Post by Matthew on Sept 25, 2014 16:38:14 GMT -5
Valraukar
The Northman was in a black mood; for him, freedom was lifesblood. A wild child of a warrior tribe, he reveled in the raw freedom of the high seas, the windswept mountain peaks, the storm of combat.
He had been a slave once, a valuable one at that having been a pit fighter who became quite sought after, but he had vowed upon escaping that he would never allow himself to be shackled again. And yet, he had thrown down his weapons alongside the others...and now he was bored:
At first he had tried to amuse himself with the songs and stories of his people...but after the third song, just after the part where the warrior dismembers the troll's limbs (A favorite of a young Valraukar!) the priestess declared she'd had enough & though unsure of it, he suspected Bilkin may have thrown up in his mouth.
Then he had moved on to the devising of escape plans, all of which he exhausted after ~ 5 mins.
Tecuani asked if he had wanted to play "Animals," at which he sneered, turning to look at his cellmate...what was percolating though that noggin of his? It had to be more interesting than writing his name on the cell wall in urine for the 13th time...
Bilkin
He sat and stared numbly at the cell bars, trying to ignore the pirate's racket. But, when there's no other stimulus, a working mind will seek one, and Valraukar definitely made noise. Bilkin couldn't call what the man was doing singing; it was more melodic accounts of violent and sometimes unlikely deeds, and one in particular involving a troll caused Bilkin's stomach to turn.
How did he end up with these people? How did he end up one of them? Why didn't he just give in from the start, after the first guard was killed?
He shifted uneasily, and looked at the cell lock. A simple, but sturdy thing. Nevertheless, he was wondering if he could actually burn through it with a spell of his, when his thoughts were (again) interrupted by the overwhelming stench of urine. Gods, how could one man expel so much?
He looked at the muscled, wild man, and couldn't help but feel sorry for him. A pirate, a man who declares his freedom over any law, now caged with not his rowdy company, but with a half-insane recluse incapable of dedicating himself to one decision. "Perhaps resisting until the end would've been better for both of us. I cannot stand this, not knowing what to do, what my fate is". He chuckled a bit at the concept of him finding common ground with one such as this. He got up, limbs creaking from the hours of sitting in a single, unnatural position, and shuffled closer to his cellmate.
Val
He smiled with a subtlety that belied his appearance in response to the magician's declaration.
"Perhaps indeed." he muttered stonily.
He had developed a soft spot in his heart for the magic user; though frail-looking and nervous of affect, the man was fearless, a trait that Valraukar's people respected above almost all others....
"or perhaps he is simply to unaware of the danger to realize he should be afraid?"
He shrugged, at present, the reasons behind the conjurer's apparent valor were of little import. His smile turned to a bitter sneer as he thought of their predicament: They would almost surely be killed. Of that he was all but certain. Whoever stood in judgement over them would care little for the truth, only the consequences. The bitterness deepened as he considered that the same traits that made them criminals also made them ideal agents for the recovery of this soft nobleman's spawn.
"My people have a saying 'Foolish is the man that curses the winter yet praises the cold.' that applies here." "I should have been a poet," he thought...then shaking his head with a smile, "No. Too stupid."
Turning his gaze from the warlock who moved to sit beside him, he briefly considered the guard.
"Bring him within my grasp and I could break him like a hymen." And perhaps he could grab the man's keys.
He hadn't even looked to see if the gaoler carried them on his person...he almost didn't care. To be caged in such a fashion had sapped him of much of his natural vigor and vitality.
He allowed himself a chuckle as he considered the plight the other prisoners:
"How the priestess must recoil from pissing in buckets...but where does she think the inmates' water ration comes from? Or having to shit in the straw like a beast."
Then his temporary mirth faded, turning back to his cellmate with an empty stare.
Bilkin
"Perhaps indeed," the big man grunted.
Bilkin looked at Valraukar, and saw a lazy, predatory gaze directed at the passing guard. No doubt murder and yearning for freedom filled his mind. Blikin scratched behind his ear.
"He wants out. And why shouldn't he? He killed a man, and he's got 'criminal' written all over him; they won't bother looking his case over, it's already sealed for him."
He turned to see the pirate staring him in the face, eyes expressionless. Flinching, he did not know whether to interpret this as the man's first true acknowledgment of his being, or aggression. Bilkin stared back for a bit, stood up, and with his thoughts asked, "I don't suppose you have a portable ram?" as he walked up to the bars to examine the lock. "The priestess might get off clean, and the pureblood drow, strangely enough. Neither has done anything particularly violent to the city guard. You, me, the ranger, and the drunkard, however... I don't intend on dying now. The priestess seemed to have some sort of plan, and maybe has one now. But if all fails, we'll see how many my magic can take out versus how many your weapon prowess can", and, strumming the bars, said out loud; "Breakfast soon. Might also find out what they plan on doing with us".
The small man listened to the others. He heard the incessant chatter of the Wood Elf, and the occasional chuckle of the drunken Drow. The chuckling and chatter both stopped with a loud clang as the guard used his authority, and the Wood Elf loudly called the guard a big skeleton. The guard chuckled, and soon the Wood Elf and Half-Drow both laughed at the meekness of the insult. Even the priestess' sobs stopped for a minute, and Bilkin smiled, remembering his own ineptitude with words in anxiety. Silence from the pirate.
No, skewed as his quest may have become, the efforts and pains he's gone through to get here should not fall worthless. He turned to face Valraukar.
And he winked.
Val
"Mmm breakfast." Valraukar moaned wistfully. "What I wouldn't do to break my fast with feasting as we used to in the meadhall, the morning of setting out on a voyage, or when returning. Smoked fish, bacon, eggs with runny yolks as though the sun bled on your plate when you broke 'em, hams, loin of caribou, eel pie, blood sausages, langoustine fresh from the shore, oysters & mussels, crawfish with crown dill, strong cheeses, great loaves of black bread, all with tall steins of strong ale and an ox horn of mead to wash it all down with...."
Meeting Bilkin's wink with a grin, he turned his head towards the bars and shouted "Bag of bones! When is breakfast? I am hungry! I'd eat you, if there were any meat on your body you wraith!"
Perhaps tormenting the guard would be his new pastime...
Bilkin
Valraukar's listing of more than a dozen different dishes, some of which even Bilkin didn't know, made his mouth water. He realised he hadn't eaten since the Moldy Cellar, none of them had, and none of them had slept, either. He scratched behind his ear.
"Surely our punishment isn't starvation? I can imagine why the warriors would be hungry before me, but at this point, I'm famished. If this goes on much longer, our comically dysfunctional group will be reduced to begging and pleading!
"
Valraukar's goading of the (skeletal in appearance, indeed) guard yielded nothing but another pass by the guard. Bilkin backed away from the bars out of consideration for the guard's treatment of Dralban. As the skeleton of a man passed by, he gave a rather unpleasant look to the both of them, his eyes lingering on Valraukar.
Bilkin recalled that they were working for the House of Garr.
"Perhaps the noble will pull some strings? I doubt we'll get the monetary reward should we succeed, but we might get a pardon... Might that be the priestess' plan? Is she relying on the desperation of a father for the safety of his daughter?
"
Bilkin's mouth opened in a grin. He turned to face the demoralised pirate. "Maybe this isn't so bad. We may have misunderstood the priestess' motivations; I think we may get a pardon", adding "If that's not the case, we can try to break out and that last thing I suggested might come into play."
"They took the journal. The journal. They took the journal. Oh, you'll get that journal back, one way or another. It has His secrets in it. You've sacrificed too much to lose it now."
His smile faded and a look of impatience mixed with anger took over. He shuffled back to his corner, sat crouched, and reverted to his original rocking.
The Northman was in a black mood; for him, freedom was lifesblood. A wild child of a warrior tribe, he reveled in the raw freedom of the high seas, the windswept mountain peaks, the storm of combat.
He had been a slave once, a valuable one at that having been a pit fighter who became quite sought after, but he had vowed upon escaping that he would never allow himself to be shackled again. And yet, he had thrown down his weapons alongside the others...and now he was bored:
At first he had tried to amuse himself with the songs and stories of his people...but after the third song, just after the part where the warrior dismembers the troll's limbs (A favorite of a young Valraukar!) the priestess declared she'd had enough & though unsure of it, he suspected Bilkin may have thrown up in his mouth.
Then he had moved on to the devising of escape plans, all of which he exhausted after ~ 5 mins.
Tecuani asked if he had wanted to play "Animals," at which he sneered, turning to look at his cellmate...what was percolating though that noggin of his? It had to be more interesting than writing his name on the cell wall in urine for the 13th time...
Bilkin
He sat and stared numbly at the cell bars, trying to ignore the pirate's racket. But, when there's no other stimulus, a working mind will seek one, and Valraukar definitely made noise. Bilkin couldn't call what the man was doing singing; it was more melodic accounts of violent and sometimes unlikely deeds, and one in particular involving a troll caused Bilkin's stomach to turn.
How did he end up with these people? How did he end up one of them? Why didn't he just give in from the start, after the first guard was killed?
He shifted uneasily, and looked at the cell lock. A simple, but sturdy thing. Nevertheless, he was wondering if he could actually burn through it with a spell of his, when his thoughts were (again) interrupted by the overwhelming stench of urine. Gods, how could one man expel so much?
He looked at the muscled, wild man, and couldn't help but feel sorry for him. A pirate, a man who declares his freedom over any law, now caged with not his rowdy company, but with a half-insane recluse incapable of dedicating himself to one decision. "Perhaps resisting until the end would've been better for both of us. I cannot stand this, not knowing what to do, what my fate is". He chuckled a bit at the concept of him finding common ground with one such as this. He got up, limbs creaking from the hours of sitting in a single, unnatural position, and shuffled closer to his cellmate.
Val
He smiled with a subtlety that belied his appearance in response to the magician's declaration.
"Perhaps indeed." he muttered stonily.
He had developed a soft spot in his heart for the magic user; though frail-looking and nervous of affect, the man was fearless, a trait that Valraukar's people respected above almost all others....
"or perhaps he is simply to unaware of the danger to realize he should be afraid?"
He shrugged, at present, the reasons behind the conjurer's apparent valor were of little import. His smile turned to a bitter sneer as he thought of their predicament: They would almost surely be killed. Of that he was all but certain. Whoever stood in judgement over them would care little for the truth, only the consequences. The bitterness deepened as he considered that the same traits that made them criminals also made them ideal agents for the recovery of this soft nobleman's spawn.
"My people have a saying 'Foolish is the man that curses the winter yet praises the cold.' that applies here." "I should have been a poet," he thought...then shaking his head with a smile, "No. Too stupid."
Turning his gaze from the warlock who moved to sit beside him, he briefly considered the guard.
"Bring him within my grasp and I could break him like a hymen." And perhaps he could grab the man's keys.
He hadn't even looked to see if the gaoler carried them on his person...he almost didn't care. To be caged in such a fashion had sapped him of much of his natural vigor and vitality.
He allowed himself a chuckle as he considered the plight the other prisoners:
"How the priestess must recoil from pissing in buckets...but where does she think the inmates' water ration comes from? Or having to shit in the straw like a beast."
Then his temporary mirth faded, turning back to his cellmate with an empty stare.
Bilkin
"Perhaps indeed," the big man grunted.
Bilkin looked at Valraukar, and saw a lazy, predatory gaze directed at the passing guard. No doubt murder and yearning for freedom filled his mind. Blikin scratched behind his ear.
"He wants out. And why shouldn't he? He killed a man, and he's got 'criminal' written all over him; they won't bother looking his case over, it's already sealed for him."
He turned to see the pirate staring him in the face, eyes expressionless. Flinching, he did not know whether to interpret this as the man's first true acknowledgment of his being, or aggression. Bilkin stared back for a bit, stood up, and with his thoughts asked, "I don't suppose you have a portable ram?" as he walked up to the bars to examine the lock. "The priestess might get off clean, and the pureblood drow, strangely enough. Neither has done anything particularly violent to the city guard. You, me, the ranger, and the drunkard, however... I don't intend on dying now. The priestess seemed to have some sort of plan, and maybe has one now. But if all fails, we'll see how many my magic can take out versus how many your weapon prowess can", and, strumming the bars, said out loud; "Breakfast soon. Might also find out what they plan on doing with us".
The small man listened to the others. He heard the incessant chatter of the Wood Elf, and the occasional chuckle of the drunken Drow. The chuckling and chatter both stopped with a loud clang as the guard used his authority, and the Wood Elf loudly called the guard a big skeleton. The guard chuckled, and soon the Wood Elf and Half-Drow both laughed at the meekness of the insult. Even the priestess' sobs stopped for a minute, and Bilkin smiled, remembering his own ineptitude with words in anxiety. Silence from the pirate.
No, skewed as his quest may have become, the efforts and pains he's gone through to get here should not fall worthless. He turned to face Valraukar.
And he winked.
Val
"Mmm breakfast." Valraukar moaned wistfully. "What I wouldn't do to break my fast with feasting as we used to in the meadhall, the morning of setting out on a voyage, or when returning. Smoked fish, bacon, eggs with runny yolks as though the sun bled on your plate when you broke 'em, hams, loin of caribou, eel pie, blood sausages, langoustine fresh from the shore, oysters & mussels, crawfish with crown dill, strong cheeses, great loaves of black bread, all with tall steins of strong ale and an ox horn of mead to wash it all down with...."
Meeting Bilkin's wink with a grin, he turned his head towards the bars and shouted "Bag of bones! When is breakfast? I am hungry! I'd eat you, if there were any meat on your body you wraith!"
Perhaps tormenting the guard would be his new pastime...
Bilkin
Valraukar's listing of more than a dozen different dishes, some of which even Bilkin didn't know, made his mouth water. He realised he hadn't eaten since the Moldy Cellar, none of them had, and none of them had slept, either. He scratched behind his ear.
"Surely our punishment isn't starvation? I can imagine why the warriors would be hungry before me, but at this point, I'm famished. If this goes on much longer, our comically dysfunctional group will be reduced to begging and pleading!
"
Valraukar's goading of the (skeletal in appearance, indeed) guard yielded nothing but another pass by the guard. Bilkin backed away from the bars out of consideration for the guard's treatment of Dralban. As the skeleton of a man passed by, he gave a rather unpleasant look to the both of them, his eyes lingering on Valraukar.
Bilkin recalled that they were working for the House of Garr.
"Perhaps the noble will pull some strings? I doubt we'll get the monetary reward should we succeed, but we might get a pardon... Might that be the priestess' plan? Is she relying on the desperation of a father for the safety of his daughter?
"
Bilkin's mouth opened in a grin. He turned to face the demoralised pirate. "Maybe this isn't so bad. We may have misunderstood the priestess' motivations; I think we may get a pardon", adding "If that's not the case, we can try to break out and that last thing I suggested might come into play."
"They took the journal. The journal. They took the journal. Oh, you'll get that journal back, one way or another. It has His secrets in it. You've sacrificed too much to lose it now."
His smile faded and a look of impatience mixed with anger took over. He shuffled back to his corner, sat crouched, and reverted to his original rocking.
