Eschatologist

The Silver Dagger

Posted. Also, GM, I don't know your policy about post length, but I'm not sure a wall of text is necessary, when Alex is just responding to a simple question. I can put more fluff in there if you'd like, though.

The Silver Dagger

Alexander turned his head to the woman apparently talking to him. 'Tiny' certainly wan't new, not by a long mile, but it was certainly different than the curious, slightly nervous stares he'd been getting. He turned to regard the woman fully, his knocking earning no response. She wasn't one of these perfumed city ladies he'd been seeing, but that wasn't to say she wasn't appealing. Enough time on campaign had made Alexander come to appreciate a woman who knew her way along a muddy marching trail, rare as they were, and he knew well enough not to dismiss them like the greener recruits tended to. She wore a coat of lamellar, a shield slung loosely on her. She carried a few glowing axes on her belt. He thought she might be one of them greens who never feel safe without six different weapons going into battle, but figured that magic axes might be a different story. He'd never been one for magic himself; too expensive for too little, in his mind, but he'd seen wizards do great things in more than a few sieges he'd been in, and had what he thought was a healthy respect for it. Her assortment of gear wasn't in line with any army or company that came to mind, but he figured there were plenty that he'd never heard of. Maybe a private mercenary, or a guard somewhere, serving someone who couldn't afford to re-equip the muscle with matching gear.

He wasn't quite sure how to respond, but that didn't stop him. He unslung his pack, the plates within clattering to the ground, and set his sword on the wall of the ramshackle building, dusting off his hands as he spoke. "Do I look it? Road'll do that to me, I'm afraid, but I'm sober as they come. Name's Alexander, former member of the Dragon-Tooth Company, and recently looking for new employment. Figured killin' monsters'd be good coin, so here I am. Them's some fine axes you've there. You do them enchantments yerself?"

The Silver Dagger

What kind of leather armor are you wearing, Inlaa?

The Silver Dagger

The bald barkeep had been more than helpful. He'd taken the time to make sure Alexander had remembered the long, convoluted directions, even offering to write them down on a scrap of paper. Alexander turned him down, obviously, never having learned to read. Still, it was a nice gesture.

He figured he had plenty of time to get to this Silver Dagger, and decided to spend some time at the pub. His feet ached, his back was stiff, and he was still cold from the road. A mug of warm ale and a seat by the hearth improved his condition immensely. A touch of music would have been nice, Alexander supposed, but he couldn't expect much at a few hours past dawn, and contented himself to listen to the crackling fire and the quiet murmur of people passing by outside. While he nursed his ale, he pulled a whetstone from his pack and perched his sword on his lap. The massive blade was cumbersome laid horizontally, its quillons poking him in the stomach and the pommel nearly knocking his mug over more than once, but he figured the least he could do was not scar the clean wooden floors after such good treatment. Sharpening blades had become second nature to him, after all these years. Ninety-nine percent of time on campaign was sitting around or walking, and when you've got nothing to do you make ready for that other one percent. Every soldier worth his salt kept his weapon in perfect condition, and that took work on the road. Every day of his career he'd seen men looking like they'd run through hell attending to mirror-clean weapons like they were children, fixing every blemish and mark with the fussing precision of an old housewife, and he was one of them. So, he cleaned the travelling dirt from his blade, sharpened the point, oiled it and wiped it clean while warming up and drinking, humming to himself quietly while he did so.

It was an excellent change from slogging through forest, but every good thing ends, and Alexander needed to be on his way. No point in showing up late when you've nothing to do, Alexander thought, and in good time he packed up his kit and made his way back into the street, bidding the barkeep a fond farewell. The walk to the Dagger itself was uneventful. He'd had to dodge the contents of a chamber pot falling, nearly scaring him half to death, but otherwise the trip was a pleasant one. He'd need to get used to living in cities again. It'd been years since he'd lived in one permanently, and more years than that since he'd been in one where he'd not been posted to a barracks. The walk was a good refresher, reminding him of the benefits of the city, passing merchants and milliners and a smithy all going about their business.

The Silver Dagger building itself was not what Alexander was expecting. An old manor house, a part of disused wall, something besides the nondescript wooden construction in front of him. He thought he was in the wrong place for a moment, but a sparring circle and big sign with a dagger on reassured him, and so he stepped up to the door, his eyes nearly level with the top of the frame, reached forwards and knocked three times with his big gloved hand.

The Silver Dagger

I see an IC post. Which applications have been accepted, and should those accepted characters post?

Marches of Man: the Black Shields. [ALWAYS OPEN]

Oh, I'll change up my sheet once I am done with work

Marches of Man: the Black Shields. [ALWAYS OPEN]

Laurence Attewood

[I cannot find a picture that is satisfactory, will continue searching]
“There are two things I am good at: killing time, and killing time. I'm proud of both, for very different reasons.”

Laurence is a big man in most every way imaginable. He is tall, several inches over six feet. He is large, even for his height, boasting muscular arms sprouting from a barrel chest, long thick legs and wide, firm hands. His head, though normally proportioned, sports a massive smile nearly constantly, standing prominent on a field of mottled salt-and-pepper stubble. His eyes are wide and his nose scarred and deformed from several run-ins with hard steel or angry fists. His voice is loud and boisterous, deep and commanding but quick to jape and quicker to laugh a laugh that fills rooms to near bursting. His tan skin is marked and cratered, each inch bearing a remnant of some past service to crown and coin, weathered and calloused and in general disrepair. His short brown hair, the exception to the rule, sits atop his head short and unobtrusive, kept fastidiously short.

His mode of dress changes depending on the situation. In battle, his bright steel armor glows with a faint yellow hue. On the road, he wears thick cloth or a gambeson, with large sturdy boots and tough leather pants. At ease, he dresses simply and casually, never caring too much for his appearance, figuring no clothes could make him any less ugly. He is missing a few teeth and never wears makeup. He tries to keep as clean has he can, scared straight by seeing men die of disease on campaign, and can always been seen with clean hands no matter where he is.

________________________________________

【Full Name】

Laurence Attewood

【Aliases】

Styled himself “Bulwark Laurence” for a time, but has dropped the moniker as pretentious and foolhardy

【Age】

30

【Sex】

Male

【Sexuality】

Heterosexual

【Religion】

Not particularly religious, but if he feels the need to pray he prays to the faith of his father, Monarchism.

【Birthplace】

Hoffburgt

【Family】

A lowborn family, he has two surviving brothers who run the family business, and a surviving sister who has married and birthed children. He has not kept in contact with them.

【Societal standing】

Of common parentage, Laurence has lived his life in vacillating status, changing depending on his line of work. He is a commoner through and through, and has little political or social aspiration driving him up the chain.

【Former Employment】

Ex-Mercenary, recently honorably discharged after 13 years of service with the Glasshorn Company, most recently and most frequently stationed as garrison and guards of Coedwin and her noble inhabitants.

【Rank and Role】

Member of the Black Shield's Greatsword Guards

________________________________________

【Personality】

Pragmatic would be an acceptable way of characterizing Laurence, though not in the way most would naturally think of. Laurence is out to enjoy his life, no matter what. He indulges in what he loves and finds ways to expedite those tasks he is less fond of. He has a soldier's attitude, beaten into him after 15 long years of the occupation. He is as lazy as a man can be when he is not needed to do something, and as proactive and hard-working as a man can be when he is. He is quick to joke, quicker to laugh, and quicker still to forgive. He prizes friends and family highly, though recently he finds himself with little of either. He loves to drink and gamble and sing and fight and sleep and eat and pursue women. He brags in jest, his tall tales told in such extravagant falsehood for no other reason than to entertain and enthrall, not to bolster some reputation he has long since abandoned. He is loyal to himself, and to those matters he deems pertinent. He has a distaste of nobility, a distrust of authority and a predisposition towards the working man over the administrator, one which he is trying to rid himself of. He values freedom, merriment and excitement in equal measure, and lives his life accordingly.

【History】

Born to a smith in Hoffburgt, to a brood of six other children, Laurence had a fairly normal upbringing. The third son of three, he worked at his family smithy learning the trade, as he grew he realized that there was no place for him in the family business, and so began planning to strike out on his own. Already a large child, a few weeks after his 13th birthday he was chosen as a replacement squire for a middling knight in the service of the Lord of Hoffburgt. It was an incredibly fortuitous event, one which Laurence was immensely pleased with, and for a time he was happy. He loved to learn the ways of the sword and the bow, to learn how to saddle a horse and strap armor. He discovered he had a knack for it too: he stood head and shoulders [both figuratively and literally] above his fellow squires, and by 14 he found his way onto his first battlefield, a border skirmish to the south. He remained in the south for periods during his tenure to his Knight, but he found that life as a royal soldier was not to his liking. There was too much etiquette and tradition, too many months spent inactive and above all too little pay. At 16 he left squiring, and joined the Glasshorn Company. The shift in occupation was jarring, but he took to it like a duck to water. He was made a swordsman, and within two years found himself in the Ironglass Guards, the greatsword-wielding elite of the Company, tasked with aggressive charges and guarding important figures on the battlefield and off. He loved the camaraderie, being surrounded with mostly commoners, being paid great deals of money and having commanders he could rely on to find victory safely.

His eleven years in the Ironglass Guards were marked with hundreds of interesting anecdotes and scenes, of which Laurence will boast and brag endlessly. He earned battle honors and wealth, and made a minor name for himself among soldiers in the south, initially because of and later despite his best efforts. After his traditional thirteen years with the Company, everyone expected him to re-enlist, a command position almost guaranteed, but Laurence did not. He left the company on good terms, few knowing and fewer understanding his desire for a change in occupation.

【Dreams, short term goals, and fears.】

Laurence is a man wracked with ennui. He wants to help people, to be a paragon of justice and aide for the downtrodden. For this goal he left the Company and all it's promises of wealth and status, and initially he thought he would be like the heroes from the songs and tales: he would wander the lands, righting wrongs and doing Good. Unfortunately for him, more than a year has passed and he has accomplished little, a done scant good. He fears he has made the wrong decision, but fears greater turning back from his charted course, and so soldiers on trying to find his heroic destiny somewhere in the cities and fields of his homeland, figuring the Black Shields will either present opportunities or at least pay well enough to sustain his quest.

________________________________________

【Skills】

A proficient cook from years on the campaign trail, he knows how to clean an animal and cook an impromptu feast in most any weather. He is a skilled armorer, from both his short time as a smith and from years maintaining his own arms and armor on campaign. A good swimmer, a fast climber, good with numbers despite never receiving schooling or being able to read. Knowledgeable about military history to middling, if exaggerated, accuracy, through word of mouth. Knows hundreds of stories, and has spent more than his share of time telling them, about heroes and villains and events and every topic under the sun. A capable orator, when the mood takes him, though with a decidedly blue-collar focus.

【Martial prowess】

Laurence has been a soldier for a large part of his life, and his abilities reflect this. He is past his prime, to be sure, but age has done little to dull his skill with a blade. His weapon of choice is a long, two-handed great-sword, more than five feet in length, sharp and deadly and not nearly as cumbersome nor as simplistic as the common person thinks it is. It is an incredible defensive weapon, and one that presents myriad benefits to the strong, skilled swordsman who dedicates himself to its mastery. He is, however, more than proficient at all manner of fighting implements, though never found himself a capable or even middling bowman.

【Combat style】

Fighting with a greatsword is an interesting skill. It is an incredible defensive weapon, more versatile than most anything else on the battlefield. It is long enough to be on equal terms with short polearms, and is incredibly deadly when locked in melee, a hand gripped on the upper blade making it a precise and deadly stabbing weapon. For fighting less armored opponents, it is a slashing and stabbing weapon of force and speed, controlling a fight and delivering withering blows to an opponent. Against an armored opponent, it is a massive lever and crowbar, excellent at wrestling foes to the ground to be dispatched by a stiletto or a solid punch to the face. Against multiple enemies, its fluid sweeps and long reach make attacking and disabling its wielder a difficult, often fatal proposition.

【Weaponry】

Laurence's primary fighting implement is a five and a half foot long sword, weighing nearly eight pounds and forged from high-quality steel, still sharp and deadly after years of service. It has an exceptionally wide, unadorned crossguard, and similarly plain quillons. For dispatching armored enemies, Laurence carries a stiletto, a long, exceedingly thin and sharp knife for finding weak points in enemy armor. He carries a larger knife with him for utility purposes, and though does not own a smaller sword or shield he is proficient in their use.

【Armor】

[this more than anything else is highly sensitive to period: I am assuming the late medieval period here, but can change it easily]. Laurence kept his plate harness when he left the Company. Infantry armor, lighter than its cavalry cousin, it is no less effective at stopping swords and arrows from doing Laurence any true harm. Thick steel from full helm to sabatons, it lies overtop a gambeson, with links of chain protecting areas which shift too tumultuously for plates to be viable. It weighs just over 16 kilograms, on the heavier side of what the genre allows, and though worn with use is still in excellent condition, gleaming silver and softly gold when worn, and clattering loudly in a pack tied to his horse when it is not.

Marches of Man: a medieval RP set in 'Broacien'

Bangin'. I look forward to it.

The Sunken City: A Journey through Fallen London

To the character tab.

The Silver Dagger

Unless you care what I think.

To use a Dutch idiom I only recently learned, I am a total "ant-fucker", and will get real bootysore if folks start using smallswords or sabers all up in here.