Dantorel

"yea, we should probably stay the night, you want to go get a room? I'll head over to the merchant." Hroth stepped up, pushing down on the table as he stood up. "Also, you're only getting the shit looks from the women, try paying attention to the men." Hroth glared at a group that was sitting in the back corner of the tavern as these words slipped from his lips.

"I'll meet you here tomorrow, okay?" He asked as he was about to turn around and head out the door.
 
"You're getting your own room," Manon called back warily, nursing the glass for a minute more before deciding there was nothing to do. She stood, leaving a small pile of coins on the table for payment. Damn noble forgot to pay for the mead.

And pay attention to the men. No thank you. Aside from the skewed gender ratio for this job, it was hard enough with hunters. Anyone who expected a woman raised on a road to act as the male waiters liked either didn't know her or had to get her the book on the subject. At least she liked how the women looked.

Although, Manon thought as she left the tavern, maybe not getting the stink-eye for once would be nice. She'd have to look into it.
 
Hroth immediately headed to the outskirts of town, picking up the goblin's corpse as he did so. He had a job to do.

Initially he wouldn't have been able to do this, at least not when he had given the gems to Manon, but, thankfully, she gave them back. He would need them.

After getting a good distance into the surrounding woods, Hroth took off Manon's cloak, folded it nicely, and set it down on the ground. He then went about undoing his armor, starting with the grieves and working his way up to his chestplate. He slowly removed the armor surrounding his left shoulder, this was the last piece to be taken off, and an extremely pained expression forced its way through clenched teeth. The sight underneath Hroth's pauldron was grotesque.

A ragged cut, at least half an inch deep, marked his shoulder. Black markings snaked down his chest and back, originating from the wound. No blood seeped out, only a strange, black ooze. The wound smelled like a month old corpse.

Taking Manon's cloak, Hroth sliced it up into strips and used them to bind the wound. He new they wouldn't help to heal it, nor would they hinder it. Hroth only used them to help cover up the smell.
 
(Damn it, now I want to know what caused that. Screwing he-)

.

The inn room was booked quickly, and Manon headed out soon after, deciding to maybe look around the town before a night with an actual bed.

The first place to go was the small library near the tavern. There was probably something there about skills that involved self-mutilation in an early stage. Whatever Hrothulf's skill was, she had to make sure it wasn't destructive on a wide scale. He hadn't given much information, but it took a few days to get to the castle and she was halfway confident the list would be narrowed down at least a little by then. Hopefully she could rule out causing explosions at will.

As it turned out, the only book on the subject was a thin, old little thing with a gold-painted cover hidden away in the back. The woman slid it into her bag for reading and noting down later, just in case she could use anything described there, and pretended to be looking over a section on weaponry before dismissing it. That was everything she'd come to keep.

Next off was the history section. As it turned out, this town disgraced any disgraced families even more by literally crossing out their names in the history books. How charming. On second thought, maybe it wasn't just the tavern wenches that were assholes. The most she could find was that the Talins were denounced four years before, something she already knew. The woman slammed the book shut and returned it to its place, breezing right out of the library.

What had happened to the bodies of those goblins, anyway? Manon headed off in their direction. She could at least make something out of those pelts they had A good washing and she could do something with them. What, she didn't quite know, but there could be something.

Of course, going there to find the corpse gone and a fairly well-hidden path broken by someone entering the forest was not part of the plan. The woman took a single look at the path before deciding it might be worth it. Sending a silent prayer to her god that this wouldn't be too dangerous, she crept into the forest, trying her best not to warn whoever stole a goddamned body that she was coming.
 
Hroth, after taking care of his wound, one that he had been living with for 2 years, took out a small scroll of paper that was hidden away in his armor. It was an instruction manual for two different things.

Creating Flaming Skull Familiars and Binding souls.

Hroth was planning on tackling the first one. He knew it wouldn't be too hard, the curse helped him out with this kind of dark magic.

The first step: removing any and all flesh from the skull of the victim. So, Hroth went about his grisly work of skinning, cleaning, and debraining the poor old goblin's corpse. It didn't take too long, maybe thirty minutes. Then, pulling out one of the sternums, Hroth began to inscribe certain runic symbols around the gem and on the skull. They were incredibly archaic, lacking any of the smooth, curving lines of the court mages that Hroth had seen as a boy. But they got the job done.

Finished with the preparations, Hroth only needed to bind the goblin's soul to the gem and the skull. Thankfully, his curse tended to attract these sorts of things. Placing the skull behind the gem, Hroth began the incantation. His words came out haltingly and uncertain, but eventually, the esoteric cantrips finally worked their way out.

The gem turned a brilliant red as the skull jumped into the air, laughing and on fire. It flew around its newfound master for a few seconds before stopping abrubtly. The skull stared at the direction that Hroth had come from.

(For Manon's perspective:

Hroth has nothing but boxers on right now. His muscles are easily seen, rippling underneath his skin (not in some weird gross way, but like you can see them whenever he moves). The markings from his curse are easily seen in the moonlight clearing, glowing with a sickly, black light.)
 
Necromancy. Calling it, necromancy.

Easily ignoring the fact that her companion was almost clothesless and almost ignoring the fact he was carving runed into a goblin's sternum, Manon instead focused on the goddamned flaming skull currently glaring at her path. That was not a good sign. Fucking god never let her have one uninteresting moment following a path into a forest, did they.

Manon let out a near-inaudible sigh and stepped back, careful to stay silent the entire time. So Hrothulf was a necromancer. Great to know. She'd have to find some skill that didn't involve dead people, then, just in case he tried to use it against her. Also great to know.

The woman sent one last look at the skull, mouthing "I do not want to know" before retreating. She had a bed and she was going to sleep in it. Then absolutely not talk to Hrothulf about the giant oozing wound in his shoulder. It would probably be harder than it sounded.
 
Last edited:
(Hrothulf! not Hrothgar)

Hroth already knew that Manon had been there, he could see her through the Skull's eyes. But that didn't matter anymore. He quickly redressed and hid the skull and his possessions. Hroth then went to the store and bought himself and Manon new cloaks.

Onto day 2 - meeting in front of the tavern!
 
(I am so sorry fuck where did I even get that oh god I think it was from my sister we have this weird make up fantasy names game going on and that was one please don't be mad you can mess up my character's name oh god what sorry fuuuu-)

.

Manon was not going back in that tavern. She swore every single server there was glaring when she walked in. She paid extra! What was it this time?!

Resolutely not thinking about the servers probably hating her, the woman leaned against the wall outside the door in wait, shooting a vaguely disapproving look at anyone who openly stared. She'd been waiting there since dawn. She also might have to ask at exactly what time to meet whenever someone offered to meet her for a quest. That had definitely slipped her mind.

The book had been very, very biased in the favour of necromancy being the realm of complete bastards and she swore a ten-year old wrote the section in some areas. And flaming skulls were not mentioned at all; maybe it wasn't a very general part. There was also no explanation for how to start using it, probably for plausible deniability in case someone got too interested. There was, however, a detailed section on enchantment a few pages after that. She'd carved something that probably translated to luck on her sword hilt, although dubious of the book's contents judging by the child they let write in certain sections.

Manon flipped through the book with a currently cloth-wrapped cover to prevent anyone recognising it. It seemed a good enough way to pass the time until her companion arrived.
 
Hroth walked back to the tavern, wondering how he would talk to Manon about last night. Too bad he couldn't just make a nice breakfast and ask for eternal forgiveness, then again, Manon didn't seem like the kind of girl who would enjoy that.

Hroth caught sight of the woman sitting outside of the tavern, the morning sunlight reflecting off of her raven-colored hair. Damn, wasn't she pretty. Not quite beautiful, but pretty. Hroth smirked as he drew near, the woman in front of him was so drastically the opposite of the girls he had grown up around. Girls that would find his current situation revolting. Girls that had never held a true tool in their lives. Women so pampered that they didn't even know how to use a needle and thread. Woman that condemned him.

Hroth was so very glad that Manon was not a woman like that, Manon had substance.

Awkwardly, Hroth called out, "Hey Manon, you ready?"
 
"I've been here since dawn," Manon answered, barely able to keep the annoyance out of her voice. "New rule: on any quests with each other, both of us explain when to meet so no-one spends two hours glaring at passersby." She shook her head, approaching him quietly. The skull had been watching her. It probably told him or something similar.

"So I found something interesting yesterday. Well, aside from the fact that apparently there's a set of runes for luck and not for extra damage in this book." She held it up for a second before dropping it right back into her bag. "Someone crossed out any mention of your family in the library books. And I mean all of them. I checked in sequence."
 
Hroth sighed. "Lets walk as I talk." Hroth headed out of town as Manon followed. As soon as they left the noise of the village behind, Hroth began to talk again.

"What do you know about my family's fall?" Hroth asked, all the usual mirth gone from his eyes. He looked into Manon's eyes urging for truth to come from her lips.

(Manon would know about the smuggling scandal)
 
Manon paused for a second to think. It had been years since she'd heard the information. "It's mostly just been from gossip in taverns. Something about a smuggling scandal? That's about it, though. It's partially why I was looking through those history books." The other part of the reason was mostly the man literally right in front of her. "Would it be rude to ask for at least what was being smuggled?"
 
HA! The thought rang out in Hroth's mind, mockingly and outrageous. "There was no smuggling," Hroth smiled grimly at Manon.

"No smuggling at all. My family grew too powerful, they were feared." Hroth remembered the glares in the last few years. "The king had died, his son, only 10 at the time, was to take over. Of course, not being of age, a steward needed to be appointed. My father was the one in line for the job, I would have taken over our lands at that time. However, the other nobles were afraid that our reputation and our closeness with this new king would give my family a shot at the throne."

"So, more than half the nobles, mainly those who actually smuggle goods, made evidence and brought it before the boy-king. It was before my father become steward, so all the power of a king was in the hands of a ten-year old."

"They burned everything, tore down my home and laid waste to the lands of my people."
 
Well, fuck, that was not a good question. And Manon had no idea how to respond to that.

The woman blinked, looking away for a second. What in the world was the appropriate response to that. "...I'm sorry?" she said quietly. If that was true, she made a note not to trust history books in general anymore unless it was to tell who won or lost a war.

"Who's the current steward?" she asked tentatively, wondering who had taken over in the Talin family's place. The boy-king would be about fourteen, and barely fifteen at most. Maybe she actually knew about them. God did she need to find accurate information soon. This was literally a matter of life and death if she ever came across some pretentious noble trying to hire her for a quest.
 
"First of all, don't apologize. You didn't kill them, and you haven't betrayed me. As for the current steward, don't know, don't care." Hroth sighed, hoping to change the subject. "Anyways, I'll kill them eventually." Hroth smiled at Manon.

"Anyways, how was your night last night?"
 
The reminder of the fucking skull that was staring at her and floating popped right into Manon's head before anything. She pushed it aside.

"It is very nice to have a bed." she answered neutrally. "Otherwise, pretty uneventful." Dear god please save her from an awkward conversation about accidentally catching Hrothulf carving runes into skulls.
 
Hroth had expected her to lie, but still, it won't make the conversation any easier.

"Ok, well, let's just get to that castle.

(Fast forward to the castle)
 
(The Castle)

It stood, once imposing, now decrepit. Its walls were nothing but skeletons of their former glory. Thick foliage covered the grounds on the east and the north, But from the west or the south, anyone could see the distinctive outlines of seven orcs. One of them larger than the rest. Undoubtedly the leader, he barked at the other six. The had just finished attacking another group of travellers. The travellers, in question, were now dead, their corpses strewn about the ground.
 
Well, that definitely wasn't good. Especially not when they were barely out of eyeshot.

"We should go," Manon muttered, keeping a wary eye on the seven just in case they turned in the duo's direction. "There shouldn't be very many in the back of the castle, what with the general lack of doors to protect or travellers to kill." Although whoever was stupid enough to travel to an orc-infested castle without appropriate guards might have deserved it just a little.

Manon honestly wished she knew what the leader was screaming. It might have orders to move somewhere else. Maybe there was something on language translation in the parts of the book she'd just skimmed.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top