|
The Rattler is tired
"Yes, do take your business elsewhere. You're robbing my dear guards of the pleasure of being able to wake me," he retorts from a lying position.
The mention of the word "merc" brings him to an upright position as he rattles the bars, while laughing almost like a maniac. "You...hear...that?" he manages to utter between bouts of frantic laughter. "He called you a merc. I wonder what that is." He is oblivious to the two men being close to blows, taunting his guards being way more fun. "Merchant? Mercer? Merciful?" He laughs even harder and has to double over, for his stomach muscles can't take this much merriment. |
Re: Tales of the Roving - City on Wheels
Rohan sighed and claped the fellow on the shoulder.
<font color=silver> My appologies. I meant no offense. My journey has made me weary. Allow me to buy you a drink or something sometime. I really didnt mean anything by calling you a mercenary. In fact a few of the best men i ever knew were mercs. </font> He turned back to the man and woman on the horse. <font color=silver> Sorry for my rough manner my lady, </font> he said with a slight bow. <font color=silver> My lord. If i may converse with you after you so kindly point to a healer of some sort, i would be happy to exchange stories. My name, by the way, is Rohan Nagarian. |
Casquinto's Surprise
Well it seemed the 'dark hero' was not phased by a charging horse, or even acknowledged its existence, but at his rather human speaking, our hero concluded that even though he appeared to have absolutely no perception or wits to the world around him, he seemed human enough, so he stopped his horse from charging. Instead, he kissed his lady (on the cheek), and wheeled around, disdain replacing righteous anger. “After I do what now?” He inquired haughtily, “You seem to have me mistaken for a signpost.” He refrained from saying 'my good man', for such a thing was only reserved for good men. “You are entirely too familiar with your betters, sir.” He sniffed, “Nay, thou shalt not be conversing with one such as I in the foreseeable future or indeed otherwise. Begone, peasant.”
With that, he took his horse and lady off into the night, leaving the Caged One to rattle away. Tapping his heels to his gallant steed's flanks, they charged off into the moonlight... ...and returned to our hero's private trap - after a rather roundabout ride. Along the way, he sighed to his fairest of all fair ladies everywhere, “Why must they haunt me so? These fools who think themselves as great as I?” His sigh was overly dramatic and his eyes twinkled with the sardonic; he did not mean a word of it; simply playing to a part. “Alas,” He raised her white-gloved hand to his lips, “Where would I be without you, fairest of all fair gems, envy of maidens everywhere?” |
Re: Tales of the Roving - City on Wheels
Rohan gave the man a look that had stopped murderers cold in their tracks. He tightend his grip on his sword hilt. his free hand curled into a fist. Peasant? He was the son of a powerful man, and if this "hero" wanted to show off for his lady, then so be it. He would put that pup through his paces once he found a battle circle. If such a thing exsisted out here.
Rohan addmitted to himself he should have drawn when the horse charged, but being ever confident......., being confident was going to get him into trouble. There was something wrong with that guy. He didnt like him at all. A signpost? Ha. Rohan shook his head and headed toward his horse, drawing his hood back up. He wasn't hurt badly, a mere scratch was all really. He knew how to grind roots well enough. His mother wasnt ignorant of everything after all. He started humming something called 'To Dance With Demons' to himself as he unpacked his armor, he quickly put on his breastplate, chainmail, vembraces and gauntlets. The Red Hand shone brightly in the dim. His family's crest. He would ride the parimeter tonight, and in the morning he would find out who that arrogant popinjay was. |
Re: Tales of the Roving - City on Wheels
Not far from the rattling cage, Merc the guardsman looks after the young lords with a mixture of relief and wonder. Had he been insulted, imperilled and saved by the conflict between these men, or was he insulted, offered a drink in posh company and cheated of it by a rash stag's charge?
As the hoots of the prisoner muddy any effort to think this through, he simply spits on the ground and grumbles. Pampered nobility, causing nothing but trouble. What use do hirelings have for their honour and scheming anyway? He grabs hold of his spear, ramming the bottom in between the bars. "Fun's over, scum. Keep grinning and you'll get a little something for the tooth spirits tonight." The envy of maidens everywhere weaves her fingers through the horse's mane, steadying herself to look back upon the rider. The lady's emeralds narrow in deliberate study, then she smirks. "'tis for the weavers of Fate to tell, truly my lord. Yet handless and shamed in the ducal gaols perchance?" She blinks, and her smile widens modestly. "Has his lordship ne'er heard mention of Nagarian? What pleasant days he must have spent with sports in the stead of courtly matters." "It's a big one." The rider prods the corpse. "Pack animals, you know? Best we ride on a ways before making camp." The men nod meekly. It's a cursed foul task for lousy pay, and not a bone of good fortune's been thrown their way since Fern found that campsite all those days ago. But for all the miles between themselves and the big caravan, they would all of them die before giving up. Just not to wolves, if he can get his way. "Move then." |
The Rattler is annoyed
He grunts as the butt of the spear slams into his stomach. He can't help but double over, hating to show so much weakness to these men. But he grits his teeth and has to endure.
There is no point in harbouring false hopes, yet the appearance of that mysterious man next to his cage earlier was a manifestation of hope. Sleep comes. It won't last long. The guards will make sure of that. |
Re: Tales of the Roving - City on Wheels
Rohan's horse stood off a little ways, tied to a tree. He knew he should be patrolling, but he figured that there were enough gaurds to take care of anything that might come.
His armor and clothes lay aside in a pile along with his belt and scabbard. Sweat gleamed on his chest as he went through his sword forms, slowly at first, then he gained speed. One form melded into another as he entered a state of complete concentration and calm. As he moved he thought of nothing. Only the sword, only that they were one. And when battle was joined they were as one then too. Rohan smoothly came to a halt. he shook his head and stared at his sword blade. When was it going to end? How many more years? Its not as if he was an old man. He would just like to get married and have a child or two to carry on his name. Who knew, he may even go home one day, but that was a way off. Rohan snapped himself out of it and continued with his forms. |
Re: Tales of the Roving - City on Wheels
The days of rest pass swiftly in the village. Men regain their strength and work up their courage in the relative safety of humble Brisken. There is but minor exchange of goods and services beyond the ale, and few are the restless who await their hire here. Matters of the sort are swiftly settled - a full twenty-one armed riders now see to the safety of the wagons, a force to rival the warband of any barony.
One by one the pieces of the train pull themselves in line, raising a cloud of dust and dirt thick enough to blot out the rising sun. At the head, scarce audible over the noise of animals, gear and men, the two big men sort out the final points of the perilous journey to come. Tom Brinks, the merchant owning a full sixth of the carts in the train and showing his wealth with a long and laboriously oiled black moustache and brightly coloured attire if not his pouch, and Selgrid of Vasted, the Weasel only behind the mercenary captain's back. And well should they make these arrangements. Sizeable as the escort is, the next days they will risk both ambush and raid. It is whispered that a host of fearless robbers dens in the region, but also that there are hostile spirits. Perhaps they are spirit bandits, or raiders with those otherworldly allies at their beck and call. Tall monsters lurk hidden beside the road, waiting to pounce. A fog of insanity and death will fall over all those who lack the proper wards and charms. It is where the Firanhide run. Ahead, the earthen road winds off into the distance, looking no different from the path the wheels took into the village. Vegetation rarely spring up over waist height here, and stands devoid of colour where it has. The winds are dry, and while it is no true wasteland it takes little imagination to think of finer climes. Still the caravan is trying to get ready. Dust and broken hills await. |
Re: Tales of the Roving - City on Wheels
Rohan rode on his tall horse like a man who knew his business, there was a good reason for this though, as he did really know his business. His mind empty and his face blank, Rohan stayed slightly apart from everyone else, observing and staying silent. Once and a while a man or woman said something about the weather or asked him if he was looking for something. Rohan smiled and replied politley, though his smile looked force and his polite replies sounded a little gruff.
It wasnt their fault of course, he was just getting a little restless, he had been on the move for a long time, and now that he was in one place for a few days his mind felt foggy. At night he would put himself through the sword forms to keep his mind off his idleness. He'd seen a cute lady or two, but hadnt managed to steal a kiss or even a dance, these women were a little weary of big men with swords. He sighed and continued to obseve, hopefully they would be off soon. |
The Rattler is impatient
All this waiting, while normal folk go about whatever business normal folk have to do in a provincial dust bowl like this. It makes one terribly impatient. He had never been known as a patient person, but worse than before, here nothing could help him, apart from rattling the bars, pretending to be the madman everyone thought him to be.
Of course it isn't simply an act, but then again, every good performance has a grain of truth in it. Once again he rattles his bars, trying to pass the time as best as he can. The future has something to look forward to. Whether it is escape, execution or some new form of torture, the future does hold something for him. The present does not. The sooner they leave this dung hole, the better. He wants to know what the future holds. In the meantime he rattles his bars, causing less annoyance to his guards than he thinks he does. |
| All times are GMT -4. The time now is 10:27 AM. |
Powered by vBulletin® Version 3.8.3
Copyright ©2000 - 2025, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.
©2024 Ironworks Gaming & ©2024 The Great Escape Studios TM - All Rights Reserved