Noblesse Amissus IC
Just as a note, the descriptions are only what your character might have seen- if they where knocked out during the shipwreck then they may have seen substantially less. Feel free to have them see as little as you wish.
The storm breaks heavily on the sea- the ship is caught in open water, so the captain has no choice but to move onwards, seeking safe harbour from the whistling winds and towering waves. He charts a course south, attempting to skirt the eastward edge of the Agamar Triangle, heading for an uninhabited island with a small bay. However, as time passes the storm grows stronger and the ship is buffeted more and more- In a last ditch attempt to avoid overturning, the sails are furled, but mere moments afterwards the ship is struck by a massive wave and capsizes, the survivors and debris caught in a current headed deep into the heart of that dreaded strip of sea- the Agamar Triangle.
Those who remained awake during the storm will remember the sea growing suddenly calm as they pass beyond the border and thick fog surrounding them. A beam of light cuts through the seabound cloud, illuminating the survivors floating on bits of the ship's hull. As the light draws closer, the shadowy form of what appears to be a man in a small boat becomes apparent. The light shines into your eyes, and no matter how hard you focus you cannot see the man's face. Suddenly, your vision blurs as pulses of pain shoots through your head, and a sound you can only describe as some fuzzy kind of buzz fills your ears and drowns out all other sound. The last thing you could have remembered was the shadowy man reaching out towards you... and then blackness.
You awake to the sight and sounds of gulls flying overhead, with the steady sound of the ocean's surf punctuating the cacophony created by those noisome creatures. If you look around, you will see that you are on a rocky beach, surrounded by tide-pools, various crustaceans and bits of flotsam; your fellow nobles are arrayed on the beach no more than twenty meters from you. You may remember seeing more survivors previously, but cannot spot any more along the shoreline. About thirty meters inland there is a seldom trodden dirt path emerging from a copse of trees; in fact, so seldom trodden is the path that it is more like a game trail than anything created by civilized tread. There is the faint sound of music coming from the direction of the path.
Your body aches, as if you had been lying on the hard ground for days. Your clothes are stiff with salt and peppered with sand and other grit. Whatever weapons you once had are missing; you have only that which was in your pockets or attached to your person at the time the ship sunk. With a more thorough inspection, you might find tiny raised scars running vertically up your abdomen and along the insides of your arms, thin enough that casual observation would probably miss them, but they are obvious enough to the touch.
(TL;DR= Bormont stood outside during the storm. He took a big dip into the ocean like the others and stayed awake till the shadowy man decided it was nap time. He woke up and looked around before deciding he was hungry. So he went out and Rifted a rabbit-like creature. Now he's cooking it. No he doesn't intend on sharing any of it.)
The rain doesn’t bother him. Neither do the howling winds nor vicious rocking of the boat. In fact, the man standing precariously close to the edge of the ship looked more at peace, standing amidst the raging storm than milling with the pampered nobles underneath the decks. He held a cup in his left hand that swirled with red liquid, while his other hand covered the glass from the pounding rain. Raised to his lips, Bormont took a deep drink without spilling so much as a drop, despite the unsteady movements of the vessel. With a sigh he finished and tossed the glass overboard and watched it vanish amidst the rolling waves before he leaned onto the railing.
The sun’s gaze beat down upon him as Bormont struggled to open his eyes. He danced a thin line between sleep and wakefulness for a few moments before the sounds of reality snapped him back. He groaned, his muscles protesting to even the most miniscule of moments, but eventually forced himself to sit upright. He recalled many things that had led to his predicament, but at the moment, cared little for such vague details. Instead, a few thoughts overwhelmed the rest and flashed in his mind, refusing to grant him any reprieve until they were met. Ow, I feel like shit. I’m hungry and thirsty. Screw everything else. He’d have to deal with these quickly. He didn’t feel starving or immensely thirsty, but who knew when such feelings would set in.
While feeling returned to his body, Bormont took the moment to look around. Nobles, in varying states, lay around him. Some are easily discernable as dead; others are like him, merely unconscious. Either way it is none of his business, for saving himself is more important than dragging soon to be corpses to a better place to die. With that in mind, Bormont finally forced himself to stand, feeling his bones creak after being out of use for so long. But stand he did and finally he examined himself. He could see no remains of the ship he had boarded a few days ago amongst the waters meaning he’d have to survive off what little he had on him. It seemed everything he had on him when he fell from the ship had stayed where they were placed though, from the knife in his boot to the thick leather gloves he wore at this moment.
Satisfied that he’d be able to catch something to eat, as his stomach was beginning to growl, Bormont settled for walking towards the trees further inland. There was a path, used likely only by animals, so he decided to follow it. He could have sworn he heard music in the air, but simply waved it away as a trick of his ears. He had more important matters to take care of, namely catching whatever had just rustled in the bushes a distance from where he stood. He could hear the creature dashing through the brush and had little desire to chase the beast through leaves and roots. Instead, Bormont took a deep breath and pulled on the magic he knew resided in him. He could feel it in his core, tendrils reaching out as he called upon it. With an outstretched hand, Bormont guided the magic, letting it flow through the world to his target before it manifested itself to bend the laws of reality.
A snap could be heard through the lush forest as space bent on itself bringing what was once far to right in front of Bormont. He smiled even as the blade whistled through the air, glistened amidst the sunlight that managed to pierce the foliage. Blood splashed through the air as the small creature fell limp, a quick and painless death. Catching his new prize before it could fall to the ground; Bormont examined the creature as he walked back towards the beach. It was about the size of a hare, but other than that bore little resemblance. Still, it had no signs of being poisonous like the brightly colored fish that were sometimes brought in by fisherman at the port. It’d have to do for now.
The fire pit had been built, dug out from the beach and filled with tinder from the forest. The flames had been brought to life with a bit of help from his magic, a make shift roast had been fashioned and his prey was turning over the fire at the moment. The remains were wrapped in leaves beside the pit, they would serve as bait to catch fish or lure out scavengers. Bormont simply sat and watched his meal cook, turning it occasionally or reaching out to catch some fat before it could fall into the fire. From what he had tasted, it would be an enjoyable meal, the drippings rich and tasty. Finding water would have to follow immediately after. Then maybe he’d help some of the poor saps still lying in the sand.
A lone man walks onto this large cruise ship, not willingly, but upon force. This man seemed to be out of place among all the happy families and friends on the ship, occasionally something would catch his interest and he would end up stopping and 'studying' it. This man was none other than a simple noble by the name of Obitus, more commonly known as 'The Rebel'. This cruise was to be his temporary prison to remove him from all the politics of Ithwan. To Obitus the ship wasn't that spectacular. It had been a very common model and Obitus had grown used to it, but it wasn't the outside of the ship that made it stand out. It ended up being how much they tried to spoil the people who came upon it, as they would over do with the 'luxuries' of the ship. To confirm this Obitus made the most direct way towards his cabin. When he entered it everything was confirmed, as he looked around his cabin it was practically spotless. It almost made him want to break out into laughter as this was suppose to be his punishment. Everything in that room was basically the best of anything you could get your hands on. He dropped his bag of luggage in front of a desk in the far right corner of the room. He then pulled the chair out and sat down, turning the small light that laid upon the desk and pulled out a stack of books and began to read them.
The cruise had gone on for a few days now and he had barely left his cabin. The only times he left were to get a servant to bring him a small meal or to go check up on the captain to see how everything was going. With that aside, he has spent most of his time reading books; determined that if this was to be a 'prison' then he would make the most of it. Obitus had already read through most of the books he had sat out on his desk and he ran low on things to do. A day or so ago he started to jot down ideas upon what he could do to inspire others to see the 'light'. He felt weird being away from all the debates for this amount of time. As he started to pack up late one night he felt a storm start to pick up and throw the boat around a bit. He thought nothing of it, as it is quite common for storms to appear in the middle of travelling, especially this far from the mainland.
There was a loud, skin crawling crack as a large wave smacked the side of the boat, almost capsizing it. This startled Obitus, and he jumped hurriedly out of bed. As he got out he noticed he had forgotten to change his clothes to night wear, but it didn't matter much now. He ended up rushing out of his room, attempting not to trip as the storm tossed and turned the boat. As he made his way onto the main deck he noticed that there were others that had come to see what all the racket was about, most seemed struck with fear. As Obitus turned to see what they were so fear stricken about, a wave larger than the ship itself smacks against the side of it. Slowly it tipped the ship over onto its left side. He attempted to grab something to hold onto but he was unsuccessful, when he went to grip onto the right side of the boat his hand slipped on the railing, sending him down into the dark cold sea. As he was falling he heard the terrible sounds of others hitting the water and the sounds of the waves hitting the ship still. He wasn't able to even think clearly as to what was happening, but as soon as he hit the water it didn't matter. The pain and the sheer coldness of the water sent him into shock, and he ended up passing out cold.
Obitus groans, being awoken by the annoying sounds of seagulls; he honestly hated those creatures. Obitus was almost ready to believe that everything that had happened the night before was just a bad dream. That was, until he noticed that he wasn't in a bed and that his body felt like it had been hit by a stampede of wild horses. It wasn't a pleasant feeling by any means. He attempts to sit himself up and take a look at his surroundings to see where he had ended up, but failed the first few times. After many attempts he eventually managed to get himself to sit up. As he looked around he noticed that he was on a deserted beach. Well it seemed deserted until he got a good look around and he noticed there were some other bodies scattered among the debris of the ship. He tried to pat off as much of the sand he could from his clothes, but not with much luck, and what he had on was stiff and hard as if they have been worn for days. After that he attempts to stand himself up as he wanted to check for survivors. He thinks to himself 'With my luck...This was probably planned..No never mind..No one can control the way the ocean goes.' he shakes his head to clear his thoughts and prepares himself to go check on the other bodies.
"It is a beautiful night...wouldn't you say?"
He treads heavily, his boots resting a short distance behind me in my quarters as I stare out the window at the sheets of rain which cascaded across the rising waves.
I do not respond.
She bolts into consciousness, if only for a moment, convulsing once as if awakening from a falling dream, though remains where she laid, her expression blank and unblinking before finally drawing breath, quickly exhaling a small sputter of sea water and saliva. Her gasps were labored and weak as she made the motion to attempt to sit up before slowly falling back to the rocks. A small crab had made its way from her hair up onto her face, skittering along before coming to a rest by her nose while it sunned itself. After a peaceful moment, the fire Boremont had started not too far off popped loudly, causing the crab to instinctually pinch. In an instance, the woman's eyes wash over in an abyssal ink and the crab was simply blown away in a cloud of black mist. She convulsed, strangely, fingers twisting and gripping at the rocks before abruptly ceasing, her eyes fluttering shut, once more.
"Why, no Miss Lenore! I cannot say I ever have...ehm, from which providence did you claim to hail?" the voice of a young woman spoke, cutting through the darkness before the scene opened up into a lushly furnished banquet hall, patrons of all types gathering and laughing around various tables, the solemn sorts reserving themselves to the deck that could be hazily seen through the window, the dull sunlight shining in as the ship was about to leave dock.
Vivienne, she called herself; 'Ms. LeCrux', the semi-spoiled stargazer of an unknowingly collared nobility. Her family thought the exploitation of their forests and enslavement of giants brought great prosperity..."I thought it was just another pompous excuse for the self-imposed great to dominate over the oppressed small with the 'greater good' excuse driving their hand to sign documents which would end the lively hoods of hundreds every day. Like all human nobility, she disgusted me on par with every other occupant of the room...well...besides the large armored individual who had stepped in not a minute ago and had begun to make a b-line for her.
"Come now, we are all compatriots in the art of trade, there is no need to be shy... let me see your face-" she had started before being cut off by the man who simply grabbed her by both shoulders. "Vivienne-" he spoke, his action causing her to almost spill her drink as she gritted her teeth in seething contempt. "No, Aark, I told you that this was my choice as an adult, and what my mother says is none of my concern" she snapped, turning to him, pushing his hands aside with her free hand. "I am going to continue-" she began before being cut off by the man who lifted the glass from her, gently setting it down on the table. "Chasing fairytales, I know. We've been having this fight for years, unfortunately for you..." he started, leaning close so his helmet almost touched her face as he concluded, "...I am not your servant, I am your mother's."
In the moments during the confrontation, I took the opportunity to escape, perhaps another ship being more accepting and less questioning of my...situation. I had glanced over my shoulder for only a moment as I reached the other end of the room, in time to catch a glimpse of the man hoisting her up over his shoulder, much to her protest. I wasn't sure of the rest of the event, having left the ship mere moments before they had launched; the lovely couple did not make it off the ship before shoved off. I decided to go for a walk...maybe I could stow away on a cargo ship or something...anything to get away from this wretched land.
Vivienne awoke amongst the wreckage, loosely clinging to half of a life-raft. Sapped of strength from the frigid sea, she was unable to call out, though a saddening sensation occurred as she looked about, she may very well be alone and her calls would be in vain. Alone enough, as, through the fog, she was able to make a small boat making its way towards the debris. She raised a hand, attempting to get the single passenger's attention, which she had, apparently by how he stood, though the events that came next were a deliverance back to the abyss which she had awoken from before - Waking up, I rolled to my side, breaking into coughing fits. Had the dream been real? Was I...yes, yes I was...
Vivienne shakily stood, her heels doing her no favors on the uneven surface of the rocks, though she made the best of it to stretch, her spine and neck cracking from the ages they must have spent in such desolate conditions. She slumped against a rock, mostly thankful to still be alive, though curious how she managed so well, given how there was almost no trace of the ship to be seen. At that, there was barely any civilization to make not of other than the fire nearby from which a tantalizing aroma arose from, considering the hunger which dominated her gut. "Oi!" She called, coughing slightly before starting to ease her way down the rocks to the shore. She stopped to shout, again. "Wh..where!? uhm...lords..." She had started, barely making out the tatters of his clothes that may have once resembled noble attire. "Are there any others!?" she decided to ask, making it to the sand, only to have a heel sink in, causing her to fall back onto the rocks with a groan.
((Its a bit rushed, tell me if you understood who the dark bit was, Beard ;P ))
(OOC-Just so's you know, reaching a hand towards a lady would be considered a major etiquette no-no in Ithwan. Women are supposed to initiate contact between the sexes, and trying to subvert that can mean anything from an insult (by telling the female she is helpless and even men can do a better job than her) to a threat.
If it's a man beginning a conversation instead of physical contact then it's more of a rudeness thing, like interrupting your parents or elders... just some info- you may choose to do with it what you will.)
Over the course of the noble's awakenings, the music changed in its perceived distance chaotically- the rise and fall in volume suggesting an incredibly circuitous path. At last it slowly faded away to near nothing, and was therefore all the more startling when a new music roared into life- or what could only be guessed at as music- and a tall man in plain traveling garb spun out of the forest like a maple spinner falling from tree to ground, booted feet pounding the rough stone in time with the beat. The sounds that came from the strange instrument that he cupped to his face, which fully resembled a small bag merged with three tiny trumpet ends and two flutes and which he blew into with great enthusiasm, where so incredibly high pitched that some of them weren't so much heard as felt deep inside of the molars.
The man hopped and skipped around the nobles with his bizarre instrument, apparently oblivious to them or the corpses lying about the beach until he abruptly ended the song with a shrill flourish and leaped onto a rock. Planting one foot high and lifting a hand over his brow dramatically, he gazed into the middle distance and speaks loudly, the sound of a barely contained laugh hinted at in every syllable. "Magorrath! What do I see? Are these lords and ladies before me?"
"Saranthian nobility, they seem to be! Lower nobility still clinging to last decades style, are they? Or perhaps they just couldn't pull off those big poofy hats!" he says, making a gesture to imply a piece of head-wear several times the size of his own.
Suddenly looking down at himself, he cries out in moke anguish- "Oh, this won't do, this simply won't do! Would you mind, terribly, if we where to go back to the start and try again sometime next year? Just, oh, go back to sea and be washed up, and we'll come walking back, but this time, I'll wear my court clothes- I simply can't be presenting Magorrath to Saranthian's in this traveling attire... no, no, you couldn't possibly swim that long, could you?"
The word for how the man came down from his perch on the stone is hard to pinpoint- to jump lacks the chaotic flailing of limbs, yet to fall implies entirely more lack of intention and a far larger amount of harm- the man- collapsed down the rock, like a spring loaded chair being thrown down an escalator. Somehow at the end of the blur of motion he was standing before Vivienne with an outstretched hand, bent double in a ridiculous bow that left the brim of his hat trailing in the sand, facing towards the assembled nobles. "My Lords, My Ladies, may I present myself and my companion; I am Zimgorroth Valjeabean the thirty second, destroyer of the Black, Leader of the Legions of Unterror, Quester for the Unknown..."
An exasperated voice suddenly interrupts him from the direction that he came from "But most people call him Tim."
"But most people call me Tim." he agrees diplomatically as another man emerges from the woods. "And now I introduce Magorrath the masked- travelling swordsman in search of revenge. Don't ask what happened to his face"
The start of the voyage was marked by an inability to keep food down, but it didn't last long. Iris was soon able to rejoin her usual group of acquaintances, shrugging dismissively whenever someone teased her about her seasickness. Some of the others remarked that she seemed to be more relaxed and almost outgoing when compared to her usual self. They each got a polite smile in response and the topic was deftly redirected onto another track. Why shouldn't she be happier on board the ship, leagues away from her mother's sharp tongue and needling? The group who put together the cruise had promised personnel available to deliver any services required so Lady Delia could not send many minders with her daughter without seeming overly fussy and the maid and manservant were easy enough to evade.
There were more than enough new things to catch Iris's attention. Though she tried to restrain herself, her curiosity about the workings of the seafaring vessel separated her from her peers more often than usual. They were used to her sometimes odd ways and she was always able to blame it on isolation she was used to, growing up in the countryside. The storm only annoyed her at first, but she had to work on tamping down her fear as it intensified when she remembered that she never did get around to learning to swim properly.
She slowly woke to the board she had clung to digging into her lower ribs, relieved to be alive. Opening her eyes took a bit of time as she accidentally rubbed sand into them in an effort to unstick the lids and brush away the hair that stuck to her face. After sitting up gingerly, mindful of the bruises she had accumulated, and checking the surroundings for any immediate dangers, Iris took stock of her situation. She still had with her the rings that marked her as a Delane daughter, the two daggers in her boots, and the contents of her pockets, slightly soggy as they were. Bruises were the only injuries she could feel pain from, so the scars on her arms gave her a start. The only outward sign of her distress was the tremble in her hands as she examined them. She stared at the scars for a moment, questions filling her mind, but decided to tend to more urgent matters as no answers were available. Her sleeves were pulled down again and she slowly stood to start walking towards the spot where she saw other survivors.
She arrived as the music that had become just background noise was suddenly given a source. Her first thought was of indignation on behalf of her peer. How dare this odd man be so forward, especially to one clearly of a notable lineage? Caution was her second as listened to his talk. His words made little sense but this seemed like yet another day for him as opposed to the bedraggled survivors of the cruise. It wouldn't do for her to dismiss his peculiarities so quickly.
Despite herself, Iris stepped back a few paces when he jumped from the rock, stumbling because of a piece of what was probably a part of the ship's wreckage. The arrival of another man didn't make her feel any better. For the first time since she woke, she mourned the lost of her sword. Instead demanding for the one named Tim to answer for his breach of propriety, Iris thought it better to keep her feelings to herself for the time being though she couldn't help but arch an eyebrow at his long list of names. Being upset would not be aid her in getting more information, that much she know well. Her head inclined in a slight nod of acknowledgement. "I am Iris Delane. You seem to know something of our origins but we know nothing of yours or your companion's. Where do you hail from?"
Without an answer from the shrewd hermit in the short distance who sat so comfortably at his fire, I sighed, surveying the mess of broken and discarded corpses and bare remnants of the great ship that felt as if it had only been moments prior that I stood aboard, causing me to question my own consciousness. It may very well be some horrible dream to which-
She holds up her hands as she inspects herself, mid-thought. Her tattered clothes revealing enough to make apparent the light marks upon her body, running even along her fingers, almost as if she had been split evenly in half before being simply stuck back together. And who was to say she wasn't? The sensation from the scars after simply being acknowledged came from deep within her very bones...if not deeper, if such a concept could be fathomed.
-things only continued to perplex me. Accompanied by my worried bewilderment as I inspected the scars, the music which had been growing more defined had taken a turn in my direction until a bumbling traveler of an oaf simply marched out onto the beach playing...well, I have no idea what he had been playing. I mean the instrument, it was outlandish and nonsensical.
He appeared to be unaware of his audience, as others began to pull themselves to their feet from where they had once laid in indistinguishable league with the dead.
I was pulled back to attention as he cascaded down the rock he had perched on during his monologue which, in any other circumstance, I would have found offense to if not for the overlying flaw in his story in which we were all shipwreck victims and style was the least of our concern...what with his display as he tumbled down the spire and somehow managing to land which was, in itself, concerning.
As the man introduced himself, I couldn't help but don a perplexed look; his attire hardly befitting for someone of his mouthful of a title, still, I was in no place to really question. God knows where we could have landed. With this thought, a woman spoke, introducing herself before questioning the man. Not a question I would ask, though, I supposed there was no rule saying I couldn't ask one as well.
Vivi looks upon the traveler, her eyes filled with curiosity and suspicion as she gives her best curtsy in response. "I am Vivienne Flyleif LeCrux of the Vyrewatch prime estate, apprentice baroness to the province" she begins, noting 'Tim's' almost silly demeanor. "I believe my associates and I-" she went on, gesturing to the woman who had spoken as well as the man who roamed among the wreck who she took a moment to pick out of the bodies, being the only person moving, though she considers him part of the group, simply for being alive among the passengers, before continuing, "-are marooned from a shipwreck. As for your question, I'm surprised we aren't dead while so many others are."
She gains a serious tone, her eyes narrowing in a skeptical manner, "As for your behavior, whoever you are does not excuse such disrespect for the dead" her hands on her hips as she stares up at him, having to be at least at a foot and a half of a disadvantage and coming off silly if anything from a third party; the disheveled noblewoman talking down to the traveling giant by comparison. "What is this land, and is there an Ithwian embassy that you could lead us to?" she demands simply, in a stern yet formal manner. She doesn't hate him, she doesn't really anything him. 'Eternally thankful for his interest in the situation' was a better guess, but by the way she carried herself, you wouldn't have guessed.
"No.... No.. NO" Magorrath yelled as he woke up with a start. he sat up and wiped the cold sweat from his chest and forearms he looked for his face towel and wiped down the masks faceplate without removing it. He had learned to deal with the sweat on the interior , he carefully parted the animal skin he called his blanket and got into a crouch his right leg kneeling and his left leg upright . He inched forward and parted the tents canvas flap to look outside. It was early morning the camps fire was still dimly lit but Tim's tent was empty, Magorrath was sure of this because Tim has the awful habit of snoring not loud enough to be a bother but still a give away that Tim was gone. Suddenly the sound of the Stygian Marsh bagpipes filled the air but it was far away. Magorrath clenched his tear and could feel his molars vibrating under the high pitched squeal. I had better find Tim before he gets into trouble Magorrath thought. He rushed to his tent and grabbed his greatsword and greatcoat , and hastly put the coat on before slinging his worn scabbard on. It seemed Tim wasn't too far , Magorrath followed the sound and came upon a forest. He ran throught the forest haphazardly nearly tripping over several roots but his natural grace kept him from tripping. He came to the end of the forest and slowed down he crouched straining to hear anything other than the bagpipes. Suddenly he heard
"My Lords, My Ladies, may I present myself and my companion; I am Zimgorroth Valjeabean the thirty second, destroyer of the Black, Leader of the Legions of
Unterror, Quester for the Unknown..."
Oh gods not again Magorrath thought , before thinking Magorrath called out "But most people call him Tim."
"And now I introduce Magorrath the masked- travelling swordsman in search of revenge.
On cue Maggorath walked out from the dense underbrush keeping low carely not to be seen shaking twigs from his hood and wiping green leaves from his worn leather great coat. The forest cleared into a small cove , the cove looked to littered with debris and bodies . Magorrath slid down a small cliff face and came to rest upon the sand at the bottom. He looked around the small cove it looked to be mostly littered with splintered wood and torn wet clothes , but he had more important things to attend to. Magorrath turned to see Tim pulling his hand away and looking offended. Magorrath had told Tim on several prievious occasions that he really shouldn't be offering his hand to random people otherwise it will come back and bite him one day. "Do I have foresight or what" Magorrath said softly with a chuckle . Now back to business he thought quickly , he walked in a brisk speed towards the two dishevelled survivors and Tim. Magorrath walked slowly not sneaking but slow enough that his foot steps were barely audible upon the sand . He came to be ten feet from them and said " I am Magorrath of South Eastern Palosh, Tim will answer your questions while I shall get the food for tonight" he curtly sped off for two reasons one they smelled of salt and rotting meat and two he had better things to do than to play nagging nursemaid with a couple of haughty noblewomen. He had the hunt to look forward to , he jumped to a rock near the cliff face and kicked off it. He grabbed a handhold in the cliff and quickly climbed up . Magorrath sniffed and caught the scent of a Tildeer , Magorrath smiled and unsheathed his greatsword and ran after his quarry
( sorry its heavy uneditted and probably looks bad but I had to post before anyone else posted again so that this still makes sense )
As Obitus gets onto his feet his body was incredibly sore, you could almost compare the pain to that of just wakening upon a bed of nails. His whole body was stiff and his muscles ached, making it difficult to walk or even move in that matter. He couldn't help but wonder 'how long have i been out for? Mustn't been longer than a day..' His train of thought were broken by the subtle grumble from the lack of nutrition his body has been given. Sadly enough he couldn't be distracted upon his own bodily needs, it would probably be better to check up on some of the bodies to see if any of them were alive. Each step he took towards the nearest motionless body hoping that it is alive.
As Obitus approached the body that was laying perfectly still on the beach, Totally Oblivious to the few individuals that were still alive. He slowly sank down upon one knee and placed two fingers firmly on the side of the individuals neck right under the back of his jaw. He waited for a couple seconds before confirming that this man wasn't ever going to be coming back alive. He then slowly approached a couple more bodies doing the exact same thing as he had done to the first corpse, all of them dead. 'What a tragedy' he thought, it was very odd that he had lived through this experience but before he could go and check on some more of the bodies he hears a very intriguing sound. It was a sound he was personally unfamiliar with but he figured it could be considered to be music to some folks.
Obitius looks around, dumbfounded, as he finally notices that there were other survivors other than himself. That made him quite relived but it seemed that the music was approaching the small group of survivors he decided to head over to them. 'Great...Female nobles' Although he was glad that there were other survivors, he didn't like the fact that some of them were female nobles. From his experience in the past, heck even to recent times, they will try to take over any situation they feel fit to. He composes himself placing his hands into this trouser pockets and heads over to the group, every step he took was quite painful but he did his best to hide it. As he got closer he was able to see the individual that had been playing that 'music' and it seemed to be a quite odd man. Although Obitus seemed to have missed introductions, sadly enough, he was able to see that the man was a bit ignorant in the survivors culture or in other words was quite rude.
Obitus had made it towards the group just to see that strange man fall, or at least seemed to be that he fell. The man had landed upon his feet and acted as though nothing had even happened. It was quite strange Obitus listened to the man introduce this shady masked figure, who then approached the group and basically said 'i told you so' before introducing himself as Magorrath and what appeared to be his friend Tim. 'What a peculiar name...Tim?' Obitus thought to himself, he had quite a few questions that he would like to ask these two, but he didn't feel like stepping out of line with Vivienne Flyleif LeCrux, who he had recognized before she even said her name. Honestly upon Obitus' arrival to this group of people he couldn't of had any worse timing because Magorrath just ran off saying he was looking for food, and Vivi was complaining none stop. Even though with this Chaotic mess going on Obitus kept himself quite and composed for as long as he could letting Vivi finish what she was saying.
As soon as Vivi was done with her complaining Obitus felt that it would be acceptable to introduce himself, obviously towards Vivi first as he didn't want to have her gripe about anything else. He coughed to clear his throat and bowed slightly towards Vivi and the other noble then said in a formal matter "I am Obitus, Obitus Florianus pleased to meet your acquaintance, Miss." He slowly stood straight up and composed himself,not introducing himself to the others as he didn't find it important,then slides his hands into his trouser pockets again casually. Honestly he had seen Vivi only a few times at some political parties but never introduced himself. Honestly he very rarely introduced himself to anyone unless it was an urgent matter, and this was an urgent matter. He then looks over towards this so called Tim and says "I apologize if you are already under allot of questions but may I inquire what you were playing that 'music' upon?" Yes it was an odd question, but he was really curious as to what it was and how it worked its just the way he is.
Bormont squinted as he looked upwards and away from his fire to the rocks closer to the waters. It seemed one of the ladies had awoken instead of staying dead on the beach. Glorious, he thought as he gave a small shake towards the survivor, for as far as Bormont had seen it was just him and her for now. He turned back to give his roast a final turn before he pulled the meat off the flames and plunged it into the sand to cool. Then he turned to the rustles that accompanied the arrival of a strange man, whom seemed to be the source of the peculiar music that filled the air. The new arrival was loud, boisterous and energetic if nothing else, and each of his movements were filled with energy. He himself seemed to be filled with nonsense and little else, at least not enough to keep Bormont’s attention for long. After a few confusing moments of trying to puzzle out this strange man, he simply gave up on the task and turned to his meal.
He caught a few tidbits of information as he pulled strips of cooked meat from his quarry. The other man was named Obitus. The two ladies were Iris and Vivienne. The two islanders were Tim and Magorrath. Aside from that, Bormont knew as much about the one’s he had cruised with as he did of the two strangers. In other words, he knew jack shit about all five people here. Now the fact of his ignorance to nobility didn’t really bother or concern him, so while the four interacted amongst themselves, introducing and sharing names, Bormont finished picking the meat of the bones and stuffed them in with the animal’s entrails and guts. They’d be useful as bait and whatnot later. Now to find some water to drink, he thought to himself as he finally picked himself off the sand, giving himself a light dust off as he did so.
Finally he approached the others, but he was focused solely on the one who went by a title Bormont didn’t care to remember or try to pronounce, so decidedly he went for the easier alternative. He coughed and cleared his throat before speaking, though his voice was dry from lack of drinking and the meal he just had. “Tim, you wouldn’t know of a stream or something I could drink from would you?” he asked, interjecting himself into the conversation. The game trail was likely to lead to a source of flowing water where animals would drink from, but better to simply get directions than wander based on chance.