Travelling Swords (IC)

Lazzamore

Lazzamore

WAAAAAAAAAA-
Stout stone walls surround Tria, the city of scum, both water and carbon-based. Tria was built on the great Porsance Delta, where the river Porsance splits into the Muzzan and Kaval rivers. The fort of the city is built east of the delta, but despite the Olginnian's best efforts, the water has started to erode away at the base of the fort. Not that it is important, their hasn't been a siege here for a long time.

Inside the city walls is where most markets and noble's houses are situated. the bustled here, while palpable, is nothing compared to that of the other major cities in Olginnia, the realm of King Reulle.

Outside the city walls are farms and farmers markets, poor man's housing, river merchants harking strange new wares from far away, some of it may even do as advertised. And in the ouskirts, the most notable thing you'll see are a parked caravan of dozens of covered wagons, with black and brown banners decorated with gold runes: the Travelling Swords mobile guild hall.

Tirn reclined into the lead wagon. He looked over the current Travelling Swords party; Missa argued and commanded the mercenaries as she always does, while Uluuk tried not to stand out. This was hard for Orcs, luckily the guild was on the outskirts of town. It was a slow day, for which Tirn had mixed feelings: The time had yet come for him to prove himself as the new Guildmaster, but the mercenaries are becoming restless.
 
Mildred has fallen silent ever since she revealed her presence in the mobile guild hall. Feeling queasy and anxious, she averted her dark blue eyes to the people around her. They must have also joined the guild, she thought. Sitting, she curled herself as she moved her knees closer to hide her face, unsure of what expression she's showing.

Its been years ever since the tragedy. Mildred has been working on the shadows, carrying her parents' will. During the run, she found Travelling Swords and its general objectives. Doubtful she may be, she still decided to tag along and see what it can do.

The jetblack haired maiden now clandestinely eyes which seemed to be the Guildmaster. She did her best not to put suspicion on him, and to the other people around the mobile guild hall. Awaiting for further reactions as she tries not to say any awkward shenanigans at the moment.
 
With no work that was actually challenging having arisen in the last several weeks Duncan had reverted to training for most days and drinking at night. He was tired of waiting for some kind of action. In fact it was tempting to go find work for himself. If the guildmaster could not scrounge up something in good time he was more than willing to go to a battlefield somewhere. Battlefields didn't allow for as much individual prowess, but it still provided some sort of outlet for his skill.

Duncan had quit his training early to see if there was any kind of news. Seemed that they were all standing around like mutes. He noticed that the one of the women had been eyeing the guildmaster and had yet to speak. Not one to be shy he decided to speak his mind. "Guildmaster do you have any work for us yet, or has the world suddenly run out of problems too big to solve?"
 
Frank had been waiting for awhile now. He'd checked up on a mercenary he'd helped out earlier (you could barely see the scar), done a quick inventory of his solutions (gonna need more quicksilver soon), and finally stitched a small pattern of a man yawning into his forearm. The guild was full of the usual tough and rugged muscleheads, although there were a few who caught his eyes as unusual.

A couple of the swordy types carried themselves with an air of unconscious, well-trained skill that hinted at something beyond mere competence with a blade. Then there was the beauty in the corner there. Of all the places that a face and a body like that could take her, and she chose here? And finally, especially, the Talaran woman there. Pretty uncommon to see one of those peaceful-types in such a warlike guild like this. Not that he was going to complain about more comrades of course, especially ones with unusual physiologies! Hopefully he'd be able to help them out, either in or after battle. He sighs. There was only so much people-watching one could do without wanting to look deeper, to see what's going on underneath the skin. ...Frank needed a dissectio...er, a distraction.

"Well now, let's make this a win-win gamble," he mutters cheerfully. Dropping into a cross-legged seat on the ground, he unfolds a small portable worktable from his pack, then takes a sealed glass jar from within his cloak. Inside the preservative fluid is a...fish? It has scales, but also a shell, and a single huge pink claw. This is the perfect time to begin a dissection of it, Frank decides. Either our shiny new Guildmaster starts talking now, or I get to dissect for a bit. What's it gonna be? what's it gonna be? Whatever way it happens, the winner is me! Frank chuckles to himself as he finishes setting up his tools. After a contemplative moment, he selects a small saw, holds it over a joint of the creature's single claw, and readies to slice.
 
Ivesa had set herself up on a wooden table just outside of one of the head caravan, with what looked like wares spread out along its surface. These wares were not for sale, however, as the Talaran was hungry. She picked up a sturdy fishing spear, testing the weight in her hand. She scratched a dot into the ground, and then stabbed at the mark, hitting it perfectly. Feeling quite satisfied with that, she packed everything else up into the caravan and put it inside of her backpack. She glanced around the head caravan as she was about to leave for a nearby pond, and then noticed a man with a saw and a creature under it. At first, she supposed it was a fish, but then saw qualities that she had never seen in a fish before, and she had seen many fish.

Curious, she walked over to the odd man. "Say, what kind of fish is that?" The Talaran asked, tapping the end of her spear on the ground. She examined the fishlike thing with her bulging eyes, wondering how fast it was, how long it took to catch, where it was, that sort of stuff. She very much fancied catching one herself.
 
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Frank looked up and grinned from under his hood. He'd take a third type of winning too.


"Well now, a mercenary taking an interest in my work? That's a rarity! Almost as rare as a Talaran taking an interest in fighting," he chuckles. "Anyhoo, to answer your question, this, er, fish...?" he waved at the monstrosity on his table, "is one of a kind, according to the fishseller at the market over yonder I bought it from. I'm about to see what makes it go, what made it stop, and if any of those parts can be reused to make other things go or stop better. What a collection of rarities we have here, eh? Name's Frank, by the way," he says, holding out a heavily stitch-scarred hand companionably.
 
Ivesa couldn't help but laugh at the joke. "I'm a fisherwoman first, and an inventor second. Fighting comes third, or maybe fourth!" She laughed a little more, and then turned back to the fishlike thing. She frowned at the news of 'one of a kind', sighing slightly in disappointment. "I hope it's not really one of a kind," she said, staring at the peculiar thing, "I'd love to catch one."

She glanced uneasily at Frank's hand, not recognising them as stitch marks right away. She gently took his hand and shook it once. "I'm Ivesa." She said, not taking her eyes off the scars. She looked back to the fish. "Tell me, how much can you find out about this thing?" She asked. "Can you tell their diet, habitat, that sort of stuff?" If he could, she would probably be able to ignore her stomach for a while longer to stick around. She would do most anything to find out more about a type of fish she didn't know about.
 
Frank was fairly beside himself. Not only was she sticking around and more importantly asking intelligent questions, but she'd even shaken his hand. Hah! A rarity indeed, and an inventor to boot! He chuckled delightedly. An amazing specimen indeed. It'd been awhile since he'd met someone who's brain was so useful to him while it was still inside their head.

"You're surprisingly knowledgeable about fish, Miss Ivesa. Or maybe not that surprisingly, considering. As for the diet n' such, I do take a look at what's in its stomach just as force of habit, but gen'rally don't know how to make head or tails (or fins and scales) out of the goo I find there. I'm usually focused more on animals with legs, 'specially ones with just two." Frank frowned, then brightened. "Hey, I got a proposition for ya. You watch me take this fella apart, lemme know what you think about the stuff in its stomach, and I'll let you know where the fishseller said he fished this guy out from. Win-win! That's assumin' our young master over there doesn't start talkin' in the meantime, of course. Whaddaya say?" he asks with a flourish of the saw.
 
Ivesa chuckled a little. "If I didn't know a lot about fish, I'd be a useless fisher." She pointed out, pointing at Frank with a scaly finger. She listened to him carefully and frowned with another sigh. "That's a shame-" she was just about to say, before she was interrupted by the man's proposal. She smiled pleasantly, lips drawing back a little to reveal more of her yellowish teeth. "Deal!" She barely took a second to think.

She looked around and stole away a chair from a table. She put the back of the chair to the table and sat facing the desk, legs around either side of the chair's back. She peered at the fish thing eagerly. "Open the mouth up a bit?" She asked, hoping to get a look at the teeth, if it had any. "How long ago did you buy it?" She asked, hoping that the thing wouldn't have decomposed at all.
 
"Couple weeks back, actually," Frank replies, carefully wedging its mouth open with a metal tool, mindful of its teeth. "Can't even tell, can yeh? That's my special preservative solution at work. It's my own recipe, mixing essence of wickwood with a twist of..."

(OOC: I'm having a ton of fun here, but I'm worried we're monopolizing the thread. Should we say the dissection proceeds smoothly until the speech starts, and both our characters learn something useful from it, about the world and each other? They seem to have hit it off quite nicely. That said, this is my first ever text-based role playing, so I'm not familiar with all the social mores.)
 
Duncan realised as he finished announcing himself that the Guildmaster had an almost anguished expression, as Duncan came at the worst possible time. Standing beside Tirn were two men, dressed oppulently for what mercenaries are likely used to. One, short and bald, is holding a small bushel of some sort of thick, woody grass stock. The other had a disconcertingly wide grin as he turned to Duncan and shouted "AH! You MUST be one of the Swords!! Well, certainly a man of such heroic stature would have no trouble dealing with - hm - my problem with these lowly peasants. Wouldn't you tend to agree, Loga?" the short man nodded. "Indeed master Zeg."

"Yes yes yes, I know." Continued 'Zeg' clapping together his hands "Tirn here was just about to send you with us to 'Old Rikker Abby' to deal with the strike our farmers there started, something ado about 'underpayment'!" Zeg laughed, then turned stern"they LIE." Loga continued the explanation "Still they threaten to burn the Sweet Grass Stocks if we do not bend to there exorbitant demands of 'payment with interest'! You must understand, Sweet Grass is extremely finicky, it may never grow again!" Zeg gestured to the bushel Loga held and said "We bring you this bushel of fine Sweet Grass - a gift - plus we will pay you 20,000 in gold for the safe breaking of the strike, not having any farmers - or expensive plants - killed in the process, hm?"

Tirn faced Duncan, and after a pause, sighed deeply. "Duncan, get some of the greenhorns. I don't know, three, maybe four. You'll leave in half an hour." Zeg clapped with glee.
 
Adreanna leaned back against a tree only a few feet away from the wagons and other members. How in the world did she get herself in a group with people like this? It was about two days ago,and all she had wanted was to catch a ride with them to the next town but they told her the only way she could was if she joined there guild. She really wanted to say no to them but her father's men was right on her tail at the time so she had no choice but to say yes. She could easily leave but she had promised to stay and she wasn't one to break a promise. At least it was a way to make some money for a while.

She looked over at a group of people, one she recognized as the guild master. She didn't engage them but decide to watch them from where she stood.
 
Basically they want us to be bodyguards of some sort, Mildred thought as she overheard the conversation from the small man. She find it to be an easy job, but she considers worse case scenarios.

On the other hand, two of the people around the guild hall, which she assumed to be part of this guild as well, were having a friendly talk. She whined, trying to accept the fact that she cannot survive a conversation well.
 
"Breaking up a dispute over Sweet Grass." Muttering under his breath the swordsman returned to the part of the hall where the others stood to see if he could find any of the less experienced swordsmen. They would likely need to be getting some kind of experience and he hated to be the one to lead this small expedition into misery. What else could it be called when the tremendous danger was considered striking farmers.

Duncan glanced at those around and sighed. "Which of you are ready for a day's work?" Hopefully there were a few naïve enough to take on the job and not ask too many questions.
 
Frank looks up from the later stages of a rare, cooperative dissection analysis. He opens his mouth, stops, then wrinkles his nose and inhales deeply in Duncan's direction.

"Haah, that smell, hm, what is it? Somethin' like...harpweed? No, wait, don't tell me, it's Sweet Grass! Gotta say, if the job is about Sweet Grass, consider me ready and willing. I can use that wonder-plant for a thousand and one uses, besides the obvious, and I'm runnin' low. 'Course, the money doesn't hurt either." Hopefully the job'd be quick and easy, or at least give him a chance to practice his needlework. Speaking of which...Frank cocks an inquisitive eyebrow at Ivesa, who's given him the best mood he's had in months. If she decided to accept the job along with him and he could also get some Sweet Grass out of the work to boot, this day would easily fit into his top 15.

"On the bright side, since it's Duncan's askin' us, it shouldn't be a bad job. Everyone knows the guy's got a sense of justice like a hero outta a storybook," Frank says with a good-natured grin at the other guild members.
 
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Giving a pained sigh Duncan met the doctor's gaze. He really hated the man's work and he found it repulsive. Not to mention he would rather die than wake up as some sort of apparition of Frank's. Of all the folk that could have determined they would immediately volunteer it was Frank and Duncan knew it was his bad luck that resulted in this little joy. "I've half a mind to burn the damn fields myself. Workers don't think they're getting fair wages and the bosses don't want the field burned. Nothing there would mean nothing to argue about, but we'll have to listen to both sides anyway."

Of course he couldn't burn the fields. Duncan knew that sadly it would be wrong even if he was already annoyed with the current state of things. Have to go and hear both sides I guess. "Hired sword or no doesn't guarantee the outcome. This kind of work should only take a day anyway." If he didn't get paid it wasn't a big deal. So long as justice was done.
 
Ivesa tore her attention away from the ongoing dissection to listen in on the conversation. When Duncan turned to ask them for recruits, she was surprised at how quickly her dissection partner jumped at the opportunity. It took her longer to decide on her own opinion, considering everything. She pointed out to herself that they said they didn't want anyone killed, staring at the spear that she'd laid on the ground. But with the amount of money they were paying to get the strike split, wouldn't it just be easier for them to increase the farmers' wages?

The Talaran woman sighed a little, playing idly with a piece of hair that has escaped from her bun. If no innocent people were going to be hurt, she supposed she'd be okay with going to calm them down. "I'll help," she said, "but only as long as we're not killing anyone." She added after a moment of consideration.
 
The clients followed Duncan deeper into camp, ignore the 'subtle' signs that they were not welcome there. Zeg looked over the mercenaries there, and gave Mildred a wry smile that might make her uncomfortable. Loga simply stared down at the table. "Dear goodness!" he exclaimed.

"Oh my, how revolting." Zeg said nonchalantly, looking down his nose to the dissection table which sat Ivesa and Frank. Zeg was quickly distracted by something else, and then turned toward Adreanna, watching the party. "An elf!!" he cried in glee, pointing like a child (who have obviously never been told 'no') "It is good luck in any endeavor for an Elf to be involved. It's good you have chosen her to accompany us, Duncan." 'hinted' Zeg. Loga counted something, mumbling "So that would be five..."

Finally Zeg clapped his hands as though it was his responsibility to assemble 'the team'. "Does anyone here need further details on this job?"
 
Her dark blue eyes twitched as the small man glared at her. She has seen many eyes with dark intentions, but this one...

On the other hand, Mildred noticed that they're finally gathered. She felt small as her agitated eyes turned around. Of course, at this moment, she cannot speak, even they're being ushered to ask about the job.
 
Frank casually collapsed his area with the practiced smoothness of a 100th repetition, wiping and cleaning all his tools to keep them sterile. At this point, all the repulsed looks and mutterings rolled off him like water from a duck's back. He'd found what might be a new way to coagulate blood using a secretion from that fish, and that information mattered far more than any glances to him. Speaking of information...Frank winked a mismatched eye surreptitiously at the other members, then stood at stiff attention saluting Zed, staring past him into the sky.

"Yes, milord, thank you milord! You've paid us to settle a dispute, I'm told, milord! What are we bringing to the bargaining table on milord's behalf, milord?"
 
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