Fantasy SettleTown, a Dark Tragedy

[Klimino Zepehphor]

SETTLETOWN IS ALWAYS OPEN FOR NEWCOMERS TO JOIN, AND FOR PEOPLE TO CREATE NEW CHARACTERS IF THEIRS DIE, BUT AT SPECIFICALLY STATED IN GAME TIMES. POST IN THE OOC OR PM ME IF YOUR INTERESTED.


A gentle coolness set upon the earth that morning, dawns lights barely peaking above the twisting, darkened bark of the Western woods, as the company of misfits and mercenaries waited near the trail into the crevice of darkness, as the villagers in dreary silence stood with the ordered supplies for SettleTown, who came every weekstart to restock.


As not even the crickets dared to break through the morning fog and add a touch of life to the abysmal hopelessness of the scenery, the deafening silence was suddenly broken by the sound of hooves and wheels, of metal clanking together.


Turning quickly, the New hires, those fools who answered the darkness for petty coin, looked upon the trail as a very symbol of their new life charged out of the damnable woods and out into the open.


A armored, metal contraption the Carriage was, bolt and weld marks covering the many places where they had had to repair the contraption, even the drivers compartment armored and defended, spikes and blades covering the thing, its shape one made to break through a roadblock if necessary.


A disturbed, chaotic mess of a thing, the horses themselves in ramshackle armor, all six of them.


As silence drew on, the side door finally opened, and a grumpy, weathered older man, but not yet an elder, stepped out.


Without hesitation, the villagers started loading the Misfits and SettleTowns cargo into the Carriage, hardly phased at all by the sight, while the Man negotiated prices with village mayor.


After a passage of coin, the grumpy man turned to the new comers, and with a 'hmph' walked over to the fresh souls.


“you ere for ther job? Bah! Sorry lot if I ever saw one! Well get in ye fuckin slouches, its a long journey to SettleTown. And this Carriage dont stop during the night, meaning ther horses gotta rest in what little daylight this damned forest will give us.”


with that, and the last of the supplies loaded in, the Grump of a man stepped back into his metal monstrosity, as those addressed one by one fell into the contraption, hardly given time to sit in the cramped interior before the device started moving, door barely closed in time to keep everyone within.


/\/\/\/\


\/\/\/\/


the trip into the forest, like one slowly passing into a nightmare was a long, sleepless thing, three days of tension and sleeplessness, the forest a slurr of sounds one could only recognize from the deepest pits of their blackened minds.


Every moment spent letting the horses rest was utter agony, the forest no less despairing in the little daylight it gave then in the night. While no attacks did come, eyes could often be seen in the forest, lurking, waiting perhaps for easier prey.


It was on the fourth day, as the trudged through the thick, stinking mud last nights dreary rain had produced, that the passengers of the metal coffin of a carriage heard an roar that peirced their very souls like a blade, and the crashing of something from the woods.


As they peered through the small slits in their metal fortress at the left side of the wall of trees, a massive, insanely large shape was seen crashing out of it, and suddenly the entire Carriage jerked hard to the right, as a blood curdling whine of a horse was heard.


A moment later it was silent, the Carriage turned nearly sideways, lucky to have stayed upright it seems.


Slowly, carefully, the crew of the metal monstrosity disembarked, only for the utter horror of what had happened to set in on them.


An entire horse was simply gone, torn directly off of its chained position, two large cuts into the blackness of the woods on either side of the ramshackle excuse for a road.


“Gods be damned if this keeps happening...” the grumpy man, know known to be Don as they had pried from him on their miserable journey, muttered out as he went and calmed the horses.


It was as he did this, that Don noticed the Wagon and the supplies stacked back on it had broken off.


“you lot, go check the damnable thing, save what you can, hah, tis your own shite anyways.”


so as the group slouched through the thickened mud to the clearly ruined wagon, the inspected the thing.


Luckily, most of their equipment was on or in the mud around it, but some items appeared to have been flung into the far reaches of non existence, leaving many in a even fouler mood.


After what supplies could be savaged were loaded into the wagon, making the interior quite muddy and now much more cramped, the Carriage started back up on its way.


“just bout a day to go.” Don piped up with a chuckle “better try to git some sleep, not that youll get much in this infernal thing.”


as the group sat in muck and misery for the last day, moods like old cheese, they, finally, arrived upon their new home.


SettleTown.


/\/\/\/\


\/\/\/\/


MAP OF SETTLETOWN


http://i.imgur.com/lcPvKkR.png


grey is walls, sandy is cleared ground, mustard is cleared forest, brown is houses and buildings with the big one being an INN, lighter brown is a barricade.


Black dots are Mission points of interest.


/\/\/\/\


\/\/\/\/


as they rode through the thick but quite battered gate of SettleTown into its interior, it was clear the Town was not in the best of condition. Sparsely populated as they could see in the dying light of the day, near on half the town was cut off by a large but hasty barricade, two cannon pointed down at the hole in the Towns stone walls down a ways.


As they stepped out into the crisp, summer air, what few men they appeared to feel they could spare started unloading the supplies and their gear, though they simply through their personal bits in a pile next to the thing. It was then, that a balding, smiling old man in typical Unmentionable Mayor robes approached them.


“oh,OH!” my friends, new comers to my home! Welcome, welcome! Thank you for accepting this most humble of jobs, oh how glad I am to see new, brave souls join our, ah, budding community!”


the mans smile was unnerving, never ending, a disturbed contrast to the dark atmosphere of the scrappared town.


“oh, but it is getting late, come, COME! Dinner is to be served in the inn, but we must get you settled in first no? Come come, grab your things and ill show you to your accommodations.”


after giving everyone a moment to grab as much of their belongings as they could, he lead them to one of the back buildings, the first two to the right having been mentioned as the Mayors and the ArmsMasters personal quarters.


“sadly the INNs second floor is, ah, in need of repairs, and what space is available is already taken up by other residents. You will for now have to make do with sharing with one another, though it should not be as cramped as your past few days.”


opening the door, the six newcomers were met with a quite depressing sight. Only three beds, olden mattresses upon them, all shoved in a single corner, with a large pile of old blankets sitting in the center of the room, with not a single hook or place to hang equipment or lanterns from.


“i do apologize for the less the wonderful accommodations, but we have, eh, had to compromise on what supplies we buy.”


clapping with his strange joyfullness, the mayor gave a small bow.


“ill leave you to get comfortable then, ill send Mr.Grimm, our ArmsMaster, to fetch you for supper in due time. H, I do thank you for joing us, we will try ot meet ot what needs of yours we can. If you need to, ah, relive yourself, simply ask someone out at the barricade to watch your back as you go in the outhouse on the other side.”


with that, the man left. One couldn't help but notice the skull he kept hanging off the back of his belt as he left them to their devices.


The mood was silent, as the gravity of their new job was finally allowed to set in.


this begrudgingly dis paring place was SettleTown, and they would most likely spend the rest, or at least a large portion if they were lucky, of their lives here.


LOST EQUIPMENT:


EVERYONE-


5 Days Rations


1and 2/3 Gallons of Water


Oleander Quick-


10 Pistol Rounds


2 Ounces of Ink


Blakemore Berodach-Baladan-


2 Logs of Firewood


1 Oz of Ink


Ezzion a’Zell-


10 Pages of Paper


2 torches


Iulius Praetorius-


3 torches


2 Feet of Bandages


Heraklius of Palladia-


5 Pistol Rounds


10 Rifle Rounds


2 Pages of Paper


3 Flints


1 PoundKeg of Gunpowder


Rodea Cain-


Wagon


2 Spare Strings


5 Hunters Arrows


5 Knightslayer Arrows


1 Set of Clothes


(from here ill give everyone a moment to do IC thoughts and talk among eachother)

 

[Melissia]

Pondering to herself, Rodea took in the sights of hew new "home", taking a long time to think about it all. The mayor was annoying. And Mr. Grimm? Was she in a fairy tale or something? The woman shrugged amidst the hustle and bustle of everyone moving in, getting her surviving crate-- she may have lost her wagon, but she still had most of her stuff at least due to to her crate, thankfully!-- in one corner away from the beds, and made herself a makeshift mattress with some of the blankets, next to it. "Could'a be worse, I s'pose." she idly checked her remaining inventory of things. She wasn't used to having this much at once, but that doesn't mean she didn't value it all rather highly.

 

[Nepty]

With a clatter, Ezzion heaped all his belongings on a bed and sat down, definitive marking that bed as his. He wasn't going to get mauled by something because he didn't have a good night's rest beforehand. Everyone else seemed preoccupied with looking around their new home. He opened up his haversack and rummage about inside until he'd draw out a piece of paper and some ink. He counted up the sheaves. So he still had some of his paper at least, but the rest was gone someplace back down the road. He leaned back silently and watched the others. At least they all looked like they could handle themselves if it came to a fight, but Ezzion wasn't about to wager his life on it. They'd traveled together for four days, rumbling through the western forest in a too-small cart, so he figured he had the measure of them all by now. Herak of course he'd known for years, and knew from experience that the man was a crack shot with that big gun be carried everywhere. The other Legionary, the one who seemed more like a career soldier would probably be the better one of them all to back in a fight, if not for the huge moorlander. In any other group of fleabitten sellswords, Ezzion would have sidled up to the man and ingratiated himself immediately. The man had the reach of a giant, and his strength was like nothing human. Two days past, Ezzion had seen the moorlander's long fingers idly twisting a length of hempen rope until it had snapped clean. In any other case, Ezzion would have tried speaking to him already.


But this wasnt any other case. The man was as unnatural to him as these dark woods were. No one worshiped the Dark Pilgrim (as the strange god who everyone feared was named in the northeast) in Zell. No one sane at least. The One Who You Fear had no place in Zeln worship, and those that lit a candle to him on PrayerDays were never praying for anything nice.


Still, Ezzion planned on working up the courage to speak to the moorlander at some point.


The other ones seemed alright by his books, but again, none to trust without reason. Six years riding with a sellsword company will do that to you. The Tattered Band had been worse than some companies, but better than most at least.


Most would disdain the huntress as a woman playing at a man's job, but Ezzion had too often gone sword-to-mace with the priestesses of the City of the Maiden to gainsay women fighting any more. She looked capable enough, but he had yet to see her bend her war bow. He'd need to make a point to do that some time.


The last one, Oleander, seemed decent enough, but they hadn't talked much. In the carriage everyone had simply sat there in queasy silence. Except for the Moorlander who hadn't looked bothered at all. Or anything. That mask gave little away. Oleander seemed like the best bet bar Heraklius for someone to talk to. Iulius the legionary carried himself with an arrogance only those who were used to command had, and the huntress was close-mouthed and close-minded by nature, and Ezzion could not bring himself to imagine any scenario where the moorlander would be anything other than 'silent companion' at best. Ezzion let them go about their duties and closed his eyes to go to sleep. Likely nightfall would give them work.

 

[admiral9]

Heraklius dropped his backpack on the bed next to Ezzion and proceeded to sit down, ensuring it was clear he claimed it as his like his compatriot did before him. He proceeded to start counting his essentials coming down to two lost pages, fifteen bullets of varying types, three pieces of flint and one of his gunpowder kegs.


Rather worried he proceeded to inspect his longlock taking the weapon apart and taking a closer look at some of the more delicate parts, thankfully though the weapon appeared to be fine, and so his livelihood was too.


Noticing no one had yet attempted to strike up any form of conversation and the grim atmosphere from the carriage ride here still appeared to be persisting, Heraklius, the great and magnanimous pretender to the fallen gods would lead the way.


"So my compatriots, I feel that there is something we together can do about this silence, let us introduce ourselves so that we will gain a proper understanding of those fighting with us!" He started, speaking in a bombastic and over exaggerated manner like he often did with strangers.


"I am Heraklius of Palladia, a former marksmen from the nation of Zall and the one that is destined to lead the world to greatness after i succeed in achieving my divine destiny and take my place as supreme general of the legion. For you see I have had great visions in my life, and I know within my heart that we all deserve better, under the leadership of a rebuild legion we can reach true peace and power! And that leadership will most certainly as you have already observed, astute lads that you are, fall unto me!" Heraklius having finished his brief introduction hoped someone else would pick up and continue the introductory round.

 

[Melissia]

Rodia looks rather uninspired, watching the strange man introduce himself and attempt to assume leadership position as if it was his right to do so. After a long wait, she speaks up. "And that means wot, roy? Th'ain't no fancy legions round 'ere." She doesn't have an aggressive tone about it, she just doesn't really seem to care. "I'm Rodia, a hunter. Archering long as walkin'."

 

[Nepty]

Ezzion's eyes shot open when Herak started one of his speeches. Somewhat perturbed, he shot a sidelong glance at the legionary, hoping the man wouldn't take umbridge at his companion's bombastic speech. He propped himself up on one elbow and smirked insolently at the rest of the room as the lady started to talk. When she was done, he said his piece. "I think I told you lot my name back in the carriage the other day," he allowed, "But in case the memory'a dribbled out of anyone's ear, my name is Ezzion, I'm late of Zell like Heraklius here, though it's like you already guessed that from my manner and look."


He shoved the last open bed away from his own and stowed his things under it, between the floor and his bed, and promptly closed his eyes again, listening with half an ear as he hoped to get some sleep.

 

[The Glass Ninja]

Home. Oleander had been thinking...of home. In the carriage, staring into the metal of one of his knives, watching Sibelia move and sing for him. Whenever she was this boisterous he thought of the leaning house he and his master had shared, stooped over the narrow street. He still had the deed, though he had rented it out to a young family for a pittance before leaving; there was no need to charge them a great deal. She had been most common there, when he was happy. The tiny form dancing on his blade, sylvan eyes fluttering and legs kicking in some fae dance, had calmed his mind against the darkness of the journey - though he had said his first words upon losing some of his pistol rounds. Cursing like the sailors his mother used to bed, he had taken up most of his equipment in his backpack and mourned the ammunition for a few moments before retaking his seat behind the Zell sellsword and carrying on. Sibelia was gone, much to his consternation and his mind was a riot until they arrived in settletown.


Their quarters were underwhelming. Three beds for six, and the mattress seemed barely capable of holding his gangly form without his feet sticking out over the edge where crawling beasties could sink there teeth into them. A corner seemed like a better bet - he lay his cloak down as a makeshift bed. The travellers coat of leather would serve as his blanket, and he always had spare clothes. Turning to his companions he removed his hat and held it over his heart, bowing gently at the waist. "I, am Oleander. Though my name slipped back at our place of meeting, I feel I must introduce myself." The voice, was cold. A hint of gravel betrayed the scar across his neck and a touch of accent almost made him seem like an aristocrat of the Unmentionable. Jaques training showing itself. The smirk that brought deformed the black mask over his mouth. The hat was replaced, and the bounty hunter straightened, adjusting his bandoleer of knives and his pistol across his chest. "It is my pleasure to meet you all. Lets spill some blood together" and the last, betrayed the thirst for battle beneath the pale face, and under the green eyes. He had to make Jaque proud, afterall.


The exchange between the huntress - he wondered if he could mimic her accent, it was an interesting one; he'd not encountered it before - and the legionary set him to smiling as he sank into his corner, covering himself with his coat. The cold had burrowed into his bones like a worm of ice and he could feel it nibbling at his soul. Best to remain warm, to keep himself sane within his ball of warmth. The arrogance of Heraklius set the smirk off again - the gunman was obviously very confident in himself. Of course, these legion types always were. Religions could be so...so strange.

 

[Cashdash25]

Iulius Preatorius, veteran Legionary officer with more than two decades of battle experience laughed as he set his meager belongings upon the last bed, a harsh, bitter laugh. "Boy, there has not been a Supreme General of the Legion in twelve years, I know, I watched the Azerothians hang him, right before they branded a T on my back and scattered the Legion to the wind." He ran a hand through his graying hair before gesturing around the room. "How many of these people are even old enough to remember the Legion? The girl certainly doesn't." He inspected every inch of Heraklius with the eye of an expirenced recruiter. "If you think you've got the balls to succeed where this old Tribune failed, and rebuild the Legion, then I wish you the best of luck." He said bitterly.


After a moment of silence he turned and sat down upon the bed. "I hope no one will begrudge an old officer a bed?"

 

[Anaxial]

There journey to Settletown had been a most uneventful one, aside from the rustling of a lone quarter horse. Still, Blakemore couldn't deny that restlessness was an agony that even a fellow such as he could do without and welcomed the idea of rest- even if his face remained unreadable by his fellows. As they entered the tavern room, the beanstalk of a man hunched over to walk 'neath the door hinge and gazed out as his compatriots had already began to settle themselves. His eyes lazily drifted over the silent individuals and he took up a spot dead center of the room, dropping his pack with a loud clatter of it's contents. Sliding the bag to the side with his foot, the towering man unhesitantly began undoing his robes and allowed the dark mauve clothes to drop to the floor with a soft thud.


Wearing nothing but an addition wrapping of cloth to cover from his navel to just above his knees. The rest of his body was exposed for all to see and brandished the scars of his past, his skin was a sickly grey in color and wrapped taught against his bones and minimalistic muscle mass. At first glance, the skin may have appeared wrinkled, only upon closer inspection did it show that it was layers upon layers of scar tissue that gave his body the unnerving appearance that it did. Blakemore turned his back to the others, facing the door now and revealing his back had layers upon layers of whip-lashes. A perceptive one may have been able to tell from the angle of the scars that these lashes were self-inflicted. Blakemore pushed his robes into a semi-circle and sat with his legs intertwined betwixt his mauve coverings and removed the more fanciful embellishments of his mask, exposing the bald, burned scalp of the man and his pocketed bottom jaw.


Thankfully this grotesque figure wouldn't be seen for long as the man wrapped himself in the blanket that was stashed away in his own backpack and took slow deliberate breaths to force himself into a lax state of mind. When the others began chattering behind him, he could help but peek over his shoulder at them and felt that they only deserved an introduction- and an explanation for his being here.


"Mmm.... Hmmmm...." His voice was surprisingly charming despite his appearance, the voice of a theatre actor, or perhaps a Lord's page. He hummed quietly to himself as the others spoke but watched them in his peripheral vision over his shoulder. "You must excuse my reclusiveness, a servant of The One must dedicate himself I'm sure you understand." He retorted as he placed a gangly hand against the hard wooden floor and adjusted his body to better meet their gaze. "I am Blakemore, Berodach-Baladan- From the dark moor... The son of Death." A crooked smile crept across his lips, just barely in view from behind his metal mask. Still, it was a smile that belonged to a proud man, surprisingly lacking malicious intent.

 

[Klimino Zepehphor]

a hour or so after the last meagre light of day had past, the door to the shoddy accommodation of the newcomers was flung open and the outside cloaked by the massive body of a brute of a man, rivaling Blackmore in height but beating him in sheer muscle.


“dinner time, Mayor Jenkins has requested all of you attend.” with that, the scale clad, grey haired man, whos face was covered in scars, turned and started stomping away, before stopping for a moment and turning back around.


“im Grimm by the way. Remember it, youll be learning to listen to what I say or learn we dont keep troublemakers here for very long.”


over the next few minutes, everyone slowly in their own time entered into the darkness of SettleTowns night, the place sparsely lit by an underwhelming number of Torches and Lanterns.


Making their way to the INN where they had been told dinner was to be, the group entered to a surprisingly much more well lit environment. The main room it seemed, had been converted to a dining hall, a large table filling up the usually empty service room.


“ah, welcome welcome!” Jenkins, sitting at the far head of the table, said enthusiastically, standing up and giving a polite bow.


“take a seat take a seat, please get comfortable. The food will be out shortly I assure you.” taking his own seat again, with Mr.Grimm in a clearly custom sized chair next to him, the mayor gave everyone a moment to pick their seat before clapping.


Quickly a server entered the room, a tray of wine glasses and a single bottle.


As he went around giving everyone a glass, those with a keen eye would notice the wine was of an insanely high quality, the type a single glass would usually take a handful of lordshares to drink.


“i will apologize, but this is our last bottle of wine, oh but what better occasion then such a grand surge to our ranks as what you have provided by being here!”


suddenly, the INN door opened, and a tall, lean man in a black cloak entered.


“uhh, sorry im late, you called for me Mayor?”


“ah yes, everyone meet Zander Orelius, he was our only newcomer last week, truly a shame. Come come take a seat. Yes right there at the extra wine glass.”


after the newcomer had been situated, Jenkins let the silence sit, his mile never wavering, before the server came back out.


Clapping enthusiastically, jenkins said “oh the first course, wonderful truly wonderful.”


as a strange bowl of some over seasoned, black...stuff, was set before everyone, jenkins did not hesitate giving it a taste test, chuckling ot himself after he had finished his bite.


“i do apologize if it isnt the most....appetizing. The forest does...things to the game around here, the meat doesn't...stay solid, as it cooks. I do assure you though, it is quite edible, and most likely just as healthy!”


after a few more moment of letting everyone dig in a bit, he clapped again.


“now, I know how newomers are. Come, come! Ask away, I know you must have some questions burning a hole in your head! Dont be shy, let me answer whatever questions you may have, you too Zander I apologize for not having time before to properly talk with you, but we have been in need of every man we could get along the walls up until now.”


( @Clockwork Syringe you can post now)

 

[Cashdash25]

"Up until now?" Iulius asked as he dug into his meal with the kind of enthusiasm only a veteran soldier can eat with. "The forest relenting? I don't know what you lot have been fighting, but if they're backing off it usually means they're preparing for a big push."

 

[Nepty]

Ezzion was without a few vices. He contemplated the food before him.


In fact, he had quite a lot of vices, and strong drink was one of them. He'd already raised a brow in suspicion at the vintage. It was from Grottstock, and they made damned good wine there. An old vintage too, by the carving on the bottle. He clinked cups manfully with Heraklius. "Burn me, but this is even better vintage then when lord Telrog asked us to sup with him!" he announced, feeling rather happier now that some sour red was flowing. Lord Telrog had been one of their employers when Heraklius had run with the Tattered Band in Unmentionable territory, fighting all up and down the contested Maine. Telrog had been an unmentionable lord of no small thirst and appetite, and had feasted his men quite well. He'd been open-handed with the plunder too. Some of Ezzion's best memories were from working for Telrog. A pity that he'd thought to try and rob a Maidener caravan. Last Ezzion had seen of Telrog, he was feeding the crows in a Maidener gibbet.


Truth be told, Ezzion was still a bit guilty over that. He shoved it from his mind and with a Zeln oath of "Drinkhail!" from him and Heraklius, he threw back the glass, downing half of it in one go and enjoying the savor of the wine, while his companion partook of his own. With that, he good-naturedly elbowed the man to his side, Oleander, and toasted him. "Your health." He raised the glass and downed the rest of it.


The food didn't worry him so much, turning to liquid and all that. It was queer, true, but Ezzion had eaten worse in the siege of Aser.


The thought crossed his mind of course that their host had doctored the food. He seemed like an odd type. Ezzion brushed it off in his mind. Poisoning the food would serve little purpose, wouldn't it? He spooned up and ate some. It tasted fine, if a bit over-spiced. He wondered how they could afford to pay for this many spices.


Ezzion's brows knitted. This was unnaturally rich fare. He took the glass that the man Grim had refilled from the dwindling bottle and sipped from it, looking over the rim at their host. The wine was pleasant and burned hot veins down through Ezzion's chest, but he hardly noticed. The spices alone would be excusable, of course. But the spices would cost money. the wine too would cost money. And how much were they being paid a day? A lot of money. Ezzion's suspicions mounted as dinner wore on and conversations began to pick up. Try as he might to banish them from his mind, he grew somewhat anxious. He leaned back, ostentiably loosening his belt, but taking the chance to loose his sword in his scabbard. Just in case. He truly doubted their host would harm them, but one didn't live long as a sellsword by trusting freely.

 

[The Glass Ninja]

Oleander waited for a moment, watching as those around them drank their wine and ate their food. His eyes were focused on the Mayor. The leather of his coat shifted and pulled and he stood, removing the long garment and draping it over the back of his chair. Pulling off his hat and moving his mask to rest at his throat, he let a smile slip across his face and clapped the cheerful Zellman by his side on the shoulder. "And to yours, my friend" he said, taking up his own wine and enjoying the burn as it raced down his throat. The last time Grottstocker wine had passed his lips had been years ago, in the home of a target. It had been a good bonus after having to chase the fool from Toln, across the Haith and right into Haithwen. Both he and Jaque had lost good boots in that damnable river and took great pleasure in finally collecting their bounty after the man's unfortunate death at his own hands.


"What" Oleander began, addressing the Mayor and raising his voice from its usual softness "is our purpose here? Fighting was advertised but I would like to know of our targets, to better prepare for hunting them"

 

[Klimino Zepehphor]

Jenkins chuckled as he turned to Iulius and gave a shrug as he sipped his wine.


"nothing of the sort. we have yet to meet a group organized or willing to fully try and destroy our town, it is simply the...beasts, of theses parts, can pose quite a threat by themselves."


getting clearly serious for a moment, though his smile didn't fade, the major set down his wine and crossed his hands on the table.


speaking clearly now to answer both Iulius and Oleander, he continued.


"no,i merely mean that with you newcomers, we finally have number enough to send you lot out to take care of some...troubling business endevours, we have been in need of cleaning up on. a mighty fine time to test whether your worth the pay too, id reckon." he said with a chuckle.


before he could continue, the server came out with the second course, setting a...disturbed visage on the center of the table.


to a trained hunter, it might be recognizable as what was once a pig, but the forest had twisted and warped it into some mild abomination. it too, was stuffed with fruits and stuffings made to mask the...odd texture, of the meat.


"ah, the second course, feel free to cut off as much as you would like." Jenkins said with a smile, as the server set a plate and utensils down in front of everyone, as well as a glass, strangely, of cooled milk.


"ah, now where was i? oh, yes, my friends, you are all here, because come mourning, i will be sending you on quite the mission. important matters i assure you, one more then worth what we will be paying you. i thought it only fair to welcome you well with how fast will be sending you back out." he said with a shrug, dumping the last of his wine into the milk and taking a long sip.


"i do hope that clears the air a bit."

 

[admiral9]

"What a glorious occasion this is! Brethren here we will seal our cooperation by drinking the night away, no greater way to familiarizing ourselves I say!" Heraklius, boisterous as ever bellowed as he took a big gulp of the wine feeling the firey liquid stream down and after warming his upper body rest in his stomach, the food to the contrary was bad, disappointingly so, but it was masked by a very generous amount of spicing.


Heraklius, wanting to discover what kind of man the mayor was then proceeded to offer a toast to the mayor, wondering if he would accept it


"To your and all of settletowns wellbeing my friend!" he exclaimed after which he, like his comrade Ezzion did, downed the rest of the wine.

 

[Nepty]

"Mission?" asked Ezzion, taking a more measured sip. This was strong wine. He blinked hard to clear his head. "Beasts?" He shrugged. "Killing a few wolves isn't that hard. Point us in the right direction, we'll bring you up some new pelts."

 

[Cashdash25]

"Darker things than wolves lurk in these woods." Iulius said, directing his voice at the mercenary, Ezzion. "Remember the horse?" He continued as he cut into the pig, seemingly undisturbed by the taste and texture. "First rule of warfare, never underestimate a foe."

 

[Klimino Zepehphor]

the mayor broke out into loud laughter, echoing in the small room.


"i assure you...Ezzion? wolves are hardly the biggest threat to these parts, and they themselves are no longer ordinary. much less friendly these wolves and beasts."

 

[Nepty]

"Say what you will," he allowed, swishing the wine about, before setting it down and cutting off a generous rasher of bacon from the pig. "You know these lands better than we do. But beast or not most everything dies when you cut it's head off. These things do have heads, I hope? I won't have to try and cut off it's cock like some fairy tale knight?"

 

[Klimino Zepehphor]

smiling a bit wider as he took another sip, the mayor shrugged.


"i suppose most appear to have both their heads yes."

 

[admiral9]

"We'll be shooting rounds up their asses if it kills them, everything can be killed when you apply proper firepower... even uppity mayors who refuse to acknowledge their betters." Heraklius, feeling his pride was hurt with the disinterested return from the mayor felt he should ensure people knew where they stood.


"Now lets not waste any more time, I want to have some bacon." Dropping a large slice of bacon from the pigs belly on his plate he proceeded to dig in, tasted a bit more meat like if anything, still overspiced mushy garbage at the end of the day though sadly enough.


"Say does any solid food ever reach this place? Or is it all mush?" Heraklius asked as he proceeded to set the milk aside "Wheres the alcohol anyways, expect us to be content with pansy milk?"

 

[Nepty]

Ezzion raised an eyebrow at his companion's ardor but said nothing. He wouldn't intrude on Herak's grievances, even if he thought it was bad form to insult your host. He took another swig. In past days, he would have modulated the drinking, but thinking about old Telrog had made him feel the need for a few more to wash away that sour memory.

 

[Cashdash25]

Iulius turned his attention to his fellow Legionary, mouth agape in shock and disbelief at what he had just witnessed. After a scant half a second he stood, rising himself to his full height. "You call yourself a Legionary?" He thundered, "I have not seen such a disgraceful display since the failure of the two hundred thirtieth cohort at Elmenel! Such manners wouldn't be acceptable in the barracks, let alone at a formal dinner! In the presence of an officer no less!" He slammed an armored fist into the table for emphasis. "Your entire cohort would be horsewhipped for such a display were the Legion still united!" A hateful, seething glare punctuated the enraged Tribune's tirade. He took a moment to calm himself, slowly lowering himself into his seat again before turning to the Mayor. "Please, accept my apologies for my fellow's poor behavior and my outburst, it seems the Legion's training standards have slackened since our collapse." He cast a warning glance at Herkaklius, "I shall rectify that as soon as time allows."

 

[Nepty]

The mirth danced in Ezzion's eyes as he watched. Heraklius was a grown man, able to hold his own both in battle and in shouting, but the tirade from the tribune had impressed him. And his eardrums. Plus, Ezzion knew better than to step into legionary affairs. Even dead, the old army's name still commanded a measure of respect. He leaned to his right, and spoke to Oleander under his breath, so that neither legionaries could hear. "You're a learned man, aren't you?"

 

[admiral9]

Heraklius, having some visions of the past returning to him shuddered, the tone, the anger, and the punishment to come... all reminded him of his training, he proceeded to stand up and snap around to face Iulius.


"Sir, I apologize for my unruly conduct! I will accept any punishment you have for me and move to better myself for the legion!" It was outside of his control, for all his pride Heraklius had been ingrained with the spirit of a legionary since the day he was born, disregarding the orders of a superior was not something he was capable of, if he wanted to or not.