• Solo • A Knight in Drunken Armor

The capital city of the of Rynmere, here is seated the only King in Idalos.
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Vera
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A Knight in Drunken Armor

1st Afternoon of Ymiden

Lowtown. This was where the common folk lived, where the filth and slop lined the streets and disease proliferated as if it were a molten ooze crawling to each new victim. It made her sick, it made her despise humanity. Things were not as they should be in such a place, but the marching of heavy boots in formation thundered through the alley as two lines of soldiers on patrol marched in a deafening roar. The unstoppable force moved past her, but Vera watched the disdainful glances of those on the bottom rung of life as they sat there, thinking they were wondering why things were so difficult. The psyche of those who had tried hard only to fail perplexed her, that they would just give up so soon? Did they just need more help, were they intimidated by the world around them? Or were their losses so great that they had lost their life in remorse and misery? In any case, depression was the big thing that seemed to affect humanity around these parts, it was partly why she was in lowtown in the first place.

When everything fell to silence, save for the ring in her ears, Vera continued in the direction from whence they came. She was here to find and persuade a captain of the Iron Hand. Scrawled upon a small note in her pocket that she had received from her mentor were the words in a large, jagged font; “TREATMENT REQUIRED: JEREMIAH SQUATS. PLEASE COMMIT PATIENT BY ORDERS OR HE WILL GO UNTREATED.” She didn’t have her conduit with her due to her magic being illegal and unregistered, it also didn’t seem logical to enter the den of wolves with a lamb around her neck.

Today, she was only armed with Lethroda, the mark of Sintra, and her own wit. Her simple black skirt and shirt stood contrast to the many browns and greens the common-folk wore, in fact as she walked, her eyes caught the startlingly bright blue of a man in robes and a hood. In his hands, a pot. A smaller girl with bright crimson hair wore a similar hooded robe, one in a bright green. They both wore belts adorned with satchels and vials, and loaded packs. When Vera got closer, she could see the steam rise from the pot, the two were walking but they paused in front of a skinny man with a scruffy beard who was resting with a sack over him.

The man’s eyes perked open slightly as the girl in green, armed with ladle and bowl, procured some of the hearty soup. “You should eat or you will grow ill,” she said. He leaned over and picked up the wooden bowl with two hands, holding it up over his head. “Thank-you”, he said weakly. Vera had gotten close enough to hear them, and those words hinted that these two were armed for the common good of the people of Rynmere, the respectable sort who would do anything just to help. Hands free, the crimson-haired green girl turned and spotted Vera with a startled look. She graciously ran to her, big blue eyes looking up at Vera. “Alms. Alms for the poor, sick, and dying?”

Vera chuckled lightly at the demand. “Alas, I did not bring any nels with me. I am a student of the mind at the Infirmary, so I make very little.” She was perplexed now, the two seemed organized. Dyed robes, equipment. Those satchels, the sick and dying? The satchels must contain medicine.

The girl was quick to retort. “Every single nel is put to good use.” Vera looked up to see the blue-hooded man looking at her calmly, a smile upon his face. It felt like a shake down, to play on sensibilities in exchange for help. It was a potent weapon, but she recognized it easily and thus it had no effect on her. When their eyes met, he approached. Neither of them offered a hand, instead keeping their gloved hands to their sides as a doctor would. “We are somewhat aligned in trade, you are a student, yes?” He asked, a familiar Biqaj accent rolling from his tongue.

Vera nodded, looking between the two of them who had her pinned like hungry dogs begging for treats. And, here it comes ….

“You should visit the Adunih facility, you may be able to learn much about your craft by working with us. What say you, student of the infirmary?” She had a feeling they would ask her for help, but they didn’t outright request membership. They seemed to desire more of a relationship with her than a business arrangement, which was refreshingly different. She was curious now, if they had done research on the mind, some of it might be useful to her. Who knew what she might learn?

“Very well.” Vera said. The small girl’s eyes lit up, and the man in blue smirked. Before they could speak, she herself spoke up with a raised voice. “But, I have work to finish in lowtown. I will return tomorrow, time-permitting. I am a very busy woman!” She nodded at them in a farewell, but the blue man spoke up. “The facility is near to here -”

Vera had her back turned to him, interrupting. “I shall ask the beggars if I cannot find it, they seem to have a good relationship with you.” That seemed enough for the goodie-two-shoes duo, as they stopped pestering her. It was time to get on with the task at hand; finding Jeremiah’s Knight Captain.
Last edited by Vera on Sun Jun 26, 2016 7:17 am, edited 2 times in total. word count: 944
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Vera
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A Knight in Drunken Armor

The barracks weren’t too far away. Vera was surprised when she found her way to them safely, and without issue. On either side of the big, metal-grated entrance guards stood posted like statuesque sentries. She glanced to each of them, and then at the portcullis which had been raised. It seemed inviting enough, so she took a step forward. Between the two knights now, one spoke up with a roaring voice. “What business do you have with the Iron Hand!?” Affirmative, output.

Startled by the ferocity of his voice, Vera vacated her lungs and drew in a fresh breath of air communicate clearly, and also because on some level she was scared of them. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be able to tell. That, or it was unusual for someone -not- to be scared, if that was the norm with their method of handling things. Still, she wondered if being clear and honest would get her what she wanted in this situation. “I am here on medical business from the Infirmary to see Captain Alric Panhart.”

Silence followed, then the other knight who had not yet spoken chimed in with a more friendly voice, but still stoic. “You may pass. Captain Panhart has an office near the second floor dormitories. Do not deviate, understand?”

Vera nodded, surprised at how tight security was. Nothing like a firm iron hand to guide you on your way. ‘Don’t deviate’ … ‘Don’t deviate.’ I probably shouldn’t. They seemed to let her pass on word alone, which was good enough for her to advance. The first floor of the barracks was open, the chiseled stone halls lined with corridors and the entrances to winding staircases on each corner of the building. Knights flowed to and from various places within, and even more ventured in or out. It was a hive of men with metal on the brain, fashioned into swords by the establishment, and it was impressive to behold.

With so much to take in, she stood there and realized her bewilderment. She took a moment to regulate her breathing, she didn’t want to approach this carelessly. It seemed dangerous to interact with these people, men who could easily overpower her with a blade should they have the inclination. She knew her way around a knife, but that only went so far as ‘stick them with the pointy end’ - not that she’d brought one.

Clearing her mind, she focused on the task at hand. Second floor, Panhart’s office. This, this’ll be easy. Mentally, she’d convinced herself, and she was ready to take on something that dwarfed her in scope. She turned, and she climbed the stairs nearest to her. The staircase wound upward, snaking toward the second floor. The fumbling boots of a heavy knight echoed up the stairwell, and she pressed herself against the wall before she could see him to make way, and he heard him say something as he bumbled past her, muttering about “that damn captain.” She realized then that she was on the right track.

All for the job. Vera finally advanced, finding her way to an archway without a door that opened into two hallways that were lined with doors from end to end. Some of them were marked by placards, others weren’t. She placed on index finger on her forehead and huffed a breath of air disdainfully, it was time to investigate the old fashioned way. Removing her finger, she looked both ways before moving further. Careful not to bump into anyone, Vera walked along the corridors ahead to get a sense of the rooms available. The vast majority of them were knight dormitories, and squire dormitories - decorated with numbers. When she got to the end of the hall, she turned right into a new hallway- the layout was a giant square in the form of encircling corridors, apparently.

This time, the placards were different. Captain Rackveld, Mandais, there were some familiar royal name as well, the first names of their more privileged blood a stark contrast to the lonely last names of the common folk. Finally, Vera found what she was looking for. Captain Panhart. The big, wooden door was shut tight, an iron latch for a knob. Focused as she was, she forgot to knock and instead hastily undid the latch. The door opened at a glacial pace, carrying with it the sound of a thousand nails dragging on wood mixed with the cry of small children.
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Vera
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A Knight in Drunken Armor

Standing there a grizzled bulwark, a lone figure stood leaning over a desk shuffling papers around. He was clad in metal armor sans a helmet, and his neatly trimmed beard signaled to Vera that he was perhaps the type of individual who cared for his position much, but she couldn’t be sure. He looked up at her briefly, then back to his papers. “What do you want, girl?” he asked, a hint of frustration churning through his words.

“I’m a doctor, I’m here to request that Ser Jeremiah Squats be ordered to accept treatment.” Vera spoke up as best she could, a ragged rattling in her rarely-used deeper tones. “I need a written order with your signature upon it.

Captain Panhart stood straight, lips curling into a sneer as his voice rose several octaves. “That man continues to disrespect the Iron Hand in every fashion he can!” Panhart walked toward the far side of the office, grumbling. “You’ll get your form, but if you fail to turn him into anything less than an exemplary beacon to his peers, I’ll see to his exile from the Hand.” Papers shifted, quills flew, and ink blotted itself on the parchment. When all was set and done, Panhart stamped the letter and held it out to Vera. “But don’t get your hopes up, he’s a piece of work.”

The Webspinner reached up to accept the order, tempted to latch a string onto him at that very moment, but still refraining. “I will perform at my best, Captain.” Panhart went back to his table, grumbling at something else on his mind.

“You can find him at the nearest bar, I’d wager. You’re dismissed,” he said.

As a sign of respect, Vera lifted her skirt part-way and bent her knee in a curtsy. “I hope we shall not meet again under such circumstances.” She turned and left with no awarded response, shutting the door behind her and making her leave of the barracks. Still, she took in her surroundings and wondered at the formidable appearance of these men, her initial intimidation having since faded. They were organized, they had many minds in powerful positions, a force not to be underestimated with, and something she knew to take heed of should she interact with them in the future.

She set about down the street, gazing at the wood-and-stone cobbled buildings in disrepair around her, glancing at the odd knight or commoner in her search of a place of vice. It was then that she stuffed away the signed order, realizing that she hadn't needed Teddy's note after all - not that the thing even hinted at something official. She had a hunch that her mentor was making things difficult for her with true intent, but she couldn't be sure quite yet.
Last edited by Vera on Sun Jun 26, 2016 7:12 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 479
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Vera
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A Knight in Drunken Armor

It didn’t take her too long. The afternoon sun was still high in the sky, and various riff-raff skittered about. Part of her questioned why she had no dagger, another part of her assured her that she would be fine. The close proximity to the barracks was assuring, at least. A large, stone-faced man turned the corner. His gait was uncanny - a drunkard, down on his luck. She surmised that all she would have to do is follow the direction he came from, and as she turned the corner her suspicions were concerned. A group of men mingled outside the shady establishment, a label above the bar coined the place as ‘The Sweaty Dance’, which became became apparent as she approached.

The door open when she was only several feet away, a scantily-clad woman who preyed on men for a life stumbled out, hiding a torn blouse. This visual appalled Vera, and she was taken aback with hesitation. If I go in there, with those rowdy men … in a skirt, no man to protect me. It just won’t work. Vera shot forward and placed her hand on the whore’s shoulder, eliciting a squeak from the young lady who carefully shielded her honor. Concentration poured forth from the Webspinner, wafting from her like a scented perfume which smothered the young lass. With a smirk, Vera beseeched her; “you’ll help arrange a meeting with Jeremiah?” The words were demanding, thought-provoking, and most of all laced with the temptation of Lethroda. As the girl stuttered, trying to speak in the doorway, Vera picked up on the sensations scattering from her. Fear, namely. The desire to flee. Vera could tell she was scared, so she took a step back and treated her as a Psychologist would treat a patient - to relent and establish trust. As she stepped back, a fine string of blessed energy trailed forth with yet more concentrated effort, a string only Vera knew was there.

The girl’s eyes dashed from one side to the other as she examined her surroundings in worry before speaking, held in the doorway in plain sight. “That man! You want Jeremiah? He’s, he’s the one who tore my clothes! He’s sick-”

Vera interrupted her immediately when the subject reared its head. “-that’s what I’m here for. I’m here to take him away, his mind needs to be mended.” Vera’s mind examined the situation, before settling on a persuasive argument. “If you help me get rid of him, you’ll have an easier time working at this … place. It’s in your best interest.”

The girl cracked a smile, letting out a sharp, timid laugh. “I don’t know, seems pretty dangerous to me.” She seemed more calm now.

Vera could tell the girl was starting to break, all she needed to do was give another light shove… “Just give him this letter for me. Tell him it’s important. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” The Webspinner thrust the signed orders into the girl’s balled palms, then reached out and physically turned her around by the shoulders, giving her an encouraging push.

“Fine, fine! I’ll do it, I’ll do it!” She looked over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out in mockery, but Vera knew she was just a child, susceptible to basic outside maternal influence. Such a basic person failed to even question Vera’s motivations for not going in there herself. Of course it was dangerous.

The smell of piss crossed Vera’s nostrils as she leaned against the wall of the bar and shut her eyes, rubbing her left hand over her forehead and then through her hair to calm herself and focus on the task at hand - observation of her autonomous puppet, and keeping a watchful eye on its strings. She ‘listened’ in her mind, focusing on flowing her mind through the magical string which trailed through the bar like a leash.
Last edited by Vera on Wed Jun 29, 2016 12:30 am, edited 3 times in total. word count: 670
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Vera
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A Knight in Drunken Armor

Vera twitched her head downward as she saw flashes of the bar in her mind's eye, competing with the darkness of her domain, her lips curling to one side as she was filled with arrogant pride. The power she possessed was addictive, and even she had failed to notice until a few moments later. Her concern dismissed the feelings, trying harder to learn more about what was going on. A vague flash swept through her mind once more, it was a shadowy figure looming over a table as a barkeep stood silent to the other side of it, upon a stool with clay mug in hand. Her puppet approached, getting closer. The envelope stretched out before him, muffled words were exchanged. They were heated, but some were sad. The most clear words were ‘Leave me be’, but then the girl tugged on his shirt. He shifted and pulled away, she lost her balance and she was on the floor with nothing covering her as men oggled.

The images were somewhat clearer now, even if by some insignificant amount due to how entranced Vera was with what she was seeing. A rough hand loomed overhead to right her and stand her up, hollars and jeers scathed and gnashed as the Drunken Knight removed his shirt and gave it to the girl, an odd act of kindness from someone who had terrified the girl moments before. Apologies were to be had. He took the letter, looked at it. Then, he set about making arrangements for his tab, and began to walk for the door. It was at this moment that Vera noticed he was moving with a panicked trot, was he fleeing?

She opened her eyes just in time to see Jeremiah walk outside the bar, wide-eyed. He mumbled to himself, something about ‘handling’ something as far as Vera could hear. She took a step forward, catching his attention, then another step with an outstretched hand as she mentally severed the line of her last string. “Jeremiah, I’m Doctor -” Jeremiah immediately turned and began to move away, shouting something about not wanting treatment. Vera was only a few feet away now, and thinking quickly as there was no-one else around, she opened her palm towards him and concentrated. A thin string spiraled forth, faster than he was no running. It managed to attach itself to his pant leg. He wouldn’t escape, not if she could help it!

Vera ran after him. “Wait!” she called out, as if by instinct. Her physical ineptitude showed, her run was slow and awkward, and her breath quickly lost her by the time she had neared the end of the street. No, she needed to do something different. She would have to let him think he had lost her, and then hunt him down. And so it begins… the prey upon the web as the spider looms.
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Malcolm
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A Knight in Drunken Armor

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[columns=2]
Skills

Detection: 3
Deception: 1
Investigation: 1
Persuasion: 2
Etiquette: 1
Intimidation: 1
Webspinning: 1
Meditation: 1







Knowledge

Basic
Location: Lowtown
Location: Rynmere Barracks
Biqaj: The accent
The Iron Hand: Intimidating
Ser Jeremiah: Captain
Ser Jeremiah: Doesn't want treatment
Detection: The smell of urine
Specialised
Lowtown: Where Rynmere’s poor live
Lowtown: Rife with disease
Magic: Illegal in Rynmere without a permit
Webspinning: How to stop someone from escaping[/columns]

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I didn't quite understand what you wanted meditation for but feel free to highlight it in a PM to me. Grade adjusted, enjoy.
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