Unlikely Defenders

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Aster, Sep 7, 2016.

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  1. @Pastel ☠ Psychosis

    The border town of Mirdauk rested within the forest between the kingdom of Fellholt and Zotopian Empire. It was one of a few towns that rested with a checkpoint only a few miles away. The town however was allied with Fellholt as well as its occupants.

    Dusk had fallen over the tall evergreens giving the small town and wooden buildings a very homey feeling to all that passed through. Weary travelers, priest on a pilgrimage, maybe even a supply convoy or two. There was a place designated to store Fellholt's checkpoint supply as well. Of course, it was guarded.

    The focus was upon the lovely tavern with patrons from all walks of life. Some natives, others visiting yet all relished in alcohol and mead with the occasional company of a woman. The lighting was dim in the area supported by a fireplace going on the East wall. The door slowly opened, and the viewed sight was enough to make a number of men give pause to whom walked in.

    Crest walked into the tavern not looking no one in the eye as he moved silently across the floor. The silence seemed to grow louder with each and every step he took as more and more eyes burned into his robes. They were deep blue and covered his whole body with a white trim to match. Some tried to catch a glance of his face under the hood, yet they were only met with darkness. Magic was outlawed any and everywhere yet that didn't stop a select few from practicing it or Crest who was a Master of Arts. Some even said he was above even that.

    He sat down at the bar stool, cloak flowing freely behind him. A symbol of a Crecent moon and a tilted blue rose was held to the center probably holding significant importance. For a moment, he was quiet. Taking in the whispers of those behind him. Some things he dared to not even repeat. "One tankard of your strongest ale." He finally spoke up in a mostly distance voice, keeping his gaze low.
     
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  2. @Aster

    “Hey, Demoness, another round here!” The voice of a gruff male demanded, pounding a large fist against the wooden table with a grumble. He sat among fairly large men such as he, all dressed in silver armor. This one specifically wore a medal around his neck, the Medal of Honor from the King himself.

    With a weary sigh, Lucine shuffled along the bar of the tavern, “Coming right up, General Emerson!” She called out, pushing brunette bangs away from her lavender hues as she paid attention to filling up large mugs of ale and setting six each upon two trays. Hearing a voice speaking behind her, she nodded with a wary yet interested gaze. “Alright…” She murmured, drawing out a tankard and filling it with the ale of his request. The female slid it across the bar for him to take, and nodded with a small smile as she picked up the trays with another rough sigh as she approached the table of knights.

    She despised the Royal Guard that her father had chosen; Each of them were despicable men in personality, no matter how honorable their actions were. Slaying a fierce ogre? She could do that with charm and a dagger. They were nothing but frauds, who somehow made it to one of the highest ranks in the kingdom’s military, “Here you go, boys.” She murmured, skillfully sliding the mugs off of the trays and onto the table with ease.

    “Hey, Fernus, d’ya think maybe the Demoness could be some sort of Succubus?” One of the lower guards mumbled, jabbing a thumb at the young woman, who grimaced yet again but kept silent.

    “I wouldn’t mind finding out,” Fernus responded, gloved hand reaching out to grasp a lock of the woman’s hair, who quickly swat his hand away with a glare.

    Imbeciles… She thought, “Sorry Fern, but I’m not that desperate just yet. I’ll let you know when I’m on my deathbed.” Lucine responded with disdain, turning on her heels with the trays tucked under her arm, and murmuring as she returned to the bar, “Even though I wouldn’t want some feeble-minded dunce of a guard defiling my body.” The woman scoffed, pushing her hair away from her face again as she glanced to the newcomer with a softened expression, “Traveled far, sir?” She asked, curious about the stranger’s whereabouts, not caring much for his strange appearance.
     
  3. Crest waited and waited while the woman served the other men around him. Truthfully, he wasn't all that thirsty yet parched from all the walking he had done. Slowly, his hearing zeroed in upon her conversation with the men and the words they said about her. Pigs in iron the lot of them. This caused the hooded figure to shake his head a few times. Good men lay dying upon the way side just because his 'buddy' who couldn't stop a rat, armed himself with a cheese wheel wanted to secure his position for his own selfish gain.

    Finally she had returned to him and placed the drink before him. She was probably the first who wasn't scared of his outlandish apperence. Unlike most of the patrons in the tavern still very aware of his presence. "Well, aren't you the fiery one?" The shadow faced figure spoke up quietly. His hood nodded and his hand siezed the drink, taking down a quick sip. The figure went still, judging the taste and fire going down his throat. Good quality. The stuff of hard workers who earned their living, not stole it from others.

    "It has been quite the journey indeed. Many foes. Animals looking for a meal. But I've been through Narath to come here." Narath was the land of some of the tallest, heartiest trees you ever could stumble upon. The feeling of a certain energy went into ones body whenever someone came into the boundaries. Likewise the beast were some of the most indescribable lot you ever did see and some say they were possessed by the 'forest song' driven to insanity, turning them into permanent residents. "The wind blows this way. I only follow it." The man paused to take a longer drink of the frosty ale to wuench his throat and nodded once more in approval. "What of yourself?"

    Jeck put his tankard down for the first time after she had dropped it off. He was one of the knights in the trope that served their conduit to success: General Emerson. Times like getting all the ale you wanted and all the women a man could ever need made being a Royal Knight just that much better. With his system full of booze and his emotions in bliss, he was about to call her over over for another round when he spotted something that stick out to him. She had been talking to that guy everyone was eyeing. A magic user no doubt with a hefty sum of gold on his head as all magic users had. Jeck bumped Fernus and nodded to the two talking at the bar. "Your woman is getting a little too close to that walking cache of gold..." He said with a growl. "I bet he'll fetch a high price alive or dead." Jeck said with a evil grin on his face and reached over, clutching the hilt of his sword.
     
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