinguishing itself.
“I thought I told you no more!” The barmaid bellowed with such force it jolted Rodin from his seat. She was stood with her hands on her wide hips, shaking her head at one of the patrons who had quite obviously had too much to drink and was trying to make off with another helping of cider “You bloody parasite you.” She thumped the back of his head with her outstretched hand, with enough force to convince him grievously return the beverage it to the barmaid with a sorry expression on his face. This lady was an old battle-axe if ever there was one.
“Well at least the entertainment is good here Ostrum.” Rodin chuckled, in an attempt to get him to focus on something other than the pain that was quite obviously working its way into his system by now. Regrowing bones and tissue was an unpleasant activity in itself alone. Rodin shivered at the thought and checked down at the guarded limb clutched in Ostrum’s other arm. Colour was starting to return to the flesh now, and the etching of swollen skin and expanded blood vessels had settled down considerably given the time that had passed. The heat from the fireplace was doing its work now, hopefully a couple of days and Ostrum would be fighting fit again.
It had seemed like an age, that Rodin had shared the company of a Knight. Back in Sheketh he and his cohort spent many a night in front of a fire much like this one, chewing the cud over who’s mission was the most glorious or who was next in line for sparring practice because of missing duties. He missed those days, not so much the hierarchy of it, but the individuals he had called comrades… Had long since forgotten him no doubt.
Don’t loose focus. He told himself, Live in the present. He found himself staring into the flames, drowning out the cacophony of noise about the place that had started to increase once again.
“So what is your current quest, Sir Ostrum of the Enshrined Blades? Are you set on a mission or was this a freak encounter with such a tricky sorcerer?” Rodin sat back a bit from the fireplace and produced a pipe, packing it with tobacco and lighting it with a small fire spell between his finger and thumb with a click. He took a long, slow pull from the sweet leaf and set his gaze upon the knight once again. It seemed in this light Ostrum was much younger than he once appeared, maybe it was the look of pain and anguish on his face when he first entered the bucket of blood… but there was something about him that Rodin found intriguing. Such a strange blade he carried with him, it looked enchanted at a glimpse, but Rodin couldn’t be sure of such things without further investigation, or questioning. Neither of which he was too fussed about pursuing just yet. He wanted to know what this knight had on his mind and wether there was a mission worth tagging along for. If Rodin knew one thing about knights, is that there was always a quest. If there wasn’t a quest; they were searching for one.
He blew a small cloud of smoke into the air and rocked in his chair slightly, allowing the ale to go down nicely he took in the atmosphere of the evening. The fireplace crackled on, Ostrum cradled his arm beside the fireplace and stared deep in thought into it. A few patrons were up and leaving now, saying their goodbyes as they exited through the oak door, a cold breeze blew inward and rain hissed at the floor outside. The weather had taken a turn, and thunder rolled in the background. Besides the two, a maid with auburn hair lent over to close the nearby window from the onslaught of rain, that almost extinguished the candles within the windowsill. Rain begun to patter against the pains of glass and streak its way down in long fingers that puddled together. Another flash of lightning in the distance illuminated the entire street casting long shadows deep into the four corners of the room. This was most certainly a good night for ale and bread.
Ostrum Brandish
Rodin nodded,
“No thanks needed.” He took his ale and swigged another mouthful before placing it to one side again, watching the embers of the fire dance their merry dance within the hearth. “I am indeed new, having just left the Artimus’ company from the isles of Sheketh. You see me at my worst, friend. I find myself in exile and seeking fortune through hired blade or whatever venture requires my aid. I heard there were many an opportunity to make ones fortune here-.” He stopped briefly to scan the room, a commotion had broken out towards the back of the bar, but it was nothing to be concerned with. One of the guards had spilled ale over another patrons back. There was then a closely following jeer of intoxicated individuals who thought it hilarious. “-So i ventured out in search for my own.” Rodin turned to Ostrum, noting the well kept moustache he wore and how his armour was so meticulously repaired and kept in shape. I could learn a thing or two from this guy. He thought to himself, as once again the fire crackled and spat out a little ember onto the table. This time it span like a top, turning in place in a rouge ballet of glistening wonder before extinguishing itself.
“I thought I told you no more!” The barmaid bellowed with such force it jolted Rodin from his seat. She was stood with her hands on her wide hips, shaking her head at one of the patrons who had quite obviously had too much to drink and was trying to make off with another helping of cider “You bloody parasite you.” She thumped the back of his head with her outstretched hand, with enough force to convince him grievously return the beverage it to the barmaid with a sorry expression on his face. This lady was an old battle-axe if ever there was one.
“Well at least the entertainment is good here Ostrum.” Rodin chuckled, in an attempt to get him to focus on something other than the pain that was quite obviously working its way into his system by now. Regrowing bones and tissue was an unpleasant activity in itself alone. Rodin shivered at the thought and checked down at the guarded limb clutched in Ostrum’s other arm. Colour was starting to return to the flesh now, and the etching of swollen skin and expanded blood vessels had settled down considerably given the time that had passed. The heat from the fireplace was doing its work now, hopefully a couple of days and Ostrum would be fighting fit again.
It had seemed like an age, that Rodin had shared the company of a Knight. Back in Sheketh he and his cohort spent many a night in front of a fire much like this one, chewing the cud over who’s mission was the most glorious or who was next in line for sparring practice because of missing duties. He missed those days, not so much the hierarchy of it, but the individuals he had called comrades… Had long since forgotten him no doubt.
Don’t loose focus. He told himself, Live in the present. He found himself staring into the flames, drowning out the cacophony of noise about the place that had started to increase once again.
“So what is your current quest, Sir Ostrum of the Enshrined Blades? Are you set on a mission or was this a freak encounter with such a tricky sorcerer?” Rodin sat back a bit from the fireplace and produced a pipe, packing it with tobacco and lighting it with a small fire spell between his finger and thumb with a click. He took a long, slow pull from the sweet leaf and set his gaze upon the knight once again. It seemed in this light Ostrum was much younger than he once appeared, maybe it was the look of pain and anguish on his face when he first entered the bucket of blood… but there was something about him that Rodin found intriguing. Such a strange blade he carried with him, it looked enchanted at a glimpse, but Rodin couldn’t be sure of such things without further investigation, or questioning. Neither of which he was too fussed about pursuing just yet. He wanted to know what this knight had on his mind and wether there was a mission worth tagging along for. If Rodin knew one thing about knights, is that there was always a quest. If there wasn’t a quest; they were searching for one.
He blew a small cloud of smoke into the air and rocked in his chair slightly, allowing the ale to go down nicely he took in the atmosphere of the evening. The fireplace crackled on, Ostrum cradled his arm beside the fireplace and stared deep in thought into it. A few patrons were up and leaving now, saying their goodbyes as they exited through the oak door, a cold breeze blew inward and rain hissed at the floor outside. The weather had taken a turn, and thunder rolled in the background. Besides the two, a maid with auburn hair lent over to close the nearby window from the onslaught of rain, that almost extinguished the candles within the windowsill. Rain begun to patter against the pains of glass and streak its way down in long fingers that puddled together. Another flash of lightning in the distance illuminated the entire street casting long shadows deep into the four corners of the room. This was most certainly a good night for ale and bread.
Ostrum Brandish
Ostrum Brandish
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Ostrum gave reply after some looks to the flame to consider how to phrase his answer. The turmoil of such a seedy tavern played out, and for a flash of a moment he considered that he might have to intervene. Yet his left arm was to be treated as crippled for now, and he was no bouncer. This place of regular sawdust did not need his approaches of authority, he did think.
I've done enough drastic to keep the peace true, and this place cannot be quelled of it's nature.
"I had some intel previous of miscreants and villains in this area, and happenstance placed me at the fore of solving the issue the sorcerer was creating in abundance. Hunting down magic users is not my Order's forte, yet providence to the innocent that may be laid low by their talents, is. I was at the right place at his wrong notions to inflict his vicious weirding wits upon the citizenry. I did as I must. Had I been prepared for such an encounter, I might have taken some moments to fortify my defences. But there were precious moments to spare before their cruel end be served. Hence my injury. In their death throes, their prepared magics did wrathful play out on me, instead of their unaware victim."
Ostrum settled somewhat more comfortably in his seat. He had said all without the beaming pride or braggacio of an errant knight. It was a dutiful report of facts as he did percieve.
He looked to his armour, which still held despite such frozen tortures. And then back to his company.
"My Order are rarely the questing sort. To place simply, we Enshrined provide stalwart defence, contest and service. I am awaiting a charge and cause from my superiors. That is to say, I am a free agent for a time. I serve the realm as is required and expected. By happenstance or planning, I do what I can when I must, and act accordingly to the needs I perceive."
Ostrum did smooth his moustache, take a pull of ale, smooth back his moustache again after replacing his tankard.
"You pursue fortune. An honest enough goal. There are many avenues to such, and opportunities. You wield the healing arts. And perhaps more important, you wield wits to act, and manners of accord. You're a blade for hire, and I may have need, and the means to provide employment for that service for time if you were so interested."
Ostrum's brow furrowed as if he did fight a wave of pain for a moment. He pressed on in conversation, no sign of troubles in his voice, well tempered by discipline.
"My intel gathered has problems further afield of this place that does need attending. Do you know of the lay of this land? Have you seen a map of Alliria? Before any notion employment, I would serve you some scope of the land if you would hear and see it. I do owe you that much."
Rodin Graveworn
I've done enough drastic to keep the peace true, and this place cannot be quelled of it's nature.
"I had some intel previous of miscreants and villains in this area, and happenstance placed me at the fore of solving the issue the sorcerer was creating in abundance. Hunting down magic users is not my Order's forte, yet providence to the innocent that may be laid low by their talents, is. I was at the right place at his wrong notions to inflict his vicious weirding wits upon the citizenry. I did as I must. Had I been prepared for such an encounter, I might have taken some moments to fortify my defences. But there were precious moments to spare before their cruel end be served. Hence my injury. In their death throes, their prepared magics did wrathful play out on me, instead of their unaware victim."
Ostrum settled somewhat more comfortably in his seat. He had said all without the beaming pride or braggacio of an errant knight. It was a dutiful report of facts as he did percieve.
He looked to his armour, which still held despite such frozen tortures. And then back to his company.
"My Order are rarely the questing sort. To place simply, we Enshrined provide stalwart defence, contest and service. I am awaiting a charge and cause from my superiors. That is to say, I am a free agent for a time. I serve the realm as is required and expected. By happenstance or planning, I do what I can when I must, and act accordingly to the needs I perceive."
Ostrum did smooth his moustache, take a pull of ale, smooth back his moustache again after replacing his tankard.
"You pursue fortune. An honest enough goal. There are many avenues to such, and opportunities. You wield the healing arts. And perhaps more important, you wield wits to act, and manners of accord. You're a blade for hire, and I may have need, and the means to provide employment for that service for time if you were so interested."
Ostrum's brow furrowed as if he did fight a wave of pain for a moment. He pressed on in conversation, no sign of troubles in his voice, well tempered by discipline.
"My intel gathered has problems further afield of this place that does need attending. Do you know of the lay of this land? Have you seen a map of Alliria? Before any notion employment, I would serve you some scope of the land if you would hear and see it. I do owe you that much."
Rodin Graveworn
Rodin Graveworn
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Rarely the questing sort? Rodin mused to himself. The notion of such a thing proved just how sheltered an existence he had under the Brotherhood. It was drilled into him that a service to others provided by means of questing was paramount to the succession of a knight through the ranks of the upper echelons. Failure to acquire a quest meant ridicule and damnation from your peers at best. For it was the creed of the Brotherhood of the Moon to Serve the secret order and find meaning in the dark. Hunt down the evildoer and their ilk for reward and glory.
Much had changed in this world that Rodin felt he no longer knew. Since revoking his vows he felt like he was questioning everything around him. What was true? What was the right path? He knew not of knights venturing out into the wilds by themselves, freelancing. Such a venture was discouraged by the Brotherhood, but these were strange times. Ostrum held himself well despite the pain, his posture that of a nobleman through and through. Rodin had many questions for this man who seemed much more accustomed to the mainland than he.
“Alas, most of my knowledge is of Sheketh and her islands. I spent most of my youth in Epressa and the Ixchel wilds. I forged my own skills as a youngling In the north Eretejva tundra and fought my way out of imprisonment in the city of Minaris. There I was forced into exile for my revoking of my faith. Despite my prowess in battle, and proven loyalty to the cause. I found myself amongst wolves. Waiting with bated breath for my downfall, those who I once called friends soon turned and I was left clinging to the mainsail of the Artimus before I knew what had befallen me.” Rodin took a long drag of his pipe and cursed under his breath, “They know of me well there, Ostrum. But that place is behind me. I know not of these lands and the spoils they offer. I know only of the spine and her glorious jewel Belgrath. I heard from the sailors that it is a glorious sight to behold. I would very much like to see it one day.”
Having said this, he knew a fair man when he saw one. This Ostrum fellow seemed trustworthy enough. Having spent some of the evening in the glow of the fireplace, Rodin turned away for a moment and looked Ostrum directly in the eye.
“Please, tell me more of this land. Fortune is one thing but I feel like I am on the path of atonement for my past. If I can be of service in any way, then pray sir, do continue.”
Rodin stretched for a moment, checked his timepiece again from underneath his breastplate. Knowing its familiar shape in his hand, it was more of a muscle memory to take this out and look at it than an action of timekeeping. It was much like an impulsive series of motions, one which soothed him without even knowing. The anxiety of not knowing the lay of the land, the unfamiliar surroundings and the volume of the patrons at the bar made it feel more needed than before. Strange he thought, whilst staring at the hands of the timepiece once again, frozen within their state. Worn, tattered and stained but nonetheless his prized possession. I never did get this fixed.
Ale was running dry by this point, and Rodin motioned for another two to be brought fourth for them to enjoy at the hearthside. His stomach pleaded for more bread so another order was made. Travelling was hungry business. He mused to himself. Taking great bites of the warm dough and washing it down with glorious swills of fresh ale. Such a meal was meagre but much appreciated after he days at sea with nothing but salted crackers, cheese and rum. If he had to so much look at another salted cracker again he would vomit. How sailors lived on such things he did not know. Strange folk.
He cleared his throat for a moment and something within the doorway caught his eye. Two large men stumbled in against the rain, long blue robes sodden with the deluge that was outdoors. One man had a large pimpled nose and sullen cheeks, looked almost plague ridden. The other was much younger than he, possibly a young twenties Rodin would have guessed. With a bowl haircut and talisman around his neck, he panted from excursion within the arch of the door, and looked around the room as if searching for someone, squinting against the dull light.
“Friends of yours?” Rodin motioned to Ostrum, who had not moved from his seat.
Ostrum Brandish
Much had changed in this world that Rodin felt he no longer knew. Since revoking his vows he felt like he was questioning everything around him. What was true? What was the right path? He knew not of knights venturing out into the wilds by themselves, freelancing. Such a venture was discouraged by the Brotherhood, but these were strange times. Ostrum held himself well despite the pain, his posture that of a nobleman through and through. Rodin had many questions for this man who seemed much more accustomed to the mainland than he.
“Alas, most of my knowledge is of Sheketh and her islands. I spent most of my youth in Epressa and the Ixchel wilds. I forged my own skills as a youngling In the north Eretejva tundra and fought my way out of imprisonment in the city of Minaris. There I was forced into exile for my revoking of my faith. Despite my prowess in battle, and proven loyalty to the cause. I found myself amongst wolves. Waiting with bated breath for my downfall, those who I once called friends soon turned and I was left clinging to the mainsail of the Artimus before I knew what had befallen me.” Rodin took a long drag of his pipe and cursed under his breath, “They know of me well there, Ostrum. But that place is behind me. I know not of these lands and the spoils they offer. I know only of the spine and her glorious jewel Belgrath. I heard from the sailors that it is a glorious sight to behold. I would very much like to see it one day.”
Having said this, he knew a fair man when he saw one. This Ostrum fellow seemed trustworthy enough. Having spent some of the evening in the glow of the fireplace, Rodin turned away for a moment and looked Ostrum directly in the eye.
“Please, tell me more of this land. Fortune is one thing but I feel like I am on the path of atonement for my past. If I can be of service in any way, then pray sir, do continue.”
Rodin stretched for a moment, checked his timepiece again from underneath his breastplate. Knowing its familiar shape in his hand, it was more of a muscle memory to take this out and look at it than an action of timekeeping. It was much like an impulsive series of motions, one which soothed him without even knowing. The anxiety of not knowing the lay of the land, the unfamiliar surroundings and the volume of the patrons at the bar made it feel more needed than before. Strange he thought, whilst staring at the hands of the timepiece once again, frozen within their state. Worn, tattered and stained but nonetheless his prized possession. I never did get this fixed.
Ale was running dry by this point, and Rodin motioned for another two to be brought fourth for them to enjoy at the hearthside. His stomach pleaded for more bread so another order was made. Travelling was hungry business. He mused to himself. Taking great bites of the warm dough and washing it down with glorious swills of fresh ale. Such a meal was meagre but much appreciated after he days at sea with nothing but salted crackers, cheese and rum. If he had to so much look at another salted cracker again he would vomit. How sailors lived on such things he did not know. Strange folk.
He cleared his throat for a moment and something within the doorway caught his eye. Two large men stumbled in against the rain, long blue robes sodden with the deluge that was outdoors. One man had a large pimpled nose and sullen cheeks, looked almost plague ridden. The other was much younger than he, possibly a young twenties Rodin would have guessed. With a bowl haircut and talisman around his neck, he panted from excursion within the arch of the door, and looked around the room as if searching for someone, squinting against the dull light.
“Friends of yours?” Rodin motioned to Ostrum, who had not moved from his seat.
Ostrum Brandish
Ostrum Brandish
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Ostrum listened on, impressed by the fellow's extensive travels. Further afield the man had travelled than himself, and had endured much from such paths travelled seemed.
This talk of atonement was a regular phrase amongst worthy people Ostrum did think, although what missteps that caused such a need were neither Ostrum's business nor his concern. What could cause damnation by some was praise worthy behaviour to others he knew. The man was the measure, he thought, and to each their inclination towards their own paths. His own was bound by code and duties. And this man had helped him in his moment of frost born struggles. That was enough.
Besides, sell swords were rarely unblemished and perfect by their nature, he did think. Those that were either hiding their flaws, or yet to develop beyond youthful exuberances from innocence to experience.
The introduction of the two figures, large and with seeking eye made their business clear. Rodin made mention of their presence as his left gauntlet did flicker with pale greying lights, barely perceptible to the eye, yet did tingle the hairs upon Ostrum's neck.
"Ah," Ostrum did say with some grave element to his tone, "Friend to my Order's purpose, or at least, capable and present in their role towards our ends. A moment," Ostrum did say, rising to his feet, some small pains endured as he did rise from leg power alone. Dignity did refuse to allow himself to carry himself anything less than capable in front of such servants of the Order.
Ostrum made slow approach, looking at each of the two in appraisal. They locked eyes with him, the necklace giving out minor permutations of that same grey light that trace around Ostrum's own armlet. No warm welcome, no smiles or relief. These were servants of independent source, yet still in function did they do what more loyal retainers did provide more thoroughly.
Quiet words did pass between them, Ostrum's eyes upon the one with the necklace. A nod from Ostrum. A parchment bound and sealed passed from the necklaced one to Ostrum's own hand. And then a further staring, a furrowing of features from Ostrum that did speak much where silence lingered.
A deliverance of a purse of moneys from the pimpled nosed fellow to the knight enshrined. It was as if there was some begrudging sluggishness to such supply. A final smattering of words, audible perhaps to Rodin. "Our tithes be paid this quarter, in toils and in coins. Ask not of us again so quick."
Then to the bar did the two pass by, content with their duty's end being so served and with all compunction to their thirst did they serve now.
Ostrum returned, sealed scroll within his hand. He passed it to his right, and brought left across the table. An impulse of magic did wreathe across his gauntlet, the same greying light now casting down upon the table some etchings of topography. As if scorched by flame or carved by delicate burning chistle, a map revealed itself in scribing motions. Of hills and mountains and layline and portal location of Alliria. This process took some moments, during which Ostrum did explain.
"Behold, Alliria, in what detail I can manage present," Ostrum said, as if laboured for such etching. Normally this cantrip would not cause consternation, but channelling what limited magicks he could bear in such subtle display through recently frozen arteries caused fresh prangs of aches to arrive.
He withdrew his gauntlet, and allowed his companion to peer, as he broke the seal to the scroll beneath the table. And did read it.
A length of time to fill two and three tankards for the ones that delivered such news to Ostrum. They ignored the Enshrined Knight, casting no eye upon the one they had handed a small wealth towards.
Tithes for duties delivered by another of his kin many a year ago. Ostrum was no sellsword. The Enshrined were indeed knightly. But great deeds that protected the nobility had it's obligations from those so saved. Altruism and selfless service had to mingle with practicalities and expenses. From one deed performed for noble house, did ten ventures become funded, were swords forged and armour locked upon frame by successful mission engaged. Logistics allowed lofty ideals the resources to be effective.
And behold Ostrum did to precious news of another mission before him. He sealed the parchment, placed it within satchel upon his belt, and spoke on in quiet confidence to Rodin.
"You may indeed get your wish to see the Spine, if you would to rise to the occasion set before me and stand with me in the combats to arrive by our entrance. It seems the frost of that sorcerer upon me was an omen of further chills to bear. And further villains to thwart, this time in such snowy fields of the Spine. Coins are mine to muster to my action demanded. I have one other in mind well suited to this end and proven. I would be glad to help you reach your fortune, and give you reason to visit the Spine with blade and valour."
Ostrum had gained a further confidence for such a missive read. There was a purpose now, a task before him. Duties and opportunities abound to those who found themselves beholden to this land of networked knights.
Rodin Graveworn
This talk of atonement was a regular phrase amongst worthy people Ostrum did think, although what missteps that caused such a need were neither Ostrum's business nor his concern. What could cause damnation by some was praise worthy behaviour to others he knew. The man was the measure, he thought, and to each their inclination towards their own paths. His own was bound by code and duties. And this man had helped him in his moment of frost born struggles. That was enough.
Besides, sell swords were rarely unblemished and perfect by their nature, he did think. Those that were either hiding their flaws, or yet to develop beyond youthful exuberances from innocence to experience.
The introduction of the two figures, large and with seeking eye made their business clear. Rodin made mention of their presence as his left gauntlet did flicker with pale greying lights, barely perceptible to the eye, yet did tingle the hairs upon Ostrum's neck.
"Ah," Ostrum did say with some grave element to his tone, "Friend to my Order's purpose, or at least, capable and present in their role towards our ends. A moment," Ostrum did say, rising to his feet, some small pains endured as he did rise from leg power alone. Dignity did refuse to allow himself to carry himself anything less than capable in front of such servants of the Order.
Ostrum made slow approach, looking at each of the two in appraisal. They locked eyes with him, the necklace giving out minor permutations of that same grey light that trace around Ostrum's own armlet. No warm welcome, no smiles or relief. These were servants of independent source, yet still in function did they do what more loyal retainers did provide more thoroughly.
Quiet words did pass between them, Ostrum's eyes upon the one with the necklace. A nod from Ostrum. A parchment bound and sealed passed from the necklaced one to Ostrum's own hand. And then a further staring, a furrowing of features from Ostrum that did speak much where silence lingered.
A deliverance of a purse of moneys from the pimpled nosed fellow to the knight enshrined. It was as if there was some begrudging sluggishness to such supply. A final smattering of words, audible perhaps to Rodin. "Our tithes be paid this quarter, in toils and in coins. Ask not of us again so quick."
Then to the bar did the two pass by, content with their duty's end being so served and with all compunction to their thirst did they serve now.
Ostrum returned, sealed scroll within his hand. He passed it to his right, and brought left across the table. An impulse of magic did wreathe across his gauntlet, the same greying light now casting down upon the table some etchings of topography. As if scorched by flame or carved by delicate burning chistle, a map revealed itself in scribing motions. Of hills and mountains and layline and portal location of Alliria. This process took some moments, during which Ostrum did explain.
"Behold, Alliria, in what detail I can manage present," Ostrum said, as if laboured for such etching. Normally this cantrip would not cause consternation, but channelling what limited magicks he could bear in such subtle display through recently frozen arteries caused fresh prangs of aches to arrive.
He withdrew his gauntlet, and allowed his companion to peer, as he broke the seal to the scroll beneath the table. And did read it.
A length of time to fill two and three tankards for the ones that delivered such news to Ostrum. They ignored the Enshrined Knight, casting no eye upon the one they had handed a small wealth towards.
Tithes for duties delivered by another of his kin many a year ago. Ostrum was no sellsword. The Enshrined were indeed knightly. But great deeds that protected the nobility had it's obligations from those so saved. Altruism and selfless service had to mingle with practicalities and expenses. From one deed performed for noble house, did ten ventures become funded, were swords forged and armour locked upon frame by successful mission engaged. Logistics allowed lofty ideals the resources to be effective.
And behold Ostrum did to precious news of another mission before him. He sealed the parchment, placed it within satchel upon his belt, and spoke on in quiet confidence to Rodin.
"You may indeed get your wish to see the Spine, if you would to rise to the occasion set before me and stand with me in the combats to arrive by our entrance. It seems the frost of that sorcerer upon me was an omen of further chills to bear. And further villains to thwart, this time in such snowy fields of the Spine. Coins are mine to muster to my action demanded. I have one other in mind well suited to this end and proven. I would be glad to help you reach your fortune, and give you reason to visit the Spine with blade and valour."
Ostrum had gained a further confidence for such a missive read. There was a purpose now, a task before him. Duties and opportunities abound to those who found themselves beholden to this land of networked knights.
Rodin Graveworn
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Rodin Graveworn
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Two interesting characters. Rodin mused. He had been wary of the two who ventured fourth, but as Rodin carefully watched the interaction between the third party and Ostrum, it became apparent that begrudgingly they were there to deliver news and coin to the man. Seeing it for the exchange it was, and not some trap, he calmed his casting hand; which was raised beneath the table and aglow with a fire spell for insurance purposes in case Ostrum required assistance. The embers died away quickly, leaving a small amount of soot upon Rodin’s fingertips. He quickly brushed the remanence away onto his cloak and sat upright again.
He watched as Ostrum returned and splayed out the map, his eyes scanned the vast lands that slowly revealed themselves through Osrtum's magic. The lowlands, to the North; Crobhear Lake, and running from the North to the SouthWest was the mighty Spine. A tectonic mass of snow and ice running for miles across the land casting long shadows and sheltering the inlands from storms to the East. There, in amongst the crags, somewhere high and perilous was the city walls of Belgrath. Some sailors that he had travelled with had mentioned the great battle there, against Orks, Elves, Humans and Dwarves. How the battle had been fought so fiercely that it was only when the Human reinforcements that came to the aid of the Dwarves that clinched the victory by the very skin of their teeth. Nowadays it was said that Belgrath let anyone into the city, friend or foe alike. There was an unspoken and uneasy tolerance of traders and settlers alike. Many sought refuge here as Belgraths great halls accommodated to the many trades and crafts that people sought after.
Indeed this sounded like a fine place to visit.
“Tell me more of this proposal Ostrum. I am keen to hear of it.” He smiled at the thought of travelling once again. All be it by land this time. Never again the sea if he could help it. Where many had taken to the sea from his home country it was never something that had settled well with Rodin. His large frame made it particularly awkward on board a ship with lines, rigging and such all across the place. He was often ridiculed for having no ‘sea legs’ as a youngster. The truth of the matter was that he never had developed a taste for the sea, and was not likely to either.
Another swig of ale and he studied the map further, noting the Eldyr tree at the foot of the spine. Was this where the aforementioned Knights of Anathaeum resided? There was a marking above the tree, with 'K of A' inscribed with beautiful gold leafed calligraphy. This must be the place. Rodin thought, and moved further on across the map following the markings for lay lines.
Some time had passed between them both as Rodin studied the map strenuously. His eyes fixated on the lands that rolled on for what seemed no end. The isles of Sheketh seemed so far away now. So small in the grand scheme of things. For a moment he became homesick, only for a fleeting moment did it last. But he wondered what his brethren were doing.
Enough of that. He told himself, and washed it down with some more ale.
Whilst the promise of fortune was captivating, the promise of adventure was more alluring. It had been a long time since Rodin had ventured fourth into the great unknown, and travelling at Ostrum’s side would no doubt be advantageous for many a reason. Given the current situation, it would be a couple fo days before Ostrum was back to fighting fit again. Rodin could use this time to gather more information on the K of A and potentially strike up a conversation about joining such a noble cause. This would have to be approached tentatively though, given his background and appearance, one would give more than just the cursory glance to him from time to time. If the K of A were a more reserved organisation he may not be accepted. This was his burden to bare. Not all who walked the dark path were given second chances in life. And he accepted that as his fate should it be so.
“I feel you’re about to tell me about something I will find most captivating.” Rodin chuckled as he filled his pipe once again, awaiting Ostrum’s monologue.
Ostrum Brandish
He watched as Ostrum returned and splayed out the map, his eyes scanned the vast lands that slowly revealed themselves through Osrtum's magic. The lowlands, to the North; Crobhear Lake, and running from the North to the SouthWest was the mighty Spine. A tectonic mass of snow and ice running for miles across the land casting long shadows and sheltering the inlands from storms to the East. There, in amongst the crags, somewhere high and perilous was the city walls of Belgrath. Some sailors that he had travelled with had mentioned the great battle there, against Orks, Elves, Humans and Dwarves. How the battle had been fought so fiercely that it was only when the Human reinforcements that came to the aid of the Dwarves that clinched the victory by the very skin of their teeth. Nowadays it was said that Belgrath let anyone into the city, friend or foe alike. There was an unspoken and uneasy tolerance of traders and settlers alike. Many sought refuge here as Belgraths great halls accommodated to the many trades and crafts that people sought after.
Indeed this sounded like a fine place to visit.
“Tell me more of this proposal Ostrum. I am keen to hear of it.” He smiled at the thought of travelling once again. All be it by land this time. Never again the sea if he could help it. Where many had taken to the sea from his home country it was never something that had settled well with Rodin. His large frame made it particularly awkward on board a ship with lines, rigging and such all across the place. He was often ridiculed for having no ‘sea legs’ as a youngster. The truth of the matter was that he never had developed a taste for the sea, and was not likely to either.
Another swig of ale and he studied the map further, noting the Eldyr tree at the foot of the spine. Was this where the aforementioned Knights of Anathaeum resided? There was a marking above the tree, with 'K of A' inscribed with beautiful gold leafed calligraphy. This must be the place. Rodin thought, and moved further on across the map following the markings for lay lines.
Some time had passed between them both as Rodin studied the map strenuously. His eyes fixated on the lands that rolled on for what seemed no end. The isles of Sheketh seemed so far away now. So small in the grand scheme of things. For a moment he became homesick, only for a fleeting moment did it last. But he wondered what his brethren were doing.
Enough of that. He told himself, and washed it down with some more ale.
Whilst the promise of fortune was captivating, the promise of adventure was more alluring. It had been a long time since Rodin had ventured fourth into the great unknown, and travelling at Ostrum’s side would no doubt be advantageous for many a reason. Given the current situation, it would be a couple fo days before Ostrum was back to fighting fit again. Rodin could use this time to gather more information on the K of A and potentially strike up a conversation about joining such a noble cause. This would have to be approached tentatively though, given his background and appearance, one would give more than just the cursory glance to him from time to time. If the K of A were a more reserved organisation he may not be accepted. This was his burden to bare. Not all who walked the dark path were given second chances in life. And he accepted that as his fate should it be so.
“I feel you’re about to tell me about something I will find most captivating.” Rodin chuckled as he filled his pipe once again, awaiting Ostrum’s monologue.
Ostrum Brandish
Ostrum Brandish
Member
- Messages
- 56
- Character Biography
- Link
Ostrum drew back the cantrip's guise of information about the table with a gesture, the etching of the land relinquishing it's hold upon the grain.
He took sip, considering how best to go about the briefing. And then good sense did rule him as he saw the myriad of low lifes that did roam from table to table. He knew better than to reveal all detail here and now. There were lives dependant on this operation, an operation that his organisation was not at the helm of. He could not afford either in taxation of his future worries nor the lives that would depend upon their intervention to be so liberal with the details where the walls were not sealed.
Ostrum spoke deathly quiet.
"I cannot speak in detail here. Operational security, you understand. But I tell you this. It involves heading to the Spine and liberating an area from criminal elements."
It was the equvilent of saying one might hunt for foxes somewhere in Fal'Addas. The locations one might do such a thing were vast. All manner of criminal elements did make the freezing spine their haunts.
He spoke more casually, as to not gain prying ears merely for virtue of their conspiratorial volume.
"More I will speak of when we have rested and are free of this place, and when we meet with another sellsword who has proven himself on the field on several occasion with me. One Vandor Colten. Your pay shall match his. Which is this to begin with for such special operations," Ostrum said, reaching for coinpurse that was affixed about his neck by necklace, the pouch of which nestled in a compartment in his armour as to prevent it from weighing his movements. There were numerous on such devices, designed to avoid a cutpurse's profession laying low such tithes delivered to him, and to prevent the vulgarity of counting out such wages to prospective hirelings and services from larger more secured funds.
Ostrum gripped the purse, and unsealed it to reveal the glimmer of gold. A fistful entire of the stuff within his palm so secured by string and cloth. Sealed it again, content that there had been enough sight of it. At least a month's pay for soldiering in respectful regiment.
"We would leave tomorrow if you would be so ready. There is no pressure of time, but good lives are endangered for this criminal element's ingenuity, and situations change the longer they are left unattended. We are to thwart them. And I shall be at the forefront. I hope this is enough for now. I am to receive more information once we meet with the force that are waylaid by their designs. I am confident I will find Vandor tonight. What say you?" Ostrum said, leaning back in chair, the very image of quiet confidence.
Rodin Graveworn
He took sip, considering how best to go about the briefing. And then good sense did rule him as he saw the myriad of low lifes that did roam from table to table. He knew better than to reveal all detail here and now. There were lives dependant on this operation, an operation that his organisation was not at the helm of. He could not afford either in taxation of his future worries nor the lives that would depend upon their intervention to be so liberal with the details where the walls were not sealed.
Ostrum spoke deathly quiet.
"I cannot speak in detail here. Operational security, you understand. But I tell you this. It involves heading to the Spine and liberating an area from criminal elements."
It was the equvilent of saying one might hunt for foxes somewhere in Fal'Addas. The locations one might do such a thing were vast. All manner of criminal elements did make the freezing spine their haunts.
He spoke more casually, as to not gain prying ears merely for virtue of their conspiratorial volume.
"More I will speak of when we have rested and are free of this place, and when we meet with another sellsword who has proven himself on the field on several occasion with me. One Vandor Colten. Your pay shall match his. Which is this to begin with for such special operations," Ostrum said, reaching for coinpurse that was affixed about his neck by necklace, the pouch of which nestled in a compartment in his armour as to prevent it from weighing his movements. There were numerous on such devices, designed to avoid a cutpurse's profession laying low such tithes delivered to him, and to prevent the vulgarity of counting out such wages to prospective hirelings and services from larger more secured funds.
Ostrum gripped the purse, and unsealed it to reveal the glimmer of gold. A fistful entire of the stuff within his palm so secured by string and cloth. Sealed it again, content that there had been enough sight of it. At least a month's pay for soldiering in respectful regiment.
"We would leave tomorrow if you would be so ready. There is no pressure of time, but good lives are endangered for this criminal element's ingenuity, and situations change the longer they are left unattended. We are to thwart them. And I shall be at the forefront. I hope this is enough for now. I am to receive more information once we meet with the force that are waylaid by their designs. I am confident I will find Vandor tonight. What say you?" Ostrum said, leaning back in chair, the very image of quiet confidence.
Rodin Graveworn
Rodin Graveworn
Member
- Messages
- 11
- Character Biography
- Link
Ostrum had changed his voice into a more sombre tone. The inflection would have disguised it to most, but the importance of this mission was evidently a grave matter. Rodin knew it well, the look of impending toil and suffering. This was a perilous task make no doubt about it. Rodin nodded quietly to himself for a moment before coming to a final decision. With just a shrug, he turned to Ostrum:
“Aye, I could do with some adventure.” He stretched his arms and sat back, feeling the sinew strain and warm under stress. His body limbered up soon enough, and with a slight cough he checked his waistband for his knife and satchel. His bow was tucked beside his seat and ready with quiver full of red fletched arrows. His great sword sat obediently at his side like a faithful companion. Hilt gleaming in the firelight as he turned to make ready.
He awaited Ostrums lead, taking time to pull the dagger from his right boot and study it briefly. The blade was razor sharp still, with a short point it was perfectly balanced with an embossed handle. He sliced a piece of bread in two and folded it into a small handkerchief he had removed from his pouch. This will serve me well later. He thought, tucking it away dutifully, he finished his ale and sat patiently, awaiting with baited breath the plan of action. Arms folded, head nodding silently. Yes. Adventure awaits.
Ostrum Brandish
“Aye, I could do with some adventure.” He stretched his arms and sat back, feeling the sinew strain and warm under stress. His body limbered up soon enough, and with a slight cough he checked his waistband for his knife and satchel. His bow was tucked beside his seat and ready with quiver full of red fletched arrows. His great sword sat obediently at his side like a faithful companion. Hilt gleaming in the firelight as he turned to make ready.
He awaited Ostrums lead, taking time to pull the dagger from his right boot and study it briefly. The blade was razor sharp still, with a short point it was perfectly balanced with an embossed handle. He sliced a piece of bread in two and folded it into a small handkerchief he had removed from his pouch. This will serve me well later. He thought, tucking it away dutifully, he finished his ale and sat patiently, awaiting with baited breath the plan of action. Arms folded, head nodding silently. Yes. Adventure awaits.
Ostrum Brandish