Clattering hoofbeats and the clanking of plate armour echoed in the dusty street, the sounds striking against each other as if themselves engaged in fierce battle. No clear victor was apparant in the struggle, so the resulting clamour was closer to an ominious metallic scraping which boded death eagerly.
War was his business, his trade in a land with few places to accomodate such a craftsman, and most of those places in the bellies of vultures. Not that this would deter any self-respecting religious fanatic.
In the waning light, marks of recent activity were left like footprints, memories shared by building itself. A mighty stack of crates heaped against the cracked wall had now diminished to the memories of wooden boxes. An entrance resembled a tunnel-archway leading into an open courtyard of bare ground, this vaguely resembled a castle forcourt, and Aorle was torn in opinion as to whether it seemed more or less so due to the many stalls set up to service the fighters.
Some were there to serve, others were there to service.
Ignoring them, he dismounted and entered the surrounding building which resembled an overhanging arcade of balconies, like battlements on a smaller scale. Still there, at the forge, was Orin, busy hammering spearheads. There were many. Arrowheads too.
"Good hail. Orin."
"Railtus!" boomed the blacksmith, quite pleased with the visitor.
"It is Aorle now. How has all been? Making a good profit?"
"Yeah. Doing well, making money." he stammered, suddenly thrown off-guard. "Aorle? You the one who made that speech?"
"You heard it?"
Orin shook his head. "Nay, lad. A few guys wouldn't shut up about it. What's this Aorle business anyway? Why the new name?"
"It is an old name, one I am now free to use. What was said please? Who were they?"
Orin glanced off to the right, searching for the memory. "Two men and a dwarf. Both men in some kind of dress, and with helms a like Julens."
"Imperials." replied Aorle with a nod.
"One had a square shield and funny armour, the other was in a breastplate. The dwarf was in heavy armour. They said they should try findin' 'im."
Now for the important part, "Where can I find them?"
"They have a mess hall."
"Thank you." answered Aorle, turning to begin his search.
"Wait." said Orin, "Your breastplate works. Put some straps from old belts to hold the front and back on you."
"That will be useful, I will return for it." Now he did leave, heading through the mock-forecourt and into the main hall. The door opened with a bang. It was deliberate.
He was making an entrance.
Amidst A Sea of Swords
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Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Amidst A Sea of Swords
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
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Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Men stirred at the crash of doors, offering a sudden silence which heightened the soft chinking of metal armour as the newcomer walked in, surveying the aisles with an appraising gaze. Some, mostly the youngest, shifted and fidgeted under that gaze. Others, most notably the cluster of uniformed men all garbed in three-quarter harness, either smirked with knowing amusement or watched without emotion.
The gaze settled on another group of men, somewhat uniformed although disordered. These men wore Imperial armour, mostly muscled cuirasses of boiled leather and breastplates of bronze, one suit of darkened maille with strange shoulder patches stood out as well.
Looking at them, the Echoes rose from the cursed pit which vomitted them out upon the world.
With the voices came a righteous wrath, the impulse to avenge, as if such wrongs could be unmade by unmaking the one who made them. That showed in his face as he approached. Inside civilisation, these villains were sheltered from the sins of their souls, held blameless within the city from their atrocities outside.
No wonder Aorle hated to be a civilised man.
With several long, loud steps, he marched up to the group, undaunted by their size. "I am Aorle. I was told of Imperial soldiers looking for me." A sweeping glance passed through the band, "Are any among your number looking for me?" It would be tempting to invite one of the villains just to cut them down, but truth was not to be sacrificed.
"What are you paying?" jeered one of the hastati.
First instinct was far from polite, as offering anything to those whose hands were stained in innocent blood was to condone such crimes. However, the task of searching through the Echoes to identify the innocent among them would be no easy feat, making vast demands of concentration and time, which would give him little guidance anyway.
"I seek warriors, not brigands and reavers. For the few of you who are worthy in skill, courage, and integrity?" It was a deliberate insult and challenge, commenting on the weakness which led to wicked deeds, and inviting them to demonstrate otherwise. "Those in my service receive food and housing at my expense, a share of wealth from battle, training and equipment, glory and honour. Now, I ask again, who among you has asked for me?"
Again, the same braggart jeered. "Like any of us would follow a weakling like you."
Aorle thought about ignoring that remark, then picked up on an irony, "Very amusing, from a deserter." Without giving him time to respond, he addressed the others. "Then there are other Imperial soldiers nearby? Where?"
Finally, the deserter made himself useful in his gloating. "In their beds, after the beating we gave 'em. You want a beating of your own?"
"Will one of you show me to him?"
No one spoke. There was a snicker from the one who had been speaking.
"Now please."
Now the snicker was obvious.
With that Aorle turned to address the full room. "Warriors! A man was attacked by the group of cowards and deserters that I point to." Sure enough, he pointed squarely at the one who had been jeering. "Where can I find him?"
A few of the hastati began getting to their feet at that.
"COWARDS AND DESERTERS!" roared Aorle, turning on them and looming, clearly unafraid of them all, and with his hand on the grip of Valiant Edge. Switching instantly from reasonable courtesy to ferocity drove the would-be-attackers back to their benches.
"I can take you." announced a hearty voice like a gnomish angle-grinder. "There were two."
Stepping so as not to turn his back on his new enemies, Aorle turned to the voice, and for a moment missed who had spoken. Eyes passed the speaker, before snapping back to a heavily armoured dwarrowfolk.
"My thanks."
And so the black-bearded dwarf, with ruddy skin and a stout body, showed Aorle to the injured Imperials. One was lying down on a bedroll, bruised and battered, with heavy scrapes and abrasions on his face. The other was sat down, but in a similar state.
"You are hurt." commented Aorle, stating the obvious. And his concern.
The soldier still got his shield, it resembled a rectangle, held with a boss in the center. Both men were clumsy and sluggish, clearly weakened by their injuries.
Keeping his hands in plain view, he reached over the chest of the slower, more injured man.
The gaze settled on another group of men, somewhat uniformed although disordered. These men wore Imperial armour, mostly muscled cuirasses of boiled leather and breastplates of bronze, one suit of darkened maille with strange shoulder patches stood out as well.
Looking at them, the Echoes rose from the cursed pit which vomitted them out upon the world.
With the voices came a righteous wrath, the impulse to avenge, as if such wrongs could be unmade by unmaking the one who made them. That showed in his face as he approached. Inside civilisation, these villains were sheltered from the sins of their souls, held blameless within the city from their atrocities outside.
No wonder Aorle hated to be a civilised man.
With several long, loud steps, he marched up to the group, undaunted by their size. "I am Aorle. I was told of Imperial soldiers looking for me." A sweeping glance passed through the band, "Are any among your number looking for me?" It would be tempting to invite one of the villains just to cut them down, but truth was not to be sacrificed.
"What are you paying?" jeered one of the hastati.
First instinct was far from polite, as offering anything to those whose hands were stained in innocent blood was to condone such crimes. However, the task of searching through the Echoes to identify the innocent among them would be no easy feat, making vast demands of concentration and time, which would give him little guidance anyway.
"I seek warriors, not brigands and reavers. For the few of you who are worthy in skill, courage, and integrity?" It was a deliberate insult and challenge, commenting on the weakness which led to wicked deeds, and inviting them to demonstrate otherwise. "Those in my service receive food and housing at my expense, a share of wealth from battle, training and equipment, glory and honour. Now, I ask again, who among you has asked for me?"
Again, the same braggart jeered. "Like any of us would follow a weakling like you."
Aorle thought about ignoring that remark, then picked up on an irony, "Very amusing, from a deserter." Without giving him time to respond, he addressed the others. "Then there are other Imperial soldiers nearby? Where?"
Finally, the deserter made himself useful in his gloating. "In their beds, after the beating we gave 'em. You want a beating of your own?"
"Will one of you show me to him?"
No one spoke. There was a snicker from the one who had been speaking.
"Now please."
Now the snicker was obvious.
With that Aorle turned to address the full room. "Warriors! A man was attacked by the group of cowards and deserters that I point to." Sure enough, he pointed squarely at the one who had been jeering. "Where can I find him?"
A few of the hastati began getting to their feet at that.
"COWARDS AND DESERTERS!" roared Aorle, turning on them and looming, clearly unafraid of them all, and with his hand on the grip of Valiant Edge. Switching instantly from reasonable courtesy to ferocity drove the would-be-attackers back to their benches.
"I can take you." announced a hearty voice like a gnomish angle-grinder. "There were two."
Stepping so as not to turn his back on his new enemies, Aorle turned to the voice, and for a moment missed who had spoken. Eyes passed the speaker, before snapping back to a heavily armoured dwarrowfolk.
"My thanks."
And so the black-bearded dwarf, with ruddy skin and a stout body, showed Aorle to the injured Imperials. One was lying down on a bedroll, bruised and battered, with heavy scrapes and abrasions on his face. The other was sat down, but in a similar state.
"You are hurt." commented Aorle, stating the obvious. And his concern.
The soldier still got his shield, it resembled a rectangle, held with a boss in the center. Both men were clumsy and sluggish, clearly weakened by their injuries.
Keeping his hands in plain view, he reached over the chest of the slower, more injured man.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
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Lightswords
Almost immediately, the pain faded. An involuntary gasp escaped the Imperial, who bore the markings of an officer.
"Keep away from him." ordered the other one, drawing his gladius. The instruction was of course too late, for there was an amber-glowing handprint left behind when the stranger withdrew his hand. "What are you doing?"
At this moment the dwarf stepped forward. "He is a friend! This is Aorle! The one we were talking aboot earlier."
None of this stopped eyes from watching the glowing handprint with concern, waiting for some dreadful cataclysm to come. However, the man on the floor shifted once on the ground, and held himself up more comfortably."Thanks for whatever you did. But, if that was magic, then it is illegal here. I am Triarius Alatane, by the way." Triarius had a strong jaw and nose, both prominent on his face. Actually, he was quite handsome in a way, if a way much different to Aorle. "This is Metellus, my bodyguard."
"Not that I did such a good job." grumbled Metellus.
"You stood by me and fought outnumbered ten to one. I know of no other bodyguard loyal against such odds."
Seeing the trend, the dwarrow introduced himself. "Darir Bolhig. Good work handling those men before." On that note, he caught the eye of Triarius. "Oh yes, he had an incident with those you fought on the way in." A glimmer of mirth, or at least enjoyment, showed through. "Frightened them half to death. Never saw anything like it."
Triarius blinked. "Well, sir. We have heard of House Anstrun, no one said they produced such impressive warriors. My family, House Alataine, bid me to form ties with your House. Fighting at your side would seem a good way to do it." In his injured state, the dignity he summoned was impressive.
Metellus felt the need to step in as well. "And I stand by my lord."
Darir paused. "You seem good. I will come with you, but you'll not have my oath just yet."
"Keep away from him." ordered the other one, drawing his gladius. The instruction was of course too late, for there was an amber-glowing handprint left behind when the stranger withdrew his hand. "What are you doing?"
At this moment the dwarf stepped forward. "He is a friend! This is Aorle! The one we were talking aboot earlier."
None of this stopped eyes from watching the glowing handprint with concern, waiting for some dreadful cataclysm to come. However, the man on the floor shifted once on the ground, and held himself up more comfortably."Thanks for whatever you did. But, if that was magic, then it is illegal here. I am Triarius Alatane, by the way." Triarius had a strong jaw and nose, both prominent on his face. Actually, he was quite handsome in a way, if a way much different to Aorle. "This is Metellus, my bodyguard."
"Not that I did such a good job." grumbled Metellus.
"You stood by me and fought outnumbered ten to one. I know of no other bodyguard loyal against such odds."
Seeing the trend, the dwarrow introduced himself. "Darir Bolhig. Good work handling those men before." On that note, he caught the eye of Triarius. "Oh yes, he had an incident with those you fought on the way in." A glimmer of mirth, or at least enjoyment, showed through. "Frightened them half to death. Never saw anything like it."
Triarius blinked. "Well, sir. We have heard of House Anstrun, no one said they produced such impressive warriors. My family, House Alataine, bid me to form ties with your House. Fighting at your side would seem a good way to do it." In his injured state, the dignity he summoned was impressive.
Metellus felt the need to step in as well. "And I stand by my lord."
Darir paused. "You seem good. I will come with you, but you'll not have my oath just yet."
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Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
"Welcome aboard." answered Aorle with a nod, waiting for all of them to finish and make their offers of allegiance. "Triarius must be a hard name to live up to. It will be some minutes for the healing to work, there are things that we had best cover now."
"First thing, I have access to healing magic, which I am authorised by the city to use. Anyone with objections raise them now."
Silence.
"Right then. Next, is that in my service is a great orc by the name of Krarug, who has proven his loyalty and worth in the time I have known him. Anyone who has a problem with Krarug is not welcome in my service. Is that an issue?"
"Only because you vouch for it." muttered Darir.
"Good enough." Aorle replied. "My yeoman brings his wife around. This is obvious, but treat her with due respect. Finally, I have ambitions involving good works, taking in refugees from the shantytown. We will be taking them in and I expect you to protect them. Understood?"
Nods all around.
"Metellus, your injuries can wait. Healing too much at once has a price. Best to wait for now. Darir, gather your gear. Triarius and Metellus, I will pack your things for you. My horse will carry Metellus when we leave."
All happened as said, the time spent making ready and gathering things helped Triarius in mending. Before leaving, Aorle collected the breastplate from Orin, and handed a silver bar in exchange for a lamellar cuirass. A very reasonable price.
Arjen was not happy about spending so much time with other riders, or used as a pack animal, but he tolerated it. The destrier knew kindness for what it was, and knew that the kindness shown to him was no trick to win loyalty, it was the nature of his owner. So the charger learned to relish that he could help in that much.
"First thing, I have access to healing magic, which I am authorised by the city to use. Anyone with objections raise them now."
Silence.
"Right then. Next, is that in my service is a great orc by the name of Krarug, who has proven his loyalty and worth in the time I have known him. Anyone who has a problem with Krarug is not welcome in my service. Is that an issue?"
"Only because you vouch for it." muttered Darir.
"Good enough." Aorle replied. "My yeoman brings his wife around. This is obvious, but treat her with due respect. Finally, I have ambitions involving good works, taking in refugees from the shantytown. We will be taking them in and I expect you to protect them. Understood?"
Nods all around.
"Metellus, your injuries can wait. Healing too much at once has a price. Best to wait for now. Darir, gather your gear. Triarius and Metellus, I will pack your things for you. My horse will carry Metellus when we leave."
All happened as said, the time spent making ready and gathering things helped Triarius in mending. Before leaving, Aorle collected the breastplate from Orin, and handed a silver bar in exchange for a lamellar cuirass. A very reasonable price.
Arjen was not happy about spending so much time with other riders, or used as a pack animal, but he tolerated it. The destrier knew kindness for what it was, and knew that the kindness shown to him was no trick to win loyalty, it was the nature of his owner. So the charger learned to relish that he could help in that much.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.