After Westmarch (IC)

[Spectre]

IC | OOC​

The rain was coming to Westmarch, but slowly. The day had been windy, and gray, and it was now spitting rain. Some were hurrying themselves to seek shelter indoors, and others were just pulling up the hoods on their cloaks and cowls. The streets were muddy, water beginning to pool in hoof-prints and cart tracks.

The reddish-brown roof of the Blue Goose inn was unmistakable, the largest building in the southern side with a large chimney at each end- that smoke always seems to slowly rise from. The front of the building faced North, and the street. It had a slight porch and a hanging sign with- you guessed it- an image of a goose painted in blue.

Inside, the Bartender was setting five tankards of ale on a server's tray. Since it was near mid-day, was sparsely populated and quiet. The air inside was filled with the smell of cooked meats, and flowing alcohol, and a bard was playing a light tune on his lyre in a corner, humming along. The server made her way with the tray of ales to a table toward the far end of the inn- five people seated, but a few more standing around.

At the head of the rectangular table was a fit man in his early forties- ragged dark hair, and the showings of a dark beard. He spoke plainly, but his voice had a bit of edge to it.

"I'm glad you all have come. I know some of you are fresh off the boats- but we appreciate your punctuality." his voice gravelly, thankful- yet weary. He looked around to each person seated at the table. A bearded northman, a young man in a leather jacket, a looker of a woman with wavy black locks, a thinner man with graying orange hair... All of them new to the guild, while others standing about had been in the city for a month or more already. They were mostly there to gawk, and meet the newcomers.

"This should really be a cut and dry task. One not entirely unheard of- especially for newcomers to Westmarch via the guild." He didn't pause long before he continued. "We've been tasked to check out a small encampment just north of here. They were supposed to be setting up a new quarry, but we haven't heard from them, nor seen stone incoming. It's been three weeks- and we should have heard from them a few days ago." he nodded in thanks to the server, who had set the tankards before all seated members of the table, and made her way back to the bar. "Our job - er... 'you' job, is to head north, find the valley they went to, and make sure they're not in need of anything."

He gripped his tankard's handle, and raised his mug- "I'm sure you'll have questions. They can all be adressed to your guild mentor- Thea." He nodded to her direction, to where she sat at an empty round table, looking out a back window overlooking the port and sea. "But for now, welcome to the Guild, and happy lookin'." He gestured in cheers, and took a swig of his drink.

The handful of other adventurers around chuckled, and gave a light 'cheer' as well.

 

[Rowdybull]

@「An Otaku」@BearEnthusiast @Applo

"Ancestors watch over us, Allfather guide us"
Kollskeg raised his tankard and gulped it heartily. With mead froth adorning his mustache and sides of his beard he chuckled before placing the tankard down waving for a refill. It was not as good as the shieldwives brew back home, hell nothing was as good as that, but still sweet and warm in the belly. He took the tanker once it was full once more as he surveyed the other members with him, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table; a boy, a normann, a lady and a ginger all walk into a bar, it began to sound like a joke some fool would tell a crowd.
"Before our little trek to the rock diggers, it may be a fair idea to know about one another. I'd like to know who I'll be swinging my axe alongside." He pointed is thumb over his shoulder to the wall where large weapons were supposed to be hung before entering the tavern. The great axe was one of the first things tavern owners had made him give up, yet he still held on to his dagger and short sword. He smiled after another swig of mead, bolstered by its warmth.
"I myself am a sailor, maker of swords, axe, pike and plate, I've braved the northern sea and tested my salt against the Glacier Pirates of the frozen isles!" He belted aloud, a flair of the dramatics never hurt a good Normann story.
"What say you, ginger, what is your tale? Surely the years had written a telling tale for a man such as yourself?" He pointed a finger towards Mr. Mercer.

 

[Bears]

Ophelia's eyes glistened with a sense of adventure and excitement akin to that of a child. A full grown women however, with plenty of experience regarding the back and forth battle that is life, she was fully aware of how her eager nods could remind one of a well behaved student. Couple her eagerness with the feathered fedora on her head and the noticeable aroma of honeysuckle hanging around her person, it was needless to say she stood out in the on the floor of the Blue Goose.

Ultimately she didn't mind anyone's opinion -- positive or not. She wanted adventure and this guild was going to give it to her. Whatever politician's son her father had back at home could wait for his bride until the rot would claim him. She cheered along with the other men enthusiastically as they were welcomed as guild newcomers. Ophelia took one big gulp from the swig and nearly keeled over (her home preferred more subtle applications of alcohol) but after recomposing herself, she was still all grins.

In truth when the sailor showed flair in his story she wished nothing but to do the same. She wanted to stand and reiterate her story and motivations as if she was the main character of some grand play. But of course it wasn't and she was unfortunately stuck in the gritty, unromantic tale that is life. So she refrained and simply turned to the ginger man, a pair of curious blue eyes underneath the line of her absolutely fabulous head wear.

"Do tell!" She added, her accent distinct and extravagant.

 

[An Otaku]

@BearEnthusiast , @Applo , @Rowdybull

Mercer traced the rim of his tankard with a hand of ivory bone, his right profile facing the group, rocking back on the legs of his chair with a chuckle. The feint lines along the corner of his mouth and below his violet eye deepening with each cheeky laugh. "Aye, there's a tale ta my name," he said still facing the group sidelong. "But let's get somethin' straight, boy-o's. I ain't workin' with ye. You're workin' with me."

Retracting his skeleton right hand from the beer mug, Mercer produced an envelope from within his tan-and-black coat. The note was emblazoned with a waxy crimson seal featuring a twin-headed eagle carrying a scroll and crown (Duke's crest[?]). Mercer deftly spun the envelope on the tips of his boney fingers, and said, "This here's a missive signed by a Duke of Westmarch -- nice bloke, ye may've heard o-him -- promisin' ta full support o' said lordship via the guild, to United Britannia's emmissary and Royal Alchemist." He flashed the table members a wink. "Otherwise known as Abbott Sebastian Mercer, yours truly."

Flipping the note into a spiraling crescendo, it then fluttered downward until Mercer pinned it to the table with his hand and flicked an ivory digit toward the guild agent. "Ain't that right, gent?"

Their host massage the bridge of his cut nose with a sigh. "Mr. Mercer, the Duke, and Thea did have themselves a little meeting on all of that, yeah. But it was more of a formal way of Duke Aquila saying 'sure you can run about and join the guild' more than anything. The lot of you got the same standing really so don't worry about it."

"The man says yes," Mercer corrected. "But don't ye worry about it. Just cause me and this town's royalty are best pals, and now ye basically work under me, it don't mean we can't all be friend-like, eh?" He raked a flesh-and-blood hand through his graying temples and orange hair, turned to face the group fully with his violet eye, patch, and brilliant grin -- particularly toward the aristocratic and stylish woman beside him. "Ain't that right, lass?"

 

[Applo]

Tristan watched the dregs of his drink swirl around the bottom of the tankard as the the ginger haired idiot boasted of his connection to the Duke. The revelation didn't worry him, let the fool think he was in charge for now. There were plenty of ways for him to be educated on how things would really be later on, where there were fewer witnesses, for now he could flap his lips all he liked as far as Tristan was concerned.

Looking at his other new comrades, well, he was glad that their task was a simple one. Oh the Northmann certainly looked the part of an explorer with the beard and the axe, that was true enough. Whether or not he could back up his bold claims with anything was an entirely different matter. As for the women well, he had seen it before. Rich bored young women with too much time on their hands would read stories that made being poor seem all romantic. Back home some would try and hang out in the rougher pubs, normally they lasted about five minutes in the real world before they scurrying back home to their fathers. Part of Tristan was impressed by her commitment in joining the guild but he wasn't about to put any money on her sticking around once things got difficult.

As soon as Tristan heard what he was pretty sure was Mercer trying to charm the young woman, he stood up, drained the his tankard and left the table. There would be time enough to chat with his companions later. Right now he had a question that he wanted answering and after collecting a fresh ale he dropped himself into a seat opposite his supposed mentor.

"So how much are we getting for this little stroll in the country and when?"

 

[Spectre]

From behind them, a blonde female wearing heavier trappings snorted to the man with red hair. She drank to their quick induction, patted a young man who stood next to her, and the two went to sit at a table. The rest of the group standing around took a drink, and then went about their business, one in particular, towered over the rest by half a head. A burly brunette male with a rough red cape made his way to a nearby window, and a few other scattered to other tables. The one who had addressed them before, Ser Adler stood from the table, and made his way to the door. Judging by the pace, he likely had business elsewhere.

Everyone seemed content to get back on with their own lives, not holding much outward curiosity to the newcomers. Though one of the new guildmembers, Tristan, made his way quickly over to Thea. She sat slouched back into her chair, swirling a mug in her right hand, her legs relaxed and stretched out before her.

She watched him with pale eyes as he sunk into the chair opposite her. She couldn't help but like his approach. She exhaled a single short breath through her nose in a lazy laugh gesture. She narrowed her eyes to him,

"I like your style", she gave the young man a smirk. "But your first task isn't a dangerous one, so you'll be getting paid after the job is done. No advance." she said sternly. "For a simple trek, it's set up to be 50 copper. If it turns out something else is going on, we will negotiate when you return."

The currency was set up in coppers to crowns. A hundred coppers was equal to a crown. Crowns were a goldlike metal with the seal of the Empire's crown, and copper, was just that- copper coins with a basic treasury stamp on the faces. 50 copper was enough to last a normal commoner through half a month of standard living. It wasn't much, but two week's normal pay for being a messenger wasn't bad.

Those adventurers of the guild who were from noble families likely had 6 crowns worth on them after port. Which is quite a bit for equipment, beds, and living for a while. Those who were standard middle class had more like 2-3 crowns, and those who had nothing probably had a few handfulls of coppers to pay for day-to day things to get them going.

 

[Applo]

For a moment Tristan was tempted to argue. It was his experience that people who accepted getting paid after the fact tended not to get paid at all. A look at his mentor however dissuaded him from arguing the point however. The guild was one of the few organization willing to pay decent coin without asking very many question. In fact Tristan was pretty much of the impression that as long as you weren't foaming at the mouth and trying to beat the recruiter over the head then you were pretty much in and couldn't afford to foul up such an opportunity.

Instead he took a long draught his drink and thanked his good luck. Fifty copper was the better part of a month's official wages in his old life and to be getting that much for a few days light trudging wasn't a bad deal. The only wrinkle was the company he'd be keeping along the way, sure he hadn't gotten to know them yet but his gut reaction on meeting them earlier had not been favorable, although he had to admit that that could quite easily be because of the food he'd eaten over the last couple of days.

"Sooo..." Tristan said, having become suddenly aware of the length of the silence "gingered haired old fellow, you reckon he really has this Duke's ear or is he just running his mouth?"

 

[An Otaku]

". . . And that's ta gory tale o-where t'is beauty came from, it is," Mercer said inspecting the fingertips of his skeletal right hand. "Moral of ta story bein' alchemy's a dangerous mistress not for ta fond of heart or shallow of mind. But if you've the know-'ow, or god given talent..."

He trailed off, slowly catching the collection of myriad gazes of varying attentiveness around the table, then snapped his ivory hand.

A low hummed crackle reverberated around Mercer followed by a faint trail of wire-thin, jagged yellow lines fizzing about his skeleton thumb and middle finger before exploding into a green ember.

While not everyone had seemed to be paying attention to the Royal Alchemist's story, including perhaps some at his own table, bar-goers from all around the Blue Goose had stopped to stare at the apple-sized emerald flame hovering inches from Mercer's hand. However, Mercer could also see a number of denizens far more interested in their beverages and snacks as opposed to the spectacle of magic being displayed by a better dressed off-comer.

No matter, thought Mercer. T'is was meant for me 'new best friends' on ta odd chance someone t'ought I was all talk... Well, truth be told - ahem! Focus, boy-o. ". . . Reality becomes an opinion. One I happen ta disagree with," he softly concluded, clacking his hand into a fist and smothering the flame to wisps of sickly smoke.

The tavern had already returned to its prior state of conversational cacophony, but Mercer could tell there were a fair number of new gazes upon him. He'd be the talk of the town before long and once he had overseen the completion of a couple Guild missions here and there, all sorts of upperclassmen - for whatever that meant in a port town like this - would be envious of his expertise. And that was just Step One.

Withdrawing his skeleton hand below the table, Mercer brushed ash along with the remaining faint specks of the incendiary powder off on his boot, then resumed his side-facing, reclined posture and easily plastered smile. "No need to fret t'ough. I promise to be a ge'tle leader brimmin' with intrepid succes!" His voice cracked ever so slightly with that last word.

Though Mercer had become more or less an expert at faking his physical and emotional state of being, it was impossible to restrain each and every fiber of his being when they were each crying out in exhaustion. Shouldn't... Shouldn't 'ave 'eld ta damn flame so long. Phew... He-heh-heh... Best change ta subject lest ta barbarian or princess turn out to be the analytical type.

"Speakin' o-false realities, what's a man to do to get a refill around 'ere?" He chuckled, peripherally eyeballing the quiet, roguish fellow who had joined their Guild Mentor's table.

 

[Rowdybull]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Kolskegg analysed the other members of the table over the rim of his flagon. The ginger magic weaver, he held his tongue and tried to pierce whatever facade the man had with his icy blue eyes. Magic, reserved for only the gods and shamans of yore, what is this man? He felt a fire roil in his lungs and throat reaching the back of his skull where he suppressed the urge of beating the man due to blasphemy that he had just committed. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] His eyes wrested away from the man and dragged over to the woman sitting, and smelling, much like a noble. Her eyes glistened like a child during the first moments of introductions, striking a chord deep inside his person; she had the eyes of his sister. He slowly siphoned the mead through his teeth as his mind wandered about the various people sitting around him. His eyes landed on the last member of the volunteers, the long haired boy. Particularly average yet, he had the mannerisms of someone used to be light on their feet, he would watch his coins around him lest he regret it later. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] He had known that the coin would be particularly scarce during the first mission, yet it was much needed as he had only enough to keep his expenses paid. the only way he had reached the port town in the first place was as an extra hand on a ship docking in Westmarch. What little copper and silver he had earned went into board and food. [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]He focused back on the skeleton handed Ginger, Mercer, If this man would so willingly flaunt his power, surely no one had tested his faith, [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] "Reality is the will of the Gods [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]Royal Alchemist[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent], those who seek to change it walk a dangerous knife edge-" He had drawn his Saxe from his belt with one hand and slowly placed his flagon down, at this point he picked the dirt under his fingernails with the fine point of his sidearm, eying down the magic user,[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] "-The lest you use it for petty appraisal, the lest chance you have of cutting yourself on that knife."[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]

Saxe

[/BCOLOR]

 

[Bears]

What an absolutely adorable older gentleman the Royal Alchemist was. He spoke with an accent that differed from most of the Blue Goose. Though Ophelia supposed the same could be said of her. His eccentric personality was something that the woman found relatable --and thus comforting. She wouldn't be the only sore thumb among a bunch of hardened, rough around the edges, adventurers and a part of his openness made her wish she had been more grand with her own introduction.

Her eyes admittedly lingered for a moment on Tristan when he stepped away from their table. That man didn't seem nearly as intent on getting to know everyone as they were. His standoffish nature egged on her curiosity. Was he in it only for the money? It certainly seemed that way considering it was the first question he asked their mentor. Seeing as they'd be adventuring together however, Ophelia figured his motivations would come into light sooner or later.

So with that realized she returned her attention back to the eye-patched fellow closest to her. He spun all kinds of tricks and Ophelia adorned him with a little round of applause at the open display of his abilities. But when the larger and easily the most physically imposing of the newcomers stood to challenge the alchemist she frowned slightly.

The noblewoman stood up from where she was sitting between them and a confident smile formed out of her red lips. "I'm sure everyone here is well capable of handling their knives with great care...proverbial blade or not."

"Now, with that said..." Ophelia continued before taking a step away from their table and taking a few more steps towards their mentor. She flashed a pretty smile at the woman and extended it to the man standing next to her. "How soon should we expect to head out? Forgive me if I missed it but I don't believe it was mentioned earlier."

 

[Spectre]

Thea then smiled to Tristan.

"Him?" she raised a brow, and nodded Mercer's way. "He may be friends with the Duke, sure. But we don't answer to him." she shook her head. "You'll all still answer to me, and Ser Adler- " she stammered in case he didn't already know- "The gent that greeted you all into our little family circle."

She paused and waited for the other conversation points.

However the brunette female spoke up, strange to hear an accent like hers in these parts- not strange in a bad way. It was nice that Westmarch was becoming quite the melting pot. She nodded her head to Ophelia-

"No you're right. It wasn't noted. That's why you talk to me." she spoke loudly, to make sure the others could hear her clearly. "But you should head out as soon as you believe you're prepared. I've got a copy of the contract here." she pulled out a scroll case and popped it open with her right hand, her left hand still holding her tankard. She dumped out the contract, as well as a quill. She leaned forward, set her tankard down and also pulled up a very small vial of ink. Special ink used only by Guild Members.

The contract laid out the basics that were already stated. However it also gave basic directions and details of names.

"...

This contract binds the Guild Members below to the current contract duties:

Locating the party sent to establish a quarry- lead by one Mister Jon of Haberland, and his ten chosen associates.

They set out north-north-east of Westmarch (three weeks ago to current date). Scouts reported a good source of stone at the base of the mountain there they were to investigate and set up operations.

The party is to return with evidence of the party's set up and operation, with Jon of Haberland himself, or their whereabouts otherwise. If Jon of Haberland is unable to return to Westmarch, bring his contract in to be cancelled, or fulfilled by another."​

The paper had a large open space on the bottom for the names of the Guild member volunteers- and a space next to them to sign a quick 'x'. Only to be signed by the members themselves.

"So, if you all agree, sign an 'x' near your name. If you are illiterate, i can point out where you are to cross."
There was also another copy behind the signed one, without names or signatures. "When you're done, one of you will take this copy," she slid the unsigned copy aside "as proof that you are working with the Guild. I don't care who takes it, as long as you have it."

She motioned for them to approach, sign, and for one of them to take the copy. "It'd be nice to leave as soon as possible. Horses are available if you can afford them toward the north gate. We look forward to seeing you all again."

 

[An Otaku]

"Excuse me! Pardon - make way (watch yourself, git)!"

Mercer had practically fallen out of his chair on the words "Proof" and "Guild" from their Mentor. As per usual, his instincts reacted just a fraction faster than his mind, as Mercer was already snapping from the table, tankard in hand, and parting through through blokes as he internally leapt with glee.

I was 'opin' this'd be the case, thought Mercer. Granted, it's only natural some form o-badge would be offered... Just like it's only natural the guild party's leader best be takin' ta form!

As Thea thusly concluded her speech at her own table, Mercer less-than-gently set his undrunk ale between the papers and the rogue-ish fellow seated with their mentor - splashing bits of alcohol onto the table and man. "Ah-hah! Apologies there, chap. Now let's see.... It's only natural ta party leader be in possession of an important document such as this, eh?" He said, winking at Thea, and snatching up the unsigned copy and tucking it within his coat.

Being sure to keep his voice amicable and his smile warm, Mercer peripherally glanced behind to see how the others were reacting. No (further) weapons had been drawn and no one was shouting, yet. Fortuitously enough, the same bar-goers he'd trampled to get here were scattered between his back and the Northman. But such was hardly a guarantee of remaining unpunctured.

Barely scanning the paper's contents, Mercer grabbed the utensil. A sloping 'X' was deftly quilled onto the official document aside his printed name which, he remarked with a lowered brow, did not include his title of viscount. He also made sure to glance over each of his compatriots' full names. Kollskeg Blackbanner, Tristan Conrad, Ophelia Antoinette Lancaster... What a pretty name, that last one.

Still not missing a beat, Mercer clapped together his flesh and skeleton hands whilst backing toward the exit. "Seein' as there's no question to our agreeance, I shall look forward to reunitin' with ye all at ta North Gate!" And without waiting for a response, he spun on his heels and made directly for the Blue Goose's doors.

Now, to find a shop sellin' ink and paper...

 

[Spectre]

Depending on when Mercer had landed, he may know of a shop with a hanging wooden sign out front labelled the 'Ink and Quill' written in script above a pictograph of just that- a quill and ink vial. The place was small, and sold books- both published, and empty, as well as different forms of papers, stamps, writing utensils, and colored waxes. An intellectual's shop, for sure. It was at the southeastern corner of the block the Blue Goose sat.

Outside was still fairly wet- as the drizzle still came. The mud was still fairly hard in the streets, but it pooled in some foot and hoof prints. The wooden planks of the boardwalk would also be scattered with muddy boot prints and the like. The air smelled like sea, mud, and rain. Though it was quieter now than it was earlier.

 

[Applo]

As Mercer fell over himself to take the unsigned contract, Tristan resisted the urge to kick him between the legs by imaging all nasty freak accidents that could befall someone venturing into the wilds. For some reason he found the mental image of a bear dropping from a tree onto his ageing colleague particularly pleasing although he wasn't entirely sure this was a thing that bears did. In fact the more he thought about it the more Tristan realised he had very little idea what bears actually did when they weren't dancing, answering the call of nature was the only thing he was certain would be pretty much the same. Tristan's ruminations on what bears did in fact do in the woods were brought to an abrupt end by the strange flat sound of flesh on metal as Mercer clapped his hands together before addressing the little group.

"...yeah, likewise" Tristan mumbled as Mercer backed through the door before mentally leveling a long list of insults at the man.

Tristan scanned the contracts that remained on the table, and after spotting the one that bore his name scrawled a signature that definitely started with a T but quickly devolved into a shapeless squiggle that could say almost anything depending on who tried to read it. When the ink had dried satisfactorily he slid the paper across the table to Thea and accompanied it with his most winning smile.

"Have those coins ready for when we get back." Tristan said whilst waving vaguely at Mercers contract "I think I'm going to need several large drinks after this."

With that he turned and made for the door, pausing only to nod politely at Ophelia and some what more casually give a short little wave to Kollskeg. Tristan couldn't help but like the Norseman a little already, it was the casual way the he had implied imminent violence against Mercer. It was good to know that he wasn't alone in his feeling towards the alchemist.

The cold drizzled hit him as soon as he stepped through the Inn's door, the porch provided little protection against the fine drops of water that blew sideways on the breeze. While the weather wasn't pleasant it also was unpleasant. The spray was rather refreshing after the warm, heavy atmosphere of the inn and as he made his way towards his lodging a genuine smile crept across Tristan's face. It seemed this plan of his might just come together after all.

After collecting his belongings Tristan made his way slowly towards the ports north gate. As he meandered he popped into various little shops to make small purchases that would make the journey ahead more agreeable without dipping to far into his very meager supply of coin as well as one purchase from some citizens he found behind one of the ports less salubrious taverns.

Tristan realized he was near the gate when he caught the distinctive aroma of stables. The notion of acquiring a horse had been quickly dismissed almost as soon as Thea had mentioned it. He just wasn't at home with horses. Where he had had grown up the only time he had seen a horse was when it had landed in his bowl or when the soldiers were called to put down a riot. Besides a horse would be just one more drain on his funds and anyway as one of nature's pedestrians he had no need for one, in his old life he had walked around the city all day, the only difference now was that he wouldn't be walking in circles. As he made his way down the final street that lead to the gate house Tristan wondered who, if any of his companions might turn up on a horse, his bet was on Ophelia and maybe Mercer, if the slimy weasel could actually afford one.

 

[Rowdybull]

Slogging down the last of his mead, he tossed his mug back onto the table. Kollskeg chuckled to himself as the alchemical heretic fumbled and escaped through a the crowd of the tavern.
"I say its high time that this adventure begins." He announced a bit brazenly as he tossed his copper coins at the barmaiden to cover the mead cost.
Scribing his name on his contract without necessarily reading it, he felt the first light tug in his stomach. Pre adventure jitters, he had them when he was but a fresh faced boy facing his first raider band. Inwardly, he smiled at the aspect of getting back on his feet and back into the throngs of adventure.
"I will see you all at the gates then." Combing his fingers through his beard, he collected his axe at the door and made his way out into the drizzling rain. A mule awaited him at the stables, nothing special or fancy, no high bred imperial stallion, just a hearty mule from home he had traded for before he left his town. Already saddled with his equipment and food stuffs, he took a moment with his pack animal to brush it down, and check the shoes before their first adventure.
"Well Higela old girl, its time to shake the dust from your bones and get ready." Kollskeg spoke, taking both hands and placing them onto each side of the mules head. He gave a soft chuckle when Higela chuffed in reply; though not very in tune with animals as most other normann would be, each and every one of them including Kollskeg understood the companionship of a faithful animal is the bond you can always trust.

 

[An Otaku]

The Ink and Quill, as it was aptly named, was a cozy little shop. It reminded Mercer of the dive he'd spent most of his petty days as a "freelancing contractor" before becoming the state's Royal Alchemist; though, folks had had a much more vulgar name for the type of work he had done back then.

He offered a greeting to the shopkeeper nestled behind the back counter, previously occupied with a heavy, red-backed novel, before inspecting the proffered shelves of merchandise.

Tugging off his black glove between his teeth, Mercer thumbed through the varying textures of parchment. The spare contract relinquished by their mentor Thea possessed a smooth almost waxy cover and muted tan finish, but such was the majority of paper provided. The real key was the ink: an atypical pigment of heavy purple-black with light refractive gloss.

Bottles of deep blacks, oily greens, and viscous blues –nothing quite like what he was searching for. It shouldn't come as a surprise, Mercer sincerely doubted he would be the first or last to attempt such as this. The guild's ink solution was likely a special homebrew. Well, just suppose I'll be doin' ta same!

Mercer placed a thick stack of paper identical to the contract's onto the shopkeep's counter. Seeing as how nothing in this place quite fit his ink parameters, he would just have to mix the solutions he'd brought on his voyage for situations exactly as this. "'Ow's it goin'? Just 'ere to make a small purchase o' paper," he said, then plucked a trio of small, leather-backed journals from the counter's inset stand. "And these too, if ya please!"

Granted, he shouldn't be wasting the Britannian Assembly's resources on frivolous expenditures. Then again, to hell with the Assembly. Stuck-up blowhards. "We're concerned yer continued fundin' is a waste o' valuable resources, Viscount Abbott…" Shove it up your arses, gits. I don't get paid nearly enough for t'is drivel as is. Let's see the lot of you deal with holier t'en thou bastards or sprat Lords who keep thinkin' yer a bloody circus magician!

Besides, these journals might well end up integral pieces of literature. One of these days there would be entire libraries devoted to the chronicles of Britannia's first alchemist; or perhaps just a minor newsprint article on an alchemist fraud's beheading. Either or.

Mercer realized he was drumming the counter with his nails and recoiled his hand to slide back on the black glove, chuckling. "Eh-heh. Ah… don't suppose ye could speed this along. Time's a commodity for us guild agents, it is," he said, tugging the corner of his contract copy just out of his coat...

 

[Rowdybull]

The bearded Viking plodded over in the rainfall, leading his mule laden with his heavier armor and camping equipment, he had nodded in silent greeting at the boy at the gate. Kollskeg opened a small pouch on the ide of his saddle, giving Higela a handful of oats before popping some in his own mouth as well.
He chewed the wad of oats passively, slowly mulling over something on his mind before he packed it away in his cheek and cleared his voice to get the young mans attention.
"Hey, boy!" He said over the soft pattering of rainwater on his hooded head,
"What is a young, green, boy such as yourself doing in a guild of adventurers?" He swallowed his cheek full of mashed oats before pulling the thick wool hood of his cloak down to his shoulders. He sized the boy up and down much like he did in the tavern, only this time he was able to see the boy standing before him, instead of sitting. Shoulder length hair was not uncommon to those like Kollskeg, the lower classes of the Empire, but nothing to raise suspicion. Other than being younger than Kollskeg, nothing at all was really suspicious about him, but Kollskeg liked to bust the balls of the new deckhands. Busting the balls of the youngest member in the party was really not that different to him.
"Fancy meeting some milk-skinned lass in distress and getting in her bedchamber? Or are you running to the out-lands trying to get away from some lasses father?" He chuckled aloud, an approving chuff from Higela the mule making him feel like less of an ass.

 

[Applo]

Tucked in a small alcove to shelter from the incessant rain Tristan heard his compatriots arrival well before he was them. The sound of hooves on cobbles interspersed by the metallic clank of armour was easily heard over the patter of the rain and the noise of the town dwellers going about their business. Leaning forwards so that his head stuck out past the edge of the alcove Tristan was surprised to see the Norseman leading a small mount up the street towards him. Kollskeg had seemed the least likely of his compatriots to own a mount and as Tristan watched man and beast slowly lumber towards him he wondered if he hadn't misjudged the others as well. Maybe Mercer was merely a bit of a shit rather than an out and out prick.

Giving a curt little nod in return to the Norseman's silent greeting Tristan was content to stand dumb and expressionless as he watched Kollskeg feed his horse though he involuntarily wrinkled his nose when the Norseman shoved a handful of the oats into his own mouth to chew on.

"Hey, boy! What is a young, green, boy such as yourself doing in a guild of adventurers?"

The question caught Tristan off guard and for a moment he was tempted to tell Kollskeg exactly where he could put it. Back home, no back where he had grown up, such a stupid question would of been met with a boot to the kidneys or maybe a friendly black eye. Even when Tristan had been in the guards they had never bother with those kinds of question, not a least while the target still had free use of their arms and legs. Better to take them unawares with a blow to the head and ask question later with the aid of manacles, shackles and the ever useful desk draw. A fraction of a second later another part of Tristan's mind pointed out that smashing Kollskeg over the head was not a viable option, the scars on his face and his general being alive pointed to a man who was not in the habit of losing fights. Also the guild would probably frown on it. This condensed train of thoughts rolled through tristans mind in a couple of seconds and although sense and reason stopped him from trying to bash the man across the skull Tristan's hand reached for his truncheon out of sheer reflex all the same.

"The usual, looking for coin, fame and women, nothing special" Tristan muttered, feeling Kollskeg's eyes roll over him as he did.

"Fancy meeting some milk-skinned lass in distress and getting in her bedchamber? Or are you running to the out-lands trying to get away from some lasses father?"

"Both, no point settling down with the first or second pretty lass to look at me twice and it seems sensible to get out of town away from their family for a while." That last part had a grain of truth to it at least. Looking at Kollskeg Tristan came to the conclusion that further conversation was probably inevitable and that it would be better to steer any questions away from his last and onto safer territory.

"So now you tell me why an old man like yourself has joined when you should be resting your feet by a fire and sipping on soft food" Tristan said as he navigated from his alcove round the horse to a different spot away from the beast's backside "and while you're at what are we going to do with the ginger arse?"

 

[Spectre]

"'Ow's it goin'? Just 'ere to make a small purchase o' paper," he said, then plucked a trio of small, leather-backed journals from the counter's inset stand. "And these too, if ya please!"

"Eh-heh. Ah… don't suppose ye could speed this along. Time's a commodity for us guild agents, it is," he said, tugging the corner of his contract copy just out of his coat...

The shopkeep sat up and stood straight- "Good day..." he muttered quietly. He fingered and sized each item up and attempted to do the math in his head for the items brought up. "That's seven coppers, please." He gave a satisfied nod. The man was bright, but not exactly quick with the tongue.

---
At the gate, a young man made his way in the drizzle, sloshing through the mud, and trying to keep his balance more than once as he near slipped coming up the small hill... Like most others in the town, he was thankful for his cloak. It's grayish brown color darkening at the shoulders and hood where the rain began to wet the oil covered fabric. His cloak covered his full body, much like a hooded poncho.

He was a young guldmember, and squire to the Blonde Lady-knight in the tavern. Approaching the other two already here- clearly a northman, and another man roughly his own age, Guy Burkfield spoke up as he closed in
"Looks like I'm going to be filling in for the black haired lass." he called as he came closer. "Not sure what happen'd with her, but my Lady sent me in her stead." He then gave a wave with a slowly raised right hand.

It was then that he realized the two were in mid conversation, and quickly buttoned his lip. His large eyes showed an 'oops' moment. Though he closed in slowly, and stopped within easy speaking distance above the constant light patter of mist.

 

[An Otaku]

10 minutes, five sheets of parchment, and less than 1/3 a milliliter of ink. That was all it took for Mercer to duplicate the guild contract. He had to admit, this looked good. He also had to admit it may have been pointless. The previous merchant hadn't so much as batted an eye on Mercer's presented form. Proof of guild connections was going to be worth something, it had to be; just perhaps not discounts.

It was still invaluable for records if nothing else, though; Mercer was sure the Royal Marines could think of a way or two to use such a paper slip.

Mercer had been forging the contract in his prior rented tenement – moldy, rodent-infested, but inconspicuous – and had been keen to retrieve a few particular items and supplies on his way out from the room, and the stables...

[♪]​

Hooves clopping soggy clumps of dirt through the street, Mercer ambled through Westmarch atop his buckskin, patchy steed. As his mounted form passed others, the royal alchemist was keen to tip his side-folded slouch hat in mock greetings. The simple pleasure derived from being half a dozen feet above others as someone else did his walking, all the while surrounding citizens marching through mud to hurry from the rain, was exceptional.

Whistling under the overcast drizzle, drops pattering over his tan-black coat, brimmed hat, Mercer arrived at the town's North Gate with two guild mates present – their respective slight, black or hulking, red-cloaked figures easily identified – alongside someone else.

Mercer's gut knotted with suspicion, intuition denoting something to be off. Not necessarily wrong, but certainly not proper. The drab poncho'd man raised an awkward salutations toward Tristan and Kollskeg that was soundly ignored. Deciding to momentarily dismiss his concern, Mercer continued his whistling approach until upon his companions.

"Drownin' in the wet, eh, ge'tlemen?" Mercer announced, saddling along the three men and mule. "S'pose ye could use a good rinse! Ha ha! So. 'Aven't seen the lass yet, 'ave we?"