Fantasy We are the Cursed

[Shog]

King Elred and Queen Erinda Banris fear a war with Deva. King Olgid and Queen Baslin Devgart of Deva have begun making aggressive policies and seem intent on expanding their kingdom. After a recent plague in Bandar, they are the easiest target for expansion as they are in no position to properly defend themselves. The Bandar royalty are desparate to stop the war, but cannot offically take any action without causing a diplomatic incident. Instead they have sent out some of their most trusted agents to find people with nothing to lose and recruit them for a mission to stop the war at all costs. Well, almost all costs. Regicide would have to be a last ditch effort and only if they were confident it would stop the war.

With the new agents, the Cursed, recruited they now meet at a small shack in the Bandar countryside. Hopefully they don't want to kill each other on sight.


A surprisingly small shack stood alone in the field, light pouring out of it's single window. The sun had set less than half an hour ago and already the air had a chilling touch to it, but this didn't bother Tyr. He'd spent many cold nights in the forest before. What did bother Tyr was the open field. If anyone was watching they's surely see multiple pairs enter a hut in the middle of nowhere, but he supposed they probably had a plan for that. The royal guard who had first found him in his cabin near Riverguard was now escorting him towards what he called "the drop point." Probably to try and be discrete, but there was nothing discrete about a fully armored member of the royal guard clearly escorting some commoner with a bow.

Tyr's escort knocked some pattern onto the door and it creaked over just enough to see a woman pear through the gap. She inspected the pair for just a moment before pulling it open and letting them in. The space was cozy, he had to admit. A fire burred on the far wall with some rather appetizing smelling soup simmering over it, several plush chairs circled a large table, and a bearskin rug laid out in the middle of the room. There were no doors beyond the one he just walked through. Inside stood a couple others in armor on each side of the window. Tyr's escort motioned for him to take a seat and, after some hesitation, chose one near the fire where he could see the window, everyone else currently in the room, and the door. He briefly contemplated if this was some elaborate set up to kill him, but reminded himself that they clearly knew where he was. If they wanted to kill him they'd ambush him while in his normal form with silver arrows. No, they had to be telling the truth. He was still to anxious to get comfortable, but now there was nothing to do but wait.

 

[idalie]

Lazarus Ceridwyn​

They really were desperate to gather the cursed of all people. Nothing else to live for but hope, to put their faith in what a Kingdom could do for them. Lazarus began to wonder what miracles of Man could combat that of deep magic, whether or not they’d open him up one day and find the terrible flames that smouldered his insides. What would they do? What could they do? Those hands of his had done too much sin to avoid this penance, too much sin to relieve himself of the charred flesh. In the end he prayed for pity; to finally see the message from the divines above and be rewarded relief. It’d been so long he wasn’t sure what life was like without it, that constant agony in the back of his head that ran the length of his limbs and punctured his resolve from dawn to dusk of each rising day.

He met with his escort as promised on the edge of the city, a pack slung over his shoulder and armour battered. He had no allegiance to this crown, no birth that linked him to the blood of the land - standing out of no obligation to fight. Was this some sort of fate-bound line his life took? Twisted doubly around death and now the prospect of failure like he’d never understood it before. A country was at stake, a country of pleasant strangers who had suffered enough. The plague which had torn across the land had been gruesome and even now the graves were fresh. Mass pits dug in panic, tiny graves for tiny bodies. Disease was something invisible, untouchable, you could only watch as it reduced your life to ashes and took every last thing you held dear.

They walked for what seemed hours, resting shortly in-between to reach their destination on schedule. Through small copses of trees that knelt to the winds and wide fields you could see forever on; grass flattened and shaking like the waves on a foreign sea. The sun sank, evening draping it’s fine quilt across the open sky in an amassing of fading colour. Soon the twinkle of starlight emerged, dimly illuminating the path toward the lone shack. Strange to see it here, as if an abstract painting, expecting to see some fair woman outside with her back to him. Vibrant and mysterious, the shapes altering amongst the darkness, melting into the over-active imagination of the human mind.

The escort knocked as the one had prior, Lazarus’ invitation of sorts tucked into the inside of his cloak. Soon enough the door creaked open, heat seeping out. Inside they ducked, the burned man’s escort leaving considering the admirable amount of protection this strange cabin seemed to already have. Between Lazarus and their strange host, the only other who couldn’t be identified as one of the guards could be recognised as an elf, or half-elf, the shadows strewed oddly about for him to make an informed guess. He was pointed toward an empty seat, the fireplace offering few crackles to punctuate the silence.

He had no doubt there were a host of questions lingering between him and this unfamiliar companion. So much so, the grey-eyed mercenary spoke up. “What’s all this then?” Lazarus’ brow twitched upward into a neat arch. Low voice smoother than molasses, waiting for what was left of their group to arrive

Mentioned: N/A
Interactions: Shog

 

[Shog]

Tyr didn't have to wait long before a familiar knock rang out against the door. A man entered and Try spotted another, presumably the new figure's escort, take his leave. As the newcomer approached and took a seat, Tyr inspected him. He was thoroughly covered, wraps of bandages covering what his cloak and armor could not. He was easily tall enough to be an elf or half-elf, though his stature indicated he was at least partly human. His hood cast a shadow across his face, making it difficult to distinguish much of his features. His grey eyes shown through with surprising clarity, which honestly unnerved Tyr a bit.

What caught his attention most, besides those eyes, was the man's bow. Tyr wasn't sure what it was, but something about the way the man carried himself with the tool gave Tyr the impression he was well versed in the craft. If nothing else, Try had to respect the stranger in that regard. He had placed his own bow to the side of his chair away from the door.

Tyr shrugged his shoulders in response to the man's question. "A shack," he said in a slightly gruff voice. "I don't suppose you saw any of our other potential companions?"

idalie

 

[The Suspicious Eye]

Eve

The ride was long and silent, Eve could feel the stares of her escort. The wondering look in their eyes, asking why the queen ordered them to take close care of this cursed individual? Why steeds were even provided to them alone along with a small travel pack? What was so important to this listless wisp of a woman, looking no older than nineteen. Eve could feel their eyes and yet only looked out towards the scenery ahead of her. The soft flickering ears of the horse twitching with the change of the wind, framed her vision as it grew too much to stand upright. Teetering forward she fell against the strong neck of the steed as it continued its steady pace beside the two escorts and their steeds. Eve turned her ear to the horse and stroked the steed's neck in a slow comforting motion. It is lucky to be alive. She thought to herself, her line of sight directed to one of the male escorts she stared through him.

Her grey eyes, hollow and lifeless as if the light was taken from them long long ago, leaving only a husk to breathe shallowly. She watched as the guardsman shuddered and turned away from the woman, trying his best not to look back at her. For if he did, he'd be met with those lifeless eyes yet again. Her hand was still stroking the soft side of the horse throughout the rest of the trip until her arm grew numb and tired. Slumping down to her side she looked down at the place where she stroked the horse. There were no scars, or marks, but there was a distinct sheen on where she continuously brushed it's fur. Tilting her head she looked at it and then lifted her numb limb.

It is such a strange experience. She thought to herself as they neared a small shack in the middle of the field. The horses came to a halt in unison and the two soldiers dismounted. The small woman trembled as she pushed herself up and turned to attempt to dismount. Sliding her leg over the corse saddle her whole body slipped and she tumbled to the ground, landing with a heavy thud. Both of the guardsmen cursed and one went to lift the woman up and back onto her feet. She kept the distant look on her face as they wiped the dirt off her face. Her strange white garb and stones on her head was surprisingly unstained, pristine and clean as always. She looked at the guard dead on, her hollow eyes looking more lost than deathly. The guard felt a bit sorry for the poor cursed child and tried his best to give her a smile. "There ya go right as rain, eh?" The guard said as he finished.

Eve lifted her dirty hands up to her face to touch it only to smear more dirt onto her face. The guard sighed and wiped the dirt off her hands and face yet again, while the other moved to the door and knocked a pattern against the door. A pair of eyes looked out and stepped over to the side to get a good glimpse of the cursed girl as the guard finally finished. Closing the small slot the doors opened and the guards urged the girl in. Stumbling a bit she glided into the room and towards one of the soft cushioned chairs beside the fire. Paying no mind to the others around her, passing by the hooded figure without even a glance.

Her body froze as stepped onto the bearskin rug. Staring straight into the fire she took a step forward and then another until she stood in the center of the rug. Rolling her head down she knelt and ran her hands against the soft fur of the beast. It was worn and bristly unlike the soft silk-like fur of the horse. Her head turned to the hollowed head of the bear and knelt there waiting for the beast's ears to twitch, as she stroked the coarse fur. Her hand stopped and she raised it up to look at it. It's lucky to be dead. Looking up her eyes turned to Tyr. The light from the fire illuminating in her silver mirrored eyes, giving the illusion of life she stared into him, with fiery silver eyes.

Slowly the lids of her eyes closed and her head turned to focus on the next chair beside the fire. Standing up she glided over and climbed into the cushioned confines of the chair. Pulling her feet under her she curled into a warm ball and looked over at Tyr. Then turned away to face the door, staring the hooded man down with a empty look.

 

[idalie]

Lazarus Ceridwyn​

“Admirable deducement,” Lazarus remarked upon the comment from the elven stranger, glancing to the bow he shifted. A camaraderie between archers, unspoken but the understanding was clear. There was respect, nothing akin to trust but there remained the foundations. “I didn’t see anyone from my side, came through alone. Seems like people’ll catch up on their own time.” He remained hunched forward slightly, shoulders tense and unwilling to unfold to match his broad form. Silence again, drowning in it. Save for the insanity-stirring crackle and pop of twigs charring in the fireplace. Human skin made the sizzle of pig fat. He remembered that well.

In stumbled the third of their growing party, beginning to gather further odd individuals. A young woman by the looks of it, crowned by unfamiliar jewels and taking interest in the bearskin rug that cushioned weary feet as they wandered in from the outside. First, she watched them, Tyr specifically. Finding her seat by the warmth, her eyes turned unto him. Empty as they were, silver disks of the moon on a serene pond. Nothing moved, not a ripple to be found from below. With a gaze like that, it was hard not to question whether her curse had made her not all there in the head. Suffering too perhaps, but from what?

As much as it was interesting, Lazarus turned his head and remained vigilant on the door and the woman who hosted them. That made three, how many left were there to go? Who would join them in their mission, was it not suicide? Or would they be the ones to spill blood other than their own? Too many questions by far.

His scarred fingers ran the length of the bow’s string, brow furrowed in thought. Jaw clenching intermittently noted from the slight shift of his hood and cloth which concealed further of his face. Few people had seen him without those bandages which hid his shame. The demon that wrought his curse, his mother, and the townsfolk who had thought to help him; twisted and mangled as he lay on their doorstep. It was his redemption he sought, redemption and humble lessons. No doubt the people around him had equally been brought to ruin.

It was they he should pray for, not himself. Not any longer. Where the lepers begged for alms, kindness served a reminder they were cherished. Once people who had been sons and daughters. Yet it was through the disciples the scriptures were spread and through the disciples, they could be enacted. There was no such thing as a miracle, nothing but the sweat on the foreheads of well-meaning men.

The fire grew to a crescendo in his mind and the mercenary again began to speak up. “I’m Lazarus. If we’re to be getting introductions over now rather than later.” He grabbed at his palm, releasing the weapon he had occupied himself with to press his thumb into the centre. Working a massage into the muscle that had decided it be a ripe time to flare up. A few seconds later it stopped, leaving Laz with the breath to speak again. “I look forward to sharing the road ahead until our prodigal return.”

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Interactions: The Suspicious Eye Shog

 

[Aloha Loha]

“Goood yer ugleh!” boisterously declared Gilles’ escort, a well-dressed looking man garbed in chain-mail, tabard and so forth, perched upon a noble looking white steed. The steed had a few packs on it, none of which were Gilles’ belongings, all of them were reserved for the horse and her rider. Even with the presence of nasty weather, the ground after all was still tainted from storms which had past, the man maintained a pristine appearance. Gilles, on the other-hand, did not. It was not just the fact that he was a deformed monster, he was used to that, but rather the fact he was drenched in muck and mire. His body was caked in mud which had dried itself onto him, causing a painful weight added to some of the tumors present. All he had upon his person besides the horrible things nature provided to him, was a trusty wooden staff with a chunk of tumor that throbbed off to make room for an even larger tumor, and a thin burlap sack which too was caked in muck. Gilles simply hoped that contents, particularly the jar of resen, whey, soft cheeses and paint brush would not find themselves damaged.

With each step of the horse’s trot, large chunks of mud flung swift and true towards Gilles feet as he shambled through muck with his bare-feet. Passing through brambles, Gilles let out a distinctive grimace and low pitched whimper.

This irked the man who proceeded to throw acorns at Gilles’ face, to which Gilles responded by grumbling and feebly moving his good arm, after all he could not get much done with the left, and staff to try to block em. “Fastah ya flea-ridden vermin! Quickah we get there, fastah I’m done wit ya. ...Though I’d bet ye would make a good circus attraction wouldn’tcha?” The escort proceeded to let out a loud laugh, which even the horse seemed to get in on.

Glancing down Gilles let out a quick murmur under his breath, “Other men have tried.” He turned his attention back up, still frowning from the brambles that lodged themselves within his feet. Eventually the pair found themselves at the designated field where a simple shack would serve as base of operations for their affairs. Gilles let out a quick sigh of relief, knowing that at least he no longer had to be around the escort and that sooner he could be left alone. Knocking the pattern at the door, the code was accepted and the door was opened. Trudging into the door, away from the hostilities of the elements he proceeded to take a good look at his surroundings.

It was certainly far more accommodating conditions than he had. And that is when he stared aghast at the other individuals who were present; Gilles was told that there would be others who were cursed. But these individuals were not cursed! Where were there ailments?! What kept them from society, not a single blemish or boil. Gilles scowled as he shambled towards a corner of the room.

“What cruel farce – to throw a freak amongst the mundane...” lamented Gilles as he reached over his good shoulder, with his good hand to maneuver his sack towards the ground. Bending with his staff he used it to pull the bag towards his bad hand. It was not a very precise hold, as the tumors there did not allow much motion, but it was enough for him to open the bag with his good hand and pull out a few white curds.

These cheese curds were shoved in his mouth as Gilles began to chew upon them; of course a few pieces alongside hefty amounts of drool were pouring from his lips. But at least Gilles was able to eat part of one of his newest batches, a simple yet effective recipe of cheese curds which were salted for flavor and for storage purposes.

 

[Shog]

The new girl that entered was... different. She didn't appear to be all there. Tyr was studdying her the same way he had the other man (Lazarus, as he would soon introduce himself as). But when she looked up at him, he suddenly felt panic well up in his chest. It somehow felt like she was reading is soul and judging him for what he was. He tightly gripped the chair and tried to remain calm and listen to Lazarus, but even though the girl was no longer looking at him he still felt immensely uncomfortable. Him being here was a mistake. The full moon would come, he'd change, and...

He tried his best to divert his thoughts and suppress the beast. He felt it desperately trying to claw its way out, to take control of Tyr's body. Then the now familiar pattern sounded on the front door, giving him something solid to distract himself with. The man that hobbled in was unmistakably hideous and carried a bizarre odor. Tyr had smelled many things from his time as a hunter and even more since contracting lycanthropy, but he had never smelled anything like this before.

"Not all freaks wear it on their face," Tyr snapped. He then stopped for a moment, taking a calming breath. That was probably a bit harsh. Everyone in this room clearly went through something, even if he didn't know what. "Sorry," he grumbled. "Anyway, my name is Tyryth. But please, just call me Tyr."

 

[Ennuis]

On the town's edge, a shabbily dressed man with unkempt hair sat in the shade of a great tree as he picked at a loaf of bread. The bread had been hard earned the night before by helping a local money lender remind a smaller merchant of the payments he had been neglecting. While he wasn't fond of such work, it was easy and kept food in his stomach. Eventually, a heavily armed and armored soldier approached Vincente and grunted at him. "You ready?" The man had contacted Vincente the day before to let him know that the time for the job was coming soon. "As ready as I can be, but couldn't you wear something less conspicuous? What if someone saw us together?" The soldier just grunted at Vincente again. "I do what I'm told, and I hope you can do the same." Vincente finally got up and nodded his head. "Sure, sure. Go and lead the way."

The walk was uneventful for Vincente as he was used to walking through such scenery, you see rolling hills in one kingdom, you've seen them in every other kingdom. "So, is it true what they say?" The soldier finally gave into his curiosity and asked the question. "Well, I suppose that would depend on what they say, now wouldn't it?" Vincente made no attempt to hide the mild annoyance at such a dumb question. "That you can't hold onto money, smartass. It sounds like an excuse from a drunkard or a gambler." The soldier also made no attempt to sound friendly. "Ah, that. Why yes, it is true. Even if I were either of those things, I'd like to think I'd have enough sense to keep a decent shirt." Once again, the soldier grunted.

After some time, the soldier pointed to a shack in the distance and grunted. "Ah yes, that is certainly something." The two then stood in an awkward silence before the soldier spoke up. "That's where we're going." "Aaaand?" "And what?!" The soldier was starting to lose his patience with the man and even worse, he was letting it show. "Aaaand why did you stop to tell me that? Shouldn't we be going? This is rather important you know." Old habits died hard. "I can't wait until I'm done with you. Get going." "And I, you."

When the soldier knocked on the door, one could easily be mistaken to think he was trying to beat the door down, but despite his rage, a woman calmly answered and allowed the two men in. The shack could only be described as cozy inside, but the people were what caught Vincente's eye. Two men, a small girl, and a... What was that? "What's going on here? I wasn't told about any monsters." He couldn't take his eyes off the creature as he was unsure of just what it would do. "Do you even speak?"

 

[The Suspicious Eye]

Eve

Eyes rested on the bandaged man she could sense Tyr's unease just as she felt with the others. The questions and discomfort, screamed from them all, neither that are things she could fix as she is. Still she sat there unblinking as she peered into the silver eyes of this stranger. Peeling away the clothing, the bandages, the flesh, the bone, the tissue, leaving only the purest part. Seeing the true damage, the corrosion of life take ahold. Their voices a empty murur as her mind danced over to him and took a hold of his face. A hand raising up she placed it to her heart and then to her head, before extending out to...nothing. Looking out to the tips of her fingers the world blurred, she couldn't touch what she reached for. What did she reach for?

The world shifted in her mind's eye as a new stranger walked in, she was in a small shack sitting curled up in a comfortable chair by a warm fire. Her flesh tingling with the flicker of the flame as it etched closer to her, pushing her to move. Her body twisted in the chair as she leaned back and pulled her arm to her chest. When did I get here? Her eyesight finally breaking from the hooded figure she looked around for the girl. She was small, so sweet, and so very smart, she loved to play hide and seek. Sliding from her chair she crumpled onto the floor before rising as if pulled by a string. Taking a few steps forward, one and the another she stopped as she felt the bearskin rug under her feet. Rolling her head down she knelt and ran her hands against the soft fur of the beast. It was worn and bristly unlike the soft silk-like fur of the horse. The horse...such a strange experience.

Stroking the bristly fur up and down, her body froze mid motion as she recalled. Oh. The girl grew up. She raised her hand up to her face and inspected it. But. I did not. Clenching her hand into a tight fist she stood up straight and looked over as another stranger made their way in. He was more talkative than the other. Looking around she noticed a small decanter filled with wine. Reaching for it and two cups she poured two glasses. Then stopped. Looking around she noticed a small decanter filled with wine. Reaching for it and two more cups, and poured two more glasses. Picking up two she turned around and her body teetered from left to right for a moment before she caught herself and glided over to Tyr and Lazarus. She stepped towards Tyr firs and placed a glass in his hands. Once her hand was free she reached up to touch the half elf, but stopped herself and turned to the bandaged archer. Stepping over she stopped and knelt down, balancing the cup on the archer's right knee.
Shog idalie

Standing up she took two steps back and looked around she noticed a small decanter filled with wine. Reaching for it and two more cups, and poured two more glasses. Picking up two she turned around and her body teetered from left to right for a moment before she caught herself and glided over to Giles and Vincente. Stepping over to the arguing duo she raised each glass towards the other. "Grew up."

Ennuis Aloha Loha

 

[Aloha Loha]

Gilles just stared between Vincente and Tyr, then onto the other with a furrowed brow. Of course none of these individuals could understand the suffering of a true freak, they could at least fit in with society. Gilles could not. There was no people for the deformed, apart from other truly deformed but none of them ever really took well to each other. He eyed the filled glass for a moment before ignoring it. While Gilles did not often have the luxury to pair cheeses with much liquor, it did not seem suitable with the rustic curds he had. However the introduction of wine made Gilles consider the urge for more cheese, so again he struggled to retrieve his bag from the ground. Again the creature repeated the process of manuevering the bag to be held slightly aloft by his bad hand while the good hand retrieved the soft, white curds. Though unfortunately, much to his chagrin, some of the curds fell down out of the sack and onto the floor. Noticing this, Gilles let out a low sigh resigning himself to the fate that the earth was claiming its due. As for the good cheeses, Gilles was shoveling them into his mouth, as cheese and drool once again poured down his face.

Hobbling sideways, so he could face the man as unlike others he did not have the luxury of being able to twist his neck much, Gilles adjusted his position so he could see Vincente.

"I do not like to." each word slurred out with the tongue dribbling around the tumors present in his maw, and starting to slide down the caked mud present on his body. "It is burdensome, nor ever worth truly worth the effort of expending my breath." Switching positions to glance at the thug of society, Gilles turned to him to speak.

"I have a name but no one ever calls me by it so I do not bother."

Shog The Suspicious Eye Ennuis

 

[idalie]

Lazarus Ceridwyn​

The next poor soul to stumble in was perhaps an embodiment of the lepers he had thought of only seconds prior. Towering tumours with a sweet, sickly scent of malaise. Reminded him of plague. Still, there he sat with his grumbles and groans, filling his mouth as saliva dribbled down his chin in thick strands illuminated by the glow of the fire. Lazarus said nothing in the time that Tyr defended himself, they were all cursed indeed. Whether or not this strange character before them had desired pity for his ailments, he didn’t seem to be getting any. The burned man could only offer empathy, as restricted as it was. Agony came in different forms, curses took that and twisted it until you couldn’t breathe for fear of hurt.

Lazarus nodded in acknowledgement of Tyryth’s introduction, met by the fifth member whom the door closed behind in an alerting creak. The disdain this new stranger held for Gilles being as deformed as he was, was expected but rude nonetheless. Ceridwyn would let such a battle be fought on the crippled grounds, suspecting this articulate, straight-backed man to have his own multitude of complications. Wasn’t his place, unless there be violence sparked over the interaction. Even then the voice at the back of his head questioned their tumour-ridden companion’s abilities. Why he was here, what he could do beyond the senseless complaints.

He was at peace with the situation, save for the eternal investigation as to why and what -- questions had always been a weakness of his. His father had encouraged his inquisitive traits to flourish, curiosity to be satiated in the knowledge of all things. Where there were answers, came information and often again it led back down the rabbit hole only leaving you desiring more. After his encounter with the djinn and recovery, Laz had searched in the archives of where he could, asked those who had the education for it. Firstly he wanted to remove the curse, but the more time passed he believed it to be fate. One day, he’d meet that demon again. Something told him he would. It would not be in forgiveness, but fire. He would see it suffer at his feet.

Eve’s stare bore into him for a long, undefined time. As if she could see beyond the coverings of his face and read the list of sins that got longer by the passing year. Still, she gifted him with wine. Placed on his knee in offering for Lazarus to stare into the red depths. The dull-eyed woman stumbled to the others, offering them in a likewise fashion and a cryptic remark. Grew up? Was she telling them to stop being such children?

The mercenary put his cup aside for a moment, standing up to move over where the girl stood. He was more concerned about her and the lack of strength than he was any cripple who had enough breath to complain. “You should rest. The wine will taste better if you were to join us in drinking it.” He remarked, eyes upturning to Vincente and Gilles. “Bickering will get you nowhere. Names which are discarded are of no help. You will pick a name or it will be born from your deeds.” His grey stare met Gilles, then Vincentes’ before it honed in on the flicker of a nearby candle. Wax dripping, gliding and seeping over the metal rim of the holder. “There are still others coming and this shack would be better in silence.”

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Interactions: Shog The Suspicious Eye Aloha Loha Ennuis

 

[The Suspicious Eye]

Eve

As the cup left her hand, there was still another weight encompassing her hand. What a strange sensation. Standing there amongst the others she dwarfed in comparison to the others. Staring at the duo here eyes rested on Giles. As always they were empty, hollow and lifeless, piercing through the man as he ate his cheese. There was no disgust on her face, there was no emotion whatsoever, simply the blank look as she peered through the mask. It was heavy and fierce, the mask of anger, however once broken through the mask of pain was wide and expansive. The pain was long and winding, the stain of it all reaching deep into the softcore. Eve stared into that core, the shivering mass of what truly was. There was a want in her mind she moved to reach out towards Giles however there was still another weight encompassing her hand, stopping her. Looking down at the cup in her hand she watched as the shifting liquid, the small ripples rolling across the red waters only growing darker the deeper the eyes pushed to break the surface. Darkness.

The footsteps of Lazarus were senseless to the lost figure as she stood there, the ripples in the cup slowly dulling to a passive stillness. Her whole body still as her mind delved into the waters and the growing darkness. There was something there, something in the darkness that pulsated. Her eyes focused on the wine only her head moved up towards Lazarus as he stood beside her. The whites of her eyes meeting his silver eyes, the dead grey veins twitched for a moment, before her lids closed the scene of her eyes, only to open and reveal those dead steel eyes. His voice echoed through her mind like a chamber, over and over, reverberating into the hollow core of her existence.

Empty bodies of shadowy faces formed at the pit of her stomach and slid up to the base of her mind. Her eyes somberly rested on the masked face of Lazarus as she uttered again. "They all grew up." She took a small step towards Lazarus and rested against the man's chest. Her head rubbing against the leather she looked back down at the glass of wine as it rippled once more, it's weight pressing in her hand she let out a soft gasp. What a strange sensation.

Her body was limp against Lazarus, her frame thin and body small compared to others she'd feel quite delicate. As if she was a fragile glass egg still in its existence, but capable of cracking from even the slightest of pressure. Still Lazarus could feel that if he lead her in any direction the small girl would comply with ease. She placed her trust wholeheartedly into Lazarus or at least that was what could be implied. I'm truth her mind was focoused intently on the cup of wine.

idalie Aloha Loha @

 

[Moritz]

Spoiler

Moulder awoke with a violent start at the sound of voices, a wave of fear and loathing rolling through his form as his arms shot out towards his rusted weapons. "What-what?" He hissed, his eyes locking on the approaching party, and their splayed hands. He tossed an uncertain glance towards Bayan, "Could be a trap, yes?" He hissed again as he flailed his arms, gesturing wildly towards the group, "Do not trust, should not trust! Going to just stab me in back, I bet!"

He'd spent the next five minutes arguing against going with the humans. They were armed, and armed humans never meant anything good, and Moulder could feel the loathing radiating from their armored forms. "No, no, no, no. No good, Not to be trusted." He chitters quietly to himself, following after Bayan's cloaked figure, guilt pooling where his stomach used to sit, "Am sorry," He whispered, addressing his Rotten friend, "Would not have been found if had not fed. Sorry."

Moulder kept quiet during the remainder of the trip, save for a quick uneasy chuckle at one of Bayan's odd attempts at comedy, He didn't quite understand until the wave of Bayan's revolting stench filled the air, forcing even Moulder to retch in vile reflex. He pushed past the guards, hissing loudly as he stumbled towards the doorway, "Vile! You are vile Bayan!" He chortled, hesitating as his thoughts turned towards the cabin's interior. He quickly steeled himself as he stalked Bayan into the cabin, hiding behind him like a nervous child, a big stinky shield standing between him and the others idling about the cabins interior.

He surveyed the interior for a quick moment, head cocked as his gaze settled on the the sharp-headed child, before drifting immediately towards the bulbous, tumor-ridden fellow. He immediately prodded Bayan's back, "Bayan, Bayan!" He hissed, all volume control lost, "What is wrong with her head? Why are her teeth on the outside! Is she like us? Can you tell?!" He spoke quickly, his voice taking on a conspiratory tone, "And that one!" He bumbled, waving a noodley arm towards Gilles, "Look at his FACE."

(Apologies for the short post length, pressed for time atm, promise to improve.)

 

[Ennuis]

The vaguely human shaped monster spoke and caused Vincente some discomfort, which was clearly visible on his face. The thick strands of saliva would fall and remoisten the dried mud caked on his body, yet despite how disgusting of a sight it was, Vincente found it difficult to look away from it. To escape the sight, he stepped slightly away from the monster and turned to the others in time to see unamused looks. "Well, even if that is the case, it would appear that the others don't approve of me referring to you as a monster, so I may as well call you by whatever name you chose for yourself."

The man in the black garb seemed especially upset for whatever reason, but other than a small acknowledgement, Vincente paid it no real mind. "Sitting in silence isn't my style, and it shouldn't be your style either. Time passes much slower when nothing is happening." This unfortunate truth, has had a huge impact on the former noble in the recent years. Before he would spend his time pursuing countless pleasures, but now he often found himself waiting and hoping to find more work as an armed thug for whatever low life that ran the underworld of any given city he found himself in.

The small girl, seemed intent on defusing a situation before it even started and came bearing wine. "Ahh, it has been quite some time since I've had a taste of good wine. I do hope it's better than the swill I've become sadly used to over the years." With the wine in hand, Vincente found a short stool to sit on and gestured back at the monster. "But before that, I am Vincente D'Amore, pleasure to meet you all." Naturally, he wasn't being completely honest, but they might just help him achieve his goal. "Now monster, what is your name?" Vincente was careful to not look at Gilles this time and instead took a sip from the cup. It was certainly better than what he usually had now, but nowhere near quality of the wine from his memories. "The rest of you should feel free to share your names as well."

 

[The Gunrunner]

Bayan

The two are sat at their campsite when the escort arrives, Moulder fast asleep and Bayan keeping watch. He always keeps watch - There is no need to sleep. When the armoured guards of the court arrive, Bayan's sword is already been drawn and ready; Moulder is frequently hunted or chased away, after all. Though these men are... different. The head of the formation puts his hands up, signalling that they are just there to talk. "We've been looking for you. You two are lucky enough to be requested by the court of Bandar, they require your... assistance." Bayan's sword lowers, and he tilts his head in question. "Come with us, we're expected to arrive in a timely manner." Bayan looks to his companion - "Could be a trap, yes? Do not trust, should not trust! Going to just stab me in back, I bet!" Bayan shakes his head - "We will be fine. If they fight, then we fight - Simple."

The trip was a short one, thankfully, though they would be slightly late; finding the two was more of a fluke than anything - Hunting for rumours of the 'cursed' proved the best way to find such an isolated and paranoid group, and there were plenty of the two undead. They never stayed in one place for long, but each time they disappeared so did the local community's problem. They stood out, whether from the smell or just the sight of them, and the reserved mannerism that each peasant parroted was a dead giveaway that the escort was on the right path. Still, it was a guessing game to where to go next - It was only thanks to a few drained cattle and wolves that they were finally found. Moulder was quick to apologize on realizing this, to which Bayan merely shrugs - "You have to eat. Remember to be more careful."

"Moulder, watch this," Bayan states, his voice as dry as ever, before he steps to one of the armoured men and flaps the cloak to blow the scent into the man's face. He immediately steps back, clutching at the front of his helmet, "By the GODS! NEVER do that again!" Bayan's body shakes, violently, a raspy and broken laugh emanating from the armour. He looks back to Moulder, gesturing to the victim, "Funny, yes?" It's then that he sees Moulder was not saved from the smell, causing the knight to shake harder. "Vile! You are vile Bayan!" The trip was mercifully short for the escort, but not short enough. There's a sigh of relief when they see the hut in the distance, and they gesture for the two to carry on ahead of their formation. "You don't want to follow?" Bayan asks, immediately getting a shake of the head - "I don't want to smell either of you for another second. Go."

Bayan stops at the entrance of the hut, one of the guards grunting as he recoils from the smell. He quickly knocks on the door, almost forgetting the code in his desperation to get the two away from him, before it's opened. Bayan nods to the man, then steps inside. Immediately the stench of the herbs begins filling the small home, a mix of every possible assault on the nostrils. "Sorry for the sme-" Bayan states, cutting himself off. He'd looked about the place to see who else he would be traveling with - A half-elf seemingly quite normal, but that could not be the case here; a cloaked figure, a bow in his possession much like the other; a woman, wearing a crown of white stones, her eyes hollow and lifeless as his own; a man with unkempt hair and shabby dress, clearly a downtrodden in life; and, finally, the most... notable figure: A malformed abomination of a man, a tower of tumours more than humanity. The last is what stuns Bayan into silence, who could do nothing but stare. "You..." he starts, another pause just enough time for him to relax, "You are very ugly. You might find that you are not alone anymore."

"Bayan, BAYAN!What is wrong with her head? Why are her teeth on the outside! Is she like us? Can you tell?!" He spoke quickly, his voice taking on a conspiratory tone, "And that one!" He bumbled, waving a noodley arm towards Gilles, "Look at his FACE." Bayan can only shrug, "Maybe that is her curse, and yes - He is very hideous." He turns to the others, "We haven't seen anyone like you before, and that is saying something." As Vincent begins his introduction, Bayan nods and gestures to himself, "I am Bayan, no surname." He gestures to the noodly-armed one beside him, "And this is Moulder."

 

[idalie]

Lazarus Ceridwyn​

The dull-eyed woman was an odd one indeed. She couldn’t have been older than twenty, acting like someone who needed more care than simply running off on an adventure such as this. Whatever those eyes saw, she betrayed nothing of it. Even as she focussed her pupils and turned her head, flashing the whites of her eyes as if a woman possessed. By what? Grief, madness, some sombre understanding of what her life was to be? They eventually closed. Putting her expression at peace until the serenity passed as they fluttered and left her stare. There was something which couldn’t help pity her, as much as Lazarus tried to shake it off knowing the girl must be capable to have found a spot on their team. Yet the cripple made him think perhaps otherwise.

She leant into him, causing the mercenary’s brow to arch slightly. Hands lifting away in momentary confusion before Eve rubbed against his leather chestplate using her head and still clasping securely to her wine. A little worried she’d spill it but more concerned about having her sat down before she fell over. If only fate would prove so kind, for the next minute the cabin went from silent to bustling. Firstly, placing a light palm on Eve’s shoulder as she lost herself in the aged alcohol, Lazarus set his disinterested gaze toward Vincente. “Perhaps slowing time is accepted by those who need time to think. Process.” He replied, punctuated by the opening of the door and another pair of individuals. They were loud enough.

Teeth and tumours and unwanted guests, the start of a bad joke. They were the punchline that comedic duo. “I suppose you never pursued livelihoods in subterfuge?” Lazarus remarked, finally finding the time to slowly guide the strange girl towards her seat. Fragile enough he could’ve sworn if she was dropped, she’d shatter. It was hard to guess a curse unless it caused some sort of eye-opening deformities. He could hide his at least, that was a gift in itself. At the least he didn’t stand to be gawked at, not like their other comrades.

It would seem introductions were in order for a second time. “Lazarus.” He glanced over his shoulder, if he was bitter enough he’d be grumbling as much as the cancerous cripple. But he crouched, staring at the girl with the silver irises as she had to him only moments prior. They all grew up, she had said. It was on his mind even then with the background chatter that threatened to overwhelm but not entirely bad. The fire was drowned out by the surprising humanity found in that shack, its dwellers all but cursed. She was undead, perhaps? But she didn’t quite have the smell of Bayan nor the malaise one could grasp off Gilles. And clearly, the two who entered were far from alive in the sense that most people were accustomed to.

The bonding had begun and a headache was beginning to spread from his temple. Was he ready? Heaven only knew. Lazarus returned to his feet, it was good, or rather it should've been a good sign that there were those boisterous, uncaring fellows. The couple who spoke as honestly as they could or what you could presume to be truth. His thoughts went back to the host and the reasoning behind this shack in the wilderness -- most likely to avoid the confusion and publicity of welcoming the interesting bunch of colourful, deformed characters behind golden gates. That was unless they were all to be burnt within it; a solitary and depressive thought that fluttered by.

Mentions: N/A
Interactions: The Suspicious Eye Shog Ennuis The Gunrunner Moritz

 

[Shog]

Tyr accepted the glass of wine, but did not drink. His immediate concern was with the girl handing it to him. He flinched as she reached for his face, but she thankfully pulled away. If her gaze could make him feel so uncomfortable, he could only imagine what her touch could do. Well, nothing too bad apparently. She had made contact with some others and no one had a visible reaction. He continued watching her even as others made their entrance. He made sure to take stalk of them, of course, but she concerned him. Was she capable of making the journey? How much of a hindrance would she be? Then again, she did appear to be making an effort to relax them so maybe there was more going on in her head than she gave him credit for.

The latest set of knocking broke his train of thought. Even as he looked up towards the door, he smelled the pair before he saw them. The stench of death was unmistakable, though it was different than he was used to. It smelled... old. Then they started speaking and he was caught off guard. The more boisterous one, Moulder, clearly was not used to being among others, but who was he to judge? His companion, Bayan, seemed more personable, but that wasn't saying much.

"You can make introductions later," the woman who'd opened the door for everyone suddenly proclaimed. She was of average height for a human woman and was dressed in common cloths. Her black hair was pulled back in a bun. "It's time to get started. If the others don't get here soon then that's their loss." She walked over to the table with a stack of wooden bowls and began scooping out a creamy, off-white soup into them. She then made her way around the table, placing the filled bowls in front of the various chairs whether someone was sitting there or not, but only laid out enough so there was one bowl per cursed person. The entire time she worked, she didn't stop talking. "You all know why you're here: stop Deva from declaring war on Bandar. Sabotage war efforts, scare the right people into submission, kill the right people, whatever it takes. We heavily advise against killing anyone in the Devan royal family, but if you think it will help that that's your choice. If you head south then you can enter Deva through Anthione. I advise heading to their capitol, Devarr, but that's up to you. Once you leave this cabin you are on your own, so be sure to pack up before you do. If you try and betray us, we can deny such accusations and be believed. There is no record of any transactions with any of you and, lets be honest, no one would believe we'd hire people with your conditions. Now, eat up. This may be the last proper meal you get in a long time."

(Sorry for the delay. Been one heck of a day.)

 

[The Gunrunner]

Bayan

“I suppose you never pursued livelihoods in subterfuge?” Lazarus asked. Bayan's body shakes lightly, his raspy breath answering with a shake of his head: "We are terrible at it." Introductions are quickly cut off - "You can make introductions later." It draws Bayan's attention to the woman, away from Moulder and the others. The group's briefing is given, quickly and straight to the point. They were on their own, no assistance would be granted - Kill, coerce, sabotage... Shit. Bayan was a fighter, not a saboteur. This task would be far out of his element, but hopefully some of the others knew more about what objectives to make for this task. "Now, eat up. This may be the last proper meal you get in a long time." Bayan takes his bowl, the helmet's visor angling to peer into the liquid. He puts it back on the table, shaking his head, "I am not hungry."

He merely watches the others, deciding to shift a part of chainmail that happened to fold at the neck during the trip here. They were all outcasts, all desperate for one reason or another. Judging from what Bandar was willing to give him, there was no doubt the rest of the company was fighting for something dear. Though he truly wasn't hungry, he figured a token gesture would be customary considering they would all be working together - He takes his bowl, extending it out to the others, "A toast to peace?"
Shog idalie Ennuis Moritz The Suspicious Eye Aloha Loha

 

[Moritz]

Moulder's head remained cocked as it snapped towards Lazarus, surprised at the sudden address. He sat still for a moment, his false hands swinging well below his knees as his arms nervously twisted and wound through the air. A few uncertain clicks and an idle hiss slip from the confines of his head-wrap, directed towards Lazarus himself, as Moulder dodges the question, opting instead to slowly approach the table, ducking over slightly as if to hide. He scooped up one of the offered bowls before scuttling back towards his original position behind Bayan in a poor attempt to remain out of any sort of collective focus. His arms slowly shot up, nearly throwing the contents of the bowl into his own face in an vain attempt to identify the creamy liquid. "This!" He hissed, none to quietly, "What is this! Is it poisoned? How does it taste! What if it kills us!" He chittered madly to himself, a healthy flow of paranoia spewing forth from his head-wrap at the very thought.

His attention shifts as his companion speaks, "A toast to peace?", and something clicks quietly in Moulder's mind, excitement spreading through him. "TOAST!" Moulder barks, excitedly, "I know this!" He screeches, bringing his arms sailing upwards like an angry pair of snakes- crashing his own bowl into Bayan's in a messy spray of soup. "Toast! Cheers-cheers!" He cackles for a moment before the Woman's words register in his stupid little brain. He glances towards the woman, the thoughts of cheers and soup quickly slipping away from him, "What-what? Devarr?" He droned, a mild tremor entering his voice, "So much noise!" He began, "How are we to sneak-quiet and avoid the eyes in such a place! What are... us to do?, So many humans, probably with sharp swords and painful arrows!"

The Gunrunner idalie Shog

 

[Malice Queen]

Meryth Alesani

​

Meryth didn't seem happy at all, her escort was some greenhorn guard and worst of all the boy was far too scared of her to form sentences correctly. "At this point, the assignment will be over...", she growls softly as she trots along on foot with the guard riding his damn horse. It would have been easier to leave him behind but then she wouldn't know the way to the stupid cabin. The escort was a sniveling crybaby who thought life would be easier if he enrolled as a guard -- had a nice cushiony life with the nobles. Now he was trotting around in the mud and shit with the rest of society.

After what seemed like hours, they finally reached the cabin. The young guard would hop from his horse and clear his throat. "Well, we're here n-now...", he managed through a shaky voice before marching ahead of Meryth and towards the door. Those silver eyes would lock on to his form as he 'took charge' of the situation. "We're here, now you can get lost.", the annoyed woman would say flatly as those shimmering silver hues would narrow at him. That's the first thing he saw when he turned back, it caused him to yelp and nod swiftly. "R-Right, right! Well, I'll have to wait here...to um...make sure the others are safe and all that!", the young noble would chuckle softly and retreat towards the horse.

The black-cloaked ex-soldier would draw her cloak closer to her body and her hood over the left side of her face to make certain none would catch a glance of her curse. It didn't matter if they all were cursed, it was a sore spot for her even after so long. She opens the door as silently as possible, which wasn't nearly impossible as the room inside was completely silent with one woman talking. 'Fucking...Perfect...', she thought to herself as she stood near the doorway, listening to the tail end of the woman's speech. Silently her shimmering eyes would pass over the gathered individuals, nodding softly as she still stood by the door and watched as everyone received food.

 

[Shog]

One of the two guards in the room quickly drew his sword and threw open the door, pointing it directly at the girl skulking there. The second guard jumped into action as well, but stopped the other one. "Damn it Gerath!" he shouted at the man outside. " We had this all worked out! Knock the code, drop off your charge, and leave! Everyone else got this just fine and dropped their charge off on time!"

"W-well, I..." Gerath tried to say before being cut off.

"Whatever. Just get out of here. As for you, M'am, please take a seat."

After Meryth entered, the guard locked the door again and they both returned to their posts. 'Well that was eventful,' Tyr thought, idly stirring his soup.

Malice Queen

 

[The Suspicious Eye]

Eve

Her mind lost in the intricate depths of the wine, Eve didn't register the gentle hand on her shoulder or the new arrivals. However, as Lazarus lead her back towards her seat Eve's lifeless body followed with ease. Eyes following the swirling ripples in the cup of wine with every step. Curling back into the soft confines of her seat her eyes never shifted from the shimmering liquid of the wine. She was deep in its eternal darkness, encompassed and yet unafraid. There was peace in the still wine, peace that would soon be shattered again with her next movement. An ever elusive peace that fades with every shift, But if...

Her jaw fell open, as if a latch was broken it swung down dangling, waiting to consume. Her white teeth aligned perfectly in her soft pink gums, her tongue a soft healthy pink resting, wanting to taste and express. Slowly she lifted her hand up and rested the cup to her closing lips. Raising her head she chugged down the cup of wine in a series of gulps, never breaking for air, her throat pulsating as she swallowed the liquid and let it trail down into her body. The wine effect was still, just as her body was still, the wine settled and faded.

Before she could even react to such a sensation a bowl was placed in front of her. The soft rising steam of the warm liquid was so tempting that her hands slowly wrapped around the bowl and just as with the drink she raised her head up and chugged the off-white meal down her throat. It rode down her throat, the burning of the hot meal on the throat making her twinge in pain only for it to fade as it settled to a soft reverberation and back to stillness. Holding the bowl in her small hands she lifted it up and placed it back on the table with a quiet clunk. Her hands sliding away from the bowl, the fell heavily in her lap as if she has no more strength to keep them up any longer. Her body laid there motionless, a propped up toy sitting at the table.

The conversation around her went on dull ears, her mind still resting on the motionless peace that the drink and food held before she moved it. Every movement disturbed the peace and yet once she consumed it, the ripples faded. Did it stay? Her hand heavily rose up above her head and rested on her chest, her dull eyes, hidden under the gentle eyelids as she closed her eyes. Yes. "Peace cannot be kept by force, it can only be achieved by understanding."

There was no target to her words, clear and audible as they were. Her stagnant blood dripped to her feet as they dangled above the floor, it was time to pull them under her. Her small body shifted slowly, as if a weight was being slid over by an inclined ramp. Her eyes opened and met the same lifeless eyes of Bayan. Her body rested there, unnaturally still as her eyes burrowed deep into the husk of Bayan. Her lonely steel rocks resting in the fragile doll face, eyes that weighted her existence. There was a long and empty story to be told while looking into them, a story that Eve saw just beginning in Bayan. Sliding past the visor, and into those hollowed eyes she saw the darkness, the beauty of it all encompassing and restful and yet there lay a spark of hope, a soul brilliant among the rot.

A crackle erupted from the fire as a log broke under the fury of the flames. The empty irises of her eyes flickered in the crescent light of the flames, giving a flash of life and a glimpse of pity resting in them. However, as the fire fell back to its usual blaze, so the emptiness returned. Eve stared unblinkingly at the man before her, her eyes reflecting her life muted by eons of years, whittled away to the empty shell of existence sitting before him.

idalie The Gunrunner Shog

 

[Ennuis]

While Vincente was calling for introductions, two more men showed up. Even though their appearances were hidden in armor, the stench was not. Vincente's nose wrinkled in disgust, at least the other monster mostly limited his awfulness to his appearance. An interesting fact about this group, at least to Vincente, was that the only people that introduced themselves to him were the ones hiding their faces. Usually those are the types to give names last, but perhaps they were fake names, after all they did neglect to give family names. But before he could say anything about it, the host started speaking to remind everyone of their job and giving out food. Vincente didn't pay too much attention to the woman's spiel, but the food was very much appreciated.

One of the newcomers was quick to question the plan, which made Vincente question it as well. Just how were most of these people meant to get in without alerting people? "Well, the half elf and I will have no such problems." He then pretended to think for a moment for speaking again. "Perhaps, we could try to spread the idea that the arrival of such obviously cursed men is an ill omen?" Before anyone could give their thoughts, another person arrived which naturally caused a small scene. "Well now, perhaps we should have waited for everyone to get here, now we will surely have to repeat ourselves." Turning slightly to the new arrival, he spoke his name once more, this time with less enthusiasm. "I am Vincente D'Amore."

When the small girl spoke up, Vincente chuckled softly. "There is no understanding without force in some form. Force of words, arms, or coin." He then shrugged slightly. "Just try not to worry too much about it, I'm sure everyone here will bring something to the mission. A lot is on the line." He wasn't nearly as sure of it as he sounded, after all, one of the people chosen for this job could barely move.

 

[Shog]

“How you cross the border is distinctly a you problem,” the woman replied. She poured herself a bowl of stew and moved to the far corner. “I just advise you cross into Deva through Anthione. There are other methods of crossing the border.”

Tyr finally piped up. “Alright, first thing’s first. I’m Tyryth, but you can call me Tyr. Second, if we’re worried about crossing through Anthione, which I think we should avoid, I know another rout further north. A river from the mountains feeds into Danon Lake. If we follow it to its source, we should be able to find another that flows into Camorin. After that it’s a relatively short hike down to Deva. However, that’ll put us way off track. I’ve also heard of a road over the mountains from Hasa, but I don’t know where that is. We could also try and just cross the mountains, but to be honest, I don’t think we’re all up to that kind of trek.”

Having said his peace, Tyr slowly dipped his soup. Some sort of creamy potato mixture. He let his eyes wander from person to person, trying to gauge them in his mind. Tumor man, as Tyr would call him until a proper name was given, would attract a lot of attention and seemed to have a “and screw you too” attitude. They could use him for a distraction, but if it came down to a strait up fight then he might just be dead weight. Then again, he had made it this far, so maybe he had a surprise hidden among his cheese collection. Bayan and Moulder were an interesting pair. Neither wanted to show their faces and smelled horrid, almost like death itself. Moulder seemed to have no filter while Bayan, despite his rasping voice, appeared to be the diplomatic one. No saying what kind of skills they had. The girl with the strange crown was something else. She seemed to have power and power was always good to have on your side, but was she truly on his side? She just seemed to… exist. Looking at his wine reminded him that she was consciously aware of everyone and it seemed she made an effort to reduce tensions, but she also spent time petting the Bear rug and nothing out of her mouth seemed to make sense. He just hoped she wouldn’t need babysat the whole time. Vincent, well, he seemed to be the most normal of them all. He was perhaps a bit abrasive, but he spoke his mind and he spoke well. He was the first to try and speak strategy. Muscle was nice, but a good party always needs a smooth talker. Tyr liked Lazarus. It was probably the respect he had for him as an archer, but he seemed honest and up front, though that was contradictory to his external appearance. Regardless, that was at least one more fighter in the group. Then, of course, there was the newest addition. The girl who tried listening from the doorway. He knew nothing of her yet and thusly reserves judgement.

(Sorry for any typos, I suck at writing on my phone)
Ennuis The Suspicious Eye Malice Queen Moritz The Gunrunner idalie Aloha Loha

 

[Aloha Loha]

“An off course voyage does not appeal. A timely solution would be preferred.” Gilles chirped up as he furrowed his brow as he slowly turned to glance at Tyr. If there was one thing he didn’t want to do, specifically that is as there were many things he did not like, it was to return to Camorin, the realm of his birth, the place where he oft was hunted. Of course there were the nooks and crannies there which could provide him solitude; but letting members of society know of his dwellings was asking for trouble. Keeping a firm and crotchety nature about him Gilles kept to the corner which he had taken upon entering the shed.

Bending at the knees, slightly less on the bad leg, showing a touch more mobility than he did before Gilles repeated the process of using his staff to maneuver the bag into the fingertips of his bad hand while claiming another small cheese curd. These individuals were free to eat and drink of foods they had no idea of how they were prepared. After all it was a tempting proposition, at least for the wine, but Gilles would not be tempted. If the soup was tampered with, either unwillingly by an improper cooking method or willingly by foul actions, Gilles would at least be standing while some of this motley cast would not.

Well at the very least Gilles would be standing as well as he could anyway.

“So I would rather not go by way of water.” Gilles rolled his tongue around in his closed, as closed as he could get it anyway, mouth as he eyed his new cheese curd while the plethora of malignancies began to undulate softly.

“If I perish due to expedition exhaustion in the treacherous peaks at least no one can disturb my corpse.” he spoke matter of factly as he stuffed the curd in his mouth and proceeded to wolf it down. After all in the end it would at least solve one of his problems even if the mission were to fail, and fulfilling that goal was the important thing. Swallowing the curd he allowed his mind to wander back to the previous mentions he had ignored.

The smattering of insults by the pair who could fit in with society, as long as they bathed more than the usual once a month, was common place. The knight errant in the door-way attracted little attention beyond annoyance at her having to move out of the way when he finally would leave. The girl did not present anything else, no further wine was produced.

That left the two others, the lad clad in black and the swashbuckler. They had brought up a point which needed addressing; the matter of names. Slowing pivoting, each foot-step causing a distinctive grimace as the burs dug deep again, to face the two Gilles glanced at them.

“An epithet is a brand, a means of marking and establishing power over others. The concept is not instinctual to the essence of being, rather it is artificial. It is primarily a method of societal branding to easily note the fellow marked. After all one is born into this world without a name and exits this very world without it. You do not take the name with you, for the appellation exists without you. The shell retains the mark, while the essence does not. Only the self can truly understand the essence, outsiders have multiple vantages and glances.” Finishing his diatribe, Gilles used his staff to swing the rope of his bag back over his good arm.

“Call my personage whatever you will; the multiple monikers made manifest to note and brand my flesh will be weaker than a single identity to which you of a normal populace cling to. To provide you a singular mark is an anathema to me, as it will encourage you on a foolhardy mission to try to expose a nature you could never comprehend. Engage in such frivolties among yourselves if you wish but leave me out of them.”

Shog The Suspicious Eye Ennuis idalie Malice Queen Moritz The Gunrunner