Trivval

𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚘𝚜𝚝

Interestingly that font isn't available on mobile - or at least for me it isn't.

𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚘𝚜𝚝

“It’s on the sixth level, sir.”

John Dorman-Smith the Third leant back from the directory in the ground level of the family office block and nodded in the direction of his valet. “Thank you, Wilson,” he murmured, making his way to where his man held open the lift. “I’ll take it from here, lad. I’ll call you when we’re done.” Herb tapped the number six with his prosthetic right arm and leant back in the elevator as it dinged its way up the building. He didn’t often find himself this far up the city – a few events at the University, but that was about it. Idly he twisted his cane in his left, his real, hand; he really should get out more, why spend your life bottled up in a few square blocks on the south side if he was retired. The more time he spent down there the more time SEC would be able to draw connections between a thousand innocuous actions from people he’d never heard of and his vast fortune. He was blind, after all, not crippled… apart from the arm, anyway.

He saw himself sitting down next to a cute young thing with platinum blond hair minutes before he finally lumbered into the room. All bright and colours, another standard circle therapy. Herb didn’t know why his therapist insisted on this session in particular, but he didn’t care at this point. So he slowly lumbered down the dim hallway, trying to remember the doorway and ignore the whispers tugging at his ears.

Real voices indicated when he was in the right spot, and he tried to enter the therapy room as unobtrusively as possible. He could dimly make out three figures, the one with the bright shock of white obviously the young lass he saw earlier. “Apologies for my tardiness,” he said as he sat down, “I forget sometimes I can’t walk as briskly as I used to.”

𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚘𝚜𝚝

Hider

_{J O H N " H E R B " D O R M A N – S M I T H I I I}

John Dorman-Smith the Third is a product of a bygone age. Born in the early stages of the Cold War, “Herb” (for this middle name, Herbert) jokes that he can no longer remember his actual age, though he claims he was raised in the turmoil of the Malay Emergency putting him well into his sixties. Though the Empire was slowly divesting its overseas holdings, life was still easy for the former gentry. With government transitions across most of the known world as major powers slowly decolonised, the Dorman-Smith’s had to diversify.

As a child John found himself travelling the world, being groomed to be the next patriarch of the family and to take on the reigns of a multi-generational empire of their own. Middle-East, Africa, South-East Asia, the Orient and the Sub-Continent; as a young lad he travelled across most of the earth. But, somewhere he went astray. Oxford didn’t appeal to him, to just be another rich boy living off his family’s wealth. Herb wanted to strike out and make his own riches and being constantly so close to conflict gave him many paths to wealth of his own.

Herb put a lot of money into capital venture, coming to be a well-known figure to the attorneys in the Southern District of New York. Though no charges could be specifically laid, Dorman-Smith became a name spoken in the same tone as Stephen Cohen and Rajat Gupta. Thus far he’s been able to fly just far enough under the radar to coast to retirement.

Unfortunately a man like that needs constant action in his life, and no longer trading with such intense stakes leads a man to find himself lost.



Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Burma, Malaysia, Rhodesia, South Africa. Tractors, Fertiliser, Weapons, Drugs, Women, Children. As profit margins increased, morals and ethics went out the window. Anything that could make money, would make money. For decades his private shipments slipped under various subsidiaries under the governorship of the Dorman-Smiths and profits hidden under massive Wall Street investments.

• Crippled – Herb has a prosthetic right arm from the shoulder down. He says he lost it fleeing Persia during the Revolution, though in reality it was almost a decade later during an unfortunate business meeting.
• Old – John Dorman-Smith is approaching his latter years. He’s not as spry as he used to be and everything is an effort. Accordingly, there’s a veritable cocktail of drugs to keep things running at a hundred percent and to try and reverse over half a century of abuse.
• Near-blind – unfortunately Herb’s eyes haven’t held out nearly as well as the rest of his body… and his body hasn’t been held together spectacularly well.
• Suspicion – there’s always been an assumed dirty air around Dorman-Smith, though of course he’d say that he hasn’t done anything that everyone else on Wall Street does. Admittedly, probably not many others in the heart of the worlds financial sector trafficked children from rural India to hotels frequented by the rich and powerful… but that’s not something the Securities and Exchange Commission would typically be concerned about.
• Vultures – Family circles the aging financial goliath, waiting for his bloated carcass to surface. Unfortunately some look for a more… proactive inheritance.
• Ghosts of the past – Herb is haunted by ghosts of the people he sold into slavery and the lives he extinguished, directly or indirectly. Voices haunt dreams, skittering and yammering, and he finds himself involuntarily scratching or harming himself in times of stillness, as though someone tries to take control of him.

• Fuck-You Rich – John Dorman-Smith is a name that is known and carries the weight and colour of gold (or green, depending on how you prefer your currency).
• Prophetic Vision – where his eyes have slowly failed him, fleeting visions of the future have replaced them.
• Well Read – Herb has spent a lifetime to scour the globe for treasured books – first edition copies fill his libraries. Among his troves are scrolls, stone tablets and tapestries which describe the demons that haunt the corners of his vision and whisper in his ears.

• Fortitude: 5
• Willpower: 3
• Passion: 6
• Perception: 1
• Violence: 3
• Soul: 7

𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚘𝚜𝚝

Or rather, a lack of it. I was gonna bump it up to eight but I like the thought that he's a tough old fella who can take some physical punishment. After all, it's his mind that's failing him. I might change it to 7 and fortitude to 5.

𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚘𝚜𝚝

Hider

_{J O H N " H E R B " D O R M A N – S M I T H I I I}

John Dorman-Smith the Third is a product of a bygone age. Born in the early stages of the Cold War, “Herb” (for this middle name, Herbert) jokes that he can no longer remember his actual age, though he claims he was raised in the turmoil of the Malay Emergency putting him well into his sixties. Though the Empire was slowly divesting its overseas holdings, life was still easy for the former gentry. With government transitions across most of the known world as major powers slowly decolonised, the Dorman-Smith’s had to diversify.

As a child John found himself travelling the world, being groomed to be the next patriarch of the family and to take on the reigns of a multi-generational empire of their own. Middle-East, Africa, South-East Asia, the Orient and the Sub-Continent; as a young lad he travelled across most of the earth. But, somewhere he went astray. Oxford didn’t appeal to him, to just be another rich boy living off his family’s wealth. Herb wanted to strike out and make his own riches and being constantly so close to conflict gave him many paths to wealth of his own.

Herb put a lot of money into capital venture, coming to be a well-known figure to the attorneys in the Southern District of New York. Though no charges could be specifically laid, Dorman-Smith became a name spoken in the same tone as Stephen Cohen and Rajat Gupta. Thus far he’s been able to fly just far enough under the radar to coast to retirement.

Unfortunately a man like that needs constant action in his life, and no longer trading with such intense stakes leads a man to find himself lost.



Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Burma, Malaysia, Rhodesia, South Africa. Tractors, Fertiliser, Weapons, Drugs, Women, Children. As profit margins increased, morals and ethics went out the window. Anything that could make money, would make money. For decades his private shipments slipped under various subsidiaries under the governorship of the Dorman-Smiths and profits hidden under massive Wall Street investments.

• Crippled – Herb has a prosthetic right arm from the shoulder down. He says he lost it fleeing Persia during the Revolution, though in reality it was almost a decade later during an unfortunate business meeting.
• Old – John Dorman-Smith is approaching his latter years. He’s not as spry as he used to be and everything is an effort. Accordingly, there’s a veritable cocktail of drugs to keep things running at a hundred percent and to try and reverse over half a century of abuse.
• Near-blind – unfortunately Herb’s eyes haven’t held out nearly as well as the rest of his body… and his body hasn’t been held together spectacularly well.
• Suspicion – there’s always been an assumed dirty air around Dorman-Smith, though of course he’d say that he hasn’t done anything that everyone else on Wall Street does. Admittedly, probably not many others in the heart of the worlds financial sector trafficked children from rural India to hotels frequented by the rich and powerful… but that’s not something the Securities and Exchange Commission would typically be concerned about.
• Vultures – Family circles the aging financial goliath, waiting for his bloated carcass to surface. Unfortunately some look for a more… proactive inheritance.
• Ghosts of the past – Herb is haunted by ghosts of the people he sold into slavery and the lives he extinguished, directly or indirectly. Voices haunt dreams, skittering and yammering, and he finds himself involuntarily scratching or harming himself in times of stillness, as though someone tries to take control of him.

• Fuck-You Rich – John Dorman-Smith is a name that is known and carries the weight and colour of gold (or green, depending on how you prefer your currency).
• Prophetic Vision – where his eyes have slowly failed him, fleeting visions of the future have replaced them.
• Well Read – Herb has spent a lifetime to scour the globe for treasured books – first edition copies fill his libraries. Among his troves are scrolls, stone tablets and tapestries which describe the demons that haunt the corners of his vision and whisper in his ears.

• Fortitude: 6
• Willpower: 3
• Passion: 6
• Perception: 1
• Violence: 3
• Soul: 6

𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚘𝚜𝚝

I'm intending to post an app, just taking some time to piece the character together.

Against the Fangs of God

The Spear rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking around the strange circle of fellows that had trapezed into the church. From eighteen angles he saw each person walk between the aisles to gather near enough to the centre of the room, his Eyes nestled in the high arches and behind pillars. If it were any other night but the First Festival, they would have been a very eccentric if not suspicious group. But here, together, they were normal.

Picking up the half-eaten stuffed roll he had left on the pew next to him, he chowed down studying the group from multiple angles. The way that they spoke inferred that they were here for a similar reason as he, but the Spear doubted he could trust them. The Hunter had said that somewhere there were his brethren, but had said nothing about them having avatars of their own. Suddenly the Spear was glad he brought more than the sacrificial knife he habitually carried, his sword wrapped to appear like a staff resting to his side and his shield disguised as a mask. Dressed with feathers, reeds and light cloth rather than his habitual merchants robes, he keenly felt the cold.

Finishing the stuffed bread roll, he reached down and put on his mask/shield. Grasping his sword/staff he turned in the direction of the man who last spoke. “It’s only treason if you’re a local.” The Spear stretched slightly, rolling his shoulders back. “I’m certainly not looking for something of ash, and I have no idea what you’re here for. I’m merely a lost reveller, but as I understand it there’s an entrance to the catacombs this way.” He indicated with his staff in the direction the girl went and strode off in her wake, fourteen Eyes detaching themselves from the walls of the church, joining the others attached to his costume with a few scouting ahead.

Against the Fangs of God

Amhimitl

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Amhimitl
Sobriquets: The Spear of the Hunt, Hasta Ji

Concept: A young apprentice, scarred by a journey beyond the Edge of the World, twisted by the mutterings of the unknown and plagued with visions.

Origin: Amihimitl, the Spear of the Hunt, began life under a different name, now lost to the world. He was the third son of a merchant dynasty, set up from a young age to apprentice with the family alchemist. He learnt all about the native, imported plants, the bits of creatures and types of bugs that could heal or harm or create or destroy. The alchemical trades were the key to mastering mercantilism. Through it, meats could last journeys across deserts, banquets could be created from husks with a few drops of water, and a dull weapon when unsheathed could cut through stone.

But this all changed when the head of the Family was wrangled into a deal to support an expedition into the Edge of the Known World. Committed, lest the Family lose face, the Head sent his third son (amongst others) on this expedition; after all, he had more sons and such a commitment stood him well in the courts of honor and let him forgo some other assets more valuable to the Family. Risk versus reward, if the Third Son returned he would bring the family much fame and riches; if not, there were other apprentices.

The expedition went as well as one could expect. Fell beasts were slain, riches gathered, and the party was slaughtered one by one by one as they sought to escape with their bounty. Every day, every hour, whittled the manpower, morale, and sanity of the group, until the few remaining went their separate ways, each arguing that this way was the exit of the neverending jungle (when, in fact, they were deeper than they had ever been before).

Chased by dire creatures unimaginable, thus the Third Son became Amihimitl. Stumbling through the tunnels and rooms of an ancient city that had lost its fight with the jungle, he found himself saved, the sinister essence chasing him cut down with beams of light and fire from a room with many Eyes embedded in the walls. Stuck in this room of many eyes, he saw the Third Son looking at the Alchemist's Apprentice looking at himself from two score angles. Looking through himself, from himself, with himself, at himself collapsing on the ground.

When he awoke he felt different. He felt emboldened, powerful, and he felt a connection to something otherworldly. He could see through the eyes around the room - and some elsewhere. He could see parts of cities, caves, forests that were many hundreds, thousands of leagues from where he was. He could also hear a great creature calling to him, telling him who he was now. No longer the Third Son, an Apprentice Alchemist, now he is the Spear of the Hunt, he holy weapon of the ancient Hunter who laid dormant for millenia. He can feel the Blind Spearman at loss without his Weapon and without his Eyes. So, dressing himself with what was left before him, and after gathering up the Eyes, the Spear follows the Call.

Appearance: Day to day, Amhimitl travels as a merchant - making use of his former training as an alchemist providing healing salves and tonics to small villages he passes through. Dressed in contemporary clothing, he travels on a cart with filled with alchemical supplies, often joining other merchant caravans temporarily. Within the cart he hides the equipment that he was guided to after he awoke in the Temple: armor, shields, weapons and decorative feathers from a long dead beast.

Image

Skills and Flaws

Alchemist: For all his young life - all his past life - Amhimitl was trained as an alchemist. Primarily specialising in the natural arts, without transmutation of core elements, he won’t be changing lead to gold any time soon.

Jaguar Warrior: Once awoken in the temple, Amhimitl felt out of place. In the back of his mind he had memories of war, revelling in violence and bloodshed despite never drawing blood on another being before the expedition. Through the prompting of the Blind Spearman and the Eyes, Amhimitl learnt how to master these memories of the Spear who came before him, and can fight like the Champion of the Gods that now believes he is.

Avatar of the Hunt: Amhimitl is a man of two worlds. In his old life as the Third Son he spent all his life in cities. He can slip unnoticed through crowds, find shortcuts through what would be impassable terrain to a non-urbanite, and navigate the undercurrents of a city that would go unnoticed by most. Also though the ancient memories given to him, he's as much at home in the wilderness as he is in the city, able to survive alone on what nature provides. These survival skills in stalking and hunting can also come into play in the city - which is merely a jungle of stone.

Indecisive Puppet: Amhimitl was chosen because he is impressionable. He rarely thinks for himself, always focusing on the opinion of others to guide his path.

Hooks:

• Somewhere deep inside him he is still the Third Son of a great merchant family, and he longs to return to their fold.
• Amhimitl is a puppet of Mixcoatl, a Nephilim who describes himself as the God of the Hunt, and thus believes as the Champion of this god that it’s his responsibility to ensure that people worship the Blind Spearman.
• Amhimitl knows there are other Ancient Nephilim out there without their mortal avatars and he seeks to revive them.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: When he awoke in the ruined temple he found he had powers unnatural to mankind, an innate connection to a being which described itself as a god, intimate knowledge of the lives of dozens of other people who held his position in past lives, and a connection to dozens of Eyes..

Weirds

Eyes of a God: Amhimitl has collected 42 Eyes, small orbs each of unique shape and colour. Through these eyes he, and Mixcoatl, can see the world, no matter where the Eye is. He knows there are others out there, scattered throughout the world - some in Museums, some trapped where they fell during a battle long ago, some just lying waiting to be found - and he does his best to collect them. The Eyes can fly and stick to surfaces and can shoot beams of hot light.

Warrior Jaguar: Amhimitl can transform into this beast of the jungle at will, though it looks rather out of place roaming the temperate forests of the Known World.

Human Sacrifice: Through some arcane conduit unknown to him, through a ritual act forgotten by Mortals for millenia, he can absorb and distribute the strength of another mortal. He can also bank up this strength for a little while, but not too long.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Mixcoatl
Sobriquets: The Blind Spearman, God of the Hunt

Concept: A manipulative, Nephilim defeated many millennia ago, looking for revenge.

Form: Mixcoatl a truly massive creature seemingly made from some kind of stone that towers above most structures that mortals have the veracity to attempt to build. It is top heavy, so typically moves around by knuckle-walking, though can move bipedally for short distances, and has massive reverse wings coming from its lower back that enables it to fly short distances. Mixcoatl is blind and cannot see without his Eyes being near, which cannot be powered without his Spear - Amhimitl.

Image

Abominations

Ancient: One of the eldest Nephilim, Mixcoatl has forgotten more about arcanery and war than most will ever learn… that is, if it could forget. The Blind Spearman can rip thoughts and memories out of someones head, leaving an empty husk. It can then give someone else’s life to that husk or give the memories to another living creature.

Goliath: Mixcoatl is truly massive, gigantic, enormous. Its physical prowess is unmatched.

Flight: Mixcoatl’s weird, deformed wings can allow flight for a short distance.

Blind: The Blind Spearman is… blind. Without his Spear he can see nothing, hear nothing, sense nothing. An immortal mind trapped in a mountain.

Against the Fangs of God

Donezo

Aztec Bois

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Amhimitl
Sobriquets: The Spear of the Hunt, Hasta Ji

Concept: A young apprentice, scarred by a journey beyond the Edge of the World, twisted by the mutterings of the unknown and plagued with visions.

Origin: Amihimitl, the Spear of the Hunt, began life under a different name, now lost to the world. He was the third son of a merchant dynasty, set up from a young age to apprentice with the family alchemist. He learnt all about the native, imported plants, the bits of creatures and types of bugs that could heal or harm or create or destroy. The alchemical trades were the key to mastering mercantilism. Through it, meats could last journeys across deserts, banquets could be created from husks with a few drops of water, and a dull weapon when unsheathed could cut through stone.

But this all changed when the head of the Family was wrangled into a deal to support an expedition into the Edge of the Known World. Committed, lest the Family lose face, the Head sent his third son (amongst others) on this expedition; after all, he had more sons and such a commitment stood him well in the courts of honor and let him forgo some other assets more valuable to the Family. Risk versus reward, if the Third Son returned he would bring the family much fame and riches; if not, there were other apprentices.

The expedition went as well as one could expect. Fell beasts were slain, riches gathered, and the party was slaughtered one by one by one as they sought to escape with their bounty. Every day, every hour, whittled the manpower, morale, and sanity of the group, until the few remaining went their separate ways, each arguing that this way was the exit of the neverending jungle (when, in fact, they were deeper than they had ever been before).

Chased by dire creatures unimaginable, thus the Third Son became Amihimitl. Stumbling through the tunnels and rooms of an ancient city that had lost its fight with the jungle, he found himself saved, the sinister essence chasing him cut down with beams of light and fire from a room with many Eyes embedded in the walls. Stuck in this room of many eyes, he saw the Third Son looking at the Alchemist's Apprentice looking at himself from two score angles. Looking through himself, from himself, with himself, at himself collapsing on the ground.

When he awoke he felt different. He felt emboldened, powerful, and he felt a connection to something otherworldly. He could see through the eyes around the room - and some elsewhere. He could see parts of cities, caves, forests that were many hundreds, thousands of leagues from where he was. He could also hear a great creature calling to him, telling him who he was now. No longer the Third Son, an Apprentice Alchemist, now he is the Spear of the Hunt, he holy weapon of the ancient Hunter who laid dormant for millenia. He can feel the Blind Spearman at loss without his Weapon and without his Eyes. So, dressing himself with what was left before him, and after gathering up the Eyes, the Spear follows the Call.

Appearance: Day to day, Amhimitl travels as a merchant - making use of his former training as an alchemist providing healing salves and tonics to small villages he passes through. Dressed in contemporary clothing, he travels on a cart with filled with alchemical supplies, often joining other merchant caravans temporarily. Within the cart he hides the equipment that he was guided to after he awoke in the Temple: armor, shields, weapons and decorative feathers from a long dead beast.

Image

Skills and Flaws

Alchemist: For all his young life - all his past life - Amhimitl was trained as an alchemist. Primarily specialising in the natural arts, without transmutation of core elements, he won’t be changing lead to gold any time soon.

Jaguar Warrior: Once awoken in the temple, Amhimitl felt out of place. In the back of his mind he had memories of war, revelling in violence and bloodshed despite never drawing blood on another being before the expedition. Through the prompting of the Blind Spearman and the Eyes, Amhimitl learnt how to master these memories of the Spear who came before him, and can fight like the Champion of the Gods that now believes he is.

Avatar of the Hunt: Amhimitl is a man of two worlds. In his old life as the Third Son he spent all his life in cities. He can slip unnoticed through crowds, find shortcuts through what would be impassable terrain to a non-urbanite, and navigate the undercurrents of a city that would go unnoticed by most. Also though the ancient memories given to him, he's as much at home in the wilderness as he is in the city, able to survive alone on what nature provides. These survival skills in stalking and hunting can also come into play in the city - which is merely a jungle of stone.

Indecisive Puppet: Amhimitl was chosen because he is impressionable. He rarely thinks for himself, always focusing on the opinion of others to guide his path.

Hooks:

• Somewhere deep inside him he is still the Third Son of a great merchant family, and he longs to return to their fold.
• Amhimitl is a puppet of Mixcoatl, a Nephilim who describes himself as the God of the Hunt, and thus believes as the Champion of this god that it’s his responsibility to ensure that people worship the Blind Spearman.
• Amhimitl knows there are other Ancient Nephilim out there without their mortal avatars and he seeks to revive them.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: When he awoke in the ruined temple he found he had powers unnatural to mankind, an innate connection to a being which described itself as a god, intimate knowledge of the lives of dozens of other people who held his position in past lives, and a connection to dozens of Eyes..

Weirds

Eyes of a God: Amhimitl has collected 42 Eyes, small orbs each of unique shape and colour. Through these eyes he, and Mixcoatl, can see the world, no matter where the Eye is. He knows there are others out there, scattered throughout the world - some in Museums, some trapped where they fell during a battle long ago, some just lying waiting to be found - and he does his best to collect them. The Eyes can fly and stick to surfaces and can shoot beams of hot light.

Warrior Jaguar: Amhimitl can transform into this beast of the jungle at will, though it looks rather out of place roaming the temperate forests of the Known World.

Human Sacrifice: Through some arcane conduit unknown to him, through a ritual act forgotten by Mortals for millenia, he can absorb and distribute the strength of another mortal. He can also bank up this strength for a little while, but not too long.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Mixcoatl
Sobriquets: The Blind Spearman, God of the Hunt

Concept: A manipulative, Nephilim defeated many millennia ago, looking for revenge.

Form: Mixcoatl a truly massive creature seemingly made from some kind of stone that towers above most structures that mortals have the veracity to attempt to build. It is top heavy, so typically moves around by knuckle-walking, though can move bipedally for short distances, and has massive reverse wings coming from its lower back that enables it to fly short distances. Mixcoatl is blind and cannot see without his Eyes being near, which cannot be powered without his Spear - Amhimitl.

Image

Abominations

Ancient: One of the eldest Nephilim, Mixcoatl has forgotten more about arcanery and war than most will ever learn… that is, if it could forget. The Blind Spearman can rip thoughts and memories out of someones head, leaving an empty husk. It can then give someone else’s life to that husk or give the memories to another living creature.

Goliath: Mixcoatl is truly massive, gigantic, enormous. Its physical prowess is unmatched.

Flight: Mixcoatl’s weird, deformed wings can allow flight for a short distance.

Blind: The Blind Spearman is… blind. Without his Spear he can see nothing, hear nothing, sense nothing. An immortal mind trapped in a mountain.

The Band of Fools

Il Sposoletto screwed up his face as the archer walked away; the man had been unnecessarily rude. Sniffing slightly and spitting on the ground, he turned away from the retreating archer and continued on his journey towards the centre of the camp. While the mood was slightly subdued, nothing could truly quieten the early morning racket of close to 400 soldiers and camp followers. Sposoletto wondered who, of the two Lieutenants, he would throw his lot in with. Whoever paid the most, he supposed.

Before he knew it he was at the centre of the camp, in front of the Blacksmith.
"Wulfric," he called, once the hammering had died away, "we're heading out to some hamlets along the river. Do you still require any scrap metals?"
@WestWall [[Yes or no doesn't matter]]
Sposoletto nodded his understanding to Wulfric. It was safe to be on the good side of all the craftsmen in the camp, and the little groom regularly took the time to give that little bit extra. Giving the slightest courtiers bow, he parted ways with the blacksmith and made his way towards the Stables.

By the time he arrived, the rest of his Lancia - Ottavio, and four hardened Tarati veterans armed with an assortment of weapons - had arrived and were ready to go. He looked over towards where Amberstone stood with his mount, the only real bowman of their band. Everyone else was armed with crossbows, all former squires or veteran soldiers from the Taranti city-states. "We're to leave no resources for the enemy outside these walls. South-east along the river there are supposed to be two farms and a small hamlet. Anything of use we are to take, anything we can't take we destroy."
Sposoletto mounted his horse in one swift movement and looked over to Ottavio, who made a couple of short hand gestures and looked pointedly at the Archer. "When we arrive, Ottavio wants you to take two of the other men and locate any winter supplies the farmers won't tell us about. We can't leave anything to our enemies."
Ottavio nodded, then indicated towards the gate, and they all headed off.

[[@Mattchstick I'm writing on my phone at the moment cause my computers carked it. I'll chime in as much as I can but my posts will be short or wont be that fleshed out]]