Drunken Conquistador — Roleplayer Guild

1128 Titans’s Rest
30th Year of the Undying’s Reign
Legion Camp
24 Hours Before the Taking of Aveless

Hanir opened his eyes to the call of the seagulls, the smell of sea water and the scorching sun on his face. He blinked, dazed and somewhat weary. Suddenly aware of the hard surface beneath him and how it swayed. Carefully raising himself to a sitting position, Hanir was shocked to see himself drifting amidst an endless expanse of ocean atop a piece of driftwood.

Before he could even start trying to comprehend the situation, the sight of a ship in the horizon caught his sight. And not just any ship, but a galley bearing the Saga Black Sun. What a fortunate happening. The gods must truly be watching over him! Rescue was at hand.

Now all he needed to do was to catch the sailors' attention...which presented another problem now that he was thinking about it. All Hanir had were the rags-Wait, rags? Why am I wearing rags?-on his back and he dared not to try to break a piece of wood to use it as paddle.

The impasse lasted until Hanir realized that the ship was actually sailing away. Uncertainty was replaced by desperation and he threw himself into the cold, dark waters-They were clear as crystal just a moment ago, I could swear.- while behind him, the flimsy piece of wood was finally consumed by the waves.

Hanir swam, his movements fueled by desperation and fear. There was no turning back now. Either he reached the ship or he would die. And so he swam and prayed, throwing all of his strength behind every stroke of arm while his panicked mind was overwhelmed by a stream of semi-coherent prayers, the cold seeping through his bones and into his throat and the salt stinging his eyes.

A larger wave engulfed Hanir, the water pulled him down despite his struggles. His lungs burned at the exertion and he couldn't even keep his eyes open anymore. The cold and exhaustion made him feel like his limbs had turned to lead but still he pressed on. Pawing blindly and desperately as he tried to swim upwards. 

He eventually broke the water line, gasping for air as relief flooded his being and his arms struggled to keep himself from going under again. But the relief was short lived, the galley was nowhere in sight and a storm had materialized out of the blue. The last thing Hanir saw was a colossal wave about to crash down upon him.

Then he woke up.

Hanir sighed dejectedly. It had been months since he last had this dream, he was already beginning to think he was over it. Still, maybe it was for the best. Who knew what his weak mind would conjure after it got tired of this particular dream.

Hanir opened his eyes, staring at the burgundy ceiling of his tent, held upwards by a thick oaken beam engraved with the Seeing Hand and the Black Sun. He had done the engravings himself. After a couple of seconds he raised himself from his cot-It has been so long, I'm starting to forget what a feather bed feels like-adjusting his creased purple tunic Hanir made his bed. After almost 20 years he could do it with closed eyes. Though he still missed having servants to do the job for him, as any proper noble should. 

After finishing with the bed, Hanir took off his tunic. Folding it neatly and placing it above his cot. It still had a couple more nights in it before it needed to be washed.

Outside the sun was just starting to rise and Hanir was relieved to see that he hadn't missed his usual wake up hour. Hanir could hear the faint, chaotic noise in the distance. No doubt coming from these cursed Anthem scum. Marmuleth willing, they would be butchered in the coming battle.

He walked over to his varnished trunk, a red and black thing, decorated with gold and precious stones along the lid-half of it already stolen, may the thieves rot in Tar-Phurezh forever.-and a large Black Sun emblazoned on the top. Hanir took his golden pendant and used it to unlock the chest. Carefully opening it he retrieved a smaller box lacquered in red.

Inside was the holy incense, acquired at a great cost from Ilanid. He retrieved a few sticks before carefully closing the box and gingerly placing it back within the trunk. 

Hanir moved to the other side of the tent-An officer's tent should be bigger, but alas, this is the best I could get. Another stain upon my honor.- where the altar sat. Upon it, a meager collection of statuettes and figurines sat. Hanir wasn't even able to field the whole Golden Pantheon. Another shame to bear.

Still, he did what he could. And every day at camp he would light the incenses and make his prayers to the gods. Like he was doing at the moment. Prostrated before the images, his forehead to the ground. The recently lit incense resting in a delicate golden cup engraved with the sacred runes. 

"Zaal Zimpharel." He intoned softly in Ilanish. "King of the Gods, Radiant Sovereign of the Universe, The All Conquering. I am, and always will be, your humble servant. Before you I am as small as an insect with no honor. And yet despite my insignificance before your awesome radiance, I offer myself to you in body and soul. The whole world lives and dies by your sufferance and I am no different." Hanir took a deep breath, enjoying the sweet smell of the incense before shifting slightly to face another figurine.

"Zaal Marmuleth. Warlord of the Heavenly Hosts, Warrior Saint. Grant me your blessing so that I may continue to honor your holy name. Guide my blows so that I may strike down those who stand in my path. Keep my armor strong and my shield arm fast so that I may ward off the blows of the scum that you send out to test me. Grant me victory so that I may honor myself and mine. But if you see fit to humble me on the battlefield, then grant me the wisdom to survive and accept it with grace. So that I may win tomorrow." Hanir swallowed dry and shifted to face a third statuette.

"Zaal Kefreni, Protector of the Lost and Wayward Souls, Guide and Mother to all who wander, hear my plea. I am but a humble mortal and yet I dare to ask for you divine help. Please, bestow upon me your blessings. Let this be the day that I will earn the right to stand among my clan again. Let this be the day when I make myself worthy of the Saga name again. Let this be the day that I shall finally return to the warm bosom of my kin. And if I fall, then allow me entrance into the halls of my ancestors. So that I may achieve in death what I wasn't worthy of in life." 

Hanir was about to start another prayer when the order came:

"Job to be done. Voice's orders. Meet at the Weeping-Gate within the hour. Pack light."

The intense throbbing was something that would never stop bothering Hanir. But after 20 years, he had learned to live with it. Raising himself to sitting upon his haunches, the nobleman bowed again to the incomplete pantheon before him. 

"Forgive me, oh great and wise masters of Creation." He begged to the statues, raising his clasped hands above his head. "For this humble servant has earthly duties to attend to."

With that he rose up, leaving the incense burning in the cup as a meager attempt to make up for his indiscretion. The gods did not appreciate being ignored, but what was he to do? The Voice called for him and what else could he do but obey? He had said the oaths after all.

Hanir moved quickly to dresser near the bed, where his prized make up and other beauty products were stored. Mood fouling as he was forced to hurry in his preparations. A man of his station needed more than one hour to properly prepare himself for the day. Or at least more servants. He clamped down on the growing anger. -Think of home, think of father. When he took you aside and taught you how to do this. Remember how proud he was when you learned how to this by yourself. He kept fostering the sentiment as he applied the black eyeliner. Followed by the fine powder to hide the below his left eye and the one on his right cheek. A sweet tasting balm to make his lips reddish and shiny and finally the oils that would make his hair soft and strong.

He looked himself at the mirror, frowning at the sloppy work. The scar on his cheek was still faint while the one below the eye had gotten too much powder, a blotch of it was just about visible. He stopped himself before he could notice anything else. He didn't had the time for that.

He jumped to his feet and rushed to the stands where he kept his armor and weapons and the trunk with his clothes. Hurriedly putting on the underclothes that went between his skin and the plate before moving to the armor himself. Grumbling loudly as he worked the straps and locks of the suit into place. -Servants! I need servants!- But then again, it had always been hard to secure steady help for that. Specially now that the Legion was so direly understaffed. Maybe he could secure some slaves in Avless? He would talk with Arthur about it later. Now, he mused as he finally placed his helmet on, he had duties to fulfill.

@Drunken Conquistador
I'm gonna say it anyway. In fact all the Voices can do it. It's part of where their names come from. You see I think about these things sometimes.

But that's about as far as they can extend with most people. Since Verse is Tainted if they really want to they can hijack her entire body as need be. Though that's more of an Undying thing to do than a Voice thing and if the Undying is doing something like that well you better be on the Next Continent because they do not like having to intervene with such insignificant matters.@Hexaflexagon

Thanks for the reply. Now its my turn to write about Hanir putting on makeup in the morning while complaining that he has no servants to help him.

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