Were he a lesser man (IE: a Southerner) Sikarthis might have complained or grumbled about the assignment he and the rest of his companions had been given. Standing atop the roof of that rather cramped gatehouse with the sweat building on the back of his neck, it had been more than a little irritating to find out that he had donned his battle dress for something as mundane and unimpressive as visiting a peaceful village. There was an itch growing in his sword arm of late that no amount of sparring and late night exercise could cure and he recognized it as an ache for battle. In the end though there was nothing he could do but grunt and make his way down to the stables where the Southerners kept their 'horses', animals Sikarthis did not care for in the slightest. Back in Ustynia yaks and Snowcats bred for mountain passing were the primary beasts of burden, neither of which allowed themselves to be so easily cowed as these long faced Southern beasts. There was something unnatural to Sikarthis about a creature that rarely offered even the slightest resistance. Also they stank.
And yet here he was, less than three minutes after being dismissed from the gatehouse, saddling one of the foul smelling creatures with all the grace of someone who's main experience with riding involved sitting astride armored cats and wooly yaks. It took longer than it probably should have but eventually Sikarthis managed to saddle the beast and hoist himself up into the hard leather seat. He was sweating more than before by then, much to his irritation. As he steered the horse towards the gate to join his companions he found himself mulling over the words Joachim had directed to him earlier. A few months may not have seemed like much to the younger sellsword but for Sikarthis, knowing that the only certain relief from the constant heat he felt beating down on him would not come for longer still did nothing to improve his mood.
Most of the ride to the village was spent in silence on Sikarthis' part, the empty air quickly filled by Joachim rambling off some small story or other about the history of this area of land that the Southerner Queen had chosen as her own. Tuning out the words of the younger man, Sikarthis rode on in a daze, his mind growing foggy as he felt the heat pounding down on him like a relentless hammer. So out of focus was he that he missed the sudden stop in conversation, only awoken from his stupor by the commotion caused when Wren suddenly took off down the road toward the village. His mind snapping back into focus, Sikarthis took one look at the rising smoke in the direction of the village and dug his heels into the flanks of his mount, racing off after Wren and Rand who had reacted quicker than he. Passing the latter along the edges of the town, Sikarthis continued to urge his horse towards the village, drawing a javelin from the sheath that hung from his saddle. Despite what Gnarl had said earlier, Sikarthis had come well prepared for a fight, longsword and shield hanging from one side of his saddle while two sheaths full of javelins hung from the other.
With his blood rising and the familiar sounds of shouting and screams growing louder the quicker he neared the town, Sikarthis could feel the itch in his arm beginning to fade. It was time to make some Southerners bleed.
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Working on mine off and on.
Also settled on an accent for Sikarthis. Excuse poor quality of the video but it appears to be the only one I was able to find of the correct scene.
gowatchthemovieitsgood
gowatchthemovieitsgood
Aye I have to agree. I'm pleasantly surprised at how good the first posts are. Always a good sign. Think all we're waiting on now are Guinand and Theo's posts.
"Too hot...."
It was always too hot for Sikarthis. The food was too hot, the wine was too hot, even the candles lighting the hall were too hot. He hadn't been allowed to strip down to just his pants as he always did during the Off-Winter season. 'Rude' they called it, saying it would offend the Queen. That annoyed Sikarthis of course. A true ruler would hardly care what others wore and even if they did they would make a point of saying so themselves instead of having others do it for them. In the end he had relented, but only after Gnarl had spent the better part of an hour distracting him from his martial practice about it.
At least it had been easy to separate himself from the rest of the men and women of the Company during the feast. The slaves and servants had hardly cared when he cleared a cluttered bench near the main doors, though he received no end of odd looks concerning his appearance. Sikarthis didn't fault them for their curiosity, after all most of the Southerners were rather plain to look at and even he had difficulty putting a name to faces he had spent the past two Winters not conversing with. With his intricate body piercing, dark blue tattoos, and the Ustynian clothing wore he stood out like a frostbitten limb. Thankfully with drink flowing like a freshly thawed river and the bedmaids giving their favors away to most of the men Sikarthis went largely unnoticed after those initial glances.
Observing his fellow mercenaries (or perhaps that would be ex-mercenaries now that they had officially joined with the Queen), Sikarthis made little effort to partake in the feast. After his first glass of wine (too hot) and a mouthful of some foul tasting Southern bird (too hot) he had elected to ignore any trays offered his way, turning away servants and slaves with a disinterested stare until they went on to more receptive members of the Company. By the time Gnarl decided that it was time for a speech Sikarthis had grown tired and irritable. He was out of the hall and halfway to his bed before that ridiculously hideous golden sword had entered the Queen's hands.
It had, of course, been too hot to sleep properly. For several hours before his companions had wandered into the hall that housed their beds, each in various states of inebriation (these Southerners could hardly hold their drinks he was reminded yet again), Sikarthis had lain awake atop his bare cot, naked as the day he was born and still sweating more than he liked. He could never understand how these Southerners could craft bedsheets that were too thin to keep out a breeze and yet too hot all at the same time. No matter the position or how deeply he meditated sleep eluded Sikarthis, the hunger in his stomach and the heat driving away all hope of getting a decent nights rest. Even after his companions had arrived and passed out, one after another, Sikarthis lay awake and irritated.
'Perhaps I should go make use of the training yard while it is empty', he thought to himself after the night had all but passed, dawn rearing it's ugly head. This would mark the sixth night in a month that he had gained no sleep. He made a mental note to see the Company physician before noon about a sleeping remedy. 'But first', he mused, 'the practice yard.'
Just as he was about to rise and retrieve his longsword and shield from the crates next to his cot however, Gnarl burst into the hall, calling his Companions by name and rousing them from their (no doubt enjoyable) dreams. By the time Gnarl had arrived at his bed Sikarthis was already pulling on his pants and shirt, kicking open the lid of the crate that held his ancestral armour. It seemed he might be getting his practice after all, albeit with an actual opponent as opposed to several strawmen on sticks. Despite having been awake long before his companions it took far longer to slide into his armour than was necessary. Spying a young pageboy, he had enlisted the lads help with a barked order. Unfortunately the lad's fingers were clumsy and attaching piece after piece of the unique armour took twice as long as it should have. Eventually though the lad finished, Sikarthis looking over the bindings until he was satisfied that he would not find himself suddenly naked in the middle of a melee.
Snatching his full helm from the unresisting hands of the boy he strode out of the hall towards the gatehouse, his armour hardly clinking as he made his way forward as gracefully as his prized snowcats moved through the deepest snowbanks. Along the way he passed several of his companions, some of the few he had made an effort to recognize in his time with the Company. There was Astrid, the fiery younger woman who always reminded him of a Snowcat that was seconds away from fight or flight. Speaking to her was the one called Joachim whom Sikarthis had often sparred with. He was promising swordsman though he had yet to land more than grazing blows against Sikarthis in all of their practicing. Wren he came upon a few moments later, his eyes lingering on her longer than the two before. She had always raised curiosity inside Sikarthis, though he could not tell why. He often felt that she was being somehow false with him in the few conversations he had had with her. He had become annoyingly good at noticing such things after his role in the Company had come to include being a receptacle for complaining and things that needed saying but never repeating.
Eventually arriving at the gatehouse, Sikarthis took up a position in a corner, out of the way of the rising bustle and unlikely to be bothered by anyone passing by. Halfheartedly examining the 'death mask' visage of his helm and waiting patiently for orders, Sikarthis felt the all too familiar dampness begin to rise on the back of his neck.
"Too hot..."
It was always too hot for Sikarthis. The food was too hot, the wine was too hot, even the candles lighting the hall were too hot. He hadn't been allowed to strip down to just his pants as he always did during the Off-Winter season. 'Rude' they called it, saying it would offend the Queen. That annoyed Sikarthis of course. A true ruler would hardly care what others wore and even if they did they would make a point of saying so themselves instead of having others do it for them. In the end he had relented, but only after Gnarl had spent the better part of an hour distracting him from his martial practice about it.
At least it had been easy to separate himself from the rest of the men and women of the Company during the feast. The slaves and servants had hardly cared when he cleared a cluttered bench near the main doors, though he received no end of odd looks concerning his appearance. Sikarthis didn't fault them for their curiosity, after all most of the Southerners were rather plain to look at and even he had difficulty putting a name to faces he had spent the past two Winters not conversing with. With his intricate body piercing, dark blue tattoos, and the Ustynian clothing wore he stood out like a frostbitten limb. Thankfully with drink flowing like a freshly thawed river and the bedmaids giving their favors away to most of the men Sikarthis went largely unnoticed after those initial glances.
Observing his fellow mercenaries (or perhaps that would be ex-mercenaries now that they had officially joined with the Queen), Sikarthis made little effort to partake in the feast. After his first glass of wine (too hot) and a mouthful of some foul tasting Southern bird (too hot) he had elected to ignore any trays offered his way, turning away servants and slaves with a disinterested stare until they went on to more receptive members of the Company. By the time Gnarl decided that it was time for a speech Sikarthis had grown tired and irritable. He was out of the hall and halfway to his bed before that ridiculously hideous golden sword had entered the Queen's hands.
It had, of course, been too hot to sleep properly. For several hours before his companions had wandered into the hall that housed their beds, each in various states of inebriation (these Southerners could hardly hold their drinks he was reminded yet again), Sikarthis had lain awake atop his bare cot, naked as the day he was born and still sweating more than he liked. He could never understand how these Southerners could craft bedsheets that were too thin to keep out a breeze and yet too hot all at the same time. No matter the position or how deeply he meditated sleep eluded Sikarthis, the hunger in his stomach and the heat driving away all hope of getting a decent nights rest. Even after his companions had arrived and passed out, one after another, Sikarthis lay awake and irritated.
'Perhaps I should go make use of the training yard while it is empty', he thought to himself after the night had all but passed, dawn rearing it's ugly head. This would mark the sixth night in a month that he had gained no sleep. He made a mental note to see the Company physician before noon about a sleeping remedy. 'But first', he mused, 'the practice yard.'
Just as he was about to rise and retrieve his longsword and shield from the crates next to his cot however, Gnarl burst into the hall, calling his Companions by name and rousing them from their (no doubt enjoyable) dreams. By the time Gnarl had arrived at his bed Sikarthis was already pulling on his pants and shirt, kicking open the lid of the crate that held his ancestral armour. It seemed he might be getting his practice after all, albeit with an actual opponent as opposed to several strawmen on sticks. Despite having been awake long before his companions it took far longer to slide into his armour than was necessary. Spying a young pageboy, he had enlisted the lads help with a barked order. Unfortunately the lad's fingers were clumsy and attaching piece after piece of the unique armour took twice as long as it should have. Eventually though the lad finished, Sikarthis looking over the bindings until he was satisfied that he would not find himself suddenly naked in the middle of a melee.
Snatching his full helm from the unresisting hands of the boy he strode out of the hall towards the gatehouse, his armour hardly clinking as he made his way forward as gracefully as his prized snowcats moved through the deepest snowbanks. Along the way he passed several of his companions, some of the few he had made an effort to recognize in his time with the Company. There was Astrid, the fiery younger woman who always reminded him of a Snowcat that was seconds away from fight or flight. Speaking to her was the one called Joachim whom Sikarthis had often sparred with. He was promising swordsman though he had yet to land more than grazing blows against Sikarthis in all of their practicing. Wren he came upon a few moments later, his eyes lingering on her longer than the two before. She had always raised curiosity inside Sikarthis, though he could not tell why. He often felt that she was being somehow false with him in the few conversations he had had with her. He had become annoyingly good at noticing such things after his role in the Company had come to include being a receptacle for complaining and things that needed saying but never repeating.
Eventually arriving at the gatehouse, Sikarthis took up a position in a corner, out of the way of the rising bustle and unlikely to be bothered by anyone passing by. Halfheartedly examining the 'death mask' visage of his helm and waiting patiently for orders, Sikarthis felt the all too familiar dampness begin to rise on the back of his neck.
"Too hot..."
Descartes said
Wait. Are we in battle or not?
From what I gather no. Guards spotted riders and the alarm was raised but they left before we could rally to find out who they are or what they want. At the moment I believe everyone is waking up and going up to meet Gnarl to receive whatever mission he wants to give us.
Did you just pull a 'I Wish I Was At Home'
Wintergrey said
pirates of the carribean!!!
Think the one he took that picture from is Kingdom of Heaven (excellent movie)
I'll get a more detailed description of Ustynia to you after I get back from work tonight. If you don't want to wait you're welcome to make up what you like though. I have no qualms either way. Ciao for now.
Partisan said
I have a last question. These animals of his, they're comparable to snowleopards, just tamed right?
Aye. More suited towards hunting and fighting in the winter than in large scale battles during the less frigid seasons which is why he normally leaves them in their pens.
Partisan said
That's what I meant, yeah. As for the lightly armored bit.. well, plate or chain keeps you alive. A stray arrow, even if unintentionally, would kill an unarmored person if it hits you right or hits in an area where it might affect you. I hope you get what I'm saying. It's a cool character none the less, do not take it as an insult please.
No offense taken man you're only doing your job. I need to edit anything else or is it good now?
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