Pink Snorlax

The Fate of Lucumbro

The steady beat of boots upon cobble was accompanied by subdued wails and stifled moans, mixing in a disturbing sort of symphony as the parade marched through the town. The peasants littering the sides of the street made way, pretending not to notice as their friends and neighbours were herded away from them like pigs to the slaughterhouse. A young girl cried out, screaming and crying, wriggling out from her mother's protective grip and running at the group. One of the guards shoved her away, leaving her sobbing on the side of the street as her mother desperately tried to soothe her.

Rane took one last swig of his drink, setting the mug aside and standing up from his stool. A long, oversized brown cloak he had borrowed from a napping peasant hung around his shoulders, the hood thrown over his head and helmet. His sword and purse hung at his belt beneath the cloak. Awkwardly, he dug his hands into his clothes and rummaged through his purse for a moment, before presenting a few dull, rusting coins to the barkeep. The old man sifted through the coins with his gnarled fingers, examining each one carefully, before giving him a grudging nod.

"Cheap bastard," Rane muttered under his breath, perhaps a little louder than he had intended, as he picked up his belongings and turned to leave. Just four jugs of the watered-down piss they served as wine had cost him a good day's pay. He had always hated small towns for the sole reason that there were never any good taverns or brothels.

He tripped on the threshold as he left the bar, banging his head on the wooden door frame. Cursing silently, he stumbled out into the streets, easing the pain with his ring. The street seemed to suddenly lurch to the left, then slowly tilt back until it was flat, but overshot, and began leaning to the right. Perhaps he had hit himself a little too hard. Grunting, he threw off the cloak, revealing his full set of plate armour and his ridiculous winged helmet. He tossed the old rag aside dramatically, drawing his sword, holding it loosely in one hand, while the other fumbled to untangle his grappling hook from his belt. One foot in front of the other, sword held in front and chain swinging behind, he waited for the guards to come to him. The time for subtlety was over; it was time to finish the job.

Except the guards didn't come, because they had already moved away with their prisoners. Rane looked around for them, as confused as the townsmen who had paused their work to gape at this drunken mercenary, seemingly waiting to fight an enemy that did not exist.

Embarrassed, and a little outraged, Rane sheathed his sword and hooked his grappling hook back onto his belt, glaring at the townsmen. He looked to his left, where the prisoners were already being lined up in the town square. Cursing quietly, he began to make his way around to the center of the town.

The Fate of Lucumbro

Back from my trip. I'm going to try and get a post out by tomorrow.

The Fate of Lucumbro

I'm going to be on vacation for the next two weeks. It might take me a while to respond to things.

The Fate of Lucumbro

The sun’s scorching rays beat down relentlessly on Rane as he made his way through the street, sword held loosely in a gauntleted fist. His plate armour seemed particularly heavy in under the heat. Any other day, he’d have opted to be less conspicuous, but the task at hand would not be particularly difficult; besides, nothing parted the filthy, stinking throng like a bare blade, glinting maliciously in the sunlight.

The bustling street was lined with an assortment shops and buildings, and littered with peasants and craftsmen of all trades. The air was filled with a heavy stench of unwashed bodies and horse droppings. Beggars and hawkers gave him a wide berth upon seeing his sword. Those who were brave enough to approach him were sent scurrying away with a cold glare.

The few guards that dotted the streets lumbered about with their chests puffed out and weapons held high. The sun glinted off the rusted pieces of chain armour that dangled off their shoulders, framing an offensively bright symbol on their chests. Ridiculous pointed helmets sat atop their heads, giving them the appearance of a grounded flock of birds. Canned chickens, Rane thought.

Regardless, he sheathed his sword and turned his head whenever a group of them strutted by, beaks in the air and arses dragging on the ground. He had no doubt he could kill them all, but his employer had not mentioned them in his instructions. No need to tarnish his reputation over a scuffle like that.

“Sir, spare some gold,” a voice croaked from behind him.

Rane turned around, and found himself face to face with a short beggar. There wasn’t a single word that could adequately describe the pitiful excuse of a man hunched before him. A few wispy strands of white clung on to a sunburned head, sitting atop a body that resembled a leper’s skin stretched over a bundle of sticks. His face was covered entirely with bruises and wrinkles. A few colourless rags were draped over his sagging shoulders in a failed attempt at decency. His long, thin fingers clasped on to a worn leather pouch that had most likely belonged to someone else at some point. It was a surprise the beggar had not keeled over on the spot.

“No,” Rane replied. He turned around and continued walking, paying no more mind to the beggar.

He only made it a few steps before the voice chimed in again. “Sir, honour’ble, noble knight, surely, ye must have some gold in yer pocket for a poor soul,” the beggar rasped.

“No. Go away.”

Rane continued walking. The beggar followed him. He wasn’t sure if the man was brave, or just insane. Whichever one, he certainly was persistent. He would have continued ignoring him, until the beggar latched on to his elbow with his bony hands.

“Sir, please, sir, a man needs to eat,” the beggar piped up, “I’d be etern’ly grateful for some gold, sir.”

He continued walking, but the man pulled at his elbow, his incessant pleading an assault upon the ears. Rane tried shaking the man off, but his grip only tightened.

Rane sighed. “Tell you what,” he said grudgingly, “I may have a few spare coins. Let’s get behind this alley, I don’t want some thieves getting any ideas.”

“Oh, of course, noble sir,” the beggar exclaimed in delight, “There ain’t no thief brave ‘nough to steal yer gold, good sir, gen’rous sir, kind and noble . . .”

Rane brought the man between two buildings, quickly glancing around to make sure they were alone. He looked at the beggar one more time, and reached into his pouch, rummaging about. The beggar’s eyes followed with barely-concealed ecstasy, his mouth spread in a wide, toothless grin.

Without warning, his hand shot up and latched onto one of the beggar’s rags. The man looked up in surprise and indignation. Before he could speak, Rane jammed the rag into the beggar’s mouth and pushed his head into the brick wall, crushing his skull with a sickening crunch. The beggar’s scream was cut off by the rag. Slowly, he lifted the man’s head, peering at his bloodied face.

“S-sir, please,” the beggar mumbled between coughs, his voice stifled by the makeshift gag. Before he could finish, Rane tightened his grip and slammed the beggar’s face back onto the wall. He systematically repeated the action several times, until the beggar’s muffled wails quieted to nothing.

Rane let go, and the limp corpse slid to the ground. He picked the beggar’s pouch off the ground and opened it, to reveal a few bent coppers. He tossed the pouch beside the man and scattered the coins around it. Anyone stumbling upon the scene would believe the beggar had been mugged.

Calmly, he removed the saliva-covered rag from the what was left of the beggar’s mouth and wiped the blood off his gauntlet, careful not to leave any in the chinks. He cast the tattered cloth on the ground beside its owner, and left the alleyway, blending back into the busy streets.

The Fate of Lucumbro

Is there any limit to how long posts should be? Just checking for my first post. Of course, I'm not planning to turn in any essays, but sometimes I can be rather long-winded.

EDIT: Also, how short can posts be?

The Fate of Lucumbro

@Footman Just a random question, does Izerk like bananas?

Asking completely out of curiosity, of course.

The Fate of Lucumbro

I'm back to pester you with my questions.

What's the attitude toward poverty in the town? Do people view them as unfortunates, or are they held in low regard? If, hypothetically, someone killed a beggar while the guards had their backs turned, would anyone report him?

The Fate of Lucumbro

Sorry for bothering you again, just wanted to work out a few details.

Does the town have guards, and if so, what do they look like? What are their colours, if they have any? Are they well-armed and well-trained? Do they enforce the law well, or are they susceptible to bribery?

The Fate of Lucumbro

So, just for clarification, do any of the mercenaries have information about their employer? Were the instructions given clear, or was it all vague and cryptic? Also, what time of day will all of this transpire?

The Fate of Lucumbro

Rane's a sellsword, so I guess there shouldn't be too much of a hassle there. He could be looking for work, or he could already the hired muscle for someone else. If we do start in a tavern, Rane would blend in perfectly.