Legacy RP

[TimTh33nchant3r]

Wilhelm breathed in raggedly and let out a hacking cough. His entire body hurt as he did so, the cough sending wracking pain streaking throughout his body. He did manage to focus a bit more easily as he got more air though. He blinked a couple of times, taking stock of the situation he was in. Covered in blood? Check. Naked woman atop him? Apparently, check. Camphor looking down at him? Also a check. He concluded that he had no idea how he went from dying to the wolves to some kind of weird pornographic hellscape, and that it hurt badly enough that the how of it all didn't really matter.

"Camphor..." Wilhelm pushed the girl halfway off of him with an agonized growl before giving up. "Nope. Definitely not alright." Confusion and worry suddenly flashed across his face. "What about Regas?"

 

[Tirin]

Though certain he could be of better use to Ser Gabriel by following him, Salah knew well enough that the horses needed shelter from the storm as much as they did, and could be injured if not carefully guided through the mire that was building up from the rich soil of the farmland. Content with the knowledge that their attackers' arrows would be unable to further wound the horses, the soldier strapped his shield to his back, sheathed his sword, and took the reins of both beasts, his shining plate sullied by the mud as he slowly but cautiously led the steeds to the safety of the storm shelter.

 

[Lotus]

@Easy @Tirin

The putrid odor of manure was pulled into the air as Ser Gabriel slowly pushed is way through the near ankle deep muck. The wind forced hops to slap against his armor. After several minutes, the knife-eared knight found himself at the entrance to a storm shelter that was build of stone and mortar.

The shelter itself was only a few feet high and build into a man-made hill that surrounded it. Stone steps lead down to the door, which was made of thick oak and iron. Standing at the bottom step before the door, Gabriel found himself standing in a pool of water that was nearly waist high. He pressed his weight against the door and it held solidly. It appeared to be latched shut from the inside and would require a bit of force to break open.

The above ground section of the shelter had few windows, but inside were several chickens. From Gabriel's vantage point, he knew the horses could be kept there safely from the rain and wind.

Inside the animal shelter, the end of a crossbow rose above the sill of a window. "Leave here, Knight. You are not wanted here. We have no tax for you to take." The blackened tip of the bolt loaded in the crossbow pointed directly at Ser Gabriel's head. "Go, and don't come back now, ya hear?"

A minute or two behind Ser Gabriel, Ser Salah guided the pair of steeds through the mud. Neither horse resisted his command. Both were trained to follow their knights to face death itself. Lesser beasts would have fled the fury of mother nature. Zealot faltered momentarily, but adjusted its footing and pressed onward. It was obvious the warhorse was suffering the effects of some form of poison, but through sheer force of will he refused to fall to it.

Ahead of Ser Salah and the horses, the shelter stood. Through one of the windows, Ser Salah easily saw the thin form of a man wielding a crossbow, and then saw Ser Gabriel standing at the entrance. The crossbow pointed directly at his comrade.

The storm above raged on as the dark pillar slowly moved closer. A break in the clouds sent a single pillar of sunlight down on the storm shelter, causing Ser Gabriel to seem to glow in the darkness of the storm.

 

[Easy]

Gabriel's face was unreadable behind his visor, which turned lazily from the bow to the clouds above, and then back again. The crossbow itself didn't seem to faze him at all, and he made no move to step back or turn away. He lowered his sword all the same, though when he spoke, his tone was much more surprised than concerned.

"Truly, man?" He said, with the mild incredulity of somebody who had, until just now, thought he'd already seen it all. "You took us for tax collectors?"

 

[Lotus]

@Easy @Tirin

The voice called back from within the shelter. "Aye. We've heard of ye'. Ser Ricktor and Ser Mortimus. Two of ye' goin' around an collecting 'extra' tax. Well we've got none for ya, so git!" The crossbow thrusts slightly toward Gabriel. "I will shoot if I have to. This is my land, and I can protect it from brigands like you if'n I like." The man's voice falters slightly, almost as if he were slowly succumbing to fear or just nervous as hell.

A quick 'thump' noise is released from the crossbow as a bolt flies past Ser Gabriel's head. "By the Stars, the fates hate me." The man curses. The crossbow and the man disappear within the shelter. The repetitive sound of old boots on stone ring out from within. The landowner was clearly running deeper into the underground shelter.


Ser Salah pressed forward through the muck and finally approached the shelter. A bolt impaled deeply into the peak of his helmet from within the shelter. The raven fletchings hovered at the very height of Salah's view. Just an inch lower, and the young knight's career would have ended prematurely.

 

[Easy]

Ser Gabriel had jerked his shield upwards, and his head down to meet it, as soon as the crossbow's latch released, but breathed a sigh of relief when it flew wide of him itself. Likely, he wouldn't have been fast enough. Fortunately, Ser Salah seemed unharmed, if unhappy. With a tired sigh, he sheathed his sword, rested his shield against the wall, and began unstrapping his helmet. "Stop, farmer!" He called into the shelter. "Don't be a fool!

"Hear me: I am Ser Gabriel LaGlann, whom men call the Proud. My companion is Ser Salah Saralis, fresh knighted but today, who rides with me to hunt the night-beast of Nothstarr. Had I truly wished to harm you, I would have taken an arm already." He finished taking off the helmet, and rested it under an arm. Much as the rising storm was putting strain on his patience, he knew it was important to keep a level tone, in order to calm the situation rather than excite the peasants any further.

"I've put away my weapon," he continued, "so lower yours, all right? Have a look at my face." He stepped back into view of the window, slowly and carefully, hunching down to look inwards. "As you see, I am a man of elven blood, blue-eyed and golden-haired. My companion is elven-blooded as well, dark-eyed, and fair-haired, and we are both of the Phoenix. If this describes the men you speak of as well, then find one among you who can read, for I bear proof in the form of an official missive.

"Now," he continued, stepping back out of sight, just beside the window. "To attack a Knight of Archades is a serious crime, as you all know. But so is tax fraud, however, and to defend oneself from a rogue knight is permitted. I, too, was a commoner once, and I know well that hardship. So open your door, and give us shelter for the night, and I will promise you these things:

"One. I will forgive all those inside for the bolts and arrows fired at me thus far.

"Two. I will restrain Ser Salah, who is a nobleman born and raised, from seeking justice for the same.

"Three. I will do everything in my power, on my return, to see the false knights Ser Ricktor and Ser Mortimus brought to justice.

"To this end, I give you my word twice: once as a knight, and again as the son of a shopkeeper. Only choose quickly, farmer. Leave us out in the storm, and I will make you no promises at all."

 

[Lotus]

@TimTh33nchant3r
Camphor glanced over to the bloody scene that was Regas's last stand. "He's not so good. He's already moved on. Planted an oak in his place." He draws a knife from his belt and hands it to Wilhelm. "You can skin the wolves, right? We should get to that. Skin one for the dwarf, and I'll see to it the money is sent to his clan with a letter to notify them of his passing, and his honorable death in battle. The stonekin like that sort of thing, right?" He shrugged and flipped the knife in his hand so the grip was pointed toward Wilhelm.

 

[Lotus]

@Jeroth
Argata nodded. "Yer right. Sides, I dunno about you, but I couldn't move this thing if I wanted to. Camp should be no less than a couple hundred paces east of here." He raised a hand over his eyes to blot out the sun as he looked in that direction. "Maybe they have camp set up by now. I could use a brew." He cleared his throat to indicate its dryness.

 

[Tirin]

Salah released a string of curses - some in surprise, and others in thanks - a moment after the bolt pierced the steel of his helmet, barely clear of his skull. He would have brought up his shield had his assailant not fled further into the shelter already; as it was, it would be a waste of rapidly-dwindling time. The young knight was at Ser Gabriel's side (with the horses in tow) midway through his offer to the farmer, and patiently waited for his senior to finish before ripping the bolt from his helmet with a crunch, accompanied by the scrape of metal on metal.

His voice rang out loud and clear, then, though with surprising grace for a man so recently fired upon. "Neither myself nor Ser Gabriel wish you any harm, and you will not come to any if you provide refuge for ourselves and our horses. You are citizens of Arcadia, and thus it is our duty to protect and serve you; one errant bolt does not change this. I would be willing to pay you fairly for lodging and stabling, and we will take our leave in the morning - and as Ser Gabriel said, we will see Ser Mortimus and Ser Ricktor punished for their crimes when we return. This I swear, on my honor as a knight of Archades and that of House Saralis."

The younger of the knights was, perhaps, making a mistake in invoking the name of his family to ingratiate himself to the peasantry, but they were not even a day's ride from Archades, and House Saralis was noble in thought and deed as well as title. Were those within the shelter familiar with the name - and not bitter towards the nobility - Salah suspected that they may be further swayed to help. If they weren't, well - no harm done in that respect, and his honoring of his word would strengthen his family's reputation all the same.

 

[TimTh33nchant3r]

Wilhelm scrabbled out from under the corpse of the were-wench and recovered Camphor's knife. At least he knew a bit about butchery in the literal sense of dismembering animal corpses to make use of their parts. He crawled to the first wolf, near the fallen form of Regas. He muttered a benediction to his slain companion, "Sorry I dragged you into this, buddy. You were a fine warrior and a better friend." With a series of grunts, he plunged the knife into the wolf and began harvesting its skin. At least they would have more than enough pelts to come out of this fairly wealthy, even assuming a three-way split with Regas' next of kin.

 

[Lotus]

@Easy @Tirin
The small shelter stood silently, aside from the occasional farm animal stressed about the storm surrounding the Arcadian Knights. The men inside gave no response to either knight's proclamations of forgiveness and promises of justice. In fact, all signs of the men inside were gone. They must have moved further inside.

The heavy wooden and iron wrought door stood defiantly in front of Ser Gabriel. The metal clank of hail against his armor warned him of the urgency of the storm above.

Ser Salah's own warhorse began to huff in anger against the hail. The horse was furious at the storm above and demanding retribution.

The clouds closed above them, blocking out the light that was shining down momentarily. The winds ripped a silo off the ground and it exploded into thousands of pieces that were blowing swiftly toward the knights and their horses.

 

[Easy]

His sympathy settled very quickly into cold fury as the storm grew wilder, and Ser Gabriel waited hardly a moment's space before shoving his helmet back atop his head and buckling the strap. "Right," he called back at his comrade, picking up his shield with both hands as the hail began to fall. "We breach."

Lifting the shield horizontally, he rammed the tip of it through the shutters of the window, sliding it inside without even a moment's hesitation. Then he was climbing through himself, smashing an elbow along the broken stubs at the top as he went through, to prevent them from catching on his cloak. Even so, it was no graceful task in the plate armor he wore, despite the usual ease of movement with which he would bear it, and the bulk of the speed with which this was done was achieved simply with the full application of his considerable strength and full commitment of effort, which entailed a level of writhing and flailing that did not exactly reflect well upon the dignity and nobility of the knighthood. He didn't bother with a graceful landing, either, but simply dropped shoulder-first to the floor and rolled to his feet, shield in hand, as soon as enough of his chest was through to tip the balance of his weight.

"Clearing the door!" He shouted briefly back through the window, as he sidled around to the main entrance with his shield held high and ready towards the back of the room. Hopefully, Salah would keep a cool enough head to avoid breaking any more of the shelter than absolutely necessary while Gabriel moved around to unlock it. Though he could hardly fault the junior knight's judgement if that turned out not to be the case.

 

[Jeroth]

Argata nodded. "Yer right. Sides, I dunno about you, but I couldn't move this thing if I wanted to. Camp should be no less than a couple hundred paces east of here." He raised a hand over his eyes to blot out the sun as he looked in that direction. "Maybe they have camp set up by now. I could use a brew." He cleared his throat to indicate its dryness.

Valgen gave a slow nod, looking at Argata. "Aye.. A drink wouldn't be too bad right about now, Argata.." Valgen nervously gandered at the strange black metal carving before shaking his head. Something about it was unnerving as he began to walk with Argata back to the camp, ready to report about their findings.

 

[Lotus]

@coolpool2 @Jeroth
Mordrin explained many of his paltry merchant tales with his new gnomish friend. "..the lass bowled, end over end from a sip of the stuff, I swear it to ye'" Mordin narrowed his eyes on the quiet gnome. "Tell me lad. I kin smell there's more'n ale on our breath. We dwarves aren't much for the magikin', so why don't ya show us o' bit of that dark powa' you got 'idden up those sleeves. Kin ya turn Ned 'ere into a stoat?" He bowled over and nearly toppled his log-stool.

Ned's eyes gleamed. "I've always wanted me a pet stoat."

Mordrin stopped his laughter and glared at his dim-witted employee. "Aye, but he wouldn't GIVE a stoat, 'e'd MAKE ya one!" Mordrin's glare faded as he slams his flask of dwarven stout against anothers. Froth and a bit of beer splashed about. Mordrin's carrying on caused him to actually topple over his stool that time, and he rolled end up on the ground. All the partakers joined in the laughter at Ned's expense, until the poor dwarf spoke again.

"That's just cruel, why would 'e make me a stoat, but not give it to me." He sips from his own mug and motions toward Kappa. "You're a mean one, you are, and I don't like ya." Ned climbed to his feet from where he'd been sitting on the ground and approached Kappa with a look of fury in his half-drunk visage. "Now, if'n you got a stoat to make me, do it now, or I'll clobber ya with nothin' but meh meathooks here, ya gnomish warlock. Ya, ya damned big-nosed dark wizard."

Mordrin stood. He was soaked in his own ale. "Ned Bronzewick, you apologize to our guest, or I'll let him turn you into a stoat, and I'll feed ya to the wolves." The tone in his voice halted the laughter of his men. Mordrin was a dwarf who enjoyed his drink and tales, but would not have his guests insulted in any manner, unless he were doing it himself. "Now go and git me a refill, I've gone and bathed in the last o' me ale." He threw his silver flask and it connected solidly with an echoed thud against the side of Ned's head. Ned grumbled, knelt down, picked the flask up and headed to the wagon to fill it without audible complaint. "Forgive my men, Good Kappa. For Ned's rudeness, he'll be paying for your food and drink this eve. Hopefully that'll do ye' proper."

Valgen and Argata had overheard most of the ruckus at camp within a hundred paces or so of camp. "Jeez, Valgen. It's like they're tryin' to draw in that ol' troll. We better hurry and warn em, or we'll have to earn our pay this trip." After giving that suggestion, Argata began to hustle back toward camp.

The patrol entered the camp to discover the source of the ruckus. Ned was bending over to pick up Mordrin's flask. Mordrin looked as though he'd bathed in ale and reeked like a still. The swollen lump on the side of Ned's head gave all too well a sign that he'd gone and pissed Mordrin off again.

 

[coolpool2]

“I wouldn't be able to turn anyone into a stoat if I tried, I much prefer working with machines.” Kappa said, starting to warm up to the dwarves. “Still, if I did turn Ned into a stoat I'd turn someone else into one to keep him company.” He chuckled, barely audible in the noise around him. Kappa ate and drank little, not wanting to impose on the dwarves. He chats with the dwarves, and notices two more people moving towards the group.

 

[Tirin]

A frown formed beneath Ser Salah's helmet as he realized his and Ser Gabriel's requests had been ignored by the farmer in favor of fleeing further into the shelter, and he reached the same conclusion as his more experienced partner: they would have to secure safety through force. As Ser Gabriel did not seem to need his assistance with breaching, he instead pulled the horses into what protection the shelter's entrance provided against the winds and hail, ignoring the pelting and pinging from the latter while doing so.

He took up a position between the horses and the myriad shards of the silo, sure that his steel would shield him from even the sharpest and swiftest of the splinters, and cover the horses in doing so. Even still, he kept his head down to prevent any from slipping in through his visor, and an eye on the oak door - Salah did not intend to weather the storm for any longer than was necessary, for the safety of both himself and the steeds. For that reason, he remained ready to usher Zealot and Zephyr into the bunker the moment that Ser Gabriel opened it. In his mind, it couldn't come too soon.

 

[Lotus]

@TimTh33nchant3r
After some time, the pair of hunters finished skinning and tying up several wolf hides. Camphor threw the heavy wrap over his shoulder. "Wilhelm, lead the way, there's still a little bit of elven magic in these woods. Focus intently on a desire to harm the elven nation, and we should find ourselves out of this place in no time." Camphor grinned. "Trade secret, mind you. I hope you'll not share it." The knife-ear pointed in a direction that seemed more or less random to Wilhelm. "That way is back toward the camp." He slapped the wrap of hides over his shoulder. "Seven hides is a seventy crowns a piece for us, though I fear the lumberyard will pay us in lucre and I dread walking around with that weight of coin. That'd be over ten pounds o' silver, though I guess that'd keep the werebeasts off our back. Oh! That reminds me," Camphor slides two fingers into a pouch and pulls out a single silver lucre, "If you don't mind, place this under your tongue while we walk. That scratch of yours might be bad, but it'll be worse if you got the curse. If ya do, that silver coin'll burn like the sun in summer. If that happens, you'll need to immediately seek proper care, or death, whichever you prefer."

 

[Lotus]

@Tirin @Easy
A short, thick log laid over the door that barred it shut. It took little effort for Gabriel to lift it and toss it aside. Moments later, both knights were inside the shelter with their steeds. Zealot's eyes were wild, and a light foam frothed from its mouth. A web of purple and red spread across its shoulder just under the skin from the horse's arrow wound. Neither knight has much knowledge of poisons, but it was clear that this was a bad one.

The inside of the shelter was slightly larger than it appeared from outside. The far side housed cages of chickens and a fine young mare that bore scars of mistreatment. A cow and three pigs sounded out restlessly as the storm raged on outside. A trapdoor laid in the floor had its door swung wide open and a stone stairwell lead deeper into the storm shelter. A large still filled most of the back of the shelter and unmarked bottles and barrels were stacked in orderly fashion in a corner.

Three worries filled the knights at this moment. The first was the care of their steeds. The second was the sound of unintelligible chanting from an open trapdoor in the corner of the shelter. The last concern was the undeniable sense of evil and doom wafting from that trapdoor that carried with it the scent of blood.

 

[Easy]

Ser Gabriel did not seem to be much upset at seeing the sorry state of his noble steed, but then, even with his visor down it was clear that he was quite agitated to begin with.

"Witchcraft." He spat the one word out with as much revulsion and hostility as any one man's tone rightly ought to be able to carry, though if one listened very, very closely, one might have been able to detect a very slight, subtle sliver of uncertainty towards the end - was it fear? For half a heartbeat, some sort of fierce internal struggle raged within the young warrior. Then it gave way to the tense, high pressure stillness of a tightly-forced calm, and he turned abruptly aside to take the horses. "Time to end this. After you, Ser" he said coldly, but with signs of fire burning steadily beneath the surface. "I'll be only a moment. Meddyeia, Zealot." This last bit, of course, to his horse, and came out a good deal softer.

Moving deliberately, Gabriel dropped his shield to the earthen floor and raised his left hand to hold Zealot's head steady from underneath, as the horse knelt down obediently at his command. Looking into the stallion's bloodshot eyes, he took a deep breath, then bowed his head and closed his own. His right hand formed a fist which he raised above his head, and his voice rang out clear and pure in the incantation of a prayer.

"Hear me, o' Neustarr, and look with favor to the calling of this man,
This faithful mortal, thy servant.
Lord of Lords, I beseech thee: lend to me thy power.
Show me the light that burns shadows from a tainted body,
As thy grace clears the shadows of a doubting mind."

He lowered his head until his helmet came against Zealot's forehead as he finished. And then, firmly, and almost as an order, the final word:

"Cure."

 

[TimTh33nchant3r]

Wilhelm sighed and accepted the coin from Camphor. He slid Regas's axe through his belt and began using his own two-handed woodcutting axe as an awkward cane for the long walk home. He put the coin under his tongue, but quickly grew annoyed at the sensation of it sitting there and moved it to the space between his cheek and lower teeth.

Try as he might, Wilhelm couldn't quite figure out what kind of malevolent thoughts about the elves would help, and he had significant difficulty being sincere about thinking of harming their nation. Maybe just imagining the forest on fire would help? The idea kind of just made him sad though, thinking of all the wasted lumber and the dying of the sugartrees.