Epsir Member
FetzenStatus
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Her business in the city had been concluded without a hitch. A few messengers had went out, and she had made personal stops where it had been possible. All it had resulted in was a long sequence of goodbyes and a certain roster of who was and was not departing from the 33rd with Alec Cross. The actual numbers were worse than she would have hoped, the vast majority of her company was being entrusted to the operation and she was to simply continuing doing whatever it was she did, with a skeleton crew now. The rain hadn't stopped, didn't seem to her that it would stop any time soon anyway, and her poor green jacket had seen better nights. From the mist, her target slowly came into a view. An otherwise unsuspecting hotel, held by two of her own men. She waved as she passed, and gently shouldered open the door of the hotel in time to vaguely overhear one of her lieutenants. Conversations between soldiers always seemed to veer that way sooner or later. "Good evening, Milo, Cross," She said flatly, removing her jacket as she walked across the room and took a seat in the vacated couch. "Most scouts aren't hesitant about killing," she said, her eyes slowly passing from Milo to Alec. "But they're not hired killers. The reason you've been given Scouts is to protect you from a kind of threat you don't understand." She stopped, looking to the brandy perched above the fireplace, seeming to take a kind of solace. "I wanted to say goodnight and goodbye, but I'm happier to find you all still awake. Milo, I have the list of companions." A crumpled up piece of paper, the one she'd been all over town to fill out, was pulled from her pocket, and she unturned the list in her hands, holding it out to MIlo. Naturally, it included over half of the company's current size, all told 24 men with a distinct shortage of officers.
As Boyd retreated back into his office, Maria held her position and prohibited herself the enjoyment of following along. There was always the responsibility to be better, and it started with discipline, regardless of how trivial it could be. She caught Milo's eyes as he turned around, and couldn't help but feel a small, painful bit of pity within her. It was a sadness that did not come easy, it was like losing one all over again. Milo was one of the good ones, although she came to believe that about all of her staff, and knew the truth was more often than not far darker. For now, he'd always been a good soldier. As her lieutenant left, she snapped a small, informal salute and called down the hallway, "Farewell Lieutenant. Make us proud," and with that turned away. She didn't want to be seen sulking, the image of the stoic captain had to survive even if her company didn't. The company came back to the forefront of her mind, she needed to find out who else was leaving before she could pack up and get back to work. There were papers that needed to be sent to Erschald, because she had already determined what she would be putting the remainder of her company to work on. Newly determined, or perhaps just frustrated, she went off down the hall in the opposite direction, to find some messengers.
Loenn
The doctor was more than a little unnerved to hear an answer so in-line with his suspicions about the wound. Well, at the very least the man had to be pretty solid to be breathing where he was right now. Substantially more solid than his capacity to operate on a wounded man on such short notice. He wrapped the other cuts across Crom's body, feeding out spools of wrapping dabbed with antiseptic along the way. He stopped to consider Crom's chest for a moment, it was certainly a bad bruise and while there was little he could do about that other than tell the man to go lie in some snow, it did herald complications within. "Not much a man can do about cracked ribs, other than go easy on them. If you can breathe it ain't that bad, but I'm going to wrap your chest as well to keep pressure on them." He did as he said he would, and pulled a roll of bandaging around the wounded man's chest to fasten it tight, perhaps enough to cause discomfort for the first few minutes of wear until the pain dulled. "Maybe we shouldn't have hired a bunch of banged up wanderers but you look like you can take it. I prescribe a liberal application of alcohol." The man chuckled and closed his bag. "But really, go easy on yourself. Maybe take a walk to get your bearings; with any luck all we're doing is moving a single crate tonight."
Lieda
The man's smile unsettled him. The gold fangs were simply a step too far. What kind of man had he been told to cooperate with? At any rate, he'd be out of his office and doing whatever his vile trade entailed on the outskirts of the country soon. Then it was someone else who would have to sit and contemplate what they were doing. He rose to his feet with Alec, after finishing his glass of water, and walked over towards the door as he spoke. "Your orders are effective immediately, although obviously a preparatory phase of up to a week here in Lieda was expected, however, it is a generosity and you will find that your men have been made ready to leave as soon as you have concluded organizing them."
"It's serious." Maria said, no more okay with the turn of events than her lieutenant but not as shaken up. His quick recovery was admirable, but that was a guise any officer saw in their men day to day. She stood away from the wall, her soaked jacket leaving a wet spot where her shoulders had been which she casually brushed away. The effect she was seeing in one of her own officers now was the final word on her opinion of Alec Cross. Now, she dearly hoped the doors would soon open to a beaten Marshal Boyd. She realized where her thoughts were going, and stopped with an unsolicited and deep sigh. Here she was getting worked up about a warmonger and she couldn't even keep that in check. "Yeah," she said, eyes low. "Nobody likes it, but for right now it's got to be that way. Orders are orders, right?" Not a moment after she finished speaking, the door was flung open from within and Boyd stepped out, motioning for Cross to follow.
"Your company has been wonderful mister Cross, but for now I must leave you again in the care of lieutenant Ranier. He will see to it that you find suitable lodging tonight." Boyd smiled deeply, and gestured to the lieutenant, ignoring Trinan for the time being as he was happy simply to have a chance to be alone for a while. The scouts were the best suited to handle something like this, of course, that was why they'd been chosen as escorts.
The doctor was more than a little unnerved to hear an answer so in-line with his suspicions about the wound. Well, at the very least the man had to be pretty solid to be breathing where he was right now. Substantially more solid than his capacity to operate on a wounded man on such short notice. He wrapped the other cuts across Crom's body, feeding out spools of wrapping dabbed with antiseptic along the way. He stopped to consider Crom's chest for a moment, it was certainly a bad bruise and while there was little he could do about that other than tell the man to go lie in some snow, it did herald complications within. "Not much a man can do about cracked ribs, other than go easy on them. If you can breathe it ain't that bad, but I'm going to wrap your chest as well to keep pressure on them." He did as he said he would, and pulled a roll of bandaging around the wounded man's chest to fasten it tight, perhaps enough to cause discomfort for the first few minutes of wear until the pain dulled. "Maybe we shouldn't have hired a bunch of banged up wanderers but you look like you can take it. I prescribe a liberal application of alcohol." The man chuckled and closed his bag. "But really, go easy on yourself. Maybe take a walk to get your bearings; with any luck all we're doing is moving a single crate tonight."
Lieda
The man's smile unsettled him. The gold fangs were simply a step too far. What kind of man had he been told to cooperate with? At any rate, he'd be out of his office and doing whatever his vile trade entailed on the outskirts of the country soon. Then it was someone else who would have to sit and contemplate what they were doing. He rose to his feet with Alec, after finishing his glass of water, and walked over towards the door as he spoke. "Your orders are effective immediately, although obviously a preparatory phase of up to a week here in Lieda was expected, however, it is a generosity and you will find that your men have been made ready to leave as soon as you have concluded organizing them."
"It's serious." Maria said, no more okay with the turn of events than her lieutenant but not as shaken up. His quick recovery was admirable, but that was a guise any officer saw in their men day to day. She stood away from the wall, her soaked jacket leaving a wet spot where her shoulders had been which she casually brushed away. The effect she was seeing in one of her own officers now was the final word on her opinion of Alec Cross. Now, she dearly hoped the doors would soon open to a beaten Marshal Boyd. She realized where her thoughts were going, and stopped with an unsolicited and deep sigh. Here she was getting worked up about a warmonger and she couldn't even keep that in check. "Yeah," she said, eyes low. "Nobody likes it, but for right now it's got to be that way. Orders are orders, right?" Not a moment after she finished speaking, the door was flung open from within and Boyd stepped out, motioning for Cross to follow.
"Your company has been wonderful mister Cross, but for now I must leave you again in the care of lieutenant Ranier. He will see to it that you find suitable lodging tonight." Boyd smiled deeply, and gestured to the lieutenant, ignoring Trinan for the time being as he was happy simply to have a chance to be alone for a while. The scouts were the best suited to handle something like this, of course, that was why they'd been chosen as escorts.
Loenn
The doctor lead Crom away into the inn, greeting the owner and taking him directly to one of the rooms that had been prearranged. His examination was brief, a mix of practiced indifference and genuine disbelief at the nature of the wounds. "What'd you do, get into a fight with a mountain lion?" They clearly weren't caused by a sword, or at least, a well maintained one, but he remembered the blood around the scene and knew the wound had to have been caused at that location. There hadn't been any obvious animosity among them excepting maybe the naked man that got shunted away. A chill crept through him as he struggled to connect the dots and found only horrific ideas. Still, he had a job to do and set to work. It'd been a long time since the wound had been inflicted, and there wasn't much he could do that Crom's body wasn't already doing slower. He withdrew a roll of gauze and a bottle of antiseptic mixture with a brush, and after coating the former in the sickly smelling substance, set to work wrapping up the wound. "What about the rest of you? Aches or breakages?" He asked as he worked.
John watched them leave in a strange state of concern. He wondered not only if Crom would be okay but if he would be capable after treatment. They were not out of the woods just yet, even though they were in a town. Poor figure of speech, he reminded himself, and turned to Griff to reply. The man was already gone from his sight, off the cart. Whatever he planned on killing time with, it was apparently a great idea. John clambered down from the top of the wagon, joining the other man on the street and making to follow him. "The fort it is," he agreed, though he had only a general idea of its direction from his lookaround atop the wagon. "Looking to pick something up?" He asked, making casual talk. Whatever they ended up doing, he'd probably stop and sew somewhere eventually. They could all look out for themselves and he had no doubt their employer could find them in this town. So he made his way with Griff into the town, slowly regaining his land legs after the long ride.
Lieda
He hadn't been expecting that. A weak smile spread across Boyd's face as he counted his blessings in not having to haggle it out with somebody they called the vulture. A man who, as much as the entire situation, was beginning to unnerve him. Every mannerism and facet of the man was simply wrong by some aspect of his mind, and while he wasn't quite certain enough to put his finger on malice, there was a word he was desperately searching for to describe the aura in the room. "Yes, exactly what you'd be doing..." He couldn't pull out the other letter right now, now could he? Hopefully the writers had said enough to cover his remembrance of the contract in the letter. "You'll be given charge of a small military unit of selected regulars from the State Army, to command and outfit as you please. As the royalty have voiced interest in the issue, you will be accompanied by an element from the 33rd Royal Arcarti Scouts Company, which you will have say over the composition of. Their subordination is assured." He poured a glass of water from the pitcher on his desk and took a sip, he was beginning to stammer as dry as he was. "Besides some of the interests of supplying you with domestically trained troops. For right now, the army has deemed your trial, if you will, will be being sent west to corral some of the more dissent ridden regions along our border. They have always been afforded a certain degree of autonomy but recent events have forced our hand. There is already an operation underway in the area and cleanup of any resulting unrest will surely be entrusted to you, as well."
She considered Milo's words for a moment. Of course, everyone was anxious about their next deployment. They were still far understrength, and their standing hurt because of it. Regardless, they would be sent somewhere, and all the loose lips saying that the frigid north was next were correct. "The 6th is there, for Sacamede." Maria said with thinly veiled disapproval. 6RASC could do the job, she admired that company in particular, but it came as a surprise that the 33rd had been pulled away after months of tracking so that someone else could make the grab. She didn't care for the glory, but the entire thing reeked of the bureaucracy that cost plenty of innocent lives. "They're going to split the company for special duties. Too few men to operate. Some of them, maybe you, will go with Cross." It was a stupid decision by any measurement of military competency. The retainer for their newly acquired lord would be made from her men, and what remained of her company would be sent off to handle advisory or training duties for a few months until reorganization started. In the meantime one of the most reputed companies of the royal scouts would be utterly out of commission because of one foreigner. She returned Milo's look with her neutral glare. "There are already attempts on that man's life being planned." Anybody with a reputation like that was a target, she figured. The people didn't want him, the League really didn't want him. She didn't want him, but that was just unfortunate. The scouts would undoubtedly be the shield sent for him.
The doctor lead Crom away into the inn, greeting the owner and taking him directly to one of the rooms that had been prearranged. His examination was brief, a mix of practiced indifference and genuine disbelief at the nature of the wounds. "What'd you do, get into a fight with a mountain lion?" They clearly weren't caused by a sword, or at least, a well maintained one, but he remembered the blood around the scene and knew the wound had to have been caused at that location. There hadn't been any obvious animosity among them excepting maybe the naked man that got shunted away. A chill crept through him as he struggled to connect the dots and found only horrific ideas. Still, he had a job to do and set to work. It'd been a long time since the wound had been inflicted, and there wasn't much he could do that Crom's body wasn't already doing slower. He withdrew a roll of gauze and a bottle of antiseptic mixture with a brush, and after coating the former in the sickly smelling substance, set to work wrapping up the wound. "What about the rest of you? Aches or breakages?" He asked as he worked.
John watched them leave in a strange state of concern. He wondered not only if Crom would be okay but if he would be capable after treatment. They were not out of the woods just yet, even though they were in a town. Poor figure of speech, he reminded himself, and turned to Griff to reply. The man was already gone from his sight, off the cart. Whatever he planned on killing time with, it was apparently a great idea. John clambered down from the top of the wagon, joining the other man on the street and making to follow him. "The fort it is," he agreed, though he had only a general idea of its direction from his lookaround atop the wagon. "Looking to pick something up?" He asked, making casual talk. Whatever they ended up doing, he'd probably stop and sew somewhere eventually. They could all look out for themselves and he had no doubt their employer could find them in this town. So he made his way with Griff into the town, slowly regaining his land legs after the long ride.
Lieda
He hadn't been expecting that. A weak smile spread across Boyd's face as he counted his blessings in not having to haggle it out with somebody they called the vulture. A man who, as much as the entire situation, was beginning to unnerve him. Every mannerism and facet of the man was simply wrong by some aspect of his mind, and while he wasn't quite certain enough to put his finger on malice, there was a word he was desperately searching for to describe the aura in the room. "Yes, exactly what you'd be doing..." He couldn't pull out the other letter right now, now could he? Hopefully the writers had said enough to cover his remembrance of the contract in the letter. "You'll be given charge of a small military unit of selected regulars from the State Army, to command and outfit as you please. As the royalty have voiced interest in the issue, you will be accompanied by an element from the 33rd Royal Arcarti Scouts Company, which you will have say over the composition of. Their subordination is assured." He poured a glass of water from the pitcher on his desk and took a sip, he was beginning to stammer as dry as he was. "Besides some of the interests of supplying you with domestically trained troops. For right now, the army has deemed your trial, if you will, will be being sent west to corral some of the more dissent ridden regions along our border. They have always been afforded a certain degree of autonomy but recent events have forced our hand. There is already an operation underway in the area and cleanup of any resulting unrest will surely be entrusted to you, as well."
She considered Milo's words for a moment. Of course, everyone was anxious about their next deployment. They were still far understrength, and their standing hurt because of it. Regardless, they would be sent somewhere, and all the loose lips saying that the frigid north was next were correct. "The 6th is there, for Sacamede." Maria said with thinly veiled disapproval. 6RASC could do the job, she admired that company in particular, but it came as a surprise that the 33rd had been pulled away after months of tracking so that someone else could make the grab. She didn't care for the glory, but the entire thing reeked of the bureaucracy that cost plenty of innocent lives. "They're going to split the company for special duties. Too few men to operate. Some of them, maybe you, will go with Cross." It was a stupid decision by any measurement of military competency. The retainer for their newly acquired lord would be made from her men, and what remained of her company would be sent off to handle advisory or training duties for a few months until reorganization started. In the meantime one of the most reputed companies of the royal scouts would be utterly out of commission because of one foreigner. She returned Milo's look with her neutral glare. "There are already attempts on that man's life being planned." Anybody with a reputation like that was a target, she figured. The people didn't want him, the League really didn't want him. She didn't want him, but that was just unfortunate. The scouts would undoubtedly be the shield sent for him.
Maria stayed still for a moment, appreciating the flooring from her spot against the wall while she thought over her answer. There were only so many things you could say to a serious lieutenant without pulling rank. "I'm bored, and wanted to oversee the actions of my company," she finally said, feeling satisfied enough with that answer, obvious lie that it was. This was supposed to be some earned leave before they were thrown to the wolves, or at least placed in operation alongside their foreign friend. What other reason would the entirety of 33RASC have been recalled for, when every man of the lifeguard was mere moments away in Keep Lieda and itching to step out and escort something. "Talking is okay too," she added after a moment's reflection and a defeated sigh. No sense waltzing around the point. At a time where she would have rather polled her officers they were all away, or dead, understrength as the company was right now. Recent hires like Milo kept them afloat, although thankfully with the exception of his predecessor the officer staff had remained alive. "I don't like the idea of us working with Cross." That was that, she had to say it just the once, because there wasn't much they could do about it.
"Maria," she corrected. She'd lived under regulation long enough she didn't have a taste for it outside of when it was necessary. Even still, she couldn't force it out and despite her shirking of naming conventions she found herself miming Milo's guard posture next to the door, albeit with pocketed hands. "Don't ever trust people known for violence," she said, referring to Alec, and knowing full well that it went the same for her and her scouts. Her glaring eyes went to the door as Milo mentioned the knuckles, and as he went for the knob her foot instinctively came off the floor, just slightly before she stopped herself, in the same kind of reaction. Cursed warmonger, the only words that sprang to mind, but the two hovered there without taking action. Perhaps for the best, there didn't seem to be any struggle inside the office. Maria breathed out, turning back around and leaning up against the wall, and looking all the more uncomfortable for breaking posture. "One yell, and we go in." She said to Milo, a hair short of her command voice but an attempt to be reassuring. An incident like this would have cost them lives, a voice reminded her, and inwardly she was grateful this was all at home rather than in some back alley out of country.
Boyd smiled uneasily as the conversation progressed as had been roughly scripted. He admired his colleagues up north, they certainly understood the game better than he ever had, but this was by nature capital duty. He opened one of the many sliding drawers of his desk and withdrew an evenly folded letter, sealed by crimson wax and stamped with the mark of grand marshal Wolcott, a cheeky representation of a long-tailed marmot from his family's coat of arms. Boyd broke the seal by hand and unfurled the letter before his eyes before laying it on the table for review. It was the plant letter not detailing his exact instructions, but rather a potential proposal to Alec Cross. "The crown proposes an initial payment to the order of gold bullion in the equivalence of 300,000 Arcarti silvers for the securement of services from one Alec Cross, recognized lord of the Reins." He read expertly although he seemed to be a little parched. In truth there was quite some resentment for trusting a foreigner but, if the whisperings he heard through his friends in the military were true, the intent of the hire wasn't necessarily suppression but securing foreign interest in Arcartus. Whatever their game was, he read on. "Following acceptance of the contract, a monthly payment of fifty thousand, in silvers directly, is to be made until the expiration of the contract, which is to be extended at the will of both parties five days before the end of each month. There is significant legal jargon here, mister Cross, as is the nature of this country, but you may read freely of the letter in the understanding that we wish to groom transparency and trust in this partnership."
The last time she'd been in the capital had been as a refugee fresh out of Lachne. It was refreshing to see that the place was just as miserable as she'd left it. Maria Trinan meandered through the city streets towards the capital offices, knowing that was where she'd eventually be needed and finding nothing else to pass the time. She wondered where her officer staff was, after all, she'd cut them loose with few exceptions seeing as they were only here to escort one Alec Cross. She'd heard the stories, and what little she knew about the man didn't excite her for his stay in the country. Before she could begin to brood about the vulture, truly come to pick carrion, the branch office appeared around a corner. She was, by now, soaked to the bone and was grateful for the imposing building's shelter, even if the smell of paperwork was already intolerable. She had one of her own to retrieve, though. The captain roamed the halls, leaving a trail of rainwater from her slowly drying green jacket. The Ranier she was looking for turned out to be where she'd expected. So they haven't moved Boyd's office yet, she recalled a time she had to sit and listen to the man speak about enlistment practices, and shuddered. Announced by the clatter of bootheels over the marble stone, she approached Milo, nodding but keeping her hands in her jacket's pockets. "Milo," she said, her form of a greeting. "What's he like?"
The last time she'd been in the capital had been as a refugee fresh out of Lachne. It was refreshing to see that the place was just as miserable as she'd left it. Maria Trinan meandered through the city streets towards the capital offices, knowing that was where she'd eventually be needed and finding nothing else to pass the time. She wondered where her officer staff was, after all, she'd cut them loose with few exceptions seeing as they were only here to escort one Alec Cross. She'd heard the stories, and what little she knew about the man didn't excite her for his stay in the country. Before she could begin to brood about the vulture, truly come to pick carrion, the branch office appeared around a corner. She was, by now, soaked to the bone and was grateful for the imposing building's shelter, even if the smell of paperwork was already intolerable. She had one of her own to retrieve, though. The captain roamed the halls, leaving a trail of rainwater from her slowly drying green jacket. The Ranier she was looking for turned out to be where she'd expected. So they haven't moved Boyd's office yet, she recalled a time she had to sit and listen to the man speak about enlistment practices, and shuddered. Announced by the clatter of bootheels over the marble stone, she approached Milo, nodding but keeping her hands in her jacket's pockets. "Milo," she said, her form of a greeting. "What's he like?"
The marshal was not as stone faced as the scout had been about finding a metal hand where he'd expected maybe a glove at most, and a slight surprise crossed his face. Well, they'd looked at him for what was supposedly an iron fist, maybe literally. His smile reformed almost instantly, anyway. "Certainly, come with me," he said gently, and turned with a motion for Alec to follow him. He lead down a hallway at the far end of the room down to an office barred only by a simple wooden door with a gold nameplate on its surface. He went in first, leaving the door open behind him, and pulled one of the many chairs from the wall before a wide oak desk sitting in the center of the room on a lively red carpet. "Please make yourself at home," he said, and after sat himself down behind the desk. He waited a moment for his guest to settle in, and began with a clearing of his throat the well rehearsed line. "The state of Arcartus has sought your employ because of your reputed expertise as an organizer of men and a leader. While ordinarily it is our practice to deny the other continents information on Estovetian affairs, it is likely common knowledge that an empire of any size suffers from a considerable number of... internal pressures." He seemed a little nervous on that line, and truth be told he didn't quite agree with the method being applied here. "It is the belief of a sufficient number of high ranking officers that you would be just the man to... mitigate some of those pressures. There is a more specific dispatch to be issued, should the matter spark your interest." That wasn't necessarily true, he'd been told to pursue Cross' help at cost if need be. But why play all the cards early?
The chamber bustled with office workers, rushing to and fro across the marbled floor to the far reaching arms of the state military's capital office. Dispatches and semaphore reports from across the country either passed through this town, or were forwarded from the grand offices at Erschald for review, and each had to be carried, sorted, stored or destroyed by someone in this myriad of collared shirts. One man stood out to the two entering immediately, a broad faced man completely bald and decorated with a thin, curled mustache that only reached such levels of properness through idleness. Ludrick Boyd. He wore the red coat of a high officer, trimmed in white over black pants seemingly common to Arcarti staff. A few colored bits of ribbon decorated his sleeves but the only medal he bore was a large badge on the left breast of his jacket identifying some military honor or another. With a small but genuine smile he strode forward, offering his hand to both men in sequence, starting with Alec to be on the proper side of things. "I trust our sailors and soldiers have treated you well, Lord Cross. The crown welcomes you to Arcartus, and warns you to take care in the rain," He chuckled at the joke, and looked at Milo as well. "And I see one of our new and brightest took you here." He shook his head, "I digress. Mister Cross, shall we talk business here or shall we two retire to my office?"
Loenn
John took a moment to look around and decide what Crom was referring to. It had become such a habit that he rarely thought anything of it except when he was missing out. Already, the images of Aldrun had begun to fade away and he worried that he wouldn't be able to create a decent likeness of the port town. "It's embroidery," He said, knowing the far less than masculine association of the word and hoping to have that out of the way early. "I do this to remember people and places, Most of my bag is full of these." He turned over the patch in his hands to show Crom. The forward side, needle still stuck in it with a thin strand of black line following, was covered in a rough, incomplete image of a werewolf, or at least the artist's impression of one. Before he could continue, the scenery changed around them. The cart rolled by the outer watch towers of Loenn, and Marcus waved up at the man in the wooden structure as they went. The gesture was not returned, and they seemed rather on-edge for being posted so close to town.
The wagon began to slow as they passed into the town proper, although they were still clearly hurried compared to the calm citizenry of Loenn. Old and worn, but dignified cobblestone roads saw them between neatly arranged rows of single story wooden buildings, steep roofed and clay shingled to keep the winter snows off. The hooded woman may have said she didn't know Loenn but her hired driver seemed to understand the streets well enough, and in no time they were stopped near an inn overlooking the town square, still crowded by merchants. Children played out in the roads, merchants and buyers haggled loudly in the open air, and a lone inn patron sat outside the building nursing a cup of tea and watching the scene unfold. It wasn't a very busy place. The hooded woman stood up and stretched her arms wide. "Rooms're paid tell him you're with Meredith," she said briskly, walking across the uneven load of crates and abandoning her usual speaking voice as she put negotiations behind her. She tapped one of the caravan sentries on the shoulder as she descended from the back of the wagon. The man, clean shaven but with a hard, blocky face that made him seem every bit hired thug that he was moved over towards Crom. He produced a bag from under his cloak protruding cutting instruments and gauze rolls, only one of which would actually be needed hopefully. "If you would come inside with me, sir," he implored with a slight bow, in a voice incongruously soft.
John nodded towards Crom, as if he were some authority on whether or not to trust their only viable doctor, and looked over at Griff. "Might be just us for a while," he said, shrugging. Company was nice, not something he was used to having that was for sure. The patch and needle went back into his bag and he stood up, taking the time to get a good look at the town. The roads were broad, strange for a place old enough to have sprung up around a fort, but it made for easier walking when things weren't continuously shoulder to shoulder. Every roof in the place seemed to be the same level, though, which made landmarks few and far between from within the town. Not very inspiring tourism prospects, but they had a day to make of it. "I'm not quite given to lounging and fraternizing but I suppose anything beats sitting on these crates all day. Either of you two have any ideas on what to do here?"
Lieda
The seat of of an empire, Lieda looked every bit the part. Large whitewashed stone shipyards dominated the coastline, wooden cranes and steel skeletons used for shipbuilding spanning endlessly. Inland, box buildings crafted predominantly in red bricks rose into the air and were arrayed around asphalt city roads, positively bustling with foot traffic and the occasional dark blue fatigues of an Arcarti constable. Above the clock towers decorating the town rose Keep Lieda, a modest and ancient squarish looking castle of grayed, deeply scarred stone lovingly repainted and plastered where possible. The air hung heavy in Lieda, humid from the sea and the sporadic marshes surrounding the city. The other thing Lieda, and most of the country had come to be known for was the nearly constant overbearing presence of dark, gray clouds bearing a threatening quantity of water that nature was content to mete out in a constant, slow drizzle that phased into utter downpours several times a day, it seemed.
The rain was light for the moment, as the uniform clad crew of a small military clipper pulled the vessel, boldly emblazoned Mackerel across its bow, into port and made it fast to the dock. The Mackerel's sails were run up with a haste only appropriate for when someone was around that needed to be shown off to. Ropes were run out and secured, and finally the gangplank was deployed with an ear rattling clatter of wood on stone as the hefty wooden assembly came down precisely within the finely painted guidelines of the military pier. Three men stood the pier already, individuals dressed in simple yet stately uniforms devoid of marking, and the current improvised guardians and guides for the diplomat they had been told would be coming aboard the Mackerel. Beside Milo, who stood at the head of the reception party, one of the two soldiers remarked dryly about their wet situation. "Well they sure did us a favor coming down from Erschald. The rain can get lighter here." Sea spray suddenly kicking up the side of the pier enunciated his point. The winds were starting up now, and it wouldn't be long before a downpour began.
John took a moment to look around and decide what Crom was referring to. It had become such a habit that he rarely thought anything of it except when he was missing out. Already, the images of Aldrun had begun to fade away and he worried that he wouldn't be able to create a decent likeness of the port town. "It's embroidery," He said, knowing the far less than masculine association of the word and hoping to have that out of the way early. "I do this to remember people and places, Most of my bag is full of these." He turned over the patch in his hands to show Crom. The forward side, needle still stuck in it with a thin strand of black line following, was covered in a rough, incomplete image of a werewolf, or at least the artist's impression of one. Before he could continue, the scenery changed around them. The cart rolled by the outer watch towers of Loenn, and Marcus waved up at the man in the wooden structure as they went. The gesture was not returned, and they seemed rather on-edge for being posted so close to town.
The wagon began to slow as they passed into the town proper, although they were still clearly hurried compared to the calm citizenry of Loenn. Old and worn, but dignified cobblestone roads saw them between neatly arranged rows of single story wooden buildings, steep roofed and clay shingled to keep the winter snows off. The hooded woman may have said she didn't know Loenn but her hired driver seemed to understand the streets well enough, and in no time they were stopped near an inn overlooking the town square, still crowded by merchants. Children played out in the roads, merchants and buyers haggled loudly in the open air, and a lone inn patron sat outside the building nursing a cup of tea and watching the scene unfold. It wasn't a very busy place. The hooded woman stood up and stretched her arms wide. "Rooms're paid tell him you're with Meredith," she said briskly, walking across the uneven load of crates and abandoning her usual speaking voice as she put negotiations behind her. She tapped one of the caravan sentries on the shoulder as she descended from the back of the wagon. The man, clean shaven but with a hard, blocky face that made him seem every bit hired thug that he was moved over towards Crom. He produced a bag from under his cloak protruding cutting instruments and gauze rolls, only one of which would actually be needed hopefully. "If you would come inside with me, sir," he implored with a slight bow, in a voice incongruously soft.
John nodded towards Crom, as if he were some authority on whether or not to trust their only viable doctor, and looked over at Griff. "Might be just us for a while," he said, shrugging. Company was nice, not something he was used to having that was for sure. The patch and needle went back into his bag and he stood up, taking the time to get a good look at the town. The roads were broad, strange for a place old enough to have sprung up around a fort, but it made for easier walking when things weren't continuously shoulder to shoulder. Every roof in the place seemed to be the same level, though, which made landmarks few and far between from within the town. Not very inspiring tourism prospects, but they had a day to make of it. "I'm not quite given to lounging and fraternizing but I suppose anything beats sitting on these crates all day. Either of you two have any ideas on what to do here?"
Lieda
The seat of of an empire, Lieda looked every bit the part. Large whitewashed stone shipyards dominated the coastline, wooden cranes and steel skeletons used for shipbuilding spanning endlessly. Inland, box buildings crafted predominantly in red bricks rose into the air and were arrayed around asphalt city roads, positively bustling with foot traffic and the occasional dark blue fatigues of an Arcarti constable. Above the clock towers decorating the town rose Keep Lieda, a modest and ancient squarish looking castle of grayed, deeply scarred stone lovingly repainted and plastered where possible. The air hung heavy in Lieda, humid from the sea and the sporadic marshes surrounding the city. The other thing Lieda, and most of the country had come to be known for was the nearly constant overbearing presence of dark, gray clouds bearing a threatening quantity of water that nature was content to mete out in a constant, slow drizzle that phased into utter downpours several times a day, it seemed.
The rain was light for the moment, as the uniform clad crew of a small military clipper pulled the vessel, boldly emblazoned Mackerel across its bow, into port and made it fast to the dock. The Mackerel's sails were run up with a haste only appropriate for when someone was around that needed to be shown off to. Ropes were run out and secured, and finally the gangplank was deployed with an ear rattling clatter of wood on stone as the hefty wooden assembly came down precisely within the finely painted guidelines of the military pier. Three men stood the pier already, individuals dressed in simple yet stately uniforms devoid of marking, and the current improvised guardians and guides for the diplomat they had been told would be coming aboard the Mackerel. Beside Milo, who stood at the head of the reception party, one of the two soldiers remarked dryly about their wet situation. "Well they sure did us a favor coming down from Erschald. The rain can get lighter here." Sea spray suddenly kicking up the side of the pier enunciated his point. The winds were starting up now, and it wouldn't be long before a downpour began.
© 2007-2024