Carmichal
Brigand
Booze is always an acceptable form of payment in my book.
Posts: 41
Profession: Mercenary
Affinity: Wind
Profile: Profile
OoC Alias: Marc
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Post by Carmichal on Dec 10, 2014 21:00:55 GMT -6
As Carmichal wandered into yet another town, he wondered if he'd ever find employment. While it was certainly true that he had wandered off from his last chance at employment before the job had ever been officially offered to him, he placed the blame on his employer taking too long rather than his own impatience. Of course, he had come to regret leaving. He hadn't had a full meal in quite some time, and he had mercilessly remained stone cold sober for at least a month now. It was maddening and it didn't look like his situation would be improving any time soon. Not with as "lively" as this town seemed to be. The streets were empty and not a soul was in sight as Carmichal made his way past building after building. He almost would have thought it abandoned had he not met a merchant the day before who had just left this very town. Spotting an inn up ahead, he figured he would check inside to see if anyone was inside.
Carefully opening the door, he slowly stepped inside, scanning the room as he did. It was as empty as the road he had just left. "Hello?" he called out, hoping that the owners might simply be down in the cellar or within earshot. A head poked up from behind the bar counter, then quickly ducked behind it again in a hurry.
"Dammit! They're back," came a voice from behind the counter, I told him they'd be back, but did he listen? No!"
Carmichal was confused. As far as he knew, he had come into the town alone. He had also never been here before, so it would have been impossible for him to have come back. "Uh, I don't know who they are," he said in the general direction of the counter, "But I'm pretty sure I'm not with them. Hell, until just now, I thought I was the only person in this town."
The man behind the counter poked his head out again, nervously scanning the room. When he was convinced that Carmichal was indeed alone, he rose to his feet and slowly walked out from behind his hiding place. He was attempting to put on a brave face, but Carmichal could tell from the way his hands were shaking the he was ready to duck for cover should more armed men appear. W-who are you?" the man asked in an unsteady voice.
"Just a man looking to make some honest coin," he replied.
"Oh," the man said, letting out a lengthy sigh, "I thought you were another bandit. They've, uh, been giving us some trouble for a while now, so you probably won't find too much work around here. Maybe the mayor might have something for you though. He lives in the big house at the end of the road."
"Right, I'll try there," Carmichal said as he headed for the door, "Thank you." The man nodded in response as he slumped against the counter. Returning to the road, he quickly found the house the innkeeper had told him about. Might as well try it, he thought.
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Harlow Rysche
Archer
[M:0]
Posts: 42
Profession: Painter
Affinity: Wind
OoC Alias: Empfindsam
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Post by Harlow Rysche on Dec 11, 2014 0:07:09 GMT -6
"No, no, no! I'm telling you, you've got to sit still! If you move, it will throw off the perspective, and then the final portrait will look like some sort of hellish abomination!"
The mayor shifted in his seat, clearly unused to being barked at in such a manner, but Harlow just eyed him crossly until he had re-assumed a position similar to his initial pose. Harlow sighed and reached for his paintbrush.
I beg your pardon, Mr. Mayor, but it's really not worth either of our time if this doesn't turn out looking good, is it?"
"Mmm, yes," the mayor coughed, I suppose you are right. Do continue."
Harlow took a moment to study the light coming in the elegant bay window, ensuring that he had gotten the shading just right, before pressing his brush back against the canvas with a flourished stroke. His brow furrowed in concentration as he delicately blended the pigments to create the exact shade he was seeking, until finally he lifted the brush with a grin.
"There! Now, this is coming along much more nicely! Even though he wasn't the best painter around, Harlow took an immense measure of pride in the way he was able to capture the life of the subject in a way that no one else really could. It was somewhat raw, somewhat refined - an odd mix of the two. Sort of like himself.
This particular commission was a typical portraiture, much like the ones he did for Lycian nobles all the time. The town of Helmsen, however, hardly emanated nobility; Mayor Larue's manse, while somewhat elegant, hardly compared with the resplendent manors Harlow was used to painting in. But that was fine with Harlow - his primary concern was never the money, which was good because there was no way Larue would be able to pay his typical sum. No, Harlow preferred to paint for the joy of painting - it was more of an honor to be asked to paint a nobleman's portrait than it was a pleasure to be paid for it. He smiled to himself whimsically as he thought back to just a few years ago, when he would have been hard pressed to get anyone to spare the time to let him paint their portrait. He'd come a long way since then, that was for sure.
A few more minutes went by as Harlow methodically whisked his brush to and fro. After a while, the mayor hesitantly broke the silence, "Excuse me, ah - Harlow? Would we be able to take a short break? I'm - I'm in desperate need of a little relief, if you know what I mean..." The poor man shifted in his seat again, clearly uncomfortable. Harlow chuckled at the sight before replying, "Oh, all right. I've got most of the foundational stuff down on canvas. As long as we can get you back in more or less the right position, the lighting should match up well enough."
The mayor gave a grateful nod before rising from his seat and hurrying off into the next room. Deciding to take advantage of the break to stretch his legs, Harlow exited the room and headed down the main front staircase towards the foyer to look at some of the other works of art hanging on display there. It was a fairly modest gallery, but he always liked to study the technique of other artists - it was the best way to improve, in his opinion. Before long, he found himself lost in thought, gazing intently at an oil painting of a knight and his steed decked out in full battle armor. Poor horse - all that armor must be heavy. But it sure makes for a nice painting.
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Carmichal
Brigand
Booze is always an acceptable form of payment in my book.
Posts: 41
Profession: Mercenary
Affinity: Wind
Profile: Profile
OoC Alias: Marc
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Post by Carmichal on Dec 17, 2014 13:22:30 GMT -6
Carmichal made his way towards the house slowly, taking time to examine the town as he did. It certainly wasn't the biggest or grandest settlement the former bandit had ever been to, but it had a certain backwoods charm to it. He could certainly see why bandits would be keen on raiding it. The town was far enough away from any of the major Lycian cities that help would never arrive in time to stop a raid, not that the citizens would know which Marquess to write to anyhow. The road through the town was traveled enough that a decent bit of coin was made here on a regular basis and would make for a decent prize for any fledgling bandit chief looking to make a name for himself. That's what Carmichal assumed was going on here, at least. He wasn't aware of any major bandit groups in the area and with the sheer amount of chaos in the region as of late, it wouldn't be surprising to find new groups popping up to take advantage of that.
Arriving at the mayor's manse, Carmichal paused at the door for a moment, pondering whether he should put a shirt on before entering or if he should leave his axe at the door. After all, he did strike a rather imposing figure and he didn't want to give the man a heart attack. However, he quickly remembered that he didn't actually own a shirt and figured that his axe was a sign of his status as an employable mercenary and as long as it remained on his belt, there was no reason for the mayor to fear it. The man banged loudly on the door with the butt of his fist and waited the requisite amount of time for a response. When no one answered, he shrugged his broad shoulders and tried the door. It was unlocked. He stepped inside and eyed the landing. It was clear from just standing in the entrance to the manse that the mayor lived a fair bit better than anyone else in the town. It was also clear that he would certainly be able to pay Carmichal for his services. First he had to find the man.
Stepping into the foyer, he was surprised to find a man that looked very out of place with the decor of the house. He could tell just by looking at him that this wasn't the mayor. The man had a well-traveled look about him that told him he was much more comfortable traveling from town to town than in a cushy manse like this one. He was about to inquire to the mayor's whereabouts when that question answered itself, as a well-dressed, rather portly man came plodding down the stairs. He caught sight of Carmichal almost immediately and let out a shocked squeak that would have been more appropriate coming out of a mouse rather than a man. "You must be the mayor," the former bandit said, outstretching his hand. "The name's Carmichal. I'm told you might have a job that needs doin'."
"W-who are you?" the mayor stammered back at him without returning his greeting.
"Like I said, name's Carmichal. I'm something of a mercenary," he added, patting the axe on his belt. "The innkeeper tells me you have a bit of a bandit problem. I figured I could offer you my services in dealing with them."
"S-so you're not one of them?" When Carmichal shook his head in response, the mayor sighed visibly and leaned against the railing of the stairs. "Well that is a relief. I thought we'd never be rid of those damnable bandits. But you seem like a man who can handle himself. You see, they were here only yesterday. They took their usual ransom, but they also took something very valuable to me. There's a ring that's been in my family a long time and I'd appreciate it if you got it back for me while you're dealing with the bandits. It's a gold band with a rather impressive cut of topaz set into it. I'll pay handsomely for it's return."
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Harlow Rysche
Archer
[M:0]
Posts: 42
Profession: Painter
Affinity: Wind
OoC Alias: Empfindsam
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Post by Harlow Rysche on Dec 21, 2014 18:00:34 GMT -6
It was impossible not to notice when the large, shirtless, axe-wielding hulk of a man walked in the door, looking more out of place than - well, than Harlow himself, most likely. Harlow chuckled to himself quietly at the man's lack of concern for decorum as he introduced himself to the mayor. Takes all kinds to make a world, doesn't it, now? Let's be fair, though, it's not too long ago that I was beating on strange doorsteps looking for help. Ought not to judge, I suppose.
Harlow turned his attention back to the painting, stepping closer to examine the canvas. Fascinating - these colors are hard to come by. The pigment must have been made from lapis lazuli, or some other such stone. I think there's more to this one than meets the eye... His thoughts were interrupted by the conversation ensuing over by the stairwell, as he couldn't help but overhear something about some trouble with bandits.
The mayor was saying something about a missing ring: "It's a gold band with a rather impressive cut of topaz set into it. I'll pay handsomely for it's return." Interesting - the town was being torn asunder by bandits and the primary concern was for a gold ring. And here I am, getting paid for pandering to a rich man's vanity. He felt a slight stab of guilt, realizing the hypocrisy of such an observation - it's not like he'd done much in the way of philanthropy in the past few years. But really, what was there to do in such a time as this? Best to look to one's own interests. Still...
Harlow wasn't sure exactly what prompted him to speak, but before he knew it the words had left his mouth: "Oh, Mr. Mayor, if you're having trouble with bandits, I might be able to lend a hand. I was something of a merc myself, back in the day." Well, there he goes - Harlow Rysche, painter by day, crime fighter by night. Is it too late to retract the offer?
The mayor stared at him blankly, before letting out a confused response, "But... what about my portrait?" Harlow grinned a wry grin before answering, "Don't worry, Mr. Mayor, I won't get myself killed without finishing what I started. Consider this a two-for-one - you get rid of a bandit problem, and you get a painting to commemorate it by. Whaddaya say, Mr. Axe Man, you good for a little scum smashing? For justice, naturally. And, of course, for art's sake."
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Post by Duma on Dec 22, 2014 13:06:25 GMT -6
Duma sighed. He had arrived in this town a short time ago, and saw that the roads were bare and the people were wary. It upset him. He managed to find the local Inn and ask the owner what was the problem. The man replied that the town had been ransacked by bandits recently. Like any mercenary would Duma offered his services to rid the town of bandits. The tavern master stated he had no gold to pay him with, but Duma didn't mind. A few meals and a room to rest in, without charge, would be more than enough for the sword master.
Duma asked for any details regarding the ruffians. The tavern owner told him what he knew, and that the bandits had been plaguing the town for a while. They usually have a normal ransom of gold and goods, and then they leave. That was all Inn owner knew, he suggested to Duma that he ask the Mayor for any more details.
Duma paid a coin for a fresh loaf of bread, from the man before heading off towards the mayor’s house. There was a bit of a spring to his step and a soft smile as he made his way through the town. Duma loved to help rid the world of bandits. The swordsman had eaten half of it en-route to the house and put away the rest in his pouch. Once at the Mayor’s house, he asked around. He had to assure several guards that he was NOT a bandit, and that he wanted to fight against the bandits.
A rather loud discussion ensued between him and a particularly head strong guard, who denied him entry to the house. It was loud enough to catch the attention of any others who happened to overhear.
“Skies above, I AM NOT A BANDIT! I’m a sword for hire! I’m not here to ask for a ransom... I’m here to help rid the village of bandits!” The swordsman’s patience was wearing thin. He used his thumb and middle finger to rub his temples, in an annoyed gesture. This wasn't the first time he was given this sort of treatment. He hoped someone with some sense would come along and assist him before things got violent.
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Carmichal
Brigand
Booze is always an acceptable form of payment in my book.
Posts: 41
Profession: Mercenary
Affinity: Wind
Profile: Profile
OoC Alias: Marc
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Post by Carmichal on Dec 22, 2014 20:38:06 GMT -6
So it would be a prosperous day after all. Not only was there work in this village, but it was exactly the kind of work Carmichal was cut out for. A broad smile crossed his face. It had been a while since he had gotten to hunt down some bandit scum. Much to his surprise, the other man, who turned out to be some sort of painter, offered his support in the endeavor. The former bandit wouldn't have taken him for the mercenary type, but he would certainly be happy for the support. "I'd be happy for the company," Carmichal said, patting the man on the back, "And, while justice is all good and well, I wouldn't mind a bit of coin for my services. I wouldn't be much of a mercenary if I didn't get payed for what I do, now would I?" A quick, pointed glance at the mayor and a panicked nod of response from the mayor was all he needed to confirm the job.
"Well then, we best be off. Got bandits to hunt down and all," he added as he burst through the front door of the manse. In his hurry, he didn't notice the man on the other side of the door. Carmichal collided with him head on and the two tumbled to the ground, the aging mercenary landing squarely on top of the newcomer. "My bad. Wasn't watching my step," he apologized as he rolled off of the man. As he did, he eyed a sword on the man's belt. "You here for the mercenary work too? We were just off to go look for some bandits, if you're interested."
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Post by Duma on Jan 7, 2015 14:32:55 GMT -6
Just as Duma was out of patience, a large man came crashing on top of him. A pain swelled up onto his chest. The larger sir rolled off of him and Duma slowly pulled himself off the ground. He was about to yell something vulgar, when he heard the man speak about mercenary work. Yes! Finally. All traces of his previous rage and pain seemed to vanish all at once.
"Not a problem. And Yes. I am here to help deal with the bandits." He got up off the ground and back up onto his feet. He offered his hand to help the man who crashed into him, up off the ground. Once that was said and done.
Then dusted off his clothes and hair. Then took a moment to examine the sir who crashed into him. A shirtless fellow who appeared to look like an axe man. Ah a Brigand. He was familiar enough with the build and class of a brigand. After all most bandits who met the business end of his sword were brigands. He knew not all brigands were bandits.
"Will you be leading the way sir? I am Duma a traveling swordsman." He tried his best to remain calm. Even though the inner parts of him felt as if they were about to explode out of him in glee. I think, I enjoy hunting bandits a little too much. I might need to speak with an apothecary about this sometime in the future.He cleared his throat a bit.
"Will it just be us then?"
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Carmichal
Brigand
Booze is always an acceptable form of payment in my book.
Posts: 41
Profession: Mercenary
Affinity: Wind
Profile: Profile
OoC Alias: Marc
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Post by Carmichal on Jan 12, 2015 9:57:08 GMT -6
Taking his fellow mercenary's hand, the aging brigand rose to his feet shakily. He looked over his shoulder to see if the artist had followed him out the door, but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had changed his mind and had decided to finish the mayor's portrait after all. Carmichal shrugged to no one in particular. If this painter wanted to join them, he could always catch up to them later. "It looks to be just us," he replied, looking back at the swordsman. "Name's Carmichal. I'd say more, but we'll have plenty of time to chat while we're lookin' for bandits. C'mon," he said, as he bounded down the steps. The two men made their way out of town headed north, making for the forests that laid just of the beaten path. Carmichal figured this would be the best place to start. Many bandit groups, when first starting, would place forward camps in forests like these for the dual purpose of scouting out the area, as well as serving as a staging ground for raids. If they could find one of these and hit it before the bandits caught wind of them, they could possibly drag the location of their main stronghold out of any survivors they thought to spare. First, though, they would have to find a camp and hope that they weren't spotted.
For now, they still had a good distance to travel on the road before it would even make sense to venture towards the forest. It was as good a time as any to get to know his new companion. "So, I don't believe I caught your name, or anything about you really. What's the story with the, uh... x on your face?" he asked, gesturing to the same area on his own face.
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Post by Duma on Jan 13, 2015 20:42:05 GMT -6
Carmichal. He thought to himself as he followed the man down the road, and out of town. In the distance he could see the greenery of trees. They seemed to be heading out into the woods on the outskirts of town. It was a good place to start looking.
Carmichal was the first to start off some conversation, starting with the basics like asking for his name. And the story about his scar. Ah he must not have heard me before.
"My name is Duma." He paused for a moment as he thought of a retort for the story about his scar. The truth of the events that gave him the ever present X shape on his face was not one he liked to discuss. As it usually brought up painful memories. Typically when ever a child or villager would ask about it he'd make up something on the spot. Like "Wyvern wrestling" or "Wight attack" something of that sort. But for some reason with the man next to him he didn't feel the need to put on an imposing impression. He spoke as they kept walking.
"As for the scar. The lie I use is usually a monster attack of sorts. The honest, story behind it is something I do not like to talk about." He shrugged.
"But if you want a bit of my history... I'm a wandering swordsman. I travel as a mercenary in the hopes of seeing as much of the world as possible. Now how about you? Also what is the plan? We can't just blindly rush in, that usually results in death." He asked with some curiosity.
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Carmichal
Brigand
Booze is always an acceptable form of payment in my book.
Posts: 41
Profession: Mercenary
Affinity: Wind
Profile: Profile
OoC Alias: Marc
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Post by Carmichal on Jan 15, 2015 14:12:54 GMT -6
Carmichal cocked an eyebrow at his companion as he dodged the question about his scar. He was sure that he got asked about it all the time, what with it being such a prominent feature on his face, but it was telling that the swordsman didn't misdirect him with his usual story. Perhaps he felt some sort of mercenary kinship with the aging brigand or maybe he just didn't want to take the effort to come up with a new story. Either way, it was clear he didn't want to discuss the scar's origin. Carmichal, on the other hand, had no trouble talking about his past. It was a subject he visited often while regaling various taverns with tales. "Well, I was born to a tavern wench in the Western Isles, and as soon as I was old enough, I joined a pirate crew," he replied. "I don't know if you know anything about the Western Isles, but that's pretty much the only occupation. Anyhow, the crew got wiped out in a dragon attack one day, and, not really wanting to join a new crew, I became a bandit," he continued, a little more subdued. As willing as he was to talk about his past, Carmichal wasn't exactly proud of his days as a bandit. "It just wasn't the same, though. There's no honor among bandits. They're only after whatever they can get their hands on. So now I'm a mercenary. Not a very successful one, mind you, but I've got a job now, so..." he trailed off, unsure of how to end that statement.
While he had been giving a brief summary of his life, the two mercenaries had arrived at the edge of the forest. Coming to a stop at the edge of the treeline, Carmichal peered into the somewhat ominous army of trees that lay before him and contemplated their next move. It wouldn't do them any good to go stumbling blindly through a forest, hoping that they'd see a bandit camp before the accidentally walked into it, but they weren't gonna find it by standing on the edge of the forest either. "Well," Carmichal started, "We're gonna find us a bandit camp, and hopefully we can get one to spill the location of their stronghold. The only question now is how do we find a camp. You any good at climbing trees?" he asked as a smile crept onto his face.
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Harlow Rysche
Archer
[M:0]
Posts: 42
Profession: Painter
Affinity: Wind
OoC Alias: Empfindsam
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Post by Harlow Rysche on Jan 15, 2015 20:04:29 GMT -6
Eager to get going, Harlow said something to Carmichal about going and tidying up his art supplies before heading out, but the man must not have heard him because by the time Harlow had come back down the stairs the mercenary was nowhere to be seen. "Well, that's rich! he complained to no one in particular. He grabbed his bow and his satchel and bounded out the door, hoping to catch up with his new companion. He stopped just outside the gate and peered down the road in both directions, but to no avail; Carmichal was already gone. Harlow grunted in frustration and turned to the guard standing by. "Ahem, uh, excuse me, sir. Did you happen to see a large redheaded man with an axe leave the manor, and if so, which way did he go?" Without saying a word, the guard raised his arm and gestured northward. Thanking the man, Harlow gripped his gear tightly and sprinted off in the direction indicated.
It was a few breathless minutes later that Harlow finally spied the merc's muscled build and rusty hair up ahead of him on the path. He seemed to be walking alongside another individual who Harlow did not recognize - a swordsman, as best as he could make out from this distance. The two were approaching the forest to which the road apparently led. Makes sense. Bandits love forests. So do I. Wait, does that make me a bandit? Never mind.
"Hey! Carmichal!" His voice squeaked out, lacking the breath to produce any real volume. He stopped for a moment, coughing profusely, until he managed to catch his breath. How embarrassing. Still not over the old childhood malaise. But I never was a sprinter. Having recuperated, he tried again. "Carmichal! Oi! Wait up!"
He picked up his pace once more until he was striding alongside the merc and the swordsman. Once he had their attention he placed his hands on his hips, feigning offense. "Well, that's a mighty fine thing to do, now, isn't it, Carmichal? Ditching me back at the manor, eh?" Not being one to prolong a conflict, he was only able to hold his scowl for a moment before it dissolved into an impish grin. "But hey, don't worry about it. I needed the exercise anyways. Who's our new compatriot?" He extended his hand to the swordsman as a greeting. "I'm Harlow, by the way. Welcome to the gig."
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Sclaevinius
Mage
Sometimes it's difficult to tell the difference between courage and recklesness...
Posts: 15
Profession: Pyromancer, Bard
Affinity: Fire
Profile: Sclaevinius
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Post by Sclaevinius on Jan 16, 2015 11:49:22 GMT -6
Sclaevinius was traveling alone through Lycia towards Sacae, his home. Ah, home sweet home. He wanted to reminiscence his childhood and find his home town, hoping it is still there... He carried a satchel that contained his spell book, food and water rations, and necklace that his mother gave to him. He carried a lute over his shoulder and whistled happily as he traveled through Lycian woods. He picked up an apple from the near tree and started eating it.
However, he quickly stoped as he noticed 3 men heading into the other direction. He looked closely, noticing a large beefy man with an axe, a long haired swordsman, and short haired man with a bow. He hid in bushes, and watched them carefully, unsure if they are bandits or fellow travellers. He opened his satchel and took out his book and put the lute over his shoulder so it was hanging for his neck by a belt that was attached to it.
He tried listening to them, hoping to identify them by their conversation. The large man was apparently Charmical, and the archer Harlow. Swordsman's identity remained unknown to him. He was unsure what to do: To join them, to attack them, or to walk around? He decided to keep hiding in the bushes and watch. He kept looking at them as they keep talking, something about bandits. He then thought that maybe they are searching for bandits. Maybe they need an assistance from the anima user? He remained in doubt.
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Post by Duma on Jan 16, 2015 17:26:02 GMT -6
Duma contemplated for a moment at Carmichal's comment about climbing trees. He recalled the days of his pre-teen hood climbing trees with the local group of kids. He recalled the pride of his youth as he was one of the few boys who could climb the highest branch of the tree. Part of him could almost hear the yells from his sister to come down and help her up, since she could barely reach the first branch. He looked around at the trees to find a suitable one worth climbing. The sword master had a bit of a grin on his face as he picked out a good tree to start with.
"I'm quite good at climbing trees." He grinned a bit. From behind him he could hear footsteps of another. He turned to look and saw an archer approach them apparently he was a companion of Carmichal. The man introduced himself as Harlow.
"Well met Harlow. My name is Duma." He spoke as he slowly began removing his robe, and then dropping his pack. He hung them up one of the nearby branches of a nearby tree. He was left in his boots, pants, gauntlets, and sleeveless undershirt. He pointed to the tree that he was going to climb to give them a vantage point.
"The garb gets in the way of grabbing branches." He happily commented. Then paused for a moment. He had seen a figure dart into the bushes nearby during his initial scanning of the trees. He quickly grabbed a small rock and threw it into the bushes. Duma had no idea if this person was a friend or a foe. He did not want to take any chances, of being ambushed. He pulled his sword out and had it at the ready just in case.
"If you be friend speak now." He spoke calmly and clearly. His gaze and focus fixated at the brush.
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Sclaevinius
Mage
Sometimes it's difficult to tell the difference between courage and recklesness...
Posts: 15
Profession: Pyromancer, Bard
Affinity: Fire
Profile: Sclaevinius
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Post by Sclaevinius on Jan 17, 2015 4:38:51 GMT -6
Sclaevinius was alerted by a rock that flew right next to him that he has been spotted, so he got up and stepped forward "My name is Sclaevinius Olnord, I was born in Sacae but had to move to Etruria during my childhood. I've been traveling through Lycia to return to my home country. When I noticed you three, I thought you were bandits, but something else told me you were against them, so I wasn't sure what to do. I don't wish to fight you. Even though I'm a mage, I'm also a friendly bard who loves nature and music."
He gulped hoping he wont be their next target. "Of course, if you need more men to assist you in your quest, I'll be glad to join. While I'm not capable of close combat, my magic can help you alot against the ruffians that wont leave innocent people alone. I will gladly give you my money or food if you need some." He smiles, trying to hide his nervousness. He put back the book in his satchel and took out a small bag of coins. "Heck, I'll give you even my robes!"
He looked at long haired swordsman, whose name was apparently Duma. Weird name, but who was he to judge other people's names? He looked at the large brigand and the archer. He crossed his fingers, hoping this wont be his last words he'll ever say. "Not to mention, I'm also good at playing lute, so if any of you likes music, it would be my pleasure to perform for you."
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Carmichal
Brigand
Booze is always an acceptable form of payment in my book.
Posts: 41
Profession: Mercenary
Affinity: Wind
Profile: Profile
OoC Alias: Marc
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Post by Carmichal on Jan 21, 2015 11:00:53 GMT -6
As Carmichal waited for Duma's response, he noticed a familiar figure practically sprinting down the road towards them. He was coming from the same direction as the town they had just left and as he drew near, the aging mercenary realized that it was the archer he had meet in the mayor's mansion. So he decided to join us after all, Carmichal thought with a grin. Good. It'll be nice to have an archer with us. He waited for Harlow to catch his breath before offering an apology. "Sorry 'bout that, Harlow. Thought you might want to finish that painting you were doin'. But hey," he continued, slapping the archer playfully on the back, "You're here now! And that means we can get on with the job!" He was about to begin explaining the plan to his companions, when a shuffling sound came from a nearby tree, to which Duma responded by deftly throwing a stone in the direction of the sound and shouting a warning. As it would seem, the swordsman's rather threatening warning brought the source of the noise out from where it had been hidden. A young man, dressed in some rather inconspicuous robes and weighed down by both a satchel and lute, shuffled out from the bushes and proceeded to give a rather lengthy and revealing introduction. It was, frankly, bizarre. For several moments, neither party spoke, an awkward silence hanging in between them. Then, clearing his throat, Carmichal stepped forward and spoke up.
"... right, Sclaevinius, was it? Your name's a bit long and complicated for me, so I'm just gonna call you Vinny. If you're keen to do some mercenary work, you're free to tag along, but let me warn you. We're going to dangerous places to dangerous things and if you keep us from doing our job, we'll cut you loose. Savvy?" He turned back to Duma, who had since stripped off some of his clothes. It seemed that the swordsman had guessed the purpose of his inquiry. "Seems you're way ahead of me," he said with a chuckle, "Good. I like that. See if you can find a camp from up in the trees. If you do, double back to us and we'll figure out a plan from there. If we find it first, I'm sure you'll hear the shouting."
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