Ironworks Gaming Forum - View Single Post - Tales of the Roving

Legolas · 03-07-2008, 08:07 PM

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."

03-07-2008, 08:07 PM	#25
Legolas Jack Burton Join Date: March 31, 2001 Location: The zephyr lands beneath the brine. Age: 41 Posts: 5,459	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."