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Now, this needs a little more context. I'm sorry your arm got injured by a dog, but what happened? Randomn attack, missed the 'Beware of Dog' sign, pulled out of socket by dog tugging at leash, etc.
Frettzo said
I might wish to write a collab with you Fallen, to get Coco to finally officially interact with Lyn :c
Well, Althalus could be teaching Lyn how to sneak. As in, he has his dead silence runes on, and she doesn't. *Innocently blinks eyes.* I'm sure CoCo won't be freaked out or anything.
Metronome said
don't judge me
I'm judging you. I'm judging you so hard right now. :P
Hector to the rescue!
Just as a note, most of Hector's adjectives are swear words. Typically light swear words, but if you find a post where he hasn't swore at least once, he's probably dead.
Just as a note, most of Hector's adjectives are swear words. Typically light swear words, but if you find a post where he hasn't swore at least once, he's probably dead.
Hector was disgusted. Not because of the deplorable state the city was in, or the fact that Fireblade Mercenaries waltzed through the streets like mini lords, doing whatever they wanted to whomever it pleased them to do it to. Those type of things he could deal with. After all, it was only a little worse than what the lords and ladies of the world tended to do with their own power, and their own guardsmen. His former comrades were just a little more blatant about it. What disgusted him was the fact that it was so easy to get into the castle that housed Dragonmaw. The headquarters of the entire mercenary group for crying out loud! The main camp for all intents and purposes. Even without his magical ability to become smoke and move, it would have been easy to sneak in, and sneak out. The guards had become complacent. Ten years of ruling with an iron fist, no one daring to challenge them, had made them lazy. Hector remembered a time when if he wanted to sneak in and out of camp, he had to use his smoke form liberally, often puking after he had slipped away. That sensation of being taken apart and put back together on the smallest level imaginable was one thing he would never get used to. Regardless, the castle’s defenses might be loosely guarded. Getting to Dragonmaw, on the other hand, was an entirely different beast.
Hector scowled from behind the helm he had stolen off of another mercenary’s corpse (a corpse that was currently residing in a closet. What? He hadn’t had much time to hide the body and switch the gear that was tight in all the wrong places.) at the sight of the men guarding Dragonmaw’s rooms. They were on their guard. Alert enough to notice smoke approaching and sliding unnaturally under the door, certainly. And he couldn’t very well just shoot the both of them with his bow and be done with it, as every other mercenary walking about his business in the castle would notice the commotion, and come running. Not to mention any other guards the traitorous bastard might have beyond that door would be alerted immediately. And Hector wanted to live after he gutted the tyrant like a fish and strangled him with his own intestines. So, a suicidal charge was out of the question. Now, the only other real question I suppose is, what now? Hector mused, walking away from the area before his staring became a cause for suspicion. He wasn’t going to leave without hurting Dragonmaw in some way. The armory was too large to actually consider damaging it. He didn’t know where gunpowder was kept to blow something important looking up. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more Hector realized that there was pretty much nothing he could really do to hurt Dragonmaw. Or at least, tweak his nose really good.
The ex-mercenary was about to start killing important looking people at random, when he overheard a Fireblade thug calling to his friend. “Thanks for the keys. Now, I’ll just go take that turn at Sir Isam of the kingdom of filth and rats.” Hector paused as his friend called back. “If he hasn’t said anything about the prince for this long, it’s doubtful he’ll say anything to you. Still, break his nose again for me.” Hector smiled. So, the gods do actually give out good luck now and then.
Following the thug was easy. He was whistling merrily as he walked towards wherever this Isam was being kept. Hector shook his head in disgust once more. Over confident. Complacent. Soon to be dead. The thug opened the door to the dungeons with a set of keys, presumably given to him by his friend. Walking down the steps he began to call loudly to Isam. “Oh, Sir Knight! I’ve come to talk to you!” Hector closed the door behind them, ignoring the continued taunting of the thug. The door safely shut, muffling all noise, he drew his knife and caught up to his target. The man was cut of mid taunt by the blade entering the side of his throat. While he gurgled and clawed at Hector’s arm, his murderer said, amicably, “Do try not to make so much fucking noise. I don’t want all of your little bastard friends to come down here and turn this entire thing into one big fucking mess.” His only response was a gurgle. “Good.” Ripping his knife out of the soon-to-be corpse, Hector let the man fall to the ground, crashing down the stairs. He winced, “Okay, I didn’t mean to do that.”
Quickly, he picked the keys from the ground where they had been dropped, and practically skipped down the stairs, grabbing a torch from along the walls, glancing in every cell until he found Isam. “Seeing as you’re the only prisoner, and the only person here who looks the part, I’m assuming your Isam. I don’t know what you have that Dragonmaw wants bad enough not to just shove your head on a pike or a sword up your ass, but if Dragonmaw wants you locked up, I want you free.” He leaned closer with the torch, whistling as he saw the damage done to the former knight. “Damn. They sure beat the living hell out of you, didn’t they?” He unlocked the gate and went to help Isam up. “My name is Hector. Currently I’m your rescuer and your best friend in the world right now. All you need to know, right now, is that I want to kill Dragonmaw. Preferably slowly, with the dullest, rustiest, knife I can find, so I can hear the bastard scream for fucking days. And I know it hurts like hell. And I know you feel like shit. Believe me, I’ve been there. But, I really need you to come with me so we can strip the stupid bastard I just killed of his armor so I don’t have to do much fancy lying to get us out of here.”
Just then, in the distance, an alarm could be heard being raised. Hector looked over at the doorway out of the dungeons. “Fuck. Fuckety fucking fuck. I know the hiding place for the body was bad, but I didn’t expect them to find it this soon.” He looked back at Isam. “We really need to get you in that armor. Now. Like, a few minutes ago now.”
Hector scowled from behind the helm he had stolen off of another mercenary’s corpse (a corpse that was currently residing in a closet. What? He hadn’t had much time to hide the body and switch the gear that was tight in all the wrong places.) at the sight of the men guarding Dragonmaw’s rooms. They were on their guard. Alert enough to notice smoke approaching and sliding unnaturally under the door, certainly. And he couldn’t very well just shoot the both of them with his bow and be done with it, as every other mercenary walking about his business in the castle would notice the commotion, and come running. Not to mention any other guards the traitorous bastard might have beyond that door would be alerted immediately. And Hector wanted to live after he gutted the tyrant like a fish and strangled him with his own intestines. So, a suicidal charge was out of the question. Now, the only other real question I suppose is, what now? Hector mused, walking away from the area before his staring became a cause for suspicion. He wasn’t going to leave without hurting Dragonmaw in some way. The armory was too large to actually consider damaging it. He didn’t know where gunpowder was kept to blow something important looking up. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more Hector realized that there was pretty much nothing he could really do to hurt Dragonmaw. Or at least, tweak his nose really good.
The ex-mercenary was about to start killing important looking people at random, when he overheard a Fireblade thug calling to his friend. “Thanks for the keys. Now, I’ll just go take that turn at Sir Isam of the kingdom of filth and rats.” Hector paused as his friend called back. “If he hasn’t said anything about the prince for this long, it’s doubtful he’ll say anything to you. Still, break his nose again for me.” Hector smiled. So, the gods do actually give out good luck now and then.
Following the thug was easy. He was whistling merrily as he walked towards wherever this Isam was being kept. Hector shook his head in disgust once more. Over confident. Complacent. Soon to be dead. The thug opened the door to the dungeons with a set of keys, presumably given to him by his friend. Walking down the steps he began to call loudly to Isam. “Oh, Sir Knight! I’ve come to talk to you!” Hector closed the door behind them, ignoring the continued taunting of the thug. The door safely shut, muffling all noise, he drew his knife and caught up to his target. The man was cut of mid taunt by the blade entering the side of his throat. While he gurgled and clawed at Hector’s arm, his murderer said, amicably, “Do try not to make so much fucking noise. I don’t want all of your little bastard friends to come down here and turn this entire thing into one big fucking mess.” His only response was a gurgle. “Good.” Ripping his knife out of the soon-to-be corpse, Hector let the man fall to the ground, crashing down the stairs. He winced, “Okay, I didn’t mean to do that.”
Quickly, he picked the keys from the ground where they had been dropped, and practically skipped down the stairs, grabbing a torch from along the walls, glancing in every cell until he found Isam. “Seeing as you’re the only prisoner, and the only person here who looks the part, I’m assuming your Isam. I don’t know what you have that Dragonmaw wants bad enough not to just shove your head on a pike or a sword up your ass, but if Dragonmaw wants you locked up, I want you free.” He leaned closer with the torch, whistling as he saw the damage done to the former knight. “Damn. They sure beat the living hell out of you, didn’t they?” He unlocked the gate and went to help Isam up. “My name is Hector. Currently I’m your rescuer and your best friend in the world right now. All you need to know, right now, is that I want to kill Dragonmaw. Preferably slowly, with the dullest, rustiest, knife I can find, so I can hear the bastard scream for fucking days. And I know it hurts like hell. And I know you feel like shit. Believe me, I’ve been there. But, I really need you to come with me so we can strip the stupid bastard I just killed of his armor so I don’t have to do much fancy lying to get us out of here.”
Just then, in the distance, an alarm could be heard being raised. Hector looked over at the doorway out of the dungeons. “Fuck. Fuckety fucking fuck. I know the hiding place for the body was bad, but I didn’t expect them to find it this soon.” He looked back at Isam. “We really need to get you in that armor. Now. Like, a few minutes ago now.”
Aramir
Aramir was practicing her archery. She practiced for two reasons. One, she was making sure her skills didn’t grow rusty. After all, when you’ve spent much of your life with a bow in your hand, it’s hard to lose those skills you gained. They may grow dull, but they would never completely disappear. Two, losing herself in the familiar motions of draw, aim, shoot, was easy and relaxing, similar to fixing her braid. It was something she had done so many times in her life that it was almost automatic, done without much conscious thought. And she needed to relax, because trying to use her Pyromancy had pushed her frustration levels to their peak. She knew it was just like learning to use the bow in the Plains, and it would take time and patience and more time. But that still didn’t stop her from getting fed up and disgusted with her failures.
Thus, why she was here. If she tried to make a stable flame for longer than a second one more time, she was going to scream, and then likely set something on fire she’d regret setting on fire later. So she kept practicing, relaxing herself. She wasn’t in the gym. Rather, she was outside in a clearly marked area. Shooting inside just felt…odd to her. Uncomfortable. She much preferred shooting outside, even if it got her a few odd looks. Aramir ignored these, and most other noises, and kept firing until her quiver was empty. Her hand reaching for an arrow that wasn’t there, she heard a commotion in the direction of the gate.
A familiar voice could be heard, while the words themselves couldn’t be made out. Aramir herself had never actually met Rurik, but she had heard his voice once and there was no way she was going to forget his interesting way of speaking. The alarm that could be heard from a few voices drew her curiosity. But first, she was going to get her arrows. Old habits die hard, and she wasn’t about to just leave arrows for anybody to take. Perhaps an unnecessary worry in the College, but a worry she had nonetheless. With her arrows safely recovered, Aramir headed towards the commotion, where the bloody dwarf was already being taken away by healers to the infirmary. “What happened?” She asked the human next to her. He glanced down, almost in surprise, and responded briefly. “Roc attack.” Aramir frowned. “What’s a R-“ But the man was already gone, along with most of the crowd who could possibly answer her question. Aramir cursed under her breath, and headed into the College, looking for someone who could answer her question. Preferably a teacher, but Alaira would do just as well. The elf did say that she had used to hunt monsters.
Aramir was practicing her archery. She practiced for two reasons. One, she was making sure her skills didn’t grow rusty. After all, when you’ve spent much of your life with a bow in your hand, it’s hard to lose those skills you gained. They may grow dull, but they would never completely disappear. Two, losing herself in the familiar motions of draw, aim, shoot, was easy and relaxing, similar to fixing her braid. It was something she had done so many times in her life that it was almost automatic, done without much conscious thought. And she needed to relax, because trying to use her Pyromancy had pushed her frustration levels to their peak. She knew it was just like learning to use the bow in the Plains, and it would take time and patience and more time. But that still didn’t stop her from getting fed up and disgusted with her failures.
Thus, why she was here. If she tried to make a stable flame for longer than a second one more time, she was going to scream, and then likely set something on fire she’d regret setting on fire later. So she kept practicing, relaxing herself. She wasn’t in the gym. Rather, she was outside in a clearly marked area. Shooting inside just felt…odd to her. Uncomfortable. She much preferred shooting outside, even if it got her a few odd looks. Aramir ignored these, and most other noises, and kept firing until her quiver was empty. Her hand reaching for an arrow that wasn’t there, she heard a commotion in the direction of the gate.
A familiar voice could be heard, while the words themselves couldn’t be made out. Aramir herself had never actually met Rurik, but she had heard his voice once and there was no way she was going to forget his interesting way of speaking. The alarm that could be heard from a few voices drew her curiosity. But first, she was going to get her arrows. Old habits die hard, and she wasn’t about to just leave arrows for anybody to take. Perhaps an unnecessary worry in the College, but a worry she had nonetheless. With her arrows safely recovered, Aramir headed towards the commotion, where the bloody dwarf was already being taken away by healers to the infirmary. “What happened?” She asked the human next to her. He glanced down, almost in surprise, and responded briefly. “Roc attack.” Aramir frowned. “What’s a R-“ But the man was already gone, along with most of the crowd who could possibly answer her question. Aramir cursed under her breath, and headed into the College, looking for someone who could answer her question. Preferably a teacher, but Alaira would do just as well. The elf did say that she had used to hunt monsters.
Post'll be up tomorrow.
What the hell did you do to your arm? O_o
What the hell did you do to your arm? O_o
BingTheWing said
If you insist, I've got an IC post ready.
Jesus, I did not mean to do that triple post. I apologise.
Fallenreaper said though it's unlikely Vellio will needed it as his childhood was...yeah, hell.
When don't they have some form of hellish childhood? XD
Fallen said Though the fun part about this group (A hashed up ME version of Firefly, at least I think it is..lol) I have plans on making, they'll likely have, possibly, past connections with others who are currently in the rp. That is... if anyone is interested?
You know I am. :P
Your call, but I'd suggest getting the ball rolling as soon as possible.
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