Nemaisare

Such Haukes, Such Hounds

Recruitment is not officially closed, but there's only six spots available and already 11 finished profiles for the GM to pick from, sooooo.... You can take your chances if you want? Or set your efforts elsewhere, up to you. :)

The posting rate looks like roughly two or three posts a week from, preferably, everyone, but one more or less, provided there's a steady pace, is not going to be frowned upon. So probably at least once a week, preferably twice that. :P

Such Haukes, Such Hounds

Nice progression there, Maxwell. :) Just goes to show you've got us inspired, eh? Six players is a good number to me. Not a horrendous buttload to organise, but not so small you'll need huge ass amounts of NPCs to help out the main chars.

BingTheWing said
It's still a WIP, but thank you for the help.He's actually learnt to control it, since even if he's still mad, there's human inside him. More on that later.

I suppose madness and chaos are not completely synonymous, but it does strike me as a little weird that one could be the definition of mad while still being controlled. I'd still certainly like to see what you've come up with as I do indeed like jesters (I'm assuming that's what he is, more or less) and respectful takes on troubling mental problems.

Magic-Centered, GOT-like Cool RP idea

Seems pretty cool to me. Down to earth, in a way. I'm interested.

Such Haukes, Such Hounds

Missed one. :)

MaxStokes

Name: Darrick Grannd

Age: 23
Race: Human
Position: Assistant Cartographer

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Skills and Abilities: Darrick has been trained in a mix of scholarly, wilderness survival, and combat skills.

Mapmaking: Darrick has been practicing the art of mapmaking and transcribing since the day he could hold a quill. Equal parts drawing and literacy, when making a good map one must consider distance, elevation, and consistency. Not only must one have good spatial visualization but they must be able to empathise how those viewing will react to what they have presented in order to relay information effectively. This is Darrick’s most exceptional skill, though to him it seems rather unexceptional given his experience with it and his father always being better than him. This skill has a side effect of making quite the sketch artist.

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Swordplay: Darrick is trained and fairly skilled in swordplay having been trained personally by a skilled knight. He wasn’t a true squire, but he understands all the subtitles of knightly combat from maintenance and equipment of heavy armor to lanceplay. While he was never a fan of how plated armor constricted his movement, he enjoyed practicing swordplay with his mentor. As a result of his enthusiasm and his mentor’s skill at teaching he has become quite capable with a longsword, though he is not famed for his mastery of the weapon.

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Wilderness Survival: Having spent much of his time out on excursions and surveying missions with his father, Darrick is quite capable of surviving in the wilderness provided he starts with adequate equipment. More of a traveler than a wilderness master, he is the type to travel in the company of a horse and a sturdy pack and would have a hard time living off the land for an over extended period of time. Most of his prowess comes from his ability to read the landscape, when you know how the mountains flow it becomes easy to locate a river before you even see it.

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Trap Sense: More of an inherited disposition and a skill, Darrick seems to instinctively know when there are traps about. He would likely be hard pressed to actually locate or disarm them, but when it happens it is as through his blood curdles to tell him “this place is dangerous, be wary”.

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Appearance: Darrick is over rather average height, slightly under six feet. He has a muscular build fitting one of regular exercise and practiced swordplay but does not wield a greathammer and is therefore not on bodybuilder status. His face has rather youthful features, being more smooth than chiseled. However, his recently filled in short beard gives him a more mature look than if he were clean shaven. His nose has a slight tilt to it midway down from when he broke it climbing a tree during his childhood. His hair and eyes are both a dark, muddy brown. He keeps the hair on his head short and out of the way. It has a naturally starchiness to it and does not lie flat easily.

Darrick normally wears drab and durable clothing customary to his position. He is a fan of leather or cloth, but he feels comfortable enough often wears a chainmail short sleeve under his cloak, which he favors with a hood. He has the ability and training to don heavier, plate armor but dislikes it’s restricting nature and has little to no actual combat experience in it. He often wears leather gloves rather than not and always has a simple looking longsword in a simple looking sheathe at his hip. He also wears a Misericorde sheathed inside his right boot.

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Personality: Darrick has been a historically cheery fellow when you get to know him him. From his upbringing, he has been a bit isolated from his peers which has gotten him rather used to being alone. Though this has led him to cherish those few friends he has. He much prefers the company of people to sitting alone around a campfire. It may take a while for him to openly initiate conversation with someone who he is not familiar, but he is quick to trust those who take an interest in communicating with him.

Darrick enjoys swordplay greatly, but rather dislikes actual battle. When we trains with people or has friendly sparring matches he enjoys the challenge and competitive nature of the combat. In real life or death battles he has mostly fought against hostile hill people and bandits who were largely untrained in personal combat. He has killed only six, not counting feral beasts. His counting of those he has killed speaks to his belief of the seriousness and finality of life or death combat, something his mentor hammered into him from an early age.

Darrick, like most of his Grannd ancestors has a natural exploitative and inquisitive nature about him. From learning a new subject of seeing a new area, he genuinely enjoys and actively seeks out new experiences without fear of change. He’s not one to feel comfortable in a cushy unsurprising lifestyle and has a natural wonderlust about his personality. That said, this can sometimes manifest as a rushed overconfidence which is so often present in those his age. He sees this in himself, helped by his father and mentor to notice it, and considers it as a flaw. So when he notices himself rushing things he often tries to slow down and take another look at the situation.

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Backstory: The office of Head Cartographer and Surveyor has been one high regard but low nobility in Altranor since the kingdom’s inception. Although customarily passed down by birth, the position is never guaranteed and more than once the family controlling the position has been usurped by a particularly skilled or ambitious individual. Darrick’s father, Jeron, was the third of his line to hold the position.

Jeron’s grandfather was somewhat of an adventurer and wayfarer. He was passionate in creating maps, something that he was also quite skilled at. The man’s predecessors,Jeron included, have continued in the traveler’s method. Favoring exploring and traveling, updating and creating, to transcribing or collaborating other’s works.

Jeron was not close to Darrick's mother. The man was rather solitary when it came to other women. Though the man had desires, he never fell in love with anyone. Neither was he subject to any family marriages. When the mother of his child died in childbirth, the man was just over thirty and did not grieve for long.

Darrick’s early childhood was spent in the capital. Jeron abandoned his travels during the boy’s infancy, soon after the boy could walk and talk the man resumed his travels. Normally his father would spend nearly two thirds of every year out on excursions for his courtly position. In these early years, the Head Cartographer left his son in the care of a knight of low nobility, Eddrick, who was perpetually garrisoned in the capital. The knight had been a friend of Jeron since their early childhood and took good care of the young boy.

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Eddrick was the fourth son of family that owned a small patch of land just outside the capital. Never destined for lordship, the man was squired early and had spent most of his life in the capital garrison. He was a noble and kind man, skilled in combat, but of little ambition. The highest rank he ever achieved was that of training fresh militia recruits. The man seemed to have a natural empathy which lent itself well to teaching others.

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Darrick started out as a rather quiet little child. He would spend much of the day working on his penmanship, sketching, and transcription. The exercises were given by his father, and Darrick took them to heart. The boy would work laboriously for just to hear the man’s praise when he returned home from the long excursions. Though over time the boy began to see his father’s praise as more and more shallow. Eventually his interests turned to other pursuits.

Exploration was apparently in his blood. Darrick had lost his passion for the stuffy office work of a mapmaker, he seemed to naturally gravitate toward the position he was likely to inherit. The boy began to go on excursions of his own, now spending most of his days in the streets or forests near the capital. He had always had relatively free reign over his free time. Eddrick could only keep a cursory watch over the boy, inbetwixt his daily duties. Young Darrick walked about the castle freely and innocently. All the while he mapped out the areas in his head and sometimes even on paper.

After a few minor courtly Faux Pas, it became apparent that Darrick would need closer supervision. It was pointed out that the boy was now old enough to easily hold a sword, so Eddrick took the boy under his wing as an unofficial squire. Darrick now spent his days under Eddrick’s supervision, training in the art of swordplay and horseriding. Though he still spent his nights sketching and practicing his necessary scholarly skills.

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When Darrick grew into middle adolescence, his father began to take the young man with him on most of his trips. Darrick began to learn the more subtle skills of his father’s trade, the ones that made the man stand out enough to be considered Head Cartographer of the kingdom of Altranor. He learned how the land was naturally shaped, how to survive and navigate in the wilderness, and how to read what the landscape had to say. Darrick was also introduced for the first time the lesser known duties of Head Cartographer and Surveyor, locating treasure.

It was a bit of a court secret the Head Cartographer and Surveyor had, since the appointment of Jeron’s grandfather, been given an ulterior objective to just making and updating the kingdom’s maps. The Head Cartographer was also expected to locate ruins, caves, and otherwize hidden places which might hold valuable or magical artifacts.

Not exactly a treasure hunter, the Head Cartographer would make special denotations and relay the locations of these hidden places to the king. The king would then decided to either send an expedition or simply sell the information to interested parties. Treasure hunting and ruin spoiling was a dangerous business and not really suited to the low manpower or solo traveling which the Head Cartographer enjoyed. However, that didn’t stop the Grannd from occasionally poking their nose inside a particularly interesting location and coming out with a pretty trinket or new scar.

And so went Darrick’s life as the now Assistant Cartographer. When he was at the capital he trained with Eddrick and practiced his studies. When his father took him on excursions, he learned from the ageing man the tricks of the family trade. He even began to grow into a closer, friendly relationship with his father after having been estranged from the man for much of his childhood. This life carried on rather smoothly, although he had a short rebellious phase near the end of his adolescence as most young men of that age do.

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Darrick and his father were both present at the sacking of the capital. The king had suspended their regular duties when foreign troops began to set foot on Altranorean soil. Instead Jeron assisted the king and his generals, giving his insight toward the conditions of the land and other warlike matters which related to his expertise.

When the castle was stormed, Darrick’s father made the decision to stay with the king and guard his liege. The Head Cartrographer he ordered Darrick to attempt and meet of with some of the fleeing royal family and Eddrick. When Jeron handed Darrick the family sword, the father felt as though he knew this would be their last meeting. Darrick felt more optimistic, believing his father and the king would somehow make it out and they would join up later. The young man had never been to war, never truly experienced such a dire situation. As the soldier drove his sword through Jeron’s gut, he wished he had said more to his son before their parting.

When Darrick arrived at the secret passage there was no sign of the fleeing royal family members or Eddrick. He used his memory and knowledge of the castle layout to avoid capture. When he determined the fate of his father and the king, he vowed revenge.

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Notable Possessions:

The Grannd Family Sword “Blinder”: At first glance, Blinder seems like an unremarkable weapon. A simple longsword, the hilt is a flat rectangle the handle wrapped in brown leather, and the pommel no more designed than a small egg shape. Upon closer inspection the quality of the blade is obvious. The edge is smooth and devoid of cracks or nicks. The steel has a soft tarnish and slight surface scratching but no real flaws to speak of. When a trained fighter holds the weapon in their hands will immediately notice an exceptional balance. Those that examine these features would have no doubt that the sword is quite valuable.

However, if they were to run their hand over the blade, they would also notice a slight unnatural warmth to the blade. From this a learned individual can easily deduce that this is no ordinary sword but an enchanted blade. Which sends the value of the weapon from high to exceptional.

Though the specific enhancement is unknown, the knowledge of it’s effects have been passed down through the Grannd family for four generations since the sword was discovered in a far flung ruin by Darrick’s ancestor. The blade was originally housed in a more flamboyant hilt and handle the blade itself was the only part of the sword which had any magical properties and has since been re-hilted.

Beyond its lack of apparent deterioration, the Blade has a strange and useful magical power. It is from this power that the weapon derives it’s name. When wielding the weapon, if one knows of the power and desires to use it the weapon briefly seems to flash with a blinding light to all those but the one holding it. There is no vocal incantation or special action the wielder must take, they must merely wish or desire Blinder to flash and it will.

The flash blinds those who have unobstructed vision of the weapon’s blade and will cause them to be unable to see for roughly a second and a half. Though in a fight that is quite enough time to deliver a deadly blow, especially if your opponent is surprised and blinded.

The wielder needs to use Blinder’s power sparingly, as it can not be used in rapid succession. The general rule is that you will likely only be able to use the power once per fight unless the fight is exceptionally long. This is especially important since the wielder has no queues that the magic of the blade has worked beyond the actions of those around him. One of Darrick’s ancestors once counted how long it took for the blade to recover, it was around five minutes.

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A Magic Ring: Darrick wears a silvery metal ring which holds some manner of enchantment. When kissed the ring emits the voice of lady singing in a language unknown to the Grannd family. This ring was found by his grandfather and passed to him by his father during his childhood. It has kept him company many nights throughout his life, especially as a young child when his father was far away. The songs length and tone change according to mimic the mood of the one that kissed the ring.

Such Haukes, Such Hounds

If you really want to play in this particular group, Fair Lady, far be it for any of us to naysay against you making the attempt. Maxwell gets to make the final decisions, and as he's judging the character sheets rather than who came along first, you getting your sheet in last doesn't mean you're stealing anyone's spot. I suppose I can understand the sentiment though.

Such Haukes, Such Hounds

Whelp, guess I'll go with Sir then. Worked on the appearance to shorten it a little, but I think most everything else is as wanted. Sooooo...

Nemaisare

Name: Sir
Age: 12
Species: Anan – A long-lived(up to 30 years) subspecies of canid, said to be a feral remnant of the giants’ dogs that shrank to fit their island homes. NB: it hasn’t yet been proven that giants exist or have dogs to suit their size. They have an excellent ability to find living prey even in dense thicket, and the third eye suggests a connection to foresight or time.*If taken in as pups, they make surprisingly tractable companions and can be taught to understand the rudiments of our language. Owners of these beasts have occasionally reported seeing and sensing things they had not noticed before when touching them, but the phenomena has yet to be fully explained.** Members of the feral population are considered to be dangerous pests and often driven off or killed, and have become relatively rare. Those that are tamed, however, can become a valuable resource in keeping other wild predators away from livestock.

*Really, the third eye just gives them better visual focus up close. They do, however, have a different way of seeing the world, air and all gases are black, while living matter shines bright silver and other solids gradually diminish to greys.
**They can pass on their own observations of the world around them, and rudimentary visual cues, through touch.

Position: Sir is mainly a glorified pet. He was also, however, meant as a secondary line of defense for the king, in case the walls and guards weren’t enough.

Skills and Abilities:
He knows how to fight by instinct and training, but has never actually needed to, except once or twice against other beasts, and so is not entirely ill-prepared to take a well armoured and well-armed fighter head on, but he’s not exactly experienced. He is a very good hunter, however, and often went out with the king whenever the time could be spared. His senses of smell and hearing are well above average, at least compared to a human’s, and his ability to spot hidden, unmoving, prey is slightly above average for most other canines. He’s also got endurance, strength and durability on his side. And can jump over 30’ horizontally, and 15’ vertically with a running start. He can keep up a 12 km/h trot for hours and sprint at ~80km/h for a short time. With better conditioning, he might increase these measurements a little.

Appearance:
Sir most closely resembles a wolf or dog in appearance. He stands 6’ at the shoulder and 11’ from nose to rump. Weighing ~300lbs, he is slightly overweight. Standing, he has a straight back and slight shoulder hump of muscle, with thick legs and huge paws. He looks heavy when he moves, with a loose gait and, broad chest and shoulders, and fur you could lose a hand in. His skull alone measures nearly two feet long, with a broad muzzle, black nose and loose jowls. Its width is designed to accommodate the third eye, set just above the ordinary pairing, in the middle of his forehead. They are brown. His ears, slightly rounded at the tip, are oversized and erect. They are extremely useful for reading his mood. His teeth and vocalisations are the usual canid set.

His fur is uniformly thick across most of his body, being thinnest around his face and paws. The longer hair is coarse and slightly waterproof, while the underfur is both softer and denser. Sir’s colouring is predominantly russet, black and cream. He has a black mask covering his face from nose to cheeks that lightens to reddish-brown around his paired eyes and then continues to his ears. The black also goes a short ways down his throat before fading into grey and then cream. It colours the rims of his ears and draws a line down his spine and halfway down his tail. His ruff and flanks are whorled with a mixture of black and russet, with the red tinge being stronger. Reddish-brown also covers the backs of his ears and the very tip of his tail. The rest: stomach, legs, middle of the tail and throat, are all creamy white.

There are a few scars hiding under his fur, and several nicks and scratches on his muzzle and lips. His ears are well notched and chewed on and his tail is a little crooked.

Personality:
Generally mild mannered and affable, Sir’s method of interacting with the world is a mixture of curiousity, caution and eager attentiveness. He’s never been treated poorly or left uncared for, and he’s perfectly comfortable within walls as without. Though, admittedly, his large size can sometimes make maneuvering inside challenging. So, thus far, he’s learned mainly about the things he likes. People, warmth, food, play, hunting… And very little about what he doesn’t like. Fire hurts, so do sharp things, and scaring horses is not a good idea, neither is leaving his tail in a doorway. He learns through experience, and, as such, cannot easily understand a concept through theory alone, though he can extrapolate from similar experiences. For example, the first time he encountered fire, he did not know it would hurt. Now he does, and he usually expects that if something feels hot, prolonged contact with it will also hurt. He is also an observant creature, and so, does not need it to be his experience, though, as ever, seeing and understanding can be two very different things. He’s a fast learner though, and has a surprisingly good memory.

He is a social animal who enjoys the company of others, most particularly those he has come to view as pack and friend. As a daily part of the late-king’s retinue, the foremost important person in his life was the king, and after him, his family. When he is not near the king or his children, he is more fretful and less difficult to manage, but he will recognise others of the king’s court and seek interaction with them if the better choice is unavailable. As the king is now dead, and all his family, Sir has little other choice. He has lived with humans and those others in the court almost as long as he was alive, and can read them almost as easily as he can read the body language of another Anan. He can gauge friendly intention from harmful, read another’s mood and sense when tension is too thick to break. He has learned, and continues to actively listen to, much of the language used around him, and though connections are still at a rudimentary level he has ascertained the difference in tone between an order, a suggestion and an uncertain command.

This is important to him because, while usually calm and tractable, he is not above testing his limits, and, as he is just into his prime, he is feeling more confident in what he knows and what he can do and judging for himself whether or not he should do something. If someone he trusts gives an order, he is liable to obey immediately, if they offer a suggestion, he can conclude what they like or do not like him to do. If they scold him, he can learn from that too. But if someone entreats him, or tries coaxing, he will trust them less and test them more. Sir knows he is a big animal, he knows he is not as fragile as those he lives with, and he knows that this frightens some of them. Mostly, he will avoid those people, but he also knows that uncertainty and fear can be turned to his advantage if he does not like the situation with nothing more than a little posturing. It is natural, for him, to fall back on warning and threat in those instances, and to lie with his body language to gain the upper hand.

He knows to be observant, and to understand consequence, but he has not yet fully grasped the difference between thinking ahead and acting to avoid trouble, and thinking ahead to know the trouble your actions will cause. Mostly, this means he’ll try not to do anything others seem to think troublesome and that he’s still relatively straightforward to deal with. If he does not like someone, he will carefully observe them and grow snappish the closer they come. If he does not mind a person, he will mostly ignore them. The same if he thinks a person unimportant. If he likes someone, he will go out of his way to be friendly. Most familiar faces are somewhere between like and don’t care about, and most unfamiliar faces he merely distrusts until he’s been introduced. Sometimes, however, he can take an instant dislike to someone and not change his tune for anything. This can be as simple as because their laugh hurts his ears or as reasonable as because they are in the wrong area.

Sir is not easily frightened, though he can be provoked to greater caution; pain and the actions of those around him are good deterrents for impetuousness. He is also, however, not easily provoked into anger, and acts violent usually only when protecting himself or others, or believing he’s protecting them, and when hunting. But while he is predictable, he is also still an animal. If people do not respect his space, he won’t respect theirs and two way communication can be difficult. He is patient, but only to a point, and the more frustrated he gets, or anyone else gets, the less kindly he’ll respond as time goes on.

Backstory:
Sir was born in a large den beside a river town, near a heavy bridge that served as a central trading hub. Of course, this meant little to him or his siblings save that there was often noise well into the night. His mother and father paid slightly more attention to it however, as they were fed from the scraps it turned out and kept nearby to chase away vermin and the larger scavengers that could threaten the lives of livestock and traders alike. The whole town pitched in to look after them, though they were rather more self-sufficient than less. It paid to keep them happy and nearby, and full, so that they didn’t become scavengers themselves.

For the first two months of his life, all he knew was the faint silver sheen of the dirt around him and the brighter light of his littermates and the way his mother’s warmth and milk made him sleepy. But they did not stay in the den for long, and almost the same day his mother coaxed them out for the first time, the townsfolk sent the butcher to gather the pups so they could raise them the rest of the way themselves. The butcher being the one who had the most contact with the pair. His mother and father were still half feral, but if they accustomed the pups to human contact, they could sell them for further profit. And that is exactly what they did.

He and his two siblings spent the rest of the year playing in a fenced yard, eating, growing and putting up with daily visits from children and learning about the world. They were not completely removed from their mother’s care, as she could easily get over the fence where they could not. But she never tried to get them out as it seemed safe enough and she had nowhere else to take them. It was in that yard that Sir first learned to understand the tone of human language, and the differences between their strength and his. Even a pup could bite hard enough to break a human’s skin. And it was his own mother who disciplined him for that mistake when the child began to wail. He learned to be patient with pulled ears and a pinched tail, and how to tell a human to stop without going too far himself.

He also learned that humans were the source of his food as much as his mother was, and that when they asked something of him, he should try to do it. Often, during that first year, he’d go through every action he knew how to do, from running over to sitting, lying down, licking their face and knocking them over until they managed to show him what was wanted. They didn’t like that, and he figured out that patiently admitting his confusion by simply standing there and tilting his head could win him their favour, and the answer, far faster than trying to figure it out for himself.

At the end of the year, before he was fully grown, Sir and his siblings were put in a cage and fed drugged meat to get them asleep and docile. The cage was set on a boat and sent down the river to a larger market set up just beneath the king’s castle, where they were to be sold to the highest bidder. His sister was bought for the pitfights. His brother for a farming hamlet that needed the extra protection, and Sir was bought for a young lord who was pleased with his new pet for all of five minutes, before moving on to other things. His father was a travelling dignitary, there to attempt drawing out concessions from King Erasmus. He’d bought the pup in the hopes of keeping his son happy.

The man’s wife did not appreciate the gesture, and in a very calm fit of rage when the young pup ruined a dress worth more than he was, she picked the animal up by the scruff of his neck and brought him before the queen with a gracious smile. She gifted the Anan to her, claiming it to be a loyal companion and well worth royalty, hoping that she might forgive her for appearing so rudely before her in less than fine clothing with the gift. The queen, wise enough in the ways of both young boys and young dogs, accepted the gift with a smile, and promptly dumped the Anan into the care of the kennelmaster with the charge that he should make something of the beast.

The man, who knew what he’d been given, and didn’t really want the pup near his own hounds, spoke with the Captain of the Guard, who spoke with the chamberlain, who spoke with the king, who came down to the kennels to see this beast for himself. Sir was on his best behaviour, having fully realised he’d done something wrong, and won the king over with a well-timed whine and tail wag. It was agreed that if he could be trained as a guard dog, of which the kennelmaster was in no doubt, then the king would keep him nearby thereafter.

And so, Sir’s real training began.

The kennelmaster taught him how to behave indoors, and stay calm near crowds. He showed Sir where to get food, and inadvertently how to charm the cook, and ensured that he visited the king as often as possible, so they might be accustomed to each other. He was quite happy with the Anan’s treatment of the royal family when he was introduced to the children, and the queen even deigned to give him a pat on the head. Working with the guards, he was also taught that, sometimes, attacking a human was allowed. But also, that they could be harder to bite than usual and had sharp sticks that hurt. A lot. He had to learn how best to disable such an opponent and how to ignore any fear of being hurt himself that he might feel in the process. Mostly, he figured out that attacking from the back is a much better method than attacking from the front. He learned the basic commands that most household dogs should know, sit, stay, come, heel, down(that was an important one) and even fetch. But he also learned guard, hold and how to threaten when the king set his hand just so on his neck.

He was taught to listen only to the king and queen, and also, to think for himself. Although, that was a side effect of being rewarded when he did his job well.

When he reached his full growth and what the kennelmaster thought was his full potential, he was presented to the king and has been at the man’s side since. Or, at the very least, outside the door. The queen doesn’t like him in her bedchamber, and it was her forceful expression of that fact that broke his tail when she slammed the door on it. Sir still tucks his tail in whenever he has to go through or sit near doors now.

He has stopped two assassins since, leaving one dead and crippling the next, but has been of more use acting threatening in the courtroom than actively doing anything dangerous. And was always just as happy to doze under the weight of a grandson or daughter when they came to distract their grandfather as settle his chin on his master’s knee or go running beside his horse beyond the castle. He learned who was and wasn’t trusted by the king, and was well settled into King Erasmus’ routines when the sudden tension grew around them. He didn’t understand why, winter was usually the quiet period, when his humans didn’t want to go outside. But now he has learned that some humans do not care about the weather, and now they are inside while he is outside.

Sir did fight when the soldiers bulled their way through the castle, but the king’s last command was to guard the children. He kept them all in one room, and guarded the door. He was struck more than once across his face and chest, and killed more than one man, and might have kept them safe until others could arrive to get them out, but he had not remembered the other door, and the enemy found it first. He turned at their cries and saw most already dead. So, he picked up the nearest and ran, forcing his way through the press of strange soldiers as he searched for the king. He did not find him, but he did make it outside the castle walls with his burden, and dug himself and the child a snow den, where he curled around her and tried to keep her warm, licking his wounds and hers. But she bled out while he recovered.

Now he only wants to return to find his master, or any other he knows, and if they are strong enough, chase the invaders out of his home.

Notable Possessions: He’s got a few cow’s thighbones and hooves cached about the place, but has carefully kept them outside the castle since being sternly reprimanded for making the king’s royal bedchambers stink to high heaven by saving a whole leg for later under the bed and then being unable to reach it…
He also has a solid iron collar with the king’s sigil on it. It’s only a collar, though it is meant to protect his neck and throat in a fight.

Now I must go back through the other apps and remember the connections I was thinking of. There really has been a great response to this.

The Summoner's Labyrinth

Wish him well from me as well, please. We can wait.

Such Haukes, Such Hounds

I've got two characters now that I'm having a hard time choosing between, so I'm wondering if anyone would like to offer their opinion. If they care. :P Or if you guys, or Maxwell in particular, might prefer one over the other. :) Let me know. If not, I might just have to flip a coin.

Sir

Name: Sir
Age: 12
Species: Anan – A long-lived(up to 30 years) subspecies of canid, said to be a feral remnant of the giants’ dogs(nb: it hasn’t yet been proven that giants exist or have dogs to suit their size) that shrank to fit their island homes. They have an excellent ability to find living prey even in dense thicket, and the third eye suggests a connection to foresight or time. (really, it just gives them better visual focus up close, they do, however, have a different way of seeing the world, air and empty space are black, while living matter shines a bright silver and other solids gradually diminish to greys) If taken in as pups, they make surprisingly tractable companions and can be taught to understand the rudiments of our language. Owners of these beasts have occasionally reported seeing and sensing things they had not noticed before when touching them, but the phenomena has yet to be fully explained. (they can pass on their own observations of the world around them, and rudimentary visual cues, through touch) Members of the feral population are considered to be dangerous pests and often driven off or killed, and have become relatively rare. Those that are tamed, however, can become a valuable resource in keeping other wild predators away from livestock.

Position: Sir is mainly a glorified pet. He was also, however, meant as a secondary line of defense for the king, in case the walls and guards weren’t enough.

Skills and Abilities: He knows how to fight by instinct and training, but has never actually needed to, except once or twice against other beasts, and so is not entirely ill-prepared to take a well armoured and well-armed fighter head on, but he’s not exactly experienced. He is a very good hunter, however, and often went out with the king whenever the time could be spared. His senses of smell and hearing are well above average, at least compared to a human’s, and his ability to spot hidden, unmoving, prey is slightly above average for most other canines. He’s also got endurance, strength and durability on his side. And can jump over 30’ horizontally, and 15’ vertically with a running start. He can keep up a 12 km/h trot for hours and sprint at ~80km/h for a short time. With better conditioning, he might increase these measurements a little.

Appearance: The animal Sir most closely resembles is a dog. Albeit an extremely large, three-eyed one. He stands six feet at the shoulder, with a length of eleven feet from nose to rump and is possibly slightly overweight at ~300 lbs. He looks heavy, with a loose gait, broad chest and shoulders, and fur you could lose a hand in. Standing, he has a straight back and slight shoulder hump of muscle, with thick legs and huge paws that he seems to still be growing into. His skull alone measures nearly two feet long, with a wide muzzle, black nose and loose jowls. Its width makes it look a little top heavy from the front, but is designed to accommodate the third eye, set just above the ordinary pairing, in the middle of his forehead. His three eyes make a small triangle, with the paired set sitting below the single eye. Sir’s teeth are the standard set for canids, with four canines, shearing carnassials and molars meant for crushing bone. His ears, slightly rounded at the tip, are oversized, even for his measurements. They sit a little to the sides of his skull, and are erect, no flopping. They are extremely mobile, and very good indications of his mood.

His fur is thickest around his shoulders and along the back of his neck with a nice feathering on his tail and down his legs. It is thinnest on his face and around his paws. It is of relatively similar length along the rest of his body. The longer hair is coarse and slightly waterproof while the short underfur is soft and denser. His whole coat has a healthy sheen and sleekness to it from a good diet, and hides plenty of muscle underneath. Sir’s colouring is predominantly russet, black and cream. He has a black mask covering his face from nose to cheeks that lightens to reddish-brown around his paired eyes and then continues to his ears. The black also goes a short ways down his throat before fading into grey and then cream. It colours the rims of his ears and draws a line down his spine and halfway down his tail. His ruff and flanks are whorled with a mixture of black and russet, with the red tinge being stronger. Reddish-brown also covers the backs of his ears and the very tip of his tail. The rest: stomach, legs, middle of the tail and throat, are all creamy white.

He has dark brown irises that soften his gaze and can glare, beg and look wistful as well as any other dog. Though the markings on his face do give him a slight edge for being expressive, even accidentally. There is very little hair inside his ears, letting pink skin show through, but nowhere else is his fur even remotely that thin.

There are a few scars hiding under his long fur, most are simple mishaps from a hunt or play fight, with plenty of small nicks and scratches covering his muzzle. He has a few notches in his ears from his littermates roughhousing and chewing on them, and a slight kink in his tail from an unfortunate encounter with a door. Sir also has a variety of noises he can make, from the usual range of growls and yips and barks and something resembling a howl, though his tend to end on a wailing note that sounds rather like a crying baby. He can grumble and groan and whine with the best of them, and each sound can be combined as he needs. Being a large beast, the volumes he can reach are unsurprising, but he can also be amazingly quiet when making noise.

Personality: Generally mild mannered and affable, Sir’s method of interacting with the world is a mixture of curiousity, caution and eager attentiveness. He’s never been treated poorly or left uncared for, and he’s perfectly comfortable within walls as without. Though, admittedly, his large size can sometimes make maneuvering inside challenging. So, thus far, he’s learned mainly about the things he likes. People, warmth, food, play, hunting… And very little about what he doesn’t like. Fire hurts, so do sharp things, and scaring horses is not a good idea, neither is leaving his tail in a doorway. He learns through experience, and, as such, cannot easily understand a concept through theory alone, though he can extrapolate from similar experiences. For example, the first time he encountered fire, he did not know it would hurt. Now he does, and he usually expects that if something feels hot, prolonged contact with it will also hurt. He is also an observant creature, and so, does not need it to be his experience, though, as ever, seeing and understanding can be two very different things. He’s a fast learner though, and has a surprisingly good memory.

He is a social animal who enjoys the company of others, most particularly those he has come to view as pack and friend. As a daily part of the late-king’s retinue, the foremost important person in his life was the king, and after him, his family. When he is not near the king or his children, he is more fretful and less difficult to manage, but he will recognise others of the king’s court and seek interaction with them if the better choice is unavailable. As the king is now dead, and all his family, Sir has little other choice. He has lived with humans and those others in the court almost as long as he was alive, and can read them almost as easily as he can read the body language of another Anan. He can gauge friendly intention from harmful, read another’s mood and sense when tension is too thick to break. He has learned, and continues to actively listen to, much of the language used around him, and though connections are still at a rudimentary level he has ascertained the difference in tone between an order, a suggestion and an uncertain command.

This is important to him because, while usually calm and tractable, he is not above testing his limits, and, as he is just into his prime, he is feeling more confident in what he knows and what he can do and judging for himself whether or not he should do something. If someone he trusts gives an order, he is liable to obey immediately, if they offer a suggestion, he can conclude what they like or do not like him to do. If they scold him, he can learn from that too. But if someone entreats him, or tries coaxing, he will trust them less and test them more. Sir knows he is a big animal, he knows he is not as fragile as those he lives with, and he knows that this frightens some of them. Mostly, he will avoid those people, but he also knows that uncertainty and fear can be turned to his advantage if he does not like the situation with nothing more than a little posturing. It is natural, for him, to fall back on warning and threat in those instances, and to lie with his body language to gain the upper hand.

He knows to be observant, and to understand consequence, but he has not yet fully grasped the difference between thinking ahead and acting to avoid trouble, and thinking ahead to know the trouble your actions will cause. Mostly, this means he’ll try not to do anything others seem to think troublesome and that he’s still relatively straightforward to deal with. If he does not like someone, he will carefully observe them and grow snappish the closer they come. If he does not mind a person, he will mostly ignore them. The same if he thinks a person unimportant. If he likes someone, he will go out of his way to be friendly. Most familiar faces are somewhere between like and don’t care about, and most unfamiliar faces he merely distrusts until he’s been introduced. Sometimes, however, he can take an instant dislike to someone and not change his tune for anything. This can be as simple as because their laugh hurts his ears or as reasonable as because they are in the wrong area.

Sir is not easily frightened, though he can be provoked to greater caution; pain and the actions of those around him are good deterrents for impetuousness. He is also, however, not easily provoked into anger, and acts violent usually only when protecting himself or others, or believing he’s protecting them, and when hunting. But while he is predictable, he is also still an animal. If people do not respect his space, he won’t respect theirs and two way communication can be difficult. He is patient, but only to a point, and the more frustrated he gets, or anyone else gets, the less kindly he’ll respond as time goes on.

Backstory: Sir was born in a large den beside a river town, near a heavy bridge that served as a central trading hub. Of course, this meant little to him or his siblings save that there was often noise well into the night. His mother and father paid slightly more attention to it, however, as they were fed from the scraps it turned out and kept nearby to chase away vermin and the larger scavengers that could threaten the lives of livestock and traders alike. The whole town pitched in to look after them, though they were rather more self-sufficient than less, it paid to keep them happy and nearby, and full, so that they didn’t become scavengers themselves.

For the first two months of his life, all he knew was the faint silver sheen of the dirt around him and the brighter light of his littermates and the way his mother’s warmth and milk made him sleepy. But they did not stay in the den for long, and almost the same day his mother coaxed them out for the first time, the townsfolk sent the butcher to gather the pups so they could raise them the rest of the way themselves. The butcher being the one who had the most contact with the pair. His mother and father were still half feral, but if they accustomed the pups to human contact, they could sell them for further profit. And that is exactly what they did.

He and his two siblings spent the rest of the year playing in a fenced yard, eating, growing and putting up with daily visits from children and learning about the world. They were not completely removed from their mother’s care, as she could easily get over the fence where they could not. But she never tried to get them out as it seemed safe enough and she had nowhere else to take them. It was in that yard that Sir first learned to understand the tone of human language, and the differences between their strength and his. Even a pup could bite hard enough to break a human’s skin. And it was his own mother who disciplined him for that mistake when the child began to wail. He learned to be patient with pulled ears and a pinched tail, and how to tell a human to stop without going too far himself.

He also learned that humans were the source of his food as much as his mother was, and that when they asked something of him, he should try to do it. Often, during that first year, he’d go through every action he knew how to do, from running over to sitting, lying down, licking their face and knocking them over until they managed to show him what was wanted. They didn’t like that, and he figured out that patiently admitting his confusion by simply standing there and tilting his head could win him their favour, and the answer, far faster than trying to figure it out for himself.

At the end of the year, before he was fully grown, Sir and his siblings were put in a cage and fed drugged meat to get them asleep and docile. The cage was set on a boat and sent down the river to a larger market set up just beneath the king’s castle, where they were to be sold to the highest bidder. His sister was bought for the pitfights. His brother for a farming hamlet that needed the extra protection, and Sir was bought for a young lord who was pleased with his new pet for all of five minutes, before moving on to other things. His father was a travelling dignitary, there to attempt drawing out concessions from King Erasmus. He’d bought the pup in the hopes of keeping his son happy.

His wife did not appreciate the gesture, and in a very calm fit of rage when he ruined a dress worth more than he was, she picked the animal up by the scruff of his neck and brought him before the queen with a gracious smile. She gifted the Anan to her, claiming it to be a loyal companion and well worth royalty, hoping that she might forgive her for appearing so rudely before her in less than fine clothing with the gift. The queen, wise enough in the ways of both young boys and young dogs, accepted the gift with a smile, and promptly dumped the Anan into the care of the kennelmaster with the charge that he should make something of the beast.

The man, who knew what he’d been given, and didn’t really want the pup near his own hounds, spoke with the Captain of the Guard, who spoke with the chamberlain, who spoke with the king, who came down to the kennels to see this beast for himself. Sir was on his best behaviour, having fully realised he’d done something wrong, and won the king over with a well-timed whine and tail wag. It was agreed that if he could be trained as a guard dog, of which the kennelmaster was in no doubt, then the king would keep him nearby thereafter.

And so, Sir’s real training began.

The kennelmaster taught him how to behave indoors, and stay calm near crowds. He showed Sir where to get food, and inadvertently how to charm the cook, and ensured that he visited the king as often as possible, so they might be accustomed to each other. He was quite happy with the Anan’s treatment of the royal family when he was introduced to the children, and the queen even deigned to give him a pat on the head. Working with the guards, he was also taught that, sometimes, attacking a human was allowed. But also, that they could be harder to bite than usual and had sharp sticks that hurt. A lot. He had to learn how best to disable such an opponent and how to ignore any fear of being hurt himself that he might feel in the process. Mostly, he figured out that attacking from the back is a much better method than attacking from the front. He learned the basic commands that most household dogs should know, sit, stay, come, heel, down(that was an important one) and even fetch. But he also learned guard, hold and how to threaten when the king set his hand just so on his neck.

He was taught to listen only to the king and queen, and also, to think for himself. Although, that was a side effect of being rewarded when he did his job well.

When he reached his full growth and what the kennelmaster thought was his full potential, he was presented to the king and has been at the man’s side since. Or, at the very least, outside the door. The queen doesn’t like him in her bedchamber, and it was her forceful expression of that fact that broke his tail when she slammed the door on it. Sir still tucks his tail in whenever he has to go through or sit near doors now.

He has stopped two assassins since, leaving one dead and crippling the next, but has been of more use acting threatening in the courtroom than actively doing anything dangerous. And was always just as happy to doze under the weight of a grandson or daughter when they came to distract their grandfather as settle his chin on his master’s knee or go running beside his horse beyond the castle. He learned who was and wasn’t trusted by the king, and was well settled into King Erasmus’ routines when the sudden tension grew around them. He didn’t understand why, winter was usually the quiet period, when his humans didn’t want to go outside. But now he has learned that some humans do not care about the weather, and now they are inside while he is outside.

Sir did fight when the soldiers bulled their way through the castle, but the king’s last command was to guard the children. He kept them all in one room, and guarded the door. He was struck more than once across his face and chest, and killed more than one man, and might have kept them safe until others could arrive to get them out, but he had not remembered the other door, and the enemy found it first. He turned at their cries and saw most already dead. So, he picked up the nearest and ran, forcing his way through the press of strange soldiers as he searched for the king. He did not find him, but he did make it outside the castle walls with his burden, and dug himself and the child a snow den, where he curled around her and tried to keep her warm, licking his wounds and hers. But she bled out while he slept.

Now he only wants to return to find his master, or any other he knows, and if they are strong enough, chase the invaders out of his home.

Notable Possessions: He’s got a few cow’s thighbones and hooves cached about the place, but has carefully kept them outside the castle since being sternly reprimanded for making the king’s royal bedchambers stink to high heaven by saving a whole leg for later under the bed and then being unable to reach it…
He also has a solid iron collar with the king’s sigil on it. It’s only a collar, though it is meant to protect his neck and throat in a fight.

Gilda

Name: Gilda Thatcher
Age: 19
Race: human - Altranoran
Position: head kitchen maid

Skills & Abilities:
Kitchen work – Gilda knows how to cook more than a few meals, though they’re mainly on the rustic side, bread and meat and porridge being staples of hers. She can make a pretty good pasty and peel a potato faster than many. She’s handy with a knife and knows the ins and outs of cleaning and preparing most small animals for the table. She’s also learned plenty about herbs, spices and tisanes from her mother and grandmother.

Tailoring – while her work might not stand up to the eye of the king’s tailor, her stitches are neat, her weaves tight and her knitting not bad either. It’s been a while since she made any cloth, but she still does all her own measuring and cutting and sewing of her own clothes, and they hold up quite well, thank you.

Animal husbandry – she’s familiar with most farm animals: dogs and cats and chickens and geese and pigs and cows and horses and rats. She knows how to deal with them and care for them, as well as the specific uses they can each be put to, alive or dead. She knows how to ride bareback, well enough not to fall off, anyway, but much prefers sitting in a cart. And can harness up horse or oxen adeptly.

Hunting and protecting herself – Gilda knows a small bit about hunting and tracking, mostly pertaining to smaller game like birds and rabbits and squirrels. She can also see the signs for areas she should avoid when walking through forest or plain where predators or poisonous animals might lurk. She has very good aim and a good throwing arm, and, given any palm sized object(rocks, sticks, shelf decorations), can hit a small target accurately each and every time.

Intuition – Gilda’s trust in her intuition is strong enough that it’s almost as though she has eyes in the back of her head. She’s been known to catch trouble before it happens, mostly little things like near spills or too much salt or slippery floors or pregnancies that could be chalked up to an observant nature. But she also prescribes different solutions to regular problems that often work pretty well. Her ability to work with sympathetic magic is hampered mostly by her lack of money for the more extravagant things she sometimes knows she needs(and therefore doesn’t use that spell) and by her work, which usually takes up too much of her time to go gallivanting about town and country looking high and low for any old bits and bobs, as she calls it. Still, she makes do with what she has and if the commissioner’s willing, and it’ll work that way, she’ll just tell them a list of what to get.

Appearance: Being a young woman of low social rank and poor income, Gilda has very little about her that captures the attention. She usually wears a comfortably fitted linen gown, cinched up at the waist by a leather girdle and dyed a dark blue. In colder weather, she wears another, sleeveless woolen gown overtop the blue one, which is undyed beige. A staple of her outfit is a white apron tied about her waist that she uses to clean her hands or carry seeds and grasses or keep her clothing safe from spills. Simple leather shoes keep her feet protected from the elements.

Gilda is a short woman at 5’2”, with a round face, wide smile and sturdy build. She’s hefty enough to manage the work that goes into keeping a castle running from the bottom and buxom enough that it isn’t hard to find a willing shoulder for those chores she isn’t strong enough to manage herself. Her hands are calloused and her face already getting weather worn and ruddy, but it’s still unlined and easily bright enough to win her a return smile from most. She has shrewd grey eyes and no freckles, though a purple birthmark does cover a bit of her right shoulder and the back of her neck. Her hair is rather like straw, being thick, unwieldy and coarse, as well as blonde. Loose, it would reach past her hips, but she plaits it neatly into two braids and ties them together over her head before she goes out in the morning, and often covers the whole of it with a headscarf.

Personality: Gilda is smart and resourceful, she has a glib tongue and a steady hand. She knows when to voice her opinion and when to keep quiet, and merely to duck her head and bob into a curtsey when she encounters anyone above her station. That being, most anyone at the castle. She is not, however, readily cowed by their pomp and circumstance or flair, and should one ever invite her to speak up, she most assuredly will. Politely and pointedly. She isn’t easily intimidated, though she certainly knows the difference between foolish, foolhardy, brave and picking the right moment to stand her ground.

She is not generally a quiet woman, being perfectly happy to talk amongst her peers and share the latest news and gossip and warning about any overseer in a mood. She enjoys listening to a good story and sharing her own if she’s any good ones to offer, but she’s never thought that any of those fire side legends might ever happen around her. Gilda does not believe she is built for adventure, she thinks she was meant to find a nice man and settle down and raise a family. That being said, she has not taken kindly to her future plans being ruined as they were. While she leaves most boisterous and bawdy behaviour to others, she does like to have a bit of fun, and enjoys the time she spends out with geese.

Gilda is a hard worker, diligent and proud of being able to say “I did my best” and have it be worth something. She appreciates being noticed for her hard work and did indeed have ambitions to reach employment beyond the kitchens when the invasion occurred. She is a determined woman, and not afraid of getting dirty or a little rough if she has to. Nor of asking for help when she needs it. She knows her place well, and is confident in her abilities and knowledge of what needs to get done and how to get it done that she is not afraid to give advice or demand better from those few beneath her, nor to do it herself. She will take the initiative when she has to, and knows that, sometimes, unconventional methods can get the best results.

She is superstitious, and enjoys a myriad of old wives’ remedies for anything from a sniffle to a haunting to a, well, she’s never heard of a remedy for an invasion, but she’s figured she might as well try to find one herself and add it to the list. She is very much a do-it-herself girl if no one else seems able or willing to step up to the plate, and is just as willing to accept the consequences for her own actions as she is unwilling to accept the consequences for another. She’s certainly been known to hold a grudge on that score. She’s surprisingly fearless in her practicality, but not always as practical as her parents would like.

Backstory: Born and raised in Torvel, a small farming community a stone’s throw from a strange rift in the ground, Gilda grew up listening to one after another of the stories and legends that went around the fireside about that place. She heard about falling giants and long winded wizards and even about a huge toad that lived over the edge and ate the lost lambs and little children that wandered too close. She snuck close with her brother when she was little, and still swears she heard the rattle-purr of the toad in the stories, though it might have been nothing but a stone knocked loose by one of the sheep. Her parents raised her to understand the value of responsibility, team work and rolling up her own sleeves to get in the thick of things when needed.

In hindsight, she liked living out there, and liked learning all there was her family and neighbours could tell her about dealing with hoof rot or scaring off the hillcats. She liked looking after the geese and helping her father with the thatch roofs of their house and the rest of the village. She enjoyed the calmer winter months and the babies coming in spring. She didn’t much like doing laundry though, or milking their goat. She had a hard head and knew how to use it. But what she liked most was walking with her gran and finding the hidden treasures under stone and grassroot. It was Gran Keri who taught her how to trust what her instincts told her, even if her head thought they were silly. That old woman could find lambs in a blizzard and start a fire from even the wettest wood. She made luck charms and protective bracelets and kept hillcats away with nothing but seedpods and twine. (although she admitted that that last was more because they didn’t like the noise than through any magical means)

Still, when she was old enough be on her own, Gilda went the way of most of her friends in the village, towards a bigger town, looking for work. She went farther afield than most of them and wound up living in the king’s city. Every day she’d wake up early and do her rounds, looking for any household that needed the extra hands or could afford the help. Sometimes she ended the evening with a bit of coin and sometimes she didn’t. But eventually she did work up the courage to ask at the castle gate. It took a few months, and was almost happenstance when a guard usually standing at the gate caught her late at the market on his way to a tavern and told her if she hurried herself now, the king was holding a feast and he swore he’d heard the cook complaining about being shorthanded.

Well, she rushed there straight away and was immediately put to work. And after that tiring night, she was given a permanent position. She started as scullery maid. She cleaned the floors and scoured the ovens, scraped the pots and plates and swept down the tables. She fetched water when it was needed and plucked so many birds she couldn’t count that high. Her hands were always raw from the work, and she was often tired, but she was paid for it well enough, and she never complained. After two years, she was raised to the position of kitchen maid.

She was still plenty well-worked and busy, but she was freer to talk with the others as she did; now her position was better secured. And so she did. She learned about the king and the court and who was secretly seeing who and the king’s favourites and visiting dignitaries and started offering her own rudimentary services as a witch to her fellows when they felt they needed something a little stronger than common sense to cure their ills or troubles. And for that the cook made her head kitchen maid, mostly for her apparent luck in averting disasters; a responsibility she takes quite seriously. It helped her learn how to delegate and oversee a larger operation than anything she was previously used to, and gave her a chance at a bit of a breather, not to mention a glimpse of her future.

While the position is not exactly reaching any exalted heights, it was better than she’d been expecting. It made her ever so slightly more visible to those above her, and her reputation as a good witch spread even among the nobles, though they were hardly likely to admit they’d gone to a kitchen maid for help. And there are plenty of single men around to consider making into family men. Or, there were… She’d already found her man among the guards though. In fact, he was the very same man who told her about the open position in the kitchen. And she was going to marry him next spring, but now he’s dead. He’s dead, and the kitchens are a shambles, the cook’s had his throat slit and most of the other maids are dead or going to be wishing they were. She felt the magic coming, but she thought it was only a bigger storm than usual.

If only she’d thought to tell someone, things might have gone differently. Who would have listened she has no idea, but she feels she should have realised sooner. Or at least taken Davi with her. Then he wouldn’t be dead, and she wouldn’t be losing a sure future or hiding in an oven worried about getting her legs spread, whispering nonsense under her breath and hoping that no one hears her as she tries to make sure no one looks inside. But she saw the man who did it, and she wants him dead too. And she won’t leave until she’s managed it. If that means hiding forever, or making food for these wretched soldiers, she’ll do it, until she can slip something into their meal, or drag her knife across that man’s throat.

Notable Possessions: She has a sharp little paring knife rolled in her belt, and a few charms for luck and good health on a pouch at her belt. Her worldly possessions don’t amount to much.

blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]

Work to be done…

Aye, there was always work to be done. Didn’t answer his question. Just shut it down. Ah well, he was too tired to argue. And as the woman happened to be holding the man-thing rather more bravely than he had, Jules figured he could let it slide. Had to, or start an argument he doubted he could win. Better to save face. Save his breath, too, for arguing in the next instant when she told Brenna to help him. He didn’t need none of that now. He’d live. But the way Brenna came to his side so eagerly told him that maybe it wasn’t just for him that he needed this help. Well, allright, put that way, he could deal with it.

Hadn’t much choice, anyway, if he wanted to get off the wagon and headed towards a healer. Damn that kid had a strong bite. And Brenna a strong arm. And he’d thank the man’s mother that Olan had good aim with that shovel. If ever he met her… But for now, for right now… He just wanted off the wagon. And so, once he’d managed that, Jules stood there, held up mostly by Brenna, as the guards arrived around the stern-mouthed Third. He gave a report. An extremely succinct one. “Found a beast in the hen-house, sir. You can keep it.”

He called everyone sir, even old women with wide hips and sagging breasts from childbearing and age, just so long as there was steel about. The Zarnofsky’s were a good family to work under, a pity they’d lost the old Second before the other had had time enough to grow into the role. But this lady here, he knew her and she knew him and he figured she could get more details out of someone else whose brain wasn’t so addled. The adrenaline had worn off about halfway through tying the makeshift blindfold, and all he wanted to do was go find a healer and swear at them, loudly. He’d a feeling he’d lost some important muscles, the way his fingers had lost their grip. Though that might well have been from Samaire stepping on them. He could hope.

He heard someone snort and felt another body press in close to slip his arm over their shoulders and then he just decided he’d go where they took him. If it was a bed, he’d be all right with that.

---

Serryn couldn’t help it when her lips twitched at the snort beside her. The man had a way with words, obviously, though he looked rough enough she’d forgive him his attitude. She glanced to the side and sent the guard lacking in decorum with orders to get Jules to the healer, but asked Brenna to stay. As well as the newcomer, Samaire… She’d seen far too much of her the past two days, and didn’t like that she was, yet again, near something strange. Even if it was only coincidence, like attracted like… Better not to keep her around if bad things happened too often around her. “Get the-” Jules had called it a beast, and looked as though he’d encountered one, but the thing Samaire appeared to be holding down was very much a man.

Frowning, she turned to Brenna. “Well, where is the beast?”

“That’s him as Jules meant, Lady Serryn. He don’t rightly seem like any man I’ve met. Jumped right out the coop soon’s the door was opened and bit him in the arm. Screeching like some cat and not a stitch to him.” Was he mad? Struck in the head? Spirit eaten? He looked calm enough now, but tied up, gagged and blinded, and being restrained, well, that’d give most reason enough to conserve their energy. “Very well, put those shackles on him, and get him into the holding cell. When Varis returns he may have answers for us.”

She had better things to occupy her time than dealing with an alleged chicken thief, even if he had attacked one of her guards. The families they’d moved inside the fort needed to be reassured and properly settled. They’d not had enough mattresses to go around last night, but she’d offered them the materials, if they could make them, and she’d been told they’d kept busy. She had to check on them, offer more blankets as the day’s warmth would fade once the sun fell. And now, she had ruined crops to concern herself with. She would have to measure their resources against their needs, and their neighbours against their deeds. If she found sufficient evidence against anyone for this most recent misfortune, she was certainly not going to trade with them! And that damned deer! Someone else could deal with the chicken thief!

---

His attention was constantly dragged outside of his aching skull, turned this way and that by words and sounds and hurt. But the weight on his back never left, and the darkness wouldn’t go away. So when footsteps came closer, he only lifted his head a little and growled before choking on the gag. The ground shifted beneath him and then other hands dragged him back and cold, metal?, wrapped around his arms. The youth jerked against his new bonds and gravity when the ground disappeared and only hands about his arms and legs held him up. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like them. Could walk on his own.

He thrashed, tilted and kicked before his skull echoed for a second time. And then he just hung, limp. He stayed still when he was set down and listened with only vague interest to a rattle he couldn’t place. He could smell and feel earth beneath him, cold and hard, wet and old. They let his arms go and rolled him over, clasping them again with the cold hands he thought were metal. Curling around his wrists and making his arms stiff. His shoulders stung as the muscles relaxed out of the position they’d been forced into, and then his legs were untied and his feet started itching. He squirmed against the mud clingingto him and curled his lips away from the cloth between his teeth, sitting up when all the feet were moving far away and a door had closed. Between them, he thought.

He sat slouched to the side, listing without any desire to correct himself. When he brought one arm up, the other followed without volition, metal clinked. Caught together. He sniffed it, the sharp tang meant iron. Hard iron. He pushed at it with his nose, it slipped up, and then fell back as far as its width would allow. But the cloth covering his eyes slipped more. Matiir pushed again, and again, finally rubbing his whole face against the link between shackle and chain until the blindfold was resting on his scalp and only staying on his head because it was stuck to his hair.

He blinked at his surroundings, staring back at guards that were staring at him, seeing bars as far as he could turn his head. Not far, just then, though they did indeed go all the way around. He was still outside, but caged. And the chain ran from his wrists like a big snake. A poison one; long and thin like that. He flicked it off his legs nervously, wincing as the movement rippled in his head and pulled his feet away. Next, he tugged at the thing in his mouth, biting and scratching until he figured out how to work his fingers in between cheek and cloth and tear down. He couldn’t get it off, but he did pull it away from his mouth, and retched to get the rest of it out. Now he could breathe.

Yawning nervously, he licked his lips and as far towards his nose as he could, grimacing at the left over taste and texture before sneezing. That hurt too.

---

“My mind’s sore frayed, Rin, or’re you seeing this same’s I?”

“I’m seeing something, Ger.” The two guards left to watch their troublesome new guest, more for the chance to observe than worry that he might escape, were staring unabashedly, even while one voiced what they were both thinking. The man-thing had worked his way free of blindfold and gag as though he didn’t know what thumbs were for. Or knots, for that matter, and they’d each borne the brunt of that red stare while he was looking about. Now, they watched him pace the length of his chain, tripping now and again over the links, moving slow and stretching more than once, probably nursing an unsurprising headache. He didn’t stand though, he crawled, hands flat, feet dragging behind his knees.

The cell was set up in the middle of the compound’s courtyard. Meant to offer the security of the walls for those posted to watch any prisoners, while leaving those chained open to the elements, and preferably far from the ranking inhabitants, in case they did manage escape. The bars were nothing more than heavy iron grates dug into the ground and set into a square, and welded together by a man who knew how to call fire into his hands. It had no roof, and no wall to escape from prying eyes or elements. So when the youth curled up in the middle and turned his back to the watching men, they weren’t entirely surprised. But they still exchanged incredulous glances. “He wild, you think, Rin?”

“Don’t know, Ger.”

A low grumble started when Ger continued talking, rising and falling each time one of them spoke.

“Think the spirithunger took him?”

“Never seen anyone act like that afore.”

“Couldn’t be him killed that deer, you think?”

“Quiet, Ger.”

The growling faded when their voices did, and, once more, they looked at each other. Gerold couldn’t hide a shiver. Rin managed a little better, using his off hand to flick a pinky towards the ground, tossing away whatever unwanted attention this moment had sent his way. And then he glared, hard, when Gerold opened his mouth again. Ger shut it without another word.

---

He was tired. His head hurt. His arms and shoulders and back hurt. His mouth was dry. He wanted water. All he had was chains and bars and noise. Men staring, he was used to that. There were horses nearby and other humans walking back and forth. All noise. So when the two behind him started talking, he grumbled, roughing out a growl that wasn’t quite threatening until they stopped. And then, licking his hand over the iron to wipe it against his face and clean off the blood, he settled in to wait. He understood cages. They opened and closed sometimes. This one was not even complete.

Such Haukes, Such Hounds

If you don't want the motivation to be for the king because they liked the king, you could perhaps try giving them a weakness or something that someone else in the group could exploit to get your character working with them? Or maybe just set it up so that their history gives them a reason to dislike Bernard of Ghant or one of the other monarchs enough to use this chance to try offing them, and the group of angry courtiers(and others) might make a good meatshield or alliance? Maybe?