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Post by Timeon on Oct 24, 2014 14:04:51 GMT
All the King's Men
Ulrich Tännhauser lay dying at the end of his seventy-ninth year. For forty of those years he had led the King's Men through contract after contract, through dark times and through good. His private regrets had never been spoken, but the company knew their captain well, and his regrets had long since become their own. After fighting on the losing side in one of Otticia's biggest wars in a generation, the King's Men had fallen from grace. None of the more prestigious houses would hire them, and so they had continued on their long decline. And with the decay of the company, so too had the captain's back been bent, as if an ever heavier weight had been slung across his shoulders. "We can't go on like this, waiting for him to die." Lieutenant Adalgar rasped from one corner of the room. "The Men drink and whore, and instead of gaining new recruits we lose them to the chaos of the city with every passing night. No battlefield has ever been the end of us, but I fear this complacency will be what kills us. This sickly air and foul spirit." Lieutenant Ricks regarded him like a turd one finds under one's shoe after a stroll through the market. The two of them had served as the left and right hand of Good Captain Tännhauser for the past generation. They were all old men now, and while old men could die, old rivalries could not. "Ulrich wants us to wait, and so we will wait." Ricks answered, looking down at the Good Captain, who lay skeletal in his vulnerability atop his bed. The Good Captain's head had been turned towards the single window in the room, from which the three of them could see the wretched city of Southmark. Ulrich was either asleep or unconscious. It was hard to be sure which. "Wait for him to die?" Adalgar straightened his back in mock offence. "That will not do any of us any good." "We aren't waiting for him to die. We are waiting for a contract-" Ricks began, but Adalgar silenced him with a guffaw. Heaven, oh how I hate the High Nobility."A contract out of Southmark? How low can we possibly sink, Ricks?" But Ricks could not answer that question. Instead he looked out of the window, at the degenerate metropolis of wood smoke and rotting meat, and a thousand merchants and loan sharks struggling up the ant hill hoping to be the one at the top. "The Good Captain had a plan when he took us here, Adalgar. I don't think his sickness means we have come here in vain. I think there is a contract on its way. A good one. We just have to be patient." Adalgar walked up to the window, blocking it with his ugly visage. "You know all five-hundred of the men are growing impatient. Do you really think we can afford to wait any longer? We need leadership." "Oh, and do you think they'll really let you lead them when the old man dies, Adalgar? They hate you." "I'm a better man to lead them than you, Ricks." Adalgar kept his back to Ricks. "I don't want to lead them." Ricks said, barely audible. "The King's Men need a new Good Captain. Not one of the old guard. Neither you or I. We need to call an assembly of the Sergeants. Lead jointly, if they can't pick from amongst themselves-" "Why not me?" Adalgar spat now, his arms waving dangerously close to the prone Ulrich. Ricks half jumped out of his seat to restrain the man, scared he'd bring the Good Captain to harm. "Both you and I are old and weak." Ricks raised a hand to calm his rival, a rare gesture of peace. "We've led the company to misery and poverty. If for no other reason than that, the men need a new symbol to rally behind." Adalgar only narrowed his eyes, chin up in hatred and defiance. As always. "Barely any of the Sergeants are descended of the High King-" Now it was Ricks' turn to explode. A rare sight indeed, as proven by Adalgar nearly jumping backwards out of the window. "How many of the Nobility are truly descended from the High King or his family? What does any of that matter? Our history means nothing now. We've clung to it like parasites to a carcass, hoping to leech the last bit of life out of something that's already dead. This company started as the bodyguard of one of the High King's sons five hundred years ago. Trying to honour those old traditions have only ever brought us pain. We side with noble houses based on their genealogy, not strategy. Forget the old ways-" "Enough."Both Adalgar and Ricks' eyes widened in surprise. They looked down at the dying man between them. Ulrich Tännhauser sat up in his bed, his long white hair trailing about his frail and naked body. "I... believe... in the old ways as much as you do... Lieutenant." Ulrich managed. Seeing the Good Captain in such a state, and yet fighting on, threatened to bring a hot rush of tears to the corners of Ricks' eyes. "But we... we have to trust the men... to decide... if they will honour them... or not." Adalgar nodded, falling to one knee before the Good Captain. "I will bring the Sergeants and Corporals of the King's Men to you, Good Captain. Is that what you wish?" The Good Captain managed to place a hand upon Adalgar's shoulder. "Yes, Lieutenant. We will discuss this... together... at the end..." Ulrich slumped back, eyes shut. Adalgar met Ricks' eyes. "Let's do this, comrade. Let's summon the men."
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Post by God Emperor Newman on Nov 3, 2014 19:22:35 GMT
An emaciated figure clutching a charred length of wood sat cross-legged in the muddy street just outside. As the two men left their captain's lodgings, the scruffy old man twisted his head sharply to the side and fixed them both with his mismatched green and brown eyes. This was Otto of Gattsbad, medic and chaplain of the King's Men.
"Not long now, eh?" he growled as the lieutenants paused at the threshold.
"Oh. It's you," replied Adalgar, staring distastefully down at the wizened holy man.
Otto clambered to his feet and leaned heavily on his staff. "Not long now, I'd expect," he muttered again, stroking his long beard and squinting into first Ricks' eyes, then Adalgar's. "As men go, I'd say he was fine, but we're all but squirming insects before the gods... You'll be off to find a successor, then, eh?"
"What are you doing here, Otto?" asked Ricks.
"Listening. Watching. Waiting."
"Eavesdropping?" demanded Adalgar.
"No," said Otto of Gattsbad, squinting fiercely. Adalgar's gaze faltered and broke. "I've done all I can for this city. I need to move on soon. Tell me. Will I travel with the King's Men, or without?"
"We're waiting for a contract," said Ricks. Adalgar rolled his eyes.
Otto bowed his head. "Then I pray one comes your way. In the meantime, I must prepare to depart alone." He struck the base of his staff against the road. "You're gathering the officers? I'll find you when you make your decision." With that, he turned and limped down the street, muttering to himself and squinting at passersby.
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yaska
Whippersnapper
Posts: 3
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Post by yaska on Nov 3, 2014 20:30:57 GMT
Sturm struggled to catch his breath, sweat and dust clinging to his bare torso. His sparring sword heavy in his right hand as he pressed the other hand to his side. A dull pain spoke of a bruised rib. The giant of a man that had managed to hit him lay sprawled in the dirt. The sparring had become fierce and the big guy had moved faster than Sturm had anticipated. Had it been real combat both of them would've been dead as his own sparring sword had hit the giant's head. He nudged the man on the ground with his foot.
"Wake up, Othar. I did not hit you that hard"
The giant groaned, rolled over and raised himself off the ground up on his knees and hands. He struggle to rise but failed. Sturm gave him a hand and steered him towards the inn that were one of the many places rented by the King's Men. Sturm were busy washing the dust from his brow when the one they calls Mouse approached. The boy seemed shaken as he spoke.
"The Good Captain calls for all sargeants and corporals. They are to report to his quarters by the hour."
Corporal. It had been more than a month since his promotion but he hadn't gotten used to it. Valor in combat had Lieutenant Ricks called it. What little valor that could be had during a retreat. Their last contract had been a failure, the battle lost before they even saw any real action. They were occupied with withdrawing from the field when an overzealous lordling and his retinue charged their position. The fool had been drunk on their victory and sought to slay as many of the fleeing men as possible, conviced they would not fight back. He had not expected the orderly withdrawal of the king's Men, though he would've probably caused some casualties if not for so called valor. Sturm had acted without thinking, facing the rider on feet. He had effortlessly avoided the rider and his axe, bringing his blade down on the horse's hind leg. The lording had tumbled out of his saddle, his retinue in disarray by the chock of seeing their lord fall. The others of the King's Men made quick work of the rest before they had a chance to restore order, forcing most of them to flee. The lordling climbed back on his feet, his big and black beard covered in mud. Unaware of the state of his men did the lordling engage Sturm in combat. A man more with brawn than brain, Sturm made quick work if him, leaving him dying in the mud with a gaping hole in his chest.
Valor in combat. Not one of Sturm's better kills. He shook his head to clear his mind of the past and strode towards his room. It wouldn't be proper for the newest corporal to attend his Good Captain without his uniform.
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Post by Revenant on Nov 4, 2014 3:38:23 GMT
In a reeking inn in a reeking city, Corporal Tjeb Eshinhelm of Ghulheim was finished drinking. He poured his final tankard out for old Tannhäuser... into his mouth. No, no, no, thought he. The floor. Next to the rats and feces and semen. Eugh... the gesture lost some of its meaning with a floor like that. Was the Good Captain dead yet? Ulrich probably died an hour ago. Tjeb's face became sullen. He did not need any more grief. He needed more booze.
Tjeb felt a tug on the back of his armor. The Ghul turned and saw Mouse, a small boy the company used to relay messages. Clearing his small throat, the boy shakingly relayed his summons. "The Good Captain calls for all sargeants and corporals. They are to report to his quarters by the hour."
Tjeb was a corporal! So, the Good Captain wasn't dead yet, thought he. Good for Ulrich. Best down that tribute ale. Tjeb paid his tab and slowly got up from his chair, making sure not to forget his scabbard full of swords. Might as well see what the fuss is about. Mouse led the intoxicated soldier out of the inn and onto the muddy streets. The smell of the city somehow got worse in the open air. Shoddy. He hoped that the captain's lodgings were at all suitable for their dying leader.
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Post by trickster on Nov 4, 2014 4:02:01 GMT
Sergeant Pennycount was lying in the grass, outside the city, when the boy reached him.
"Sergeant Bailiff!" He said. "The Good Captain calls for you."
Bailiff opened an eye. "For me?"
"Well, all the Sergeants and Caporals are summoned."
"Ah, this is more like it!" Bailiff stood up. "Here's hoping it means we're leaving this damned city. Lead the way, boy."
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Post by Wabbajack on Nov 4, 2014 17:24:55 GMT
Valeria sat in her saddle, frowning. Finding a trustworthy courier proved far more difficult than she would have liked and she would not make the same mistake as last time. While it was technically in her right to send one of her subordinates to deliver her tithes and reports to the Order it was at the edge of misconduct. And she already was unpopular with most of the men as is. Two years in the King's Men and already sergeant, and as a woman at that.
But she pushed the thought out of her mind and concentrated on the matters at hand. Taking a deep breath her frown deepened. This city smelled like sin and filth, but there wasn't much choice in Tännhauser's decision to remain here. Without a contract the company would lie dying just as he did.
As she reached a crossroad someone tapped her leg. "M'lady, all sergeants and corporals are expected at the Good Captain's quarters by the hour." She looked down and gave the small messenger a smile "Thank you Mouse, I'll go there right away." So the time had arrived, she thought to herself. Which means she shouldn't leave them waiting for her. Her personal businesses could be dealt with another time.
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Post by romaneck on Nov 6, 2014 3:36:24 GMT
One deep breath, clenched jaw, closed eyes and the image of a two knives digging deep into those two eye sockets materialized… Azuibuike saw himself move his arms in a blur and then when he opened them he saw that once again the knives in his hands had moved into the skull`s eye sockets as if by magic. The whole crowd that had gathered around them held their breath and then a downpour of cheer and curses, depending on who had better on what, filled the hall yet this did not cause anything fulfilling in Azuibuike, these pinks and whites should know better anyone who better against him on darts and knives was a fucking fool.
Picker patted Azuibuike`s shoulder vigorously as he held a big sack of coins in his other hand and shouted “youve done it again matey! we go 50/50 as usual lad!” Picker was one of the most unsavory members of the company, of which there were plenty, he could always find a bet, a buyer or a seller of anything the black market was his domain and truth be told while Azuibuike was the muscle behind all the endeavors they both profited from he would not have a clue were to begin in order to get such a crowd and such stakes to bet against him. These people had to be foreigners if they had not heard of the so called “Nailing Negro” that was known to certain dark corners of the underworld. The looks of the losers were anything but warm and already he could see that despite not having a clue of their whitey language that sounded like gibberish they plotted against their betters, an act of jealousy fed by the frustration of belonging to a lower step in the stairs of Kharadros
“Picker we should go I do not like it here” he tugged at his arm with a deep accent, Picker was no fool he too could sense the static before the thunder and merely nodded “Aye I think yer right”
To nobody's surprise as they made their way outside Picker and Azuibuike found their exit blocked by 3 white men who had scarred faces one of them pointed at Azuibuike then at the bag of coins and said something like Bar bar bar, it sounded more like the barking of a dog than the tongue of a living breathing man Picker simply said “Trouble” No shit? Just like before Azuibuike simply had to close his eyes and picture events unfold before they did, Picker would go for his sword naturally and the whiteys looked like they would solve it all with fists with any luck Picker would go for the one nearest to him which left the 2 at the right open to get their shit pinned by his knives He opened his eyes and Picker was already taking his sword off his belt and, just as predicted, moving to the left this left Azui with the window to pick the knives hanging near his hips with each hand and then throw them at the brutes which dug deep into their forearms sending a wave of pain that led them to drop their shoddy weapons, another quick movement of hands while the foe was recoiling in pain and two more knives flew hitting their legs this time got 6 more on the way He was preparing for the neck shot when a heavy, sweaty palm touched his shoulder “Think theyre done there mate” Picker was giving him the look, that smile that sucked the seriousness of any situation and made it feel as a jest amongst friends and loved ones “No need to kill em” Azuibuike relaxed his muscles and saw the 2 men on the floor gurgling in pain Well he does have a point Picker gave them a savage kick on the head and knocked them out cold, making honor to his reputation he picked them clean of any valuables and handed Azuibuike`s knives back at him “You can never have too many knives”
The streets of southmark made always made the Taranean wonder just how inherently inferior these whites were to his coal skinned people. They wallowed in filth and did not even bother to clean after themselves even the wild animals of Ufrinaka had more decency than this, there in the star blanked above the skies on the black land nature had a way of cleaning itself all of its components worked to mantain a balance, valtros and hyenik cleaned the dead clean to the bones and let the foundations for the cycle of life to start anew.
Yet here in this city filled with pinks, whites and yellows there was so much filth that a man could not go barefoot in its decadent and disease filled streets, drunkards, dead and sleepers were indistinguishable from one another making a grotesque landscape of corrosion and roth.
To say that the Taranean found it absolutely disgusting would be a generous misunderstanding
As he oft did it was only when he was called that he broke off from his musings, mouse was on top of a horse and both he and picker had their stares fixated on Azuibuike “What?” “All officers are to present themselves to the Captain immediately” Azuibuike left out another jewel of guile “What?” Picker smiled “You are lead scout matey, dont play the fool you have outruled sargeants on the matter before and called them out on their bullshit so by all rights and means you should be there” the black man was still puzzled…”What?” Mouse smiled and showed his disgustingly large front teeth that gave him a rodent quality “You better hop on in, ill give you a ride”
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Post by killermonkey on Nov 7, 2014 1:26:35 GMT
The figure stood in the doorway and took another look through the smoky and grimy haze that clung to the inn like moss on a tree. Ice-blue eyes drank it all in, while under the helm, the nose wrinkled at the smell. It smell of ale and wet dog, but so did the rest of the town.
And the rest of the town was why the figure was trapped here, like a boat in harbor with no crew, and she hated it. She hated the town. She thought fondly of the mountains and valleys of her homeland of Thurn and wished that she could be back there, but it was not to be, not until at least a contract was given to her and her company, the King's Men.
Turning away from the doorway as several of the locals walked in, their dirty clothes and dirty skin brushing against her. They didn't pay her much of a glance, but then again no one did. She wore a plain brown cloak that hide her armor, and it was only her clean, but marked helmet that gave anyone any idea of who she was. Her fingers brushed against her two swords that fit snugly against her thighs, prepared for danger, but finding none.
With a raspy sigh, she turned around and walked back into the streets where a young boy rushed up to her with a note.
"M'lady! M'lady!" He cried out as he attempted to press the paper into her gloves. The gloves snapped shut and lifted the boy into the air and pushed him against the wall of the inn. Her eyes bore down into his as her left hand brought the sword up against his head.
"Speak"." Was the only word she said.
"M'lady.... I apo---apo-apoligize!" The boy squeeked out. 'But the Good Captain has called for his men!"
The woman let the boy drop to the group and read the note. It was indeed a summons. Balling it up in her fist she smiled unseen. This was good. She thought. We can hopefully leave this wretched place.
"As he wishes." She told the boy before shooing him off.
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Post by Timeon on Nov 8, 2014 18:35:30 GMT
One by one, the officers of the King's Men wormed their way into the heart of the city, passing through the gates to Lord Kraftul's estate. The infamous Lord Kraftul had built his estate in one of the city's few parks, and had then walled off the entire park to keep for himself. It was no wonder that he was one of the most hated men in the city. He claimed to be above the common folk by merit of blood, but it was a well-known secret that Lord Kraftul came from a peasant background, and had falsified his obscure ancestry back to some dolt cousin of the High King.
It was in this estate that the Good Captain had been invited as a guest, and it was in this estate that the King's Men were assembling to hear out their Good Captain.
With grunts of acknowledgement and a few bawdy jokes without any morale or spirit in them, the officers of the King's Men let themselves be escorted into a grand dining hall within the estate. There they were seated, along a square of long tables.
Inevitably, the men under Lieutenant Adalgar dominated one side of the room, with the rest taking seats beside beloved Lieutenant Ricks. Ricks and Adalgar sat in silence, brushing off any questions directed at them from their underlings. A couple of hours passed, until Mouse the messenger boy arrived with the last straggling officer, declaring his job complete.
"How does he do it?" someone mumbled, sparing a glance at Mouse. "Fookin' devil. Found every one of us in a few hours. He should be Chief Scout, not Azuibuike..."
As all were seated, Lieutenant Adalgar rose and smacked his knuckles on the table for attention. "Silence, bastards and noble-born alike! Attention!"
The murmuring died away, until all eyes rested upon the least favourite of the two Lieutenants. Adalgar, in turn, looked to the door to the room. They swung open once more, and the Good Captain himself was carried in by two of the estate's guards. The Good Captain's hair fell about his face, and his skin seemed yellow. At the sight of their ferocious leader in such condition, the murmuring began anew.
"Quiet!" Ricks grunted, and most obeyed.
The Good Captain was placed gingerly into a throne-like chair, facing all. He lingered awhile in his sluggish thoughts, before forcing his head upwards. Though his body was weak, all could tell by his eyes that the spirit was strong still.
"Men and women of this honourable company, who still serve the legacy of the High King's second son!" Good Captain Ulrich's voice thundered, to everyone's surprise. "The time has come to accept the inevitable. My time is passed. And with my passing there must come a decision. For our decline has taken centuries, but a decline it has been nonetheless. When once we served in the highest of royal courts, now we find ourselves in wretched Southmark."
The two estate guards at the door, who had carried Ulrich in, passed each other sour looks, as if personally offended.
"Enough with the speech, old man!" an officer cried from Adalgar's side of the table, prompting an outraged grumble from all-around. "Where's the contract! We came here for a contract!"
Some men rose in fury at the perceived insult to the Good Captain, but Ulrich managed to lift an arm into the air and call them off. "You are right to question me so, Sergeant Major Tawk. And I have your answer. I came to this city because our host, Lord Kraftul, sent me a letter promising the most lucrative contract of our generation if I would attend. And we came. He told me to wait, and wait I did, as I grew ill. Now he has told me why we are here."
"Out with it, old man!" Sergeant Major Tawk howled again. This time, Adalgar silenced Tawk with the back of his hand.
"Lord Kraftul is heavily in debt. He has many enemies. He fears for his life. He wants us to stay on, as his bodyguard and his guarantee, while he plays for power." Ulrich ended by coughing, spittle smacking across the table before him. Wiping his mouth, he regarded his men once more, eyes cold. "I feel insulted by this offer. By this poorly paid excuse for a contract. He would have us stay in this place until the end of our days, until we forget that we are the King's Men. He would have us be Kraftul's Men."
Reactions were mixed. Ricks looked visibly surprised to see that some of the officers actually mumbled in favour of the contract.
"But-" Ulrich said, raising a hand. "In the time I have pretended to consider his offer, I have also tried to find an alternative. I was indeed contacted with a very peculiar offer, one which I do not trust. There are rumours of strange goings-on in the countryside these days. People fear a cult is behind it. I think these are mere rumours and scapegoats for our troubles, as always..."
"Fighting a cult is better than being stuck here." offered Sergeant Major Alruf.
Good Captain Ulrich closed his eyes and sighed raggedly. "Yes, but if this cult has taken root amongst the High Nobility, then our interference would doom us all. We have reports of two places where the disappearances and cult activities seem to be coming from. One is a place called the Crossings on the border with the nation of Bhakhtar to the south... the other place would take us onto the island of Borsholm, where Thurn lies. We would not wish to anger Thurn by meddling in its sphere of influence, this much I promise."
"I will not go anywhere near Thurn!" Adalgar snapped instantly. It was known that he had been exiled from that place a long time ago, though what had transpired there was something he refused to share.
"The choice is not yours to make. It belongs to the Good Captain." Ricks shot back.
"No." Good Captain Ulrich said. "The time has come for change. I was clear about this. We need a new Good Captain. And that man shall not be you, Ricks. Or you, Adalgar. You are both too much like myself. You have served with me for too long. No, the man must be a Sergeant Major... or a Sergeant, if you would have him."
Adalgar wasted no time in spitting on the ground beside him. "I wouldn't dream of bending the knee to any of these weasels. This is unacceptable."
"Would you bow to me, Adalgar?" Ricks asked with a laugh. The answer was almost certainly no. "You'll only have it your way, or not at all!"
Adalgar put his hand on his sword. "I'm not going to Thurn, and I'm not going to take orders from one of your commonborn Sergeant Majors!"
"Not another word out of either of you!" Ulrich commanded. "I want the rest of the officers to speak, down to the lowest Corporal!"
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yaska
Whippersnapper
Posts: 3
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Post by yaska on Nov 11, 2014 21:07:02 GMT
Nobody spoke out at first. A murmur of whispers spread in the room as the various groupations among the officers spoke to each others. Sturm took his time taking in the view of his fellow officers. the Ghul were right next to him at the end of the table, far away from the Good Captain. The Ghul were a warrior that Sturm felt he could trust in the thick of battle. Quite the opposite of the wretched Sergeant Major Tawk. The man infuriated Sturm. He had been half out of the seat with an inch of iron drawn when the wretched man disrespected the Good Captain. A firm look from Sergeant Major Alruf made him come to his senses. Sturm promised himself that if Tawk ever came to be the Good Captain he would say good bye to the only real family he ever had, though not before leaving Tawk a big smile from ear to ear. He focused his eyes further up the table and stopped at Sargeant Major Alecia. Lady Ice some of the men refered to her as. A fitting title as she showed few emotions besides that of icy determination. Sturm loved himself a challenge but even she might be too much for him. He didn't quite like the idea of her sword in his belly if he ever tried to see what's under that armor. He smiled as she turned her icy eyes towards him. His smile deepened when she broke her stone face with a frown. Next to Alruf she was probably the Sergeant Major he respected the most. Oberon sat not far from her. A peculiar man, Sturm thought. Always the last officer to arrive, he had concluded. What the man did when off duty he could only guess. Sergeant Bailiff sat and flicked a coin in the air, seemingly uncaring for the meeting. A sly man, especially when it comes to coin. Sergeant Major Alruf sat right next to Ricks. The Lieutenant's right hand and the most dependable officer next to Ricks. He had recruited Sturm when all other officers would've turned him away and for that he owed him more than he could dare to admit. As always Mouse could be found in the corner on a short stool. How such a young boy could be allowed on every meeting were a mystery to Sturm. He had his suspicions though. Perhaps the boy were a bastards of the high officers. Could he even be the Good Captains? whatever the truth is, he's one to keep an eye on. Sturm relaxed and leaned back, taking his time as the murmur silenced. Let the senior officers be the first to speak.
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Post by Revenant on Nov 16, 2014 1:55:06 GMT
The moment stretched on forever, or at least the tension made it seem like it did. No one would speak up. Corporal Tjeb Eshinhelm of Ghulheim sat at the end of the square of tables, grinning idly next to Sturm Swiftblade... Flinkstahl- his brother in arms! Sturm was the Ghul's friend on and off the battlefield and his rival for the record of most swords looted in battle. Tjeb saw Sturm attempt to go for Tawk, only to be glared at by Alruf. Tawk was a terrible companion in the company. Tjeb hoped that Sturm would make Adalgar's Sergeant Major into a hat for him.
Tjeb thought about the decisions at hand, having neither the gumption nor the initiative to speak up. He wanted adventure and fighting a cult was just the sort of adventure that Tjeb liked to go on. Any chance to go to Thurn was a welcome one. He had scores to settle. Adalgar should welcome the chance to get revenge on the land that banished him, but the Ghul understood that there were reasons to not want to return to a homeland, even if it spurned you. He did not want to upset Adalgar too badly, especially after he just hit Tawk. Bhakhtar... Tjeb did not know what a Bhakhtar was. Some kind of land to the south. Maybe a plain. Wasn't Azubuike... Azuibuike... Azubukke from there? The chance that the old High Nobility would get involved with any cult deserving of a bounty was a slim one. A fool's worry. Going off to fight them was better than staying in this fetid pit as a slave to a pompous "noble" to be sure.
Corporal Eshinhelm looked down his side of the table. Alecia Feitmark of Cold Springs Harbor: from Thurn and is Tjeb's coworker. Tjeb regarded her passively, resenting her homeland. Oberion- Oberon Issroh: the man who struggled with the door to the dining hall. ...Tjeb's eyes moved on. Sergeant Bailiff Pennycourt... Pennycount: Tjeb's direct superior, put above him after that one time with the boats. Bailiff usually did not tell him to do anything and Tjeb ignored him outside of combat and brawls. They got along fine. Valeria Lichtenhauer: of the Order. Unpopular and boring. Alruf: the only man who could keep the Ghul in line. He wanted to fight the cult and that was good enough for Tjeb. The Ghul owed him anyway. Otto was not here. Hm. Finally, at the other end of the table next to the frail form of the Good Captain stood Lieutenant Ricks: the leader of Tjeb's team. He had been told that they were not teams and that it was merely a question of authority, but Eshinhelm did not get it.
Before the Good Captain's shocking proclamation, Tjeb would have voted for Ricks so that he could kill him and take his position in the company and not have to kill Adalgar. Wait, being the Good Captain required actual work and Tjeb liked Ricks better than Adalgar anyway. And murdering the new Good Captain wouldn't get him the rank. The Ghul's head hurt. Too much bad ale.
Getting bored and feeling his inhibitions slipping again, Corporal Eshinhelm gathered his courage and spoke up "What about Alruf?"
Sturm frowned, clearly expecting something different.
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