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| Of Ash And Hounds in Widedock; -invite Surgate. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 1 2009, 03:03 AM (572 Views) | |
| Kedros | Feb 1 2009, 03:03 AM Post #1 |
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Bard
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Beneath the pallid morning light a cluster of disgruntled ewes emmerges from beneath the low-growing elder trees of a watery gulley. While the other ewes in the muster move out of long habit and instinct to join the main body of the flock, a particularly towy hogget turns on the hound following her up, squaring her considerable horns at him. The dog's owner grins wordlessly and draws a deep draught from a cigarette, roughing at his lengthening stubble with a work-dirtied hand. From a long line of shepherd hounds, the beast merely haunches flat to the ground where the ewe can make little use of her horns, making a brief matter of the scuffle by nipping at her hooves when she dares to loom over him. The ewe suitably chastised and the flock consolidated, the hound shambles to the hand of his master, characteritically thrusting his muzzle into the shepherd hand. Palmer the hound yawns, cracking his jowly maw open, his red tongue lolling out, relishing the fingers that seek the space between his ears, stirring up motes of the dusty ground with thumps of his heavy tail. To someone who didn't know better it would seem the shepherd- who has not seen the missing sheep, nor the hound for three days- is surprisingly unmoved by the reunion. As if he could hardly care any less. But to someone that had spent the long wordless seasons in the high country alongside him, they'd see the pinch go out of Nino's shoulders; and they'd know he'll cut a few slices of his precious sausage for the hound at meal time. The small nods that had gone out of his glance over the flock return. All is well. The flock is safe, and his precious hound, one of the famous nine, is back. With a deep breath Nino stands, looking toward the city of Widedock, far below the pass. Through the long practice of counting heads of sheep in the distance he tallies the number of warships in the harbour, and the city-guards patrolling the arching walls of the city. He stretches his shoulders, seemingly at ease, but the hounds are quiet, looking up or over at their master, heads low. They sense the tension in him as he gauges the city, visible only in the merest stoop of his chin, the faintest pinch of brows. The streets are quiet, he notes, the guards standing alert. The Flocklord whistles, his fleetest hound comes to his hand. In a moment a note is bound to the hounds collar, and it sets off at a trot. Widedock unquiet, warships, guards. The balance is off, Ninehounds going in to investigate. Send the Musterers to Widedock, avoid notice. |
[align=center]![]() Links: Characters Open Topics Misplaced Hope in a Place Unlooked For Is Perhaps Not Misplaced Featuring Ostler, Open but Pls PM Means and Ends of Oath-Keepers Featuring Rilangren, Open but Pls PM Ploughshears to Axes Featuring Ferdibrand Rumble, Open but Pls PM The Windblown Seed Featuring Curin & Riele Archive of Old Characters No Longer In Use [/align] | |
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| Surgate | Jun 12 2009, 07:03 AM Post #2 |
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Slave
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OOC: So sorry for the delay, I live in Dallas and the major storm that hit last night knocked out all the power in my neighborhood literally all day. I just got home from a movie and it happened to be finally on. Again my sincerest apologies. --- Amidst the glow and shine of the early morning hours, Widedock breathes the salty ocean air and yawns. The city is awake and yet she feigns slumber. Trouble. Her docks overflow with strangers, knocking rudely at the chamber door. The watchmen guard their routined patrols with unusual numbers. The equilibrium has shifted under the passing of a single night. Briskly a sharply dressed man passes uneasy glances in either direction as he treads the road towards Gruve street where between the market and meeting hall lies the local pub, 'The Dock Tap', humbly and unassumingly silent. Its wide-rectangular windows curtained, its heavy oak and metal studded door shut, locked, and keyed. Hurriedly, the man approaches, both feet stepping after the other in rapid succession, until all that stands between him and his goal is the Tap's seemingly impenetrable door. Sweat escapes the roots of his tangled mess of hair, sliding down the broad forehead and collecting momentarily at the base of his bushy brow before slipping through the crevices intertwined and slicking down tomato red cheeks and a burning complexion. Here is a man overtly stressed, and unused to the concept entirely. Plump fingers curl into fists at his coat's sides, then raised like catapults in their hesitation as they finally release and slam against the oak repeatedly. Thump, Thump, Thump Past the darkened common, to the right of the narrow corridor, and deep down the cellar hatch two figures feign not sleep in the slightest. Thump, Thump, Thump A single peculiar blue eye rolls open. The repetitious rapping quakes waves of vibration perceivable to those sensitive enough to feel. The eye blinks responsively. Thump, Thump, Thump "That'll be enough outta you!" A raspy voice cuts from inside the Tap, at first at a distance, but then the floorboard betrays to the advancing, shuffling weight, squeaking in light protest before the bolts of the oak door slide are undone. The sweating noble man pants in slight reprieve, ejecting an arm out to the side foundation of the tavern to collect his breath when the door creaks open at its slightest, the faint flicker of candlelight illuminating the bar inside behind a hunched over man with uncontrolled white hair, a matching apron, and tree like lines running and crisscrossing along his arms, neck, and face. His faint green eyes stare intently, still as lively as ever, and his lip, along with the bushy mustache above it, slant in a disapproving frown. "Why, Mr. Gerald Lanchest, Enlighten me, what is the meaning of this debacle firstly, and would you be so kind as to point me to your daughter's whereabouts?! I have checked the house first, much after the scrutiny of our local dog militia. I demand answers Gerald, I wo-" "Enough! Again, That'll be quite enough out of you Lord Edian. Now step inside before they notice." His voice was thickly accented in a rural emphasis of syllables, but all the same commanded attention for such a person of considerable age. Edian, flabbergasted, only nodded and stepped inside. Creak, SLAM The other eye opened. A double pair of footsteps transpired above. Voices muffled by the surrounding environment echoed equally loud and coherent in each pale ear. "What do you suppose your father is up to at this hour?" An educated voiced erupted softly, floating into the surrounding stillness like a singular breath in a cold winter day, visibly audible for seconds before becoming a memory. A mumbled murmur escaped from the nubile bare woman beside him, pale in the slightest, her eyes flickering open and shut, the puncture wounds on her neck just now scabbing over from earlier. "Hush lovely, purely rhetorical." He assured, tilting his chin inwards to get a better look at the brunette stirring at his side, then rocking her back to numbness with singular strokes of his hand across her forehead, curling locks of hair between fingers before brushing them aside to steal glances of her youthful face. Her breasts lifted with each breath, sinking back at exhalation. She nibbled at her lower lip, sucking it into her mouth and applying pressure with her front teeth. A peculiar habit. She did so during sex too. He nudged the observation and laid back against the soft wool of her blanket, feeling for the conversation above them absent minded. Fauuuust "The ships pulled to harbor unannounced, but it is for completely legitimate reasons. So I've heard by all accounts. Strict business from across seas it is. The leaders some higher up religious man, a hunter he calls himself. Thats all I owe of whats comin to ya Edian." "Fine,Karem's whereabouts. Or have you lost track of your troublesome daughter again Gerald?!" "Watch your tongue aristocratic filth, trouble for you perhaps. Karem has work tonight, and was up late the night of last, shes a grown woman, her business is her own." "So you openly refuse me then?" "No, but it would seem Karem has, and I'm glad for it!" Spiteful, Gerald slurred his ending statement and bellowed deep laughter than ended in a coughing fit. Edian bunched his fingers again, his cheeks puffing until he finally turned and took his leave without another word. Fauuuust, Its been sooooo long The old humor was snuffed by a feminine whisper in the back of Faust's thoughts. An intruding signal. A touch of familiarity. His slick brows crunched together, rippling a contortion of skin just above and between his eyes. Worry. The sick feeling of being watched again. The blue eyes closed. Pale face painted in anxieties' subtle shades of tenseness and extension. "I've been found Karem..." Karem snuggled closer, burying her face against his chest, obviously unawake. Faust laughed nervously and allowed sleep to claim him as well. |
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| Kedros | Jun 12 2009, 12:25 PM Post #3 |
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Bard
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The Musterer rolled the paper over the tobacco with the easy precision of long practice, looking up at the Gatewarden, one eye incredulously squinting closed more than the other as the piercing end of his glance fell upon the man, who swallowed, looking truly miserable at his plight. Giving the guard a seemingly relaxed nod, one of half-pardon -since the man was hardly responsible for his own masters, nor capable in any way of affecting their behaviour, the Musterer turned his glance aside. Clearly the guard had himself experienced a Musterer's disapproval, where his superiors had not. Murmuring another apology at the delay the Guard squirmed, sagging as the Musterer gave him a truly dismissive nod, lighting his cigarette. The dawn had got up early and bright, spilling across the eastern horizon, and chancing upon the unwelcome shadows of warships. Widedock, from its inhabitants, to the very buildings themselves, seemed to recoil from their presence in the protected waters. The harbour had grown accustomed to the threat out of the highlands, the ancient hegemony of the Musterers, but warships to add was too much for the city to take. Worse was the unwelcome acknowledgement that enough men to receive and outfit the ships and the new arrivals onboard were inside the city, awaiting the apparently long planned arrival. Men who now openly wore the pale livery of a foreign power, and who openly flouted the City order that arms were not to be openly borne by any man. The city was also aware of the Musterers gathering, behind them had come a wall of dark cloud, as if the weather obeyed their desires and reflected their mood. This was an illusion which the Musterer's did not alleviate from the city's thoughts, let them believe the storms obeyed the Flocklord. The Musterer chewed thoughtfully at the predicament, knowing that within calling distance was a score of his fellows. Each with crook, rope and grappling iron. The Musterer's had not maintained the ancient balance won by their ancestors through mere luck. They had bought it with bloodshed, and unflinching resistance to all who would seek to disturb Amaltere, and the Musterer way of life. The smoke escaped The Musterer's close cropped beard in curling wisps, squint eyed and chin tucked as if the smoke was filling him with secrets he did not care to share. Without startling, or any outward indication of who had stepped beside him, The Musterer related all that he knew to the Flocklord in hushed tones. Ninehounds gripped the Musterer's shoulder, sharing no more than a stern exchange of glances, before he passed through the arch of the gate which the Musterer had demanded be opened, and left open. The Warden gaped, more shrewd it seemed than he appeared, his expression asking the Musterer more clearly than any length of words Was that Ninehounds? The Musterer lifted a fresh match to a freshly rolled cigarette, but this time a knife had appeared in his hands, replying: no it was not, not if you want to live. Ninehounds dismissed his namesakes to seek their masters, those Musterer's who were amongst his Folk, what generals are to a standing army. In less than an hour the lanky hounds had carried and relayed a stream of council to the grim faced Flocklord. Ninehounds was seated within a relatively populous square, a tall glass of tea and brandy by his hand, everything about his expression and posture appearing at ease, but for his darkling eyes. He was not pleased, and the time for patience had already come to pass. Crossing the city he sought the tavern 'The Dock Tap' within sight and smell of the unwelcome ships, and the queer accents of the invaders. His men had moved in ahead of him, the rear entrance awaiting him. Ninehounds hesitated at the door, his hounds bristling and disquiet, sniffing at the air and snapping at one another uncharacteristically. Taking note, but dismissing the issue for the moment Ninehounds was directed toward the cellar by he wordless glances of his men where, bound to a chair and already softened with the staring tortures was the Earling, Achambris. The creature would stand no higher than a man's knee, but whose filmy ears were as large as the creature himself, which shifted and twitched with a life of their own, capable of hearing even a man's thoughts. The Earling groaned, already capable of hearing the grim business Ninehounds had come to address. The Earlings had come out of the highlands, where they roamed and preyed in the shifting mists and cloud-banks, like humanoid bats, the lesser cousins of vampires, preying on beasts, weak and piteous. But their talents had a unscrupulous place in the city -those Earlings who could live with the innumerable spoken words, and unspoken thoughts clamouring in their ears every moment. Ninehounds sat, looking into Achambris eyes, not bothering to speak the words aloud. "Please, mercy. They'll know if I tell..." Ninehounds squared Achambris with a flat expression, knowing the Earling would hear the bitter truth in his mind.. Death will seem sweeter if you don't. The Earling sagged, held in place only by his bindings. "Nosferatu. Vampires. But they're hunting their own kind, they've come for a Faust. That much is certain... I can't hear on the ships, I swear to you it's true!" The Earling screamed wretchedly. Ninehounds did not need to test the Earling long to be certain of that truth. The beast willingness was in the creatures eyes. It would tell him anything he wished. "No, I can't tell you where Faust is." He screamed. "I could find out though... Give me a day, just one day, please, then let me go." |
[align=center]![]() Links: Characters Open Topics Misplaced Hope in a Place Unlooked For Is Perhaps Not Misplaced Featuring Ostler, Open but Pls PM Means and Ends of Oath-Keepers Featuring Rilangren, Open but Pls PM Ploughshears to Axes Featuring Ferdibrand Rumble, Open but Pls PM The Windblown Seed Featuring Curin & Riele Archive of Old Characters No Longer In Use [/align] | |
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2:20 PM Jul 11