Blubaron45 — Roleplayer Guild

Howland Morrys

The quiet leader of the newly formed band of intrepid adventurers finally spoke to the true victors who fought for their spot in this expedition. His introduction was short and to the point which to Howland - was the mark of any true, earnest businessman in his experiences as a traveler throughout his many odd jobs as a poor sellsword and occasional field worker in the deeper south. Expeditions and the gold which came with it would finally bring an end his tedious travels of searching for jobs - the same occupation which once only brought a short income of food to himself and his trusty steed, Dustard and 500 gold coins sure was in nine hells a lot of money to start off with this new one; it was certainly better than most jobs, he said to himself. Needless to ask where the money came from, his mind insisted on wondering: where on earth did he ever acquire such an amount of money, especially with someone that young? 

A will of money granted to him by his wealthy merchant father? Inherited wealth as a lord's offspring, son of some great illustrious house? Surly if none of those assumptions of him were at all true, he must have been quite the criminal or money hoarder, whatever he was. A new employee had not the audacity to ask such questions, only so much as to think it as curious. Definitely, if this man was true to his word, a mere bombardment of questions would eventually become outspoken by the vast wealth of gold coins which would be accumulated in journeys with this group of unique individuals who he had some certainty to trust. Usually, he had never the privilege of doing so, yet here he felt as if he could - for some strange reason, especially that elf who taught that no good Gothi a thing or two just a few hours earlier. 

Later, just after the brief introduction, a wood-charcoal pencil was soon after abruptly passed before him alongside a thickly crumbled sheet of brown paper that seemed to be passed around violently one too many times; it was painted with bleakly black ink that made out the terms and conditions of this new party, one of them pledging their loyalty to Rask. Luckily, if only anyone read any of those terms and conditions, let alone know how. Yet not even a handful of noble knights knew how to read or even so much as spell their own name. Writing and literacy was also quite a rarity, especially to any commoner and an even more infrequent occasion to see a handful of simpleton bandits do the same. Rarely enough for those who did, typically had the fortune to be raised by a baron of nobility or by some high lord in a castle or manor, tending as a servant or even had managed to simply learn on their own - it was very curious as Howland himself could barely read just a few years ago. It was people like Howland and quite possibly the young, eager companions he was with were exceptions. Tenaciously, Howland paid close attention to the details and after deciding to sign, he made his mark on the scruffy paper. 

Turning to his side to pass the paper along, a massive pang suddenly shrilled in his stomach from the kiss of the dark blade, given to him by that vicious Rothkai shield-maiden. Earnestly, Howland did his best to intensively listen and not so much as give a gesture of pain and appear weak among his new companions. Nimbly, shortly after signing the paper, Howland then seized the opportunity to take leave into town in search of herbs that would help disinfect the gross wounds where his mediocre healing magic capabilities would most certainly fail him. Mustering his bearings after leaving the farm, he looked down at his wound and underneath his boiled leather and revealed a brightly, red color of blood which streaked across the cut he had cautiously tried so hard to conceal with a bloody cloth - even just looking at it made him feel uneasy and that's what I get for offending a Rothkai woman, he then thought before contemplating a way to disinfect the shit from his wound.  

Eldar's Kiss he snapped, it was the only herb which helped deal with the fecal matter from spreading which was the most affordable, the rest he could easily heal by hand. Sadly, however, the nearest herbal stores which were provided by the Alchemist's Guild were just shy of a few thousand feet across town and as he limped outside, clinching onto his stomach wound, Howland found Lord Dustard rolling in the dirt like a pig. Snickering, Howland had only one thing to say, "What a strange horse you are." he then chuckled lightly before grabbing a tight grasp onto his steed's leather reins and mounted the black stallion and trotted deeper into town. 

It was half past midday when Howland finished a better part of a morning on errands searching for supplies from the Shaman who owned the herbal store as the swollen red sun dipped lower into the western shoreline. Tired and uneasy from the healing from that mad shaman who tried to help him disinfect the wounds, the wry traveler had finally found his way at a local tavern just near the docks. Inside, the tavern was dark and dimly lighted with many scented candles which seemed to drive away the smell of fish which allured him to the bar stand near others. "I'd like a dish of the finest tenderly smoked salmon you have, some scrumptiously warm potatoes, and a nice pint of ale to wash it all down." Howland demanded and soon enough, the bar tender served him what he wanted in exchange for just two coins. The man was bald, plump, thick with a hairy mustache that had most certainly been stained by years liquor, and a long hooked nose that made him appear more goblin than man. 

"Not every day we see a young traveler." He said curiously. "You a sellsword? I hear that's a tough business for most." He observed, looking down at Howland's leather armor and his great ancestral sword which was protectively covered by his warm fury bear coat. 

"You never mind about that. I plan on leaving this place soon enough, just need something to fill my stomach for now." He drew back as the pain wretched at him once more, his wounds were going to take some time to heal even with those bandages. Howland then took a large gulp of the thick ale before taking bites of his meal from his wooden plate and spoon. Reaching down into his bag, he then grabbed the white bottle of medicine he purchased earlier from the herbal store-owner and drank the bitter, thick pain medicine that seemed to stick to his throat and slide down into his stomach just gradually. The feeling of that was enough to make him gag but before he did, Howland immediately grabbed pint of ale and drowned himself with it before happily belching quietly to himself soon thereafter. Just a scratch, you fool he joked and almost laughed to himself. 

"No offense young lad, I didn't mean it like that. Just wanted to know is all." The bartender snapped but as soon as he drew his first words, his voice soon began to fade away into obscurity and the shadows began to creep in on Howland. Something odd was happening, the medicine seemed to have settled in earlier than anticipated as Howland's body soon felt heavier with every second that pass. For a moment, there was a bleak darkness that surrounded his vision and seemed to have crept itself deeper into his eyes as the worlds around him dimmed the moment he soon realized it was the medicine doing this to him. Damn that shaman He cursed. Before he could so much as try to leave the tavern, the darkness had wholly consumed him, ridding him of his consciousness and for a while, he could not remember anything thereafter. The hard brewed ale along a mix of drowsy medicine can easily drown at a man's memories and blind his rationality. All he could recollect after that moment, however, was a warm straw bed in a small bedroom and the smooth skin of a naked woman who draped her long legs around his pelvis area as Howland fell asleep in her soft arms.
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The Musical Mathmagician

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