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Fantasy Arva: Tides of Darkness [IC] [Closed]

Sub Genres
Action, Adventure


the writer

(Closed Currently)

Aureal - Auda
Cain Leav'noir - Ky
Da'Vost - Dmaster
Eidunn Grimdottir - Adobe
Invira - LatibuleFizzgig
Krasso - Native Hunter
Valentina Solola - EdwardDewey98
Waylond - Breadman


The lands of Arva are stricken with conflict as peace is but a dream in these trying times. The North bleeds, its many jarldoms squabbling and fighting among one another for land and power in a constant struggle for dominance. Meanwhile, the west finds itself consumed by great wars and rising tensions throughout its regions. The Riverlands are aflame as the realms of Kalpurnia and Lithurnia fight each other for supremacy and its many smaller kingdoms prepare for conflict. The Vale is in a tense standoff between Strathgarde and its neighbors, the Kingdoms of Merish and Valderach. Mediation from the honorable Lord Ailiun Sunspear of Oberys has been attempted, but nothing has come to fruition much to the frustration of the wood elves as they find themselves caught in between this coming conflict. And worse yet, tensions rise once more between the realms of men and those of the demons, whom nearly two decades prior had carved our lands of their own, much to the chagrin of their neighbors. The tribes of those living outside of civilization fare no better as they too find themselves stricken with instability and conflict among themselves and are unable to find an amicable resolution. The East struggles with the rising tide of tribal migrations from the orcs and centaurs as they move westwards, seeking new lands to live upon. Yet, some say they are also running from something. And whispers of a forgotten continent further west of Argos tell tale of a terrible danger approaching the world...​
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the writer
12 Mir, 1578 FE (First Era)
City of Gwell

The city of Gwell was quite remarkable when compared to its neighbors, as its small stature allowed it to focus entirely on its itself and within its walls rather than what little land it possessed outside. Filled with all manner of peoples and races from so many different cultures, it was a melting pot of sorts within this troubled region it lay in. The Riverlands was in a constant state of flux, as borders continually shifted between the various kingdoms and the most recent war between Kalpurnia and Lithurnia have left vast swathes of its northern reaches wasted. Yet, Gwell found itself relatively at peace and isolated in its own little sphere and was comfortably situated away from the volatile politics of its neighbors. Content with its trade relations and its stance of neutrality, Gwell has prospered where other realms have stagnated or even declined. Yet, even in this time of peace there are no end to those that would profit off of war.

Mercenary companies base themselves within Gwell en masse, recruiting those seeking glory and fortune in the seemingly never-ending conflicts of the region and those beyond the Riverlands. The promises of good pay bring in many to join these ranks of sellswords, and there are no end to those eager to prove themselves in the field of battle. Yet, it is a dangerous line of work and many recruits die quickly, always requiring replacements as a result.

On this auspicious day, a newly formed company had its flyers posted on the boards and forums of the many markets of the city. The hope was to bring in its first batch of recruits in with the usual: promise of good pay and work for their services. And one such flyer caught the attention of two dockworkers as they walked their way back to work after lunch. One man took a look at the poster and commented on it: "Hughin's Sellsword Company... seems to me they pay well."

"What, you're thinking of joining up?" his friend asked. "You can't even swing a sword, let alone wield one!"

"I'm sure they'd like a good brawler. I know how to throw a punch!"

"What good is a punch when you get a sword in your belly? Or an arrow in your eye? Come now, no time for such foolishness, we need to get back to work." Defeated and with his bravado subsequently deflated, the man could only shrug as he walked back to the docks along with his friend. As the poster advertised, Hughin's Sellsword Company was recruiting from the Golden Talon Tavern, where the man himself sat at the bar. He was tapping away at his mug, anxiously awaiting to hear the door open behind him and see someone willing to join up.

"You worry too much, Hughin." the barkeep spoke as he cleaned a mug.

"Doesn't hurt to worry sometimes Robert..." Hughin replied sarcastically. Robert only chuckled in response: "Well, I can get you another ale if you need to calm yer nerves."

Hughin stayed quiet, looking at his mug as he tapped on it. A few minutes passed as he waited, and when the door opened behind him he nearly swung out of his seat to see who it was. However, it wasn't a new recruit, but rather it was his lieutenant Zakala walking in to take a seat next to him. "So? How'd it go?" Hughin asked.

"All the posters should be up. Nobody gave me trouble." she replied as she made herself comfortable at the bar and waved to Robert for a drink.

"Really?" he asked, unconvinced of her answer. This prompted her to give a look to Hughin for a moment before speaking up again: "There were a couple hecklers, but I scared them off. They thought I was going to set them aflame by just looking at them."

"Serves them right." Hughin said as he laughed in response. He knew that demons had a bad reputation for a variety of reasons, but not all of them were bad as indicative of the one sitting next to him. He trusted her, which made him disappointed that others didn't see that in her.

The two were quiet for a moment before Hughin spoke up again: "So... do you think we'll get anyone decent? "

Zakala was confused by what he meant for a moment before realizing what he actually meant: "You mean, what are the odds we won't get complete imbeciles joining up? I'd say its 50/50." she said as she received her drink

"Really? That's better odds than I thought we would have had." Hughin commented as Zakala took a sip and grimaced at the taste.

"Gods, how do you people drink this piss?" she asked as she furrowed her brow at the liquid.

"Why are you drinking it then?"

"You said we have to look official, isn't drinking a part of that?" she asked only partially sarcastically.

Hughin grunted in response. "I suppose we do." he said as he watched the door.


Sautekh Nemesor
The journey had been long, yet it was more taxing than trying. Through arid lands and expansive vistas, the Fateseeker carried himself toward his destination, taking as little stops for rest as possible. For as much as the travel as possible he was adamant on making the trek without any aid of mounts or caravans, only boarding a boat across the massive lake that separated Gwell from the mainland. It was ill-often one came across an Aervis, so those that encountered him practically assaulted the avian being with questions or heckling insults. To be expected, really, as the unknown was a beacon to both the curious and ignorant alike. He was filled with a great sense of duty and purpose now, and he would not allow anything to stand in his way of fulfilling the great task that he had been chosen for.

After weeks of travel, the Aervis arrives in Gwell precisely when the mercenary company of interest opens it doors to the public. All it took to find their leader was a quick glance over the flyers that had recently been hung, directed to the dwelling where the recruitment shall take place. Wasting no time after his short-lived arrival to Gwell, he shuffled off to the tavern and made his way inside.

A quiet hush fell over many of the patrons as they caught sight of what just stepped inside of their doors. It was true that the city was a great mix of many nations and peoples - though to a great many the Aervis had never been seen before. Only the most seasoned of travelers knew of what they were and how they lived, so to see a bird walking on two legs that stood over seven feet tall was staggering indeed. His feathers were a sky blue with small red eyes in sockets, the majority of his visage taken by a beige beak that seemed to be some strange blend of hawk and crow. The Aervis' head twisted this way and that passively, twitching as his eyes quickly processed who was in the room. He had been clad in white robes with golden trim and accoutrements from gold chains to odd, monstrous visages of unknown beings. The hood he wore was quickly lowered down by clawed hands, and large talons clacked as the bird moved over to Hughin at the bar.

"Kind-est greetings." the being spoke directly behind the mercenary leader, looming over him. His voice dripped with age though was rather smooth considering its origin, though he spoke with an accent that put emphasis on syllables that could do without. An elegant yet somehow simultaneously clunky manner of speaking. "I am Da'Vost - Fateseeker of the South Spire, and I am seeking to be in your employ."


the writer
Many of the patrons could only stare at Da'Vost as he walked through the tavern towards Hughin, most of whom began whispering among each other as they tried to figure out what exactly he was. It was as if something from the annals of a myth had come to life. The same could be said for both Zakala and Hughin, both of whom stared at the Aervis as he approached. Hughin slowly set down his mug as Da'Vost approached while Zakala could only watch with a blend of awe and concern. When Da'Vost finally spoke, Hughin looked over the birdman for a moment before speaking: "...right. Uh... give me a moment." he spoke before turning to Zakala to whisper.

"What the fuck? " he asked in an almost inaudible and hushed tone to his lieutenant. She only looked at him and shrugged, unable to produce anything to say at the moment. Hughin returned his gaze to Da'Vost, eyeing the Aervis again before speaking once more: "Okay, so.... uh... any skills of note you may have?" he asked.


Sautekh Nemesor
His clawed hands were steeped below his chest as he give a curt nod when they requested a moment among themselves, his gaze only faltering from those micro-adjustments his head and neck made every few seconds or so. "Certainly." Da'Vost said as the sellsword leadership had a moment of temporary deliberation, waiting rather patiently even though he could tell they were utterly flabbergasted.

"Skills? Hm. Yes. I possess many." the Aervis said as he brought his hands apart, one palm directed to the ceiling and remaining level while the other hand gently swooped across the air in front of it. With little delay a bright blue ball of fire suspended itself above the palm, producing all manner of sensations to those who were nearby. There was heat, though the air seemed to crackle with static around the flame, forced into a circling current of gentle wind. "The Aether flows through me." was all he said before his hand tossed the fireball into the air. Yet while he made the motion to lazily throw it, the fire simply dispersed entirely rather than be sent skyward.

"Fate has guided me here, though to what end I cannot rightly speak of."


the writer
We do need a sorcerer. Hughin thought to himself as he observed the demonstration in front of him. And Hughin had no idea what Da'Vost was talking about regarding fate, although to him it seemed like a bit of smooth-talking to get him in his employ. Although, he didn't need much convincing anyhow after that display of magic. "Alright. You're in. Take a seat in the tavern wherever you like, Robert can get you a drink." he said and he pointed to the bartender behind him. Robert was also quite stunned as to this creature being in the bar in the first place, but as quickly as Hughin spoke about him, Robert quickly nodded.

"Yeah, we got all kinds of drinks... and some free tables near the corner there." Robert pointed at the far corner of the tavern which was mostly empty. Seemed as though this was reserved for newcomers to the Company.


Sautekh Nemesor
The speakings of fate that were waved off as sweet-talk or perhaps mysticism were examples of neither, as the Aervis was not one to speak without truth behind his words. While he did seek to alter fate for the better he could not speak of his grand journey unless it was absolutely certain that it would not change his preferred outcome. For now he would have to travel with them and observe just how much of these jobs matched up with his visions. "I thank you for the opportunity." he said, bowing his head slightly.

Da'Vost looks to the barkeeper and also provides him with a slight, bowing nod. "I request a bowl of water, when you have the time to produce such." With that, he went over to one of the tables and seated himself as best he could. On his waist there was a large tome chained to his robes, and he slowly unfastened it and opened up to a bookmarked page as he quietly read to himself.


the writer
It didn't take long to get what Da'Vost needed, as Robert soon brought the bowl to the Aervis where he sat before promptly returning back to the bar. Hughin took another quick glance at Da'Vost before returning his gaze towards the front door and speaking to Zakala: "So, that went well." he commented jokingly.

"Well? We got a... bird... man... thing in our company that also happens to be a sorcerer. How many companies do you think can say that about their groups?" Zakala said, now pleased with events currently.

"True. That puts us at an advantage." Hughin said as he took a big swig of ale from his mug. "Hopefully, our luck will continue."


It had been an interesting journey from the Lowlands to the Riverlands, a nice change of scenery and culture especially when Kregan had to go for mercenary work. According to the locals, Gwell acted as a neutral ground in a place where many kingdoms fought for land and wealth. Kregan was tall, wore a sleeveless red tunic and carried a large longsword on his back. He grasped his greying hair and stubble, reminding himself he needed a trim later. He sighed, turning to one of the posters on the cobblestone walls. Kregan stepped forward, squinting as he observed Hughin's Sellsword Company looking for decent men and women for the job. The recruitment process at least to him was a gamble. A saturated and a competitive market for sellswords left no room for mess ups on this venture.

He shot a short smirk, tearing the poster from the wall and shoved it into his right pocket. If they were looking for decent sellswords then they were in good luck. The Praetorian happened to be a great warrior despite his age. Kregan headed to the place called the Golden Talon Tavern on his rouncey, Church. This tavern sounded familiar to the Three Horse Tavern back in Praetos, only this place looked more civil and normal. His horse carried his equipment and armor, if anyone even touched it, heads will roll.

As soon as he entered he was ready to see people whisper at this strange but abled man, a wonderful change of sight instead of poor bandits and inexperienced soldiers looking to cash out. With him on a company's side, they would slaughter any enemy stupid enough to take them on, no mercy. Kregan marched forward for the Hughin, the Leader of the company. Kregan pulled out the poster from his pocket and showed it to anyone.

"I'm looking for this Company. I take it this was the location?" Kregan asked raising his voice so some of the patrons could hear him.

Fighting Monk

1453 Worst Year of Life
It was a good day for Krasso. He had just been paid for a lengthy rendition of "The Mighty Ajax" at a child's birthday party. The parents seemed less than enthused when he sang of the old hero's sex life in the presence of eight year olds but they got what they asked for. He once again poured the purse into his hands to count over the coins. Two whole silver pieces, enough to keep his wine supply stocked for several days. He jumped in the air and kicked his hooves together at the prospect of not having to beg for drink from his countrymen. After all, the drinking of wine is one of the few ways the Satyrs can still pay homage to the Missing God. But alas, in his jubilation the coins slip from his fingers and start to roll along the street. Panicked he chases after them but trips on the uneven ground as his payment falls into the gutter and out of sight.

"Damn" He mutters. "What kind of Satyr loses their footing, damn city and its fancy streets." He dusts his fur off and continues to swear under his breath. Now he'd have to go back to Big Bill and explain to him why he needed to borrow another ten copper pieces this week. Or...Maybe the job board would have something quick and easy he could make some fast money on. He quickly trots down a few blocks to the board taking great care to not stumble again on the cobbles. He scans the posters, "Salt Miner? Too much work. Fish Monger? The docks smell like a bad brothel. Mercenary hmm?" He pocketed the poster, if he needed to get out of the city fast signing up with a band of sell-swords wouldn't be a bad idea. While scanning the board for other options he is suddenly grabbed by his neck and thrown to the ground from behind. A familiar face looks down on him alongside two big orcs.

"Krasso, how ya doing buddy?" Big Bill asks sarcastically. "Seems you didn't hear me when I told you the money was due on the fourth. So I'll ask you, Wheres the five gold pieces you owe me Goatboy?" The dwarf snarls at the fallen Satyr.

"The money?! W-why I have it back at my hovel with the others. I-I-If you let me run over there I'll bring the money back to your villa in no time I promise! I-I'll even give you a rendition of the 'Deep Ones' in Dwarvish f-for free!' " He answers with clear panic in his voice.

"Tsk tsk tsk, Krasso Krasso Krasso. I'm not in a patient kind of mood right now nor do I want to hear you butcher my ancestor's tongue you goddless freak. No, I'm not gonna let you run off and screw me out of my money again. This time I'll take my payment up front. Break his legs. maybe next time he'll remember to pay up when I say so." He says to the orcs towering over him. They laugh as they move closer to the Satyr cracking their knuckles with bloodlust in their eyes.

"F-fellas can't we talk this over? I-I'm sure I could find something of value to give you if you just let me go." He pleads to the unwavering green skins, they simply shake their head in laughter at the feeble creature before them. Thinking quickly he ducks in between the two lumbering oafs and runs at a full sprint down the cobbles hearing Bill shout for his goons to chase after him. Zig-zagging through various roads and alleyways he takes out the poster for the mercenary company, Hogans Hooligans or something? "The Golden Talon eh? Hope Robert ain't still mad about his daughter." He jokes as he slows down before the doorway, slicking his head hair back and beard to a point quickly he enters the tavern with an air of confidence. "I heard someone here is in need of a mercenary." He proudly proclaims as he holds up a now terribly crumpled and torn poster in his hand.


the writer
"Aye, this is the place indeed." Hughin commented as he looked over Kregan for a moment. "And you're in luck. We're recruiting as you can probably tell. You're interested in joining up?" he asked.

Before there was a response, it was interrupted by the arrival of a peculiar satyr which garnered Hughin's attention to look at the newcomer for a moment. He wanted to say something, but Robert beat him to the punch. "Oh no." the barkeep muttered as he walked out of the bar and towards where Krasso stood. Hughin meanwhile, returned his attention to Kregan and waited for a response.

"What do you think you're doing here, Krasso?" Robert asked with a scowl and a dark tone.

Fighting Monk

1453 Worst Year of Life
Inwardly screaming at the prospect of confrontation with his once short term father-in-law Krasso quickly pulls together whatever semblance of confidence left in his spleen to continue with his proud aura. Seeing the man did make him wonder how his daughter fared these days

"Settle down my sweet Robert I'm not here to bother Isabel or Crito. I'm merely here to sign up with whoever put out this advert looking for mercenaries. I assure you once this business is settled I will leave and never bother you or your family again. In fact I'll swear an oath to the Missing God right here and now if that would please you good sir." He says putting one hand over his heart and the other over his groin.


Sautekh Nemesor
Da'Vost eyed those who sauntered in looking for the company passively, looking up from his tome now and then as he found that he could interrupt his reading to look over his potential future allies. He seemed to hang for a particularly long time on their facial features, squinting slightly as he tried his best to dig up any familiarity in them. Details in the visions were always fleeting, and they were quickly lost if they were not committed to memory. A slight frown appears on the Aervis before he clutches his bowl of water with one hand, drooping his neck and beak down slurp the liquid down his gullet. Setting the bowl down he rises his head and shoulders again before continuing to read.

He paid no mind to the altercation brewing - if fate deemed that the Satyr would be stricken out from this group it was not his place to intervene.


"Me interested? I think you should be interested knowing I can handle your problems with ease." Kregan boasted as he crossed his arms, wanting to know if this company can actually prove its value. All of them would be fools if they declined his services. "I can use all kinds of weaponry, been involved in wars longer than the average adult. Hells, I'm more than decent, I'm trained in these situations." Kregan said proudly, standing upright and wanted to hear what they had to say. He felt compelled to speak of his grand achievements of his own back then, but he believed his appearance spoke more than harmless words.


the writer
"Hah! You're here to get work?" Robert exclaimed, almost laughing at Krasso to his face. "You still owe me several tabs worth of fees! That's why I had you barred from my establishment!" The bartender rubbed his eyes in frustration as he shook he head. "Gods, you are the worst thing to have happened to me and my family. You damn broke my daughter's heart, you know that? And she's fine, before you ask and no, I will not tell you where she is." He then looked back to Hughin, who was speaking to Kregan as a prospective recruit before looking back to Krasso. "You go up and join Hughin's company. But you will pay me back everything in full when you get paid. Understood?"

Hughin meanwhile listened to Kregan as he spoke before nodding. "Aye. Then you are welcome aboard. I'm Hughin, and this is my lieutenant Zakala." he said, motioning to the demoness. During this time, she had been both looking at the commotion at the front of the bar as well as listening to the exchange between Hughin and Kregan. She nodded to him, not saying a word and hoped that he wasn't one of those types of people that would threaten her for even looking their way.

Fighting Monk

1453 Worst Year of Life
The Satyr tightens his hands on his groin and chest "I swear by the Lord of Life and Holy father of all Satyrs you shall be repaid my dear Robert." A vow to the Missing God was the only way he could convey honesty to the man he thought. Afterall, what kind of priest would he be if he did not abide by promises before the almighty. "When we return to Gwell I'll see to it you're not only paid but with interest as well!" he laughs giving the bartender and hearty smack on the back before moving on towards the grizzled looking human.

"You must be Hughin. I am Krasso son of Memnon, graduate of the roving bard college of Rambyxis, priest of the Missing God and teller of the tales of old. I'd like to join up with your group of mercenaries my good sir." He says with a deep bow. His voice oozes the same aura one would expect of a door to door potion salesmen, someone who makes big promises with very mixed results.


Junior Member
The wheels of the cart skidded to a holt along the cobbled road. Ediunn closed her eyes, calming her overly active stomach down. Shed never been good with long journeys, and this had been an especially long one.

"Gwell, as promised lass." The man spoke out in a gruff tone, reaching his hand out towards the girl in the back of his cart.

"Oh, right." Ediunn mumbled, reaching into the pocket of her coat, her fingers curling round the last remaining coin she had. Placing them into the mans hands, she grabbed the burlap bag, hopping down of the cart onto the ground below. She took a moment, gathering her thoughts as she looked around. She was taken aback, the south was different, but Gwell has a different story entirely. Stepping away from the middle of the road, Ediunn pulled her hood up, trying her best to cover her hair and face.

The growling sound from her stomach brought her firmly back down to reality. She hadn't eaten since breakfast yesterday. Looking round, her eye was caught by a sign hanging about 20 feet down the road. 'Golden talon'. From the looks of it, it was a tavern, and there was no place Ediunn wanted to be more than in front of a fire.

The sound was a welcoming one, the clinking of metal and the scraping of chairs, the loud arguments and the dozens of conversations. Letting out a long held breath, Ediunn pulled her hood down, scanning the room for a place to sit.

She saw the feathers, and her eyes were locked. An Ocean-Bird. They were real? She had heard the stories, the myths and legends told around the firepit every winter passover. 'Dont', the word echoed in her head as she took steps toward the bird, she was here to lay low.


Kregan let out a satisfied grunt, shaking Hughin's hand firmly before he pulled up a bar stool to sit on. With the Praetorian around, they finally had a reason to be feared and respected. It wasn't until he saw the Satyr that he quickly changed that stance. Kregan glanced at him before he shook his head, the balls on that guy. Could he even lift a sword if someone called for it? If he was put in charge, he would immediately put that Satyr through the regimen and tell him to duel one of the sellswords. He'd seen lanky guys fight but this man was skeptical.


the writer
As Kregan left to take a seat elsewhere, Hughin turned his attention to Krasso who introduced himself in such a grandiose fashion. While Hughin's face didn't betray any emotion, his thoughts spoke otherwise as he eyed the satyr over for a moment: He better swing a weapon as well as he can talk. "Do you have any skills useful to our profession, bard?" he asked inquisitively.

Zakala meanwhile was also looking over Krasso and was thus interested in hearing his response. She never really liked Satyrs, always thought they talked too much and was now somewhat hoping that the bard would somehow blunder this up.


Professional Argentine
9 Mir, 1578 FE
Serenissima Repubblica di Dandolia

There are few cultural havens like Dandolia. A prosperous mercantile republic, home to hundreds of merchants exploring the world to form contacts, and create trade routes throughout the known world. But Dandolia is also home to less savory subjects as well. Privateers and other mercenary fleets often rest in the docks of the republic. Among such ships was the Luxuria, a known Dandolian privateer ship led by Antonio Meneghini. He was currently screaming at the top of his lungs in his native tongue while his crew surrounded and looked at young woman dressed in rather fancy clothing. "What I am supposed to do with you, Valentina!? I knew things could go wrong but I never imagined they'd go THIS wrong!"

The man began to calm down as young woman looked at everyone with a friendly smile. "It was just an accident, Antonio!" The captain groaned at the mentioned of the word 'accident'. "...An accident would be stabbing a guard who saw you, or dropping the keys down a drain! You were supposed to seduce the Jailer and find the keys, and then hand them to Bambino so he could free Santino and Argento." Valentina gave the captain a smile while shrugging. "And that's exactly what I did Antonio!" The man facepalmed so hard that some of the crew cringed in pain. "...One thing is to seduce the jailer! Another is to seduce HALF THE GARRISON! So many men and women in one room, entering and leaving! It was only a matter of time before they found Bambino and locked him with the others. Are you taking me for stupid?!" The crew nodded while looking at Valentina. It seemed like most have already casted their vote on the matter.

"Uhm... no. Obviously not, Antonio, I respect you greatly! I admit I got a bit distracted, but they had something I didn't expect! Wine! Lots of it! And not just some random wine, it was Satyr wine! Enough to put down a horse! Can you really blame me?" The crew grew quiet, eventually some started to nod and agree. Even the captain seemingly calmed down and nodded. "...Well I admit it is very good wine." said Antonio while rubbing his chin. Eventually he sighed and looked at the Valentina. "...Valentina, you are an excellent first mate on the ocean. But on land... it's almost like you can't control yourself! All these 'adventures' of yours get my men arrested! I agree I can't kill you over this... but I am afraid that I have to let you go."

Valentina's heart sank to the bottom of her stomach. The Luxuria is one of the greatest ships she's ever had the honor of working on, and it had an amazing crew as well. "W-what? Antonio, Please, my good friend, you can't just..." She tried to find the words and plead with Antonio, but she realized that her mistake costed three men. She eventually nodded and gave everyone in the crew a respectful bow. "...A pleasure to have served, miei amici!" She walked down from the ship and onto the docks with her only belongings: her fancy Dandolian clothes, her rapier and her savings. Perhaps this was for the best? The Luxuria was the third crew she had to leave over her mistakes. Technically the first one died to a giant sea monster but nonetheless, she still felt incredibly guilty over this.

Is my life destined to sail these seas alone? Oh, what cruel fate awaits me... She thought to herself while looking at an albatross. The bird simply flew away uninterested in her. ...Well then, I guess nobody wishes to listen to my woes! She sighed, looking at the night sky. Maybe she needed to finally settle down, and find a more honest trade than swashbuckling adventures. But she quickly shook those silly thoughts out of her head. Never! She was a woman of action! Of adventure! This is nothing but a stone in her boot. She will press onward to greener pastures! Who knows where lady luck could lead her?

12 Mir, 1578 FE
City of Gwell

Through sheer luck and clever thinking, Valentina reached the city of Gwell. The truth was that Valentina knew how to haggle and sweet talk people, and managed to convince a farmer and his wife to let her go in their carriage to the city. She was still unemployed: the patrician houses in Dandolia didn't have need for bodyguards or more people for their fleets. Most lords these days require larger armies of mercenaries and not specialists like herself. It was frustrating but she didn't lose hope. While traversing the city, she found a tavern! Maybe she could convince the owner to hire her as a guard? Inside the establishment, she noticed a quite varied assortment of individuals: several armored men, a satyr who seemed to be having a talk with the bartender, a weird... bird man, a blonde lady, and a demon woman. Interesting!

After asking a nearby patron what was going on, Valentina learned of this mercenary company, and happily approached the man that seemed to be leader or organizer of this event. She decided to use her charm and see if she could earn a spot among the mercenaries. "Ciao! I am Valentina Solola. I am a swordwoman of renown in Dandolia. Perhaps you heard of me? If not, that's okay. I am currently looking for work and I just noticed that you are gathering all these colorful people to join your company, yes? I am not only a good swordwoman, but I am also a singer and I know my way around locks." She gave Hughin a big smile. "...I hope I made a good case!"

Fighting Monk

1453 Worst Year of Life
A toothy grin crosses the Satyr's face. "Why of course! Would be a silly thing to show up here without any pre-requisites eh? I have several years of experience as both a way finder and scout in the mighty army of the Majestic Republic of Nysa. Thus on top of being adept in tracking, foraging, and wayfinding I am skilled with daggers, throwing knives, and handaxes. If that does not satisfy you then know that with my presence in your company your names will live in on in the oral tradition of my folk and those of the river lands."

He was exaggerating of course on the extent of his skill, having only fought in a single border skirmish where he was knocked unconscious quickly he none the less had the skills of a good scout. Afterall he'd been on the road for the better half of the last century and thus knew what to look for and avoid when on the road. He only hoped his potential employers would not call his bluff immediately. With Bill's goons still looking for him he'd not be safe on the streets for some time. This seemed to be his only option and he'd be damned if he let it slip through his fingers.


the writer
Hughin cocked an eyebrow as he listened to Krasso's detailed explanation. I wonder how much is true, and how much is bullshit. he wondered as he listened to the Satyr. When Krasso finished, Hughin spoke up again: "Alright. We do need a good scout anyhow. I expect you to pull your own weight however, are we clear? If so, welcome to the company." he said as he looked at the newcomer to the tavern as she spoke to him.

Zakala pointed Krasso to the direction of the empty tables as if to get him to sit. "Welcome." she said flatly, disappointed that nothing eventful happened. "Get to know your comrades in arms."

Meanwhile, Hughin paid attention to Valentina as she spoke and listened intently before speaking up: "Aye. We need swords for our company." he said, eyeing her weapon and her for a moment. "As long as you can swing your sword and pull your weight and follow orders, then you can consider yourself welcome into our little band."


Big loaf supreme
It's been days since he had his last duel. It wasn't a particularly good one either. The poor sod had overestimated himself too much and ended losing his hand. Still, it was something. What he wouldn't do to have another go even with that wretch. Waylond looked over his shoulder and saw his younger cousin trailing behind him on his own horse close by. Bright young lad, at least according to his father. The boy did his duties as a squire right, but when it came to a knight's other duties and talents that needed to be cultivated, he was a brick. He had his father's charisma, the complete lack of it that is. He could order drinks in a tavern, but he had no eye for quality. Waylond was the most frustrated at the boy's ability with women however. Like someone enchanted a log of wood to sprout legs. His facial hair already resembled moss, so there might be something to it. This was some divine punishment. It had to be. He whored too much a decade ago and is now paying for it. Still, the boy was family and he had a duty to them. He was going to make a knight out of him even if it was going to kill him.

"Pottrey!" Waylond raised his voice so the boy would hear him. "The name of this town, what is it?"

"Gwell, cou...uh ser." He managed to get it right this time. Progress! "It's famous for...uhh, well it has..."

"It has a mercenary company at every corner and whores of just about any two-legged creature that has walked this continent." Waylond told him as if he was a teacher in a classroom "We've been focusing on your duties as a squire and what skills you should have as a knight, but we have ignored developing your most important ones. Your marshal skills."

"We've been in a few fights, haven't we?"

"Duels won't do. Those are for me to keep sharp. No, you need to see how battle is fought outside of agreed upon rules and I need someone to make sure that my equipment is in working order. Eventually we should have you throw some proper swordplay around." Pottrey didn't say anything. Looks like he was't ready for what his cousin was planning. Didn't matter. He had better get his shit together or Waylond would be the one thrashing him. Their horses stopped near one of the many taverns. This one seemed rather busy. Good. Maybe there could be some work here. Waylond dismounted. "Take care of the horses and our things, then meet me inside. Speak only when you're spoken to."

Waylond entered the tavern, on his way he saw a fair looking woman and his instincts kicked in before he managed to beat it down. Business before pleasure. It did remind him that he should take off his helm at least. The rush for work made him forget to at least get rid of that needless intimidating factor for simple negotiations. He took off the helm and looked around the tavern. That over there was a birdman. He scratched his chin before noticing the satyr. This seemed to be a good place if it attracted exotic patrons. The goatman looked to be talking to someone about work. Good timing.

"Good day sir." Waylond started to introduce himself "Pardon me just butting in, but I couldn't help but overhear something about needing a sword."
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Fighting Monk

1453 Worst Year of Life
"I will make you proud and sing of our exploits." The satyr says with a bow before sauntering over to the tables in the corner. He had only now noticed the very large bird-man in the corner watching over the sudden surge of people looking to sign up for the company. He had himself only noticed the ruckus behind him as he moved away seeing that there was also a very large scary looking masked figure at another of the tables. He figured he had better chances at conversation with the bird than the man. Pulling up a chair he sat down and put his hooves up on the table. Pulling out a bottle of Arcus Red he began to nurse the wine before speaking to his new companion.

"So you got a name big-bird?" He pauses after realizing how rude that sounded. "I'm Krasso son of Memnon and it looks like we're companions in this quickly growing little band." He says with a polite nod towards the large avian figure.


Sautekh Nemesor
Da'Vost was quite entranced in his reading, the tome he carried with him possibly the only notable possession he brought along on his long-winded journey. Sometimes he would look up to see the people funneling in, curious stares that didn't look away when they were returned, yet made for different reason. A sip of water, a peek, then a turn of the page and more reading. Yet his rhythm was soon halted by a rather nervous-looking woman approaching him, and he opened his beak to speak greetings.

Yet before he could call out to her, the Satyr plopped himself down and began to help himself to drinks. Noting the complete lack of table manners, the Aervis lowered his tome to the table and nodded at Krasso. At least his introduction was... somewhat polite. "My name is Da'Vost. I am a Fateseeker hailing from the South Spire. May the Aether guide us during these trials and endeavors to come." he chirrups, a hand to his chest as he bows gently.

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