The New Yorker
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Treading the Rhetorical Minefield
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- Old Guild Username: Serge Drevlan
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cider
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I'm just your average New Yorker. A guy who thinks he can do more than he ought.
Most Recent Posts
Totally reasonable. Once a week is a soft minimum.
Rade said
Um, yeah, hate to break it to you, but an airliner is not even close to a ton. ... A Volkswagen Beetle is one ton
Ha, yeah, I was going to say that too.
That seems fine, even if you couldn't post everyday.
Serge is accosting her mentee...
post up, sorry for the wait. As you can see, it was not worth it.
Gabriel sat quietly in the darkness, as he was inclined against only moments ago. Semyon spoke to him briefly, which the angel appreciated. As more people came through the ever shrinking gate, and began spouting ideas, Gabriel slowly lost control of his understanding of the situation. One of the men in the group, one that Gabe did not know the name of, seemed to have a deep understanding of the mythos surrounding the white wolf and this thing called Fenrir. Gabe was only able to understand small bits of the conversation since most of it was obscure lingo.
The two who’d been so bloodied and loving at the gathering, which seemed so far away now, were like that still. They clung to each other like the blood on them did.
Gabe lifted his head as the man who he did not know mentioned a connection to the divine. The two looked directly into each other’s eyes. Gabe felt a little violated, a tad bit embarrassed, and mostly confused. How did this man, who he’d never met, know that Gabriel had any connection to the heavens?
Gabe sat at knee-height as everyone discussed important matters, matters he knew not of and had no insight in. He sat there, one leg crossed over the other, like a child. The grown-ups were talking, and so he dipped his head like a child. All he could hope was that soon someone would be able to track the assailant and he’d be able to do anything at all, he’d be useful. Gabriel still felt like he was an intruder and he didn’t know how to rectify that. Well, they didn’t know his name, and he hardly knew theirs, for starters. Gabe felt the inclination to introduce himself, he thought that might help him fell less like he didn’t belong—as if he belonged. And so, with the sophistication of a scolded child, Gabriel blurted out when there was a moment of silence.
“I’m Gabriel, by the way, pleasure to meet all of you.” He didn’t look up, he didn’t make eye contact with anyone, he simply spoke.
The two who’d been so bloodied and loving at the gathering, which seemed so far away now, were like that still. They clung to each other like the blood on them did.
Gabe lifted his head as the man who he did not know mentioned a connection to the divine. The two looked directly into each other’s eyes. Gabe felt a little violated, a tad bit embarrassed, and mostly confused. How did this man, who he’d never met, know that Gabriel had any connection to the heavens?
Gabe sat at knee-height as everyone discussed important matters, matters he knew not of and had no insight in. He sat there, one leg crossed over the other, like a child. The grown-ups were talking, and so he dipped his head like a child. All he could hope was that soon someone would be able to track the assailant and he’d be able to do anything at all, he’d be useful. Gabriel still felt like he was an intruder and he didn’t know how to rectify that. Well, they didn’t know his name, and he hardly knew theirs, for starters. Gabe felt the inclination to introduce himself, he thought that might help him fell less like he didn’t belong—as if he belonged. And so, with the sophistication of a scolded child, Gabriel blurted out when there was a moment of silence.
“I’m Gabriel, by the way, pleasure to meet all of you.” He didn’t look up, he didn’t make eye contact with anyone, he simply spoke.
ErsatzEmperor said
Awesome and looking forward to it. As for me, yes. My priority is getting the interest check out and then I can finish up Beast.
Oh, cool!
Post up
The ship was cleaned easily enough, corpse after corpse tossed over the side to be melted into the world below. They’d feed some fish, the ones that were scavengers, or carnivores, and perhaps, in their own way, even the sponges and sea cucumbers, too.
Sarel had snuck below deck for a moment to claim one of the few private quarters below deck, there was another bed in the small room which Serge came down to claim. The two removed their armor, making jokes and sharing anecdotes as they did (it was a rather long and annoying process, unlatching all the straps and untying all the knots). Sarel had need to go into his bags for a moment, and he was reminded of something he wanted to do long ago. A shining circle in the darkness of the cabin called out to Sarel, and he smiled. He brought the ring from the bag and held it in his rough ashen-blue fingers, pointed it at Serge.
“I presume this is yours.” The elf said.
“Yes, by the divines!” Serge exclaimed in response, “how did you find it?”
“It was brought to me with my things. It seems like the thief involved in retrieving my possesions was not particularly well informed. He seemed to take every damn thing in the holding chest.” Sarel laughed as he dropped the piece of gold into Serge’s hands. The Breton laughed as well, distractedly, as he settled it on his finger.
“Thank you, friend.” He said at last, a relieved sigh following his words. “This is very special to me.”
When the boys, as they seemed to be children—giddy with the prospect of best-friendship—were done with their armor and had their casual attire on, they got back upstairs, where the festivities had begun. After a few sips of their brandy Serge had made his interest in Allaina known to his Elven friend.
“If you’ll excuse me.” He bowed away from Sarel, “I’m going to see if I can embarrass the both of us.”
Sarel rolled his eyes but didn’t have much time to respond, the Breton was gone and an Orc had taken his place. To say the least it was a shocking exchange. The Orc asked about Sarel. The elf was happy enough to not feel the need to lie completely, so he told half-truths instead.
“I was born and raised up north, in Solstheim. Before coming here, meeting Sharee, I was a bodyguard for a lowlife Imperial transplant, a duke who married into the Mede family in order to usurp control…” Sarel stopped for a moment to take another sip, “—not that he has much control of anything,” he added victoriously. “Not much to tell,” Sarel lied. “What about you? If you weren’t on this boat with me I’d say you’re from Orsinium. But you are, so I won’t.”
Sarel had snuck below deck for a moment to claim one of the few private quarters below deck, there was another bed in the small room which Serge came down to claim. The two removed their armor, making jokes and sharing anecdotes as they did (it was a rather long and annoying process, unlatching all the straps and untying all the knots). Sarel had need to go into his bags for a moment, and he was reminded of something he wanted to do long ago. A shining circle in the darkness of the cabin called out to Sarel, and he smiled. He brought the ring from the bag and held it in his rough ashen-blue fingers, pointed it at Serge.
“I presume this is yours.” The elf said.
“Yes, by the divines!” Serge exclaimed in response, “how did you find it?”
“It was brought to me with my things. It seems like the thief involved in retrieving my possesions was not particularly well informed. He seemed to take every damn thing in the holding chest.” Sarel laughed as he dropped the piece of gold into Serge’s hands. The Breton laughed as well, distractedly, as he settled it on his finger.
“Thank you, friend.” He said at last, a relieved sigh following his words. “This is very special to me.”
When the boys, as they seemed to be children—giddy with the prospect of best-friendship—were done with their armor and had their casual attire on, they got back upstairs, where the festivities had begun. After a few sips of their brandy Serge had made his interest in Allaina known to his Elven friend.
“If you’ll excuse me.” He bowed away from Sarel, “I’m going to see if I can embarrass the both of us.”
Sarel rolled his eyes but didn’t have much time to respond, the Breton was gone and an Orc had taken his place. To say the least it was a shocking exchange. The Orc asked about Sarel. The elf was happy enough to not feel the need to lie completely, so he told half-truths instead.
“I was born and raised up north, in Solstheim. Before coming here, meeting Sharee, I was a bodyguard for a lowlife Imperial transplant, a duke who married into the Mede family in order to usurp control…” Sarel stopped for a moment to take another sip, “—not that he has much control of anything,” he added victoriously. “Not much to tell,” Sarel lied. “What about you? If you weren’t on this boat with me I’d say you’re from Orsinium. But you are, so I won’t.”
I've run groups like this before and I think it works fine, as long as weare understanding of everyone's schedules. This story is probably not fit for more than 4 main characters anyway, it would just be too cluttered.
Also, I like the organization that these little tabs provide, along with a running cast list and things like that. There is no reason to move this anywhere, I am very happy with the asthetics of this as it stands.
EDIT: Check out that really cool image I found on deviantart. A really interesting play on the Ouroboros.
Also, I like the organization that these little tabs provide, along with a running cast list and things like that. There is no reason to move this anywhere, I am very happy with the asthetics of this as it stands.
EDIT: Check out that really cool image I found on deviantart. A really interesting play on the Ouroboros.
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