₱ł₱ɆⱤ ₳₮ ₮ⱧɆ ₲₳₮Ɇ₴ Ø₣ Đ₳₩₦
Campaign Start
Outskirts of Charon - Checkpoint Beta
---
Caravans, refugees and wanderers alike flooded to the gates of Charon, particularly Checkpoint Beta. With worries of dark forces on the horizon, more and more individuals flocked to the safety of Charon, so much so that these military checkpoints served as hubs of commerce, both of coin and people. Livestock, foreign and domestic alike, moaned and squealed, snake-oil men and women alike chanting their absurd prices to the distressed masses.
Among the crowds, you find yourself pushing through families and soldiers alike. Claustrophobic and without a sense of personal privacy, your eyes turn attention to an aged man, clad in nomadic attire, wielding a scimitar. You know his face- the merchant that has hired you. Whether it be through flyers throughout the town or advertisements on billboards, you sought this on your own accord. The reasons are multiple- some for glory, some for coin, some for the thrill of seeing Ash and whatever decay the planet wrought. It matters naught, you are here and this is where your journey begins.
"Here, here! Da envoy to Piper's Landing!" he barked, standing upon a wooden crate, beckoning for the clients to come. With the crowds dissipating at his location, you spot a traditional horse wagon, enough to hold everyone and their gear. Reaching up to adjust his collar, the merchant spoke firmly, a hand brushing against his graying beard.
"I will keep this short, ye." the elder remarked, his foreign voice carrying an exotic accent. "You will go to Piper's Landing with my niece to find and 'trieve my shop's, hmm, assets. She is ye Captain, disobey her and I will pay you nothing. You will follow her orders and, when it is set and done, you will be paid, hmm, handsomely. We are taking horses because the other envoys have failed, perhaps because their vehicles got stuck in mud and dirt..." the merchant spoke plainly and simply, not wanting to waste any more time. "You may refer to me as Hanif the Stout, call me anything less and I will cut your pay into two. Direct any more questions to my niece, now get out of my sight. I do not need to know you, I only need your services..." the impatient, stern elder spoke with a wave of his hand.
Stomping off the crate, he casually strolled over as if he did not care much more for the presentation. Before you, the wagon sat, awaiting to be filled with adventurers and their gear. To the front, you could spot a female, dressed akin to Hanif the Stout, tending to the horses and the front of the wagon. Presumably your Captain, she appeared to be busy preparing for the journey.
As you decide what to do in this situation, whether to be social and converse or simply hop on the back of the wagon to prepare, you hear the playing of instruments among the chattering crowds, distant melodies ringing in your head...
A path unraveled, a story to be told.
₱ł₱ɆⱤ ₳₮ ₮ⱧɆ ₲₳₮Ɇ₴ Ø₣ Đ₳₩₦
Campaign Start
Outskirts of Charon - Checkpoint Beta
---
Caravans, refugees and wanderers alike flooded to the gates of Charon, particularly Checkpoint Beta. With worries of dark forces on the horizon, more and more individuals flocked to the safety of Charon, so much so that these military checkpoints served as hubs of commerce, both of coin and people. Livestock, foreign and domestic alike, moaned and squealed, snake-oil men and women alike chanting their absurd prices to the distressed masses.
Among the crowds, you find yourself pushing through families and soldiers alike. Claustrophobic and without a sense of personal privacy, your eyes turn attention to an aged man, clad in nomadic attire, wielding a scimitar. You know his face- the merchant that has hired you. Whether it be through flyers throughout the town or advertisements on billboards, you sought this on your own accord. The reasons are multiple- some for glory, some for coin, some for the thrill of seeing Ash and whatever decay the planet wrought. It matters naught, you are here and this is where your journey begins.
"Here, here! Da envoy to Piper's Landing!" he barked, standing upon a wooden crate, beckoning for the clients to come. With the crowds dissipating at his location, you spot a traditional horse wagon, enough to hold everyone and their gear. Reaching up to adjust his collar, the merchant spoke firmly, a hand brushing against his graying beard.
"I will keep this short, ye." the elder remarked, his foreign voice carrying an exotic accent. "You will go to Piper's Landing with my niece to find and 'trieve my shop's, hmm, assets. She is ye Captain, disobey her and I will pay you nothing. You will follow her orders and, when it is set and done, you will be paid, hmm, handsomely. We are taking horses because the other envoys have failed, perhaps because their vehicles got stuck in mud and dirt..." the merchant spoke plainly and simply, not wanting to waste any more time. "You may refer to me as Hanif the Stout, call me anything less and I will cut your pay into two. Direct any more questions to my niece, now get out of my sight. I do not need to know you, I only need your services..." the impatient, stern elder spoke with a wave of his hand.
Stomping off the crate, he casually strolled over as if he did not care much more for the presentation. Before you, the wagon sat, awaiting to be filled with adventurers and their gear. To the front, you could spot a female, dressed akin to Hanif the Stout, tending to the horses and the front of the wagon. Presumably your Captain, she appeared to be busy preparing for the journey.
As you decide what to do in this situation, whether to be social and converse or simply hop on the back of the wagon to prepare, you hear the playing of instruments among the chattering crowds, distant melodies ringing in your head...
A path unraveled, a story to be told.
₱ł₱ɆⱤ ₳₮ ₮ⱧɆ ₲₳₮Ɇ₴ Ø₣ Đ₳₩₦
Campaign Start
Outskirts of Charon - Checkpoint Beta
---
Caravans, refugees and wanderers alike flooded to the gates of Charon, particularly Checkpoint Beta. With worries of dark forces on the horizon, more and more individuals flocked to the safety of Charon, so much so that these military checkpoints served as hubs of commerce, both of coin and people. Livestock, foreign and domestic alike, moaned and squealed, snake-oil men and women alike chanting their absurd prices to the distressed masses.
Among the crowds, you find yourself pushing through families and soldiers alike. Claustrophobic and without a sense of personal privacy, your eyes turn attention to an aged man, clad in nomadic attire, wielding a scimitar. You know his face- the merchant that has hired you. Whether it be through flyers throughout the town or advertisements on billboards, you sought this on your own accord. The reasons are multiple- some for glory, some for coin, some for the thrill of seeing Ash and whatever decay the planet wrought. It matters naught, you are here and this is where your journey begins.
"Here, here! Da envoy to Piper's Landing!" he barked, standing upon a wooden crate, beckoning for the clients to come. With the crowds dissipating at his location, you spot a traditional horse wagon, enough to hold everyone and their gear. Reaching up to adjust his collar, the merchant spoke firmly, a hand brushing against his graying beard.
"I will keep this short, ye." the elder remarked, his foreign voice carrying an exotic accent. "You will go to Piper's Landing with my niece to find and 'trieve my shop's, hmm, assets. She is ye Captain, disobey her and I will pay you nothing. You will follow her orders and, when it is set and done, you will be paid, hmm, handsomely. We are taking horses because the other envoys have failed, perhaps because their vehicles got stuck in mud and dirt..." the merchant spoke plainly and simply, not wanting to waste any more time. "You may refer to me as Hanif the Stout, call me anything less and I will cut your pay into two. Direct any more questions to my niece, now get out of my sight. I do not need to know you, I only need your services..." the impatient, stern elder spoke with a wave of his hand.
Stomping off the crate, he casually strolled over as if he did not care much more for the presentation. Before you, the wagon sat, awaiting to be filled with adventurers and their gear. To the front, you could spot a female, dressed akin to Hanif the Stout, tending to the horses and the front of the wagon. Presumably your Captain, she appeared to be busy preparing for the journey.
As you decide what to do in this situation, whether to be social and converse or simply hop on the back of the wagon to prepare, you hear the playing of instruments among the chattering crowds, distant melodies ringing in your head...
A path unraveled, a story to be told.
₱ł₱ɆⱤ ₳₮ ₮ⱧɆ ₲₳₮Ɇ₴ Ø₣ Đ₳₩₦
Campaign Start
Outskirts of Charon - Checkpoint Beta
---
Caravans, refugees and wanderers alike flooded to the gates of Charon, particularly Checkpoint Beta. With worries of dark forces on the horizon, more and more individuals flocked to the safety of Charon, so much so that these military checkpoints served as hubs of commerce, both of coin and people. Livestock, foreign and domestic alike, moaned and squealed, snake-oil men and women alike chanting their absurd prices to the distressed masses.
Among the crowds, you find yourself pushing through families and soldiers alike. Claustrophobic and without a sense of personal privacy, your eyes turn attention to an aged man, clad in nomadic attire, wielding a scimitar. You know his face- the merchant that has hired you. Whether it be through flyers throughout the town or advertisements on billboards, you sought this on your own accord. The reasons are multiple- some for glory, some for coin, some for the thrill of seeing Ash and whatever decay the planet wrought. It matters naught, you are here and this is where your journey begins.
"Here, here! Da envoy to Piper's Landing!" he barked, standing upon a wooden crate, beckoning for the clients to come. With the crowds dissipating at his location, you spot a traditional horse wagon, enough to hold everyone and their gear. Reaching up to adjust his collar, the merchant spoke firmly, a hand brushing against his graying beard.
"I will keep this short, ye." the elder remarked, his foreign voice carrying an exotic accent. "You will go to Piper's Landing with my niece to find and 'trieve my shop's, hmm, assets. She is ye Captain, disobey her and I will pay you nothing. You will follow her orders and, when it is set and done, you will be paid, hmm, handsomely. We are taking horses because the other envoys have failed, perhaps because their vehicles got stuck in mud and dirt..." the merchant spoke plainly and simply, not wanting to waste any more time. "You may refer to me as Hanif the Stout, call me anything less and I will cut your pay into two. Direct any more questions to my niece, now get out of my sight. I do not need to know you, I only need your services..." the impatient, stern elder spoke with a wave of his hand.
Stomping off the crate, he casually strolled over as if he did not care much more for the presentation. Before you, the wagon sat, awaiting to be filled with adventurers and their gear. To the front, you could spot a female, dressed akin to Hanif the Stout, tending to the horses and the front of the wagon. Presumably your Captain, she appeared to be busy preparing for the journey.
As you decide what to do in this situation, whether to be social and converse or simply hop on the back of the wagon to prepare, you hear the playing of instruments among the chattering crowds, distant melodies ringing in your head...
A path unraveled, a story to be told.
₱ł₱ɆⱤ ₳₮ ₮ⱧɆ ₲₳₮Ɇ₴ Ø₣ Đ₳₩₦
Campaign Start
Outskirts of Charon - Checkpoint Beta
---
Caravans, refugees and wanderers alike flooded to the gates of Charon, particularly Checkpoint Beta. With worries of dark forces on the horizon, more and more individuals flocked to the safety of Charon, so much so that these military checkpoints served as hubs of commerce, both of coin and people. Livestock, foreign and domestic alike, moaned and squealed, snake-oil men and women alike chanting their absurd prices to the distressed masses.
Among the crowds, you find yourself pushing through families and soldiers alike. Claustrophobic and without a sense of personal privacy, your eyes turn attention to an aged man, clad in nomadic attire, wielding a scimitar. You know his face- the merchant that has hired you. Whether it be through flyers throughout the town or advertisements on billboards, you sought this on your own accord. The reasons are multiple- some for glory, some for coin, some for the thrill of seeing Ash and whatever decay the planet wrought. It matters naught, you are here and this is where your journey begins.
"Here, here! Da envoy to Piper's Landing!" he barked, standing upon a wooden crate, beckoning for the clients to come. With the crowds dissipating at his location, you spot a traditional horse wagon, enough to hold everyone and their gear. Reaching up to adjust his collar, the merchant spoke firmly, a hand brushing against his graying beard.
"I will keep this short, ye." the elder remarked, his foreign voice carrying an exotic accent. "You will go to Piper's Landing with my niece to find and 'trieve my shop's, hmm, assets. She is ye Captain, disobey her and I will pay you nothing. You will follow her orders and, when it is set and done, you will be paid, hmm, handsomely. We are taking horses because the other envoys have failed, perhaps because their vehicles got stuck in mud and dirt..." the merchant spoke plainly and simply, not wanting to waste any more time. "You may refer to me as Hanif the Stout, call me anything less and I will cut your pay into two. Direct any more questions to my niece, now get out of my sight. I do not need to know you, I only need your services..." the impatient, stern elder spoke with a wave of his hand.
Stomping off the crate, he casually strolled over as if he did not care much more for the presentation. Before you, the wagon sat, awaiting to be filled with adventurers and their gear. To the front, you could spot a female, dressed akin to Hanif the Stout, tending to the horses and the front of the wagon. Presumably your Captain, she appeared to be busy preparing for the journey.
As you decide what to do in this situation, whether to be social and converse or simply hop on the back of the wagon to prepare, you hear the playing of instruments among the chattering crowds, distant melodies ringing in your head...
A path unraveled, a story to be told.
Hanif the Stout? Hmph! More like Hanif the Lout! Ingrid found his demeanor rather annoying, but in all honesty, it would make the trip more fun. She idly started to think of fun nicknames to call him-maybe she could work her pay down to a penny. After all, money wasn't really why she was doing this.
Ingrid opened her notebook, opening it on the page with a floral bookmark. At the top of the page was the title, 'The Murder Games.' Her finger slid down to one entey in particular-'Year 20XX-Planet Ash. Assist in combatting malevolent forces, however possible.' However, it seemed that Hanif the Lout wasn't one such force. Such a shame.
As she waited for the mission to start, Ingrid heard music playing. Tapping her toe to the rythym soon turned into a lively ballet performance.
@Krieg @Takumi
"Not worst employer, but pay not exactly up to snuff, yes?" Death's Head had signed up for the simple reason that there was credits to be had. He was already getting paid by the Coalition, but you could never earn too much credits. The Freelance Peacekeeping Agent said no more and climbed up to the wagon to wait for their departure.
₱ł₱ɆⱤ ₳₮ ₮ⱧɆ ₲₳₮Ɇ₴ Ø₣ Đ₳₩₦
Campaign Start
Outskirts of Charon - Checkpoint Beta
---
Caravans, refugees and wanderers alike flooded to the gates of Charon, particularly Checkpoint Beta. With worries of dark forces on the horizon, more and more individuals flocked to the safety of Charon, so much so that these military checkpoints served as hubs of commerce, both of coin and people. Livestock, foreign and domestic alike, moaned and squealed, snake-oil men and women alike chanting their absurd prices to the distressed masses.
Among the crowds, you find yourself pushing through families and soldiers alike. Claustrophobic and without a sense of personal privacy, your eyes turn attention to an aged man, clad in nomadic attire, wielding a scimitar. You know his face- the merchant that has hired you. Whether it be through flyers throughout the town or advertisements on billboards, you sought this on your own accord. The reasons are multiple- some for glory, some for coin, some for the thrill of seeing Ash and whatever decay the planet wrought. It matters naught, you are here and this is where your journey begins.
"Here, here! Da envoy to Piper's Landing!" he barked, standing upon a wooden crate, beckoning for the clients to come. With the crowds dissipating at his location, you spot a traditional horse wagon, enough to hold everyone and their gear. Reaching up to adjust his collar, the merchant spoke firmly, a hand brushing against his graying beard.
"I will keep this short, ye." the elder remarked, his foreign voice carrying an exotic accent. "You will go to Piper's Landing with my niece to find and 'trieve my shop's, hmm, assets. She is ye Captain, disobey her and I will pay you nothing. You will follow her orders and, when it is set and done, you will be paid, hmm, handsomely. We are taking horses because the other envoys have failed, perhaps because their vehicles got stuck in mud and dirt..." the merchant spoke plainly and simply, not wanting to waste any more time. "You may refer to me as Hanif the Stout, call me anything less and I will cut your pay into two. Direct any more questions to my niece, now get out of my sight. I do not need to know you, I only need your services..." the impatient, stern elder spoke with a wave of his hand.
Stomping off the crate, he casually strolled over as if he did not care much more for the presentation. Before you, the wagon sat, awaiting to be filled with adventurers and their gear. To the front, you could spot a female, dressed akin to Hanif the Stout, tending to the horses and the front of the wagon. Presumably your Captain, she appeared to be busy preparing for the journey.
As you decide what to do in this situation, whether to be social and converse or simply hop on the back of the wagon to prepare, you hear the playing of instruments among the chattering crowds, distant melodies ringing in your head...
A path unraveled, a story to be told.
"Aliak auo roi quaik?!"
A foreign, young tongue barked from the front of the wagon, the sound of feet clamoring forward. To the inhabitants of the back of the wagon, the sight of a young woman could be seen outside, looking baffled at the inhabitants within. Her attire and tongue suggested the same ethnicity and culture of Hanif the Stout, yet she stood looking more untamed and wild to the sophisticated snob of the trader.
"By N'aleth...uhh..." the brunette clamored, holstering her crooked dirk to her hip, running her right hand over her forehead. Murmuring her foreign tongue, the leader shook her head, not experienced in dealings with such exotic individuals. "Okay, yes, ah, are you all comfortable? Ah, comfortable enough? I must get...ah, name call. Yes." the captain trailed off, her accent thicker than Hanif, a voice rugged yet slow in what some would call adorable. Others, perhaps in mean-spirit, sounding intellectually slow.
Pulling from her leather trousers an old notepad of sorts, the nomad began looking over a list, tightening her eyes over the not-so fine text. "Death...Maurd? S-Shino...Maodo? L-Lai...Nang?" the captain slowly and hesitantly spoke, looking to a plethora of faces that would presumably look baffled at the butchering of English. Letting an awkward silence perforate, the captain coughed, quickly tucking the notepad back into it's original position.
"I-I will just assume, ah, list is right." she spoke, shaking her head with a roll of her eyes. "My name is Qadira, I will, ah, lead you. I explain more later, yes?" the foreigner spoke, her grasp of English fine, although it appears she suffered from some illiteracy unfortunately. Many of the inhabitants of Ash were regarded as backwater tribes, but isolation and war doesn't bode well for culture and intelligence of the finer arts.
"If you uncomfortable, ah, there is some spots on the front with me if you wish to, ah, sit. We will leave in about, ah, a click of da sun." Qadira proposed, beginning to tiptoe back to the front of the wagon, assuming many of these individuals did not seem like the social type and more of the mercenary type.
@Jeremi @Verite @Archmage Jeremiah @Yun Lee @thatguyinthestore @Takumi
"Aliak auo roi quaik?!"
A foreign, young tongue barked from the front of the wagon, the sound of feet clamoring forward. To the inhabitants of the back of the wagon, the sight of a young woman could be seen outside, looking baffled at the inhabitants within. Her attire and tongue suggested the same ethnicity and culture of Hanif the Stout, yet she stood looking more untamed and wild to the sophisticated snob of the trader.
"By N'aleth...uhh..." the brunette clamored, holstering her crooked dirk to her hip, running her right hand over her forehead. Murmuring her foreign tongue, the leader shook her head, not experienced in dealings with such exotic individuals. "Okay, yes, ah, are you all comfortable? Ah, comfortable enough? I must get...ah, name call. Yes." the captain trailed off, her accent thicker than Hanif, a voice rugged yet slow in what some would call adorable. Others, perhaps in mean-spirit, sounding intellectually slow.
Pulling from her leather trousers an old notepad of sorts, the nomad began looking over a list, tightening her eyes over the not-so fine text. "Death...Maurd? S-Shino...Maodo? L-Lai...Nang?" the captain slowly and hesitantly spoke, looking to a plethora of faces that would presumably look baffled at the butchering of English. Letting an awkward silence perforate, the captain coughed, quickly tucking the notepad back into it's original position.
"I-I will just assume, ah, list is right." she spoke, shaking her head with a roll of her eyes. "My name is Qadira, I will, ah, lead you. I explain more later, yes?" the foreigner spoke, her grasp of English fine, although it appears she suffered from some illiteracy unfortunately. Many of the inhabitants of Ash were regarded as backwater tribes, but isolation and war doesn't bode well for culture and intelligence of the finer arts.
"If you uncomfortable, ah, there is some spots on the front with me if you wish to, ah, sit. We will leave in about, ah, a click of da sun." Qadira proposed, beginning to tiptoe back to the front of the wagon, assuming many of these individuals did not seem like the social type and more of the mercenary type.
@Jeremi @Verite @Archmage Jeremiah @Yun Lee @thatguyinthestore @Takumi
"Aliak auo roi quaik?!"
A foreign, young tongue barked from the front of the wagon, the sound of feet clamoring forward. To the inhabitants of the back of the wagon, the sight of a young woman could be seen outside, looking baffled at the inhabitants within. Her attire and tongue suggested the same ethnicity and culture of Hanif the Stout, yet she stood looking more untamed and wild to the sophisticated snob of the trader.
"By N'aleth...uhh..." the brunette clamored, holstering her crooked dirk to her hip, running her right hand over her forehead. Murmuring her foreign tongue, the leader shook her head, not experienced in dealings with such exotic individuals. "Okay, yes, ah, are you all comfortable? Ah, comfortable enough? I must get...ah, name call. Yes." the captain trailed off, her accent thicker than Hanif, a voice rugged yet slow in what some would call adorable. Others, perhaps in mean-spirit, sounding intellectually slow.
Pulling from her leather trousers an old notepad of sorts, the nomad began looking over a list, tightening her eyes over the not-so fine text. "Death...Maurd? S-Shino...Maodo? L-Lai...Nang?" the captain slowly and hesitantly spoke, looking to a plethora of faces that would presumably look baffled at the butchering of English. Letting an awkward silence perforate, the captain coughed, quickly tucking the notepad back into it's original position.
"I-I will just assume, ah, list is right." she spoke, shaking her head with a roll of her eyes. "My name is Qadira, I will, ah, lead you. I explain more later, yes?" the foreigner spoke, her grasp of English fine, although it appears she suffered from some illiteracy unfortunately. Many of the inhabitants of Ash were regarded as backwater tribes, but isolation and war doesn't bode well for culture and intelligence of the finer arts.
"If you uncomfortable, ah, there is some spots on the front with me if you wish to, ah, sit. We will leave in about, ah, a click of da sun." Qadira proposed, beginning to tiptoe back to the front of the wagon, assuming many of these individuals did not seem like the social type and more of the mercenary type.
@Jeremi @Verite @Archmage Jeremiah @Yun Lee @thatguyinthestore @Takumi
"Aliak auo roi quaik?!"
A foreign, young tongue barked from the front of the wagon, the sound of feet clamoring forward. To the inhabitants of the back of the wagon, the sight of a young woman could be seen outside, looking baffled at the inhabitants within. Her attire and tongue suggested the same ethnicity and culture of Hanif the Stout, yet she stood looking more untamed and wild to the sophisticated snob of the trader.
"By N'aleth...uhh..." the brunette clamored, holstering her crooked dirk to her hip, running her right hand over her forehead. Murmuring her foreign tongue, the leader shook her head, not experienced in dealings with such exotic individuals. "Okay, yes, ah, are you all comfortable? Ah, comfortable enough? I must get...ah, name call. Yes." the captain trailed off, her accent thicker than Hanif, a voice rugged yet slow in what some would call adorable. Others, perhaps in mean-spirit, sounding intellectually slow.
Pulling from her leather trousers an old notepad of sorts, the nomad began looking over a list, tightening her eyes over the not-so fine text. "Death...Maurd? S-Shino...Maodo? L-Lai...Nang?" the captain slowly and hesitantly spoke, looking to a plethora of faces that would presumably look baffled at the butchering of English. Letting an awkward silence perforate, the captain coughed, quickly tucking the notepad back into it's original position.
"I-I will just assume, ah, list is right." she spoke, shaking her head with a roll of her eyes. "My name is Qadira, I will, ah, lead you. I explain more later, yes?" the foreigner spoke, her grasp of English fine, although it appears she suffered from some illiteracy unfortunately. Many of the inhabitants of Ash were regarded as backwater tribes, but isolation and war doesn't bode well for culture and intelligence of the finer arts.
"If you uncomfortable, ah, there is some spots on the front with me if you wish to, ah, sit. We will leave in about, ah, a click of da sun." Qadira proposed, beginning to tiptoe back to the front of the wagon, assuming many of these individuals did not seem like the social type and more of the mercenary type.
"Wasn't threat, honest question, yes?" Death's Head responded to the girl. "Assume lost money goes somewhere, instead of back into coffers of employers it go to the living. Makes sense, right?"
Miscommunication was a terrible thing so Death's Head went real close to Coco so that she heard what else he had to say.
"Will find this mechanoild hard to scrap. Suggest for everyone involved to not try, yes? Luckily I kill for money. Very rarely I kill for fun. Can make exceptions. Don't be one of those exceptions, yes?"
@Krieg @Takumi @Yun Lee @thatguyinthestore @Verite @Archmage Jeremiah
