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Post by Riva Harel on Mar 8, 2015 19:15:19 GMT -6
Down to her officer’s uniform now, Riva exited her tent to the sound of clicking heels and the formal Etrurian salute paired with her title. It seemed none other than Miss Brunhild had found Riva on her own, which was just fine by the Officer. She’d need the young woman’s help, after all, as much as Riva didn’t like admitting it. While there were many things she could do on her own, greeting two prisoners at once was not something Riva could do solo.
“Miss Brunhild! Glad you could make it,” Riva returned her salute, though allowing herself to smile at the sight of another friendly face. She’d wanted Miss Brunhild to come on patrol with her, but her perky, peppy attitude was always better served increasing the men’s morale rather than patrolling. Riva would have been doing the same thing back when she was a low officer, but unfortunately as High Officer the red-haired woman had to be a figure of authority more often than not. It was a trade off, but one that had to be made after Ostia.
“Now, I have something to ask of you Miss Brunhild, and I believe you’ll do very well at this task.” Knowing the young woman would follow, Riva began walking them in the direction of the guardhouse that housed the few holding cells the camp had. The two men had been taken to cells where they couldn’t see one another, so if they did know who the other was, the camp wasn’t risking anything by letting them be in the same vicinity.
“As you likely know by now,” Riva started, acknowledging her battalion’s tendency to gossip, “the patrol found two men trying to enter Etruria by way of illegally crossing the border this evening.
“Those men are currently housed in the holding cells in the guardhouse,” Riva continued as they approached, “And I have a feeling they know one another.” It was a gut feeling, of course, but two men found so close together at the border was no mere coincidence.
As they arrived at the guardhouse, Riva stopped, turning on her heel to face the perky young blonde. “Miss Brunhild, you’ll be speaking with Mr. Wein Lowell this evening, of house Ostia according to his introduction. You can speak to him about anything you like, for as long as you like, as long as you find the answers to two questions: why was he crossing the border, and with whom? Be a friend in a time of need. That tends to get men like him talking.”
Riva smiled, straightening her right cuff on her jacket. “Now, I must get to our other friend. Just let the on duty guard - I believe it’s Private Richards tonight? - know I’ve sent you.” With that, the officer turned to enter the guardhouse, immediately making her way toward where their merchant friend was being held.
The “guardhouse” was not the most pleasant part of the camp, Riva had to admit. The whole place was nothing more than one small stone building that normally served as a checkpoint, and then three oversized tents that the battalion erected as an extension: dingy, dark, and all of them smelled of musk mixed with old hay and stale dirt. The cells inside weren’t used often, but they were small and only had a small cot and bucket of water in the corner; otherwise there was simply scattered hay to absorb some of the moisture that cropped up from passing rainstorms.
Riva approached the cell, nodding to the guard standing watch over their blonde-haired friend to unlock the barred door, which he did swiftly. Riva entered, the cell door being closed behind her as she joined her hands to rest at the small of her back, looking at her visitor.
“Allow me to apologize for the state of your arrangements... Valcrist, isn’t it?” Riva started, moving to cross her arms in front of her as she looked around the small cell. “Not the way I usually like to greet my visitors, but with so many men and women under my care, you must understand my caution.”
Riva smiled. “Now, I heard about the blades you had with you from a few of the corporals... did you smith them?”
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Freya Brünhild
Troubadour
It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings!
Posts: 23
Profession: Cleric
Affiliation: Inquisitional Army
Affinity: Thunder
Profile: Freya
OoC Alias: Synkkis
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Post by Freya Brünhild on Mar 12, 2015 23:41:36 GMT -6
With a cheerful smile, Freya saluted. "Yes Ma'am!" she reported enthusiastically, turning on her heels towards the guard she had just ran from but with an offensive spirit. There was something about High Officer Harel that made her feel she could do anything.
Approaching mister purply purp with his stupid purple shirt and plans for world domination, Freya was going to get into these cells now - with proper authorization! "High Officer Riva Harel sent me here to interrogate the prisoner!" she stated with a determined and sassy tone, sure of victory. Wait, this guy wore a green shirt. Huh!? "Yeah, no problem. Go on ahead." he stated nonchalantly. Mental note: taken. Guys wearing green you could trust. "You too!" she responded, immediately regretting what she said with an inward sigh. OK, perhaps things would go better with the super secret spy man.
Well, whoever dusted this place must've died because there was a lot of not dusting done in here. It was also pretty smelly. Wait, it was a familiar smell. At the front desk was her arch nemesis. Purple guy. "So, you've come back to see who's got the better taste in color!?" he challenged, rising from his seat, now clinging onto his purple collar. Lame.
"If I would, I'd wipe the floor with your underwear! Wait... No. Ugh. I mean, I've got orders from High Officer Harel to interrogate the prisoner. Time is short, so don't let the ways of your people stand in the way of military business!" Freya commanded with her hand on the table. Such exertion of force was enough to dissuade the man from bucking up against her. Victory was hers! "Y-Yeah... Back there. He's the only one on this floor." he mentioned, pointing the way to really not that far away. Still, it was enough of a ways to be out of immediate earshot.
Approaching the sorry looking fella, something didn't smell right about him either. The stale air of the cells wasn't helping. "So, heya. Why did you want to get put into a cage?" she asked out of the blue with absolutely no tact for whatever color shirt he was wearing. Apparently it made a big difference around here.
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Wein Lowell
Sniper
The Noble Arrow
If you're a glory hound, then I'm king of the glory hounds
Posts: 268
Lycia Fame: 2
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Post by Wein Lowell on Apr 13, 2015 18:57:29 GMT -6
Wein tensed up as he heard footsteps approaching his cell. He pushed himself to his seat in an attempt to make himself as presentable as he could. Lying down could be seen as an insult, and standing could be seen as agressive. He really just wanted to look like any old prisoner because, well, footsteps were either good, because they meant food or freedom, or they were bad, because they meant everything else. Wein did not want everything else. He wanted food, or he wanted freedom, preferrably the latter but he'd settle for the former. Or both! Freedom with a meal to go would be great. Probable? Hardly, but it would still be great. Ugh, look at him. He was so nervous it was pathetic. He'd pratically peed himself when that soldier had found him, but he figured the other man had done enough peeing or both of them. Now he had to be strong, tough, like the hero of an epic. They wouldn't roll over and die from something like this. If someone came in to lay some beatings on him, he'd take it like a man! Scars were the sign of a real man! Like his father always used to say, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
"So heya. Why did you want to get put into a cage?"
Having amped himself up, the Ostian was a bit taken aback by the friendly looking young woman that had approached his cage, doubly so when she began talking to him so casually. This was hardly what he had been expecting, which was nice, but her question was a bit insulting. If it had been some big scary looking man he would have likely answered in a heartbeat, saying something like "I was lost hunting" or "I don't know, I'm just stupid I guess", but in front of this girl it didn't take Wein long to change from a potentially compliant prisoner to a slightly affronted nobleman.
"Well, I, uh, I prefer 'holding cell', thank you," said Wein, raising a corrective finger in front of him. Cage had such an low connotation, like he was an animal or something. Of course, they were treating him like it, but he wouldn't give this woman the satisfaction of believing that he had been reduced to one. "And I didn't want to be put into anything. I was just traveling when one of your crony friends went and got that red-headed she-devil to throw me in here." The Ostian shook his head. "What, are you here to bring me to the gallows, or however you Etrurian's execute your prisoners?"
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Freya Brünhild
Troubadour
It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings!
Posts: 23
Profession: Cleric
Affiliation: Inquisitional Army
Affinity: Thunder
Profile: Freya
OoC Alias: Synkkis
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Post by Freya Brünhild on Apr 14, 2015 23:22:26 GMT -6
White shirts are touchy like purple shirts. They must be allies or something. Good to know when the purple people make their attack. But yeah, this guy was going on about red devils, gallows, and executions. Maybe they threw him in here because he's just so negative. Sheesh. Well, he lived in here now so it was his home and maybe Freya was being a bit rude.
"Okie dokie, 'holding cell'. Still, why not be at your house this late in the evening? If you didn't get back home in time you'd sleep through breakfast! That's the second most important time of the day, y'know..." she scolded him, hands on her hips and standing akimbo. "I don't know why we'd execute you unless you were some sort of megavillain. I won't tell the others, but any man wearing blue is a-ok in my book. Besides, you don't have horns on your forehead like a goat. Sadly, neither like a unicorn. That'd be interesting."
Pacing back and forth, Freya twidled her thumbs as she questioned the prisoner. Tough assignment as it was proving to be, but she wouldn't give up so easily like the purple guy.
"Did you have a buddy with you? Like Hansel and Gretel. If you got lost someone would have to try and find your bread crumbs, see?" she asked, while pantomiming searching through a forest and picking up specks off the ground and eating them. Hopefully it'd make the stubborn man understand her. Hopefully. Maybe. Hmm...
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Wein Lowell
Sniper
The Noble Arrow
If you're a glory hound, then I'm king of the glory hounds
Posts: 268
Lycia Fame: 2
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Post by Wein Lowell on May 4, 2015 11:31:15 GMT -6
Wein just kind of stared, dumbfounded, at this new visitor for a moment, attempting to process what she was saying. It was difficult. He failed. It was like he was speaking to a child with a nascent ability to speak, with enough understanding to respond to his words but not enough wisdom to know how to hold a proper conversation.
“Are you not with the Etrurians?” he asked, now completely unsure of himself. If this was some sort of psychological attack, it was clever, because Wein couldn't figure out its purpose. Lull him into a false sense of security? Or maybe this was designed to just screw with him; put him on edge. “I am imprisoned, young lady. That means I cannot go anywhere of my own free will. I could not…” Wein let out a long, exasperated sigh, “...go to my house, even if I wanted to. Not even for breakfast.”
The archer shook his head, running a hand through his hair then down across his face. This was an inane conversation. He wasn’t sure if he should be glad that he was “a-ok” in her book, but he figured it was at least better than not being so. That meant that she probably didn’t want to kill him, hopefully.
"Did you have a buddy with you? Like Hansel and Gretel. If you got lost someone would have to try and find your bread crumbs, see?
Wein perked up at the question. It was a bit more... directed than the other ones she had been asking. So had they gotten to the real questioning? Did he have a buddy with him? No. He and Jya had split up a while back. But why would she ask? The question only made sense if they had caught someone. Had they caught someone else crossing the border. Jya? That wouldn’t be good if true. Perhaps some counter-questioning was in order.
“No, nobody I can remember,” replied Wein with a shake of his head. He laid back in the hay that thinly padded the floor of his cell. “Why? Some little girl get lost and wander into your camp?”
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Post by Valcrist on May 16, 2015 14:24:03 GMT -6
A guardhouse? Wasn't this a camp? Do they just carry prisons in their pocket? Well the far more likely answer was that they chose to camp around the guardhouse as it was a fixed structure, but the thought of the alternative brought a fleeting moment of comedy to the smith. Just a twitch of the corner of his mouth, before it was wrenched back into its irritated snarl. This wasn't where he wanted to be, well in a philosophical way. Though he didn't want to physically be here either, but that goes without saying. When he left home however long ago it was, he expected adventures and heroes and incredible tales ahead. Not him slumming around in a Etrurian prison for getting caught trying to sneak out of the country while selling weapons in a nation he hated. He's tried the whole adventurer thing, it didn't work out too well. Now he's trying the merchant thing, and it seems to be going worse. At least he was never thrown in prison when he was fighting. So assuming he gets out of this place, what was the next step? Though this scarcely seemed like the time or place to think about such things, when a man is stuck in a cell with nothing to look at but the wall he can't help but wonder the choices in life that lead him there.
His eyes traced the stonework, as he let out a small amused grunt. Well this place wasn't going to win any beauty contests that was for sure. The room he was in was small and damp, and he could smell mildew and probably mold in the air. There was little light to speak of, but he could feel hay haphazardly scattered around like it would fix things. His hands were still bound by something, like some kinda wooden plate with these metal cuffs on them. All his weapons were taken, probably. So he had more of less helpless, which was a feeling he did not like. For all his whining and moaning about being lame and weak and what have you, he's always known deep down he wasn't really. That when push comes to shove, he was quite competent. He was particularly good at running. Running from situations and problems, also just plain moving fast. He's felt powerless before but never truly helpless.
Valcrist pressed the small of his back against the far wall, slumping back against it with a groan. His head tilted up as he stared at the featureless ceiling that he could barely make out. There was nothing to be gained from staring, he would be better off closing his eyes and listening, but that just wasn't how he work. Valcrist was sight, he could see, he could piece things together by how things looked. The smallest things amiss he could spot, but sound? For him sound didn't do a thing, it all sounded like a mess of noise mashing together like an angry elephant. So he stared at nothing, and he saw nothing. Even in his nigh-mindless state, Valcrist noticed as sounds came from the door, loud and close, like someone fidgeting with it. So this was who was coming to interrogate him? Hopefully they don't use torture, that wouldn't be fun. Valcrist had a feeling he was the type of person to quickly crumple under torture.
The door opened and a person stepped inside, but Valcrist was still staring at the ceiling. Frowning, but that was of no surprise to anyone to be sure. "Your ceiling has cracks in it. Must get really leaky when it rains. Must be why I can smell mildew in here, is the hay supposed to make it drier?" He said offhandedly as his eyes traced along the small break and cracks in the ceiling, they were hard to see in the darkness but he had been staring for so long eventually his eyes just fell to the only points of difference among the stone fixture. The swordsman tilted his head back down to look at the person who came in. It was a woman, an older woman. She looked hard, not in her appearance in particular, but in her posture. Valcrist has seen more then enough soldier in his life to know right away that's what she was. The armor helped. She hard hard features, scars on her face and skin lightly tanned by a life outside. Her frame appeared slender, but it was hard to be sure with the armor, he would assume she was. She had lines on her face, different from the scars, lines that come from worry and age. She probably had experience, that could be a good thing or a bad thing. Experienced people could be more reasonable and able to be convinced, but at the same time they could be so set in their ways that it's impossible to convince them. The older someone gets, the more stubborn in their ways they tend to become. Being from Etruria wasn't exactly a vote of confidence either.
"Yes, I'm Valcrist." Did he give his name? He probably did, it was a while ago so he didn't remember. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be intimidated or not. "I'm a blacksmith from Nabata, as such I did forge those weapons. Well outside of the silver and green blade. That was my master's work, a gift from her." He explained, he had nothing to... Well he had little to hide. "I'm assuming you looked through my things, right?" He tilted his head slightly with a grin. "You must have found my papers, yes? I am authorized to be in Etruria and sell my weapons."
"Of course trying to sell weapons in Etruria is a fool's errand. The populace isn't keen to buy and the military has contracts with local smithing and merchants guilds to supply them. Maybe If I sold something more accessible like silks or exotic amenities, but alas all I know is how to hit metal with a hammer and turn it into weapons." He explained his situation, putting as much truth into it as possible. Which wasn't hard because it was all true at the moment.
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Post by Riva Harel on Jul 5, 2015 7:54:13 GMT -6
Later...
Riva’s conversation with the blonde blacksmith, Valcrist, had done little to reveal any motive for illegally crossing the border past selling his wares. His answers had deflected her inquiries, even when it seemed she’d found something to draw out, he’d reason it away. It was frustrating, but Riva recognized she was not a master interrogator. Officer Urban was actually far better than she; maybe she’d need to send him in later, once the man and his presumed accomplice had been afforded some rest. She would not be an unjust captor.
Stealing away to her tent, Riva unbuttoned and removed her jacket, setting it to the side as she lay down on her cot, closing her eyes for just a few moments. She’d begun to feel warm; thankfully, though, the air was cool in her tent and outside, so she quickly cooled down to a comfortable level, enough to rest the back of her hand on her forehead.
While she always advocating following a superior’s orders, Riva found herself having trouble believing fully in her own words tonight. Were the men on the border really causing harm? At this point, unless Urban uncovered anything new, the officer was considering just letting the two men go. They could not detain them indefinitely, not without reason.
A great sigh erupted from her chest, the older woman shifting to her side. There was no need to sit and stew on her thoughts, not when there was so much to be done. For now, though, she would rest before sending her low officer in. Maybe he’d be able to draw out the answers she had been unable to uncover, Riva thought as she drifted off.
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Wein Lowell
Sniper
The Noble Arrow
If you're a glory hound, then I'm king of the glory hounds
Posts: 268
Lycia Fame: 2
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Post by Wein Lowell on Jul 9, 2015 20:57:02 GMT -6
They were going to detain him indefinitely weren’t they?
Great. If he was lucky he’d spend the rest of his precious years in this little cage. If not, they’d just kill him. Or would that be mercy? It didn’t seem very merciful, but that would imply that death was crueler than life in a cage, and at this point the Ostian wasn’t sure.
Wein also felt like he had already had this conversation with himself.
Argh! This would not do! This would not do! This was enough of being captured. Every hero had hardships to go through, yes, but hardships alone do not make a hero. There needs to be actual heroism somewhere in there too, so really, at this point, Wein was feeling like less of a hero and more of a punching bag. More a sack of flour than a sword. But he refused to spend another night in here, so he’d need to do something. He needed to get out. But how?
The cell was locked and the key was on a prison guard who was spending all of his time over at his desk. The was no way to pickpocket him, and trying to slip out the door without them would be almost impossible. They had only opened his cell door once when the first interrogator that had graced his cell, and when they had done that they had made sure to have the guard with the keys close the door behind him. He needed a way to either get the keys off of the guard, or get the guard with the keys to open up the cell himself. Or he could try something a little more dangerous… but only if the opportunity presented itself.
He’d have to play dead, or just sick, something to get the Etrurians inside the cell and checking up on him. So the Ostian tousled his hair and laid on his side waiting for the next guard to arrive. After about an hour of waiting, the guard with the keys came to check up on him. “Hey, prisoner, wake up!” he said, striking his hand on the bars. Wein allowed himself to give no response. “Prisoner, you answer when I’m speaking to you!” He slapped the bars again, but again, no response. The guard continued to yell at Wein a couple more times, but after getting fed up with the lack of response, muttered something under his breath and stormed off. Wein could only hope he was getting another guard to open the door for.
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Post by Riva Harel on Jul 12, 2015 20:35:30 GMT -6
Sergeant Dwite Braxton was tired of guardhouse duty. He was tired of having his tent next to the stables. He was tired of not having marching orders besides over-glorified border patrol for the last two months. He craved action in his very core, though some would say too much - he’d nearly lost an eye when he goaded one of the privates into sparring with him, betting he could beat him with a dagger while he had a lance. Ah, that one had left a scar he could at least fib a few stories about.
Running his hand over his buzzed head, Braxton wondered when they would change his assignment. They virtually never brought anyone back to the guardhouse; the two guys they’d caught at the border were the first to be caught on the wrong side in weeks. And from what he’d heard, there wasn’t anything extraordinary about their passage - just two idiots who should have realized there was a customs station only a few miles south. Ah well, at least it meant they actually got to rotate with the men inside every once in a while. That was better than having to sit here staring at the night sky. Nighttime was creepy out here.
“Sergeant Braxton, sir!” The sergeant turned to see one of the privates running around the side of the small guardhouse, a nervous look on his face. He stopped just in front of the sergeant with a salute. “Sergeant, Private Donnelly was checking on one of the prisoners, and he said the man wasn’t moving no matter how much he shouted and slammed the bars.”
Braxton sighed. Great, now one of their detainees was dead? Well, his tent wasn’t moving from being downwind of the stables anytime soon. Damnit. “Private Hicks, you and Donnelly get your asses over to the medic tent and see if they can send someone over.” “Yessir!” Private Hicks ran off to gather the other private and dutifully adhere to the orders he’d been given. Braxton shook his head, leaving his post to enter the guardhouse.
Inside the small brick building, the air was dank and stale, not to mention bearing a certain… musk about it. Shaking his head and breathing as little as possible, Braxton approached the cell of the detainee in question.
“Oy, get up!” Nothing. “Prisoner, I swear if you make me come in there you won’t like the way you’re woken!” Still nothing. Another sigh came slowly from the sergeant as he fumbled for the ring of keys on his belt, spinning around the myriad of different shaped and sized pieces of metal until he found the right one. Tonight was not the night he wanted to have to dispose of a deadman, so he hoped he was just a deep sleeper.
Unlocking the door and swinging it open, Braxton walked over to the man, nudging his back with the steel toe of his boot. “Prisoner, it’s high time you stopped ignoring us,” he said, drawing his short-sword from its sheath on his hip, using the flat of the blade to hit the man’s head.
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Wein Lowell
Sniper
The Noble Arrow
If you're a glory hound, then I'm king of the glory hounds
Posts: 268
Lycia Fame: 2
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Post by Wein Lowell on Jul 13, 2015 20:52:31 GMT -6
It took every drop of willpower Wein had to remain motionless while this Etrurian smacked him in the head with the flat of his blade. But he persevered. He needed to wait for the right moment to catch this man completely off guard. He didn’t want to accidentally slice himself open on this man’s sword, but he also didn’t want to wait so long that he missed his opportunity to act. He needed to listen to the man’s movements, feel his position around him, and when the time was right, strike!
Oh, what was he thinking? This wasn’t a storybook. There was no perfect moment. He just needed to act!
Wein yelled and kicked at the guardsman’s shin. He kicked hard, and he kicked fast, realizing this Etrurian was probably twice as good in a fight as he was and that if he was going to get out alive he needed to disable the man before he had a chance to retaliate. Fortunately the Ostian’s boot connected with the soldier’s greave, and Wein could hear the man shout in surprise. The archer opened his eyes just in time to see the sword clatter against the stone next to his head.
No time to waste. Wein grabbed the sword and scrambled to his feet, brandishing the sword in front of him like it was some kind of hot poker. His eyes wild with adrenaline, he stared at the guardsman. Oh man, he had an eyepatch? That meant he’d lost an eye and still thought himself fit for military duty. Ah damn, why had he picked a fight with a guy with an eyepatch?
“Give me the keys!” he shouted, poking the sword at the man’s chest. Wein’s eyes jumped from the keyring on the soldier’s belt to the open cell door. “Give me the keys and I’ll let you live!” The Ostian’s breath was rapid and sharp. It wasn't that he'd never killed a man before. He had. But he was an archer. He'd never taken a life with his hands before. He'd never had to feel the dying shudder of a man with his arms before. Escaping from those wyvern riders had been so simple compared to this. This was intense, this was-
Wait… open cell door?
The archer stared at the Etrurian, who had recovered from the surprise attack and had begun slowly approaching Wein, careful to keep himself from getting stuck, then looked back at the door. Back at the soldier, then back at the door.
He ran out the cell door.
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Post by Riva Harel on Jul 21, 2015 12:22:46 GMT -6
“What do you mean, Lowell got out?”
An incredulous look had overcome the usually composed high officer, Riva having just been woken in the middle of the night. She hadn’t even been afforded the luxury of fully dressing, so she stood in the opening of her tent in just her white undershirt, black pants, and boots. The night watch who stood in front of her was visibly uncomfortable, though whether it was just the sight of the not put together officer or because she was upset, it was unclear. It was probably both, to be completely honest.
“Uh, someone thought there was something wrong, ma’am,” the soldier said, shifting in his spot but still standing straight as a board, “since the prisoner wasn’t moving. Braxton went to check on him and -”
“Oh for Elimine’s sake, Sergeant Braxton?” Riva closed her eyes and sighed through her nose. Braxton was known for consistently breaking protocol, going against orders, and being a general pain. Riva wasn’t the type give up on someone, though, so opportunities had been given. A little too freely and trusting, it seemed. “Signal the rest of the night watch to double the perimeter patrol - nobody gets in or out. Go, now!”
And with a salute, the soldier ran off. RIva ducked back into her tent, grabbing her jacket before bursting from her tent, storming in the direction of the guardhouse. She would not be idle tonight.
-----
As soon as Sergeant Braxton hit the floor, he slammed his head against the ground, causing his vision to black out for a moment. Someone - was it the prisoner? - was yelling at him, telling him to do something, but all Braxton could do was grab at his head. Had the damn prisoner blinded him? would he never see again?
“Sit your ass down prisoner!” It took a minute, but Braxton finally regained his vision, albeit a bit blurry, but when he approached the prisoner slowly, instead of complying to him, the prisoner bolted out of the open cell door. Of course. “Sh*t,” he said, bolting out of the door after the man, out of the cell, towards the door to the outer camp. Unfortunately for Braxton, though, the prisoner was fast. He needed to catch that man, before anyone else found out about his error.
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Wein Lowell
Sniper
The Noble Arrow
If you're a glory hound, then I'm king of the glory hounds
Posts: 268
Lycia Fame: 2
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Post by Wein Lowell on Jul 27, 2015 16:13:40 GMT -6
Wein ran up the stairs of the guardhouse as fast as his legs would carry him. It had worked? It had worked! He had done it! He had broken out of that cell. Now the most important thing was to make sure he wasn't captured again. That was the most important thing: Don't get captured! If he got captured, breaking out a second time would not be so easy. People could usually only stand being embarrassed like this but once, and Wein figured that went double for Etrurians. Wein knew at least one man, most likely the guard in his cell, would be losing something over this, and after the punishment was doled out to whomever, that red-headed she-devil would secure his cell, and she would increase the guard. So he better not waste this chance.
But the archer began to slow his rapid gait as he reached the top of the stairs. He had no uniform, or anything of the like to disguise himself as an Etrurian soldier. If he ran out that door in a hurry, he’d be tackled in an instant and thrown back in jail. He’d need to take his time and plan out his route of escape, but not move so slow that he was caught by the followers he’d inevitably pick up. So, reaching the door to the entryway, Wein stopped and put his ear up to the wood. He could hear muttering on the other side, indicating that he would encounter someone on the other side of this portal, but it sounded far less alarmed than the ruckus that was beginning to build behind him.
“Here goes,” the Ostian muttered to himself as he took a step back. Then, with all the force he could muster, he aimed a kick at the door. There was a loud crack as his foot connected with the handle, and the door went swinging open. Wein’s eyes lit up with success. He’d always wanted to do that! The secret, and he’d read this in a book, was to aim at the handle where the lock was. If you hit the center of the door you’d likely just bounce off.
Realizing there was no time to bask in a momentary victory, Wein jumped into the room, his tightened fists at the ready. But there was only one man in the room, a soldier, who looked more surprised than the Ostian did. He was sitting on a chair next to a basket by the door, a basket that seemed to be filled with stuff, and in his hands he was holding… hey, that was his bow!
“Give it!” shouted Wein, sticking his hand out demandingly. Then, realizing he was hardly in the position to make demands without some sort of threat, balled his hand back up into a fist. “Give it or I’ll knock your candle off, you Etrurian pig!”
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