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-CAL- 89 percent vanity Vice Captain
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 Posted: Thu Nov 06, 2008 8:33 pm
Mietis, the Known World, the great Continent, the Island Nations; all have a part to play in the grand scheme of things. Intrigue and plot do not only happen on a large scale, you know, and even the tiniest pin dropping can have great effect on the way the world works.
Take, for example, a single soldier. While no more than a rank and number, they may have what it takes to make the difference between victory and defeat.
Enter such a soldier, her eyes bright and youthful, her mettle yet tested to its fullest potential. She has a task, now all she needs is a few companions to accompany her. Who will rise to the challenge?
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Posted: Thu Nov 06, 2008 8:48 pm
 Becca wasn't just a soldier; she was a dipolmat in training and a messanger. Messanger being her current role in her runs through country and sea. She'd survived through Morte Fidelous and taken the trek down to the Final Front - a Terminian Outpost before rank upon rank of hostile jungle seperated them from the desert - only to be given a new mission. Three days off, then back on the road. They were sending her to the other side of the world, all the way to Eternia across the Western sea. Money was no problem, her path was her own, but there was one problem; she'd never been there.
A two months at least, probably quite a bit more with Winter setting in a few weeks from now. Two months of loneliness. Now Becca was a social creature and that didn't sound fun at all. So what had she done? Posted up a message, of course. There were a number of soldiers down here who were coming off lines of duty and willing for some adventure, travellers, mercinaries. She could pay, if she had to, but was hoping for adventurers willing to take what came as they travelled.
Optimistic, huh.
The main noticeboard was situated in Final Front's one and only tavern, a large, high-roofed place where most worldly comforts were offered. She was just here for a drink, an escape from the constant heat outside that made her leather armour cling to her body and sweat roll down her back, and to wait. She left tomorrow. Someone had to reply, right?
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-CAL- 89 percent vanity Vice Captain
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Posted: Thu Nov 06, 2008 9:08 pm
It was either very fortunate or very bad luck that Becca had posted up the summons for a group of rugged, hearty adventurers. True, she had the chance of snatching up a handsome, moral knight who rode in on a white steed and jumped at her every whim, but chances were far more likely that she'd get Calintz. And as fate would have it, she did.
He hadn't actually read the notice himself, rather picking it up through word of mouth. Apparently, Bartz the shopkeep's uncle's wife's cousin's nephew's son had seen the flier and the old, wise sundries salesman had thought the Yarrian just the right person to answer it.
Calintz bought a handful of dried fruit and marched off down the close-knit, dirty streets of the town. Just because it was a Terminian settlement didn't mean it had the pristine class of its mother city.
The man's bare feet pushed along through the old, packed dirt road as it had hundreds of times before, the muscles of his legs pumping with each movement as the tiny amount of clothing he wore did little to hide his physique. No one gave a second glance, however, as not only were the Yarrian common traders in this area, but many of the locals had taken up their style of dress to compensate for the heat.
Calintz skin was dark, with a hint of bronze, and the constant toothy grin planted on his face only contrasted with his skin color. Two translucent, aqua eyes peered around a corner as he came closer and closer to the tavern.
The Yarrian was a seasoned traveler by nature, though his playful gait would argue this fact. All but skipping into a dash as he neared the building, he burst in, near knocking a waitress over in the process and trotting over to the main bulletin board. From the open door, a shadow quickly dashed across the floor of the tavern and lunged up the man's bare back, cleverly disguising itself as a furry necklace before anyone could notice.
There were others nestled around the board, but this didn't stop the Yarrian, who appeared to have no sense of personal boundaries. Squeezing between two patrons and pushing them aside with light nudges, he leaned forward, face hovering just in front of the many sheets of paper tacked on, back arched, and strange, tail-like protrubence raised high into the air as it weaved its way out of a hole in the back of his loincloth.
"Hmmmmmm," he mused to himself, scratching at his necklace a bit before exclaiming with a start and a triumphant laugh. Snatching his hand out, he grabbed a piece of paper from the board, one that was being read by more than a few prying eyes, and hopped away with it, retreating to a wall and plopping down. He sat indian style, with the crisp, slightly pale blue paper clutched in his hands. Calintz' gaze was intense as he read, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, and completely unaware that the poster of just that message was sitting, in fact, just a few strides away.
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Posted: Fri Nov 07, 2008 9:05 pm
No handsome, manly knight in amour for Becca? What a shame. They’ve have gotten along so well, because she so needs to be protected. The broadsword that was propped against her thigh as she sat, reclined with a mead mug in hand, was completely for show, as the nicks and scars visible on her arms from training and the occasional battle proved. Her arms were bare, actually, free in the heat in her sleeveless top. She didn’t wear a uniform when she travelled, only when delivering the message, and her travelling outfit was far more comfortable and breezy. Loose pants enclosed her legs and were tucked into efficient, if stifling, leather boots. She was as cool as modesty would allow and even then her top was a little too low cut to be practical in battle. Good thing she wasn’t in battle, and was just kicking back in the tavern.
Despite its lofty roof and other attempts to make the tavern cool in the pre-winter heat – oh, winter, sure, they don’t have winter in this hell hole, do they? – the place was beginning to warm up as midday approached. Becca would be out of here and into somewhere cooler after eating and seeing if anyone bothered with her message. Otherwise they could find her or meet here tomorrow.
She was trying to make out the specials board behind the scraggly beehive of the Final Front Tavern’s waitress – a woman who no-one had to worry about being knocked up, probably why she was stationed here – when a flash of blue paper on the notice-board caught her attention. Someone had picked up her message!
No, it wasn’t a knight. It was one of those Yarrian fellows she’d seen around here; tanned, horned, tailed and usually half naked, they came from south of here she’d been told by a slightly dreamy local girl. Apparently the dress was cultural. Well, if he could fight and was tolerable then what did it matter his race? Even if he couldn’t fight, actually; she could do that bit.
Placing her mug on the table Becca wandered over to the Yarrian who, by now, was sitting Indian style on the floor reading her note. She leant against the table next to him, eyebrow raised. Surely her handwriting wasn’t that bad?
”Soooooo~” This wasn’t her normal thing to do, you know. Posting up messages, that was. ”Not sure if you’re done reading it, but if you have any questions I’m right here. Oh, Becca, by the way, nice to meet you Mr - ?”
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Posted: Sat Nov 08, 2008 5:04 am
Hcccck.
Ptooey.
Vidar spit a good distance away from the door before he made his way into the tavern, the midday light streaming through the windows gleaming on his hatchets. The two lil' things hung on his back, crisscrossed like they were supposed to be on some emblem or something, but they were actually pretty sharp. Damn sharp, really. The lumberjack certainly didn't earn himself any respect because he wasn't big enough to cover the entire doorway. Actually, come to think of it, Vidar was pretty girly, as far as lumberjacks get. Aside from his toned physique, because Joe has decided to give Vidar a six-pack, he had protruding biceps that were a precursor of rather heavy swings. Oh well.
His mud-caked boots thumped against the floor and left footprints as he thunked farther in. Vidar had seen a bright blue paper, earlier on, talking about warriors an' such. Really, he was just a lil' country boy, but... he assumed that being on such a trip would have money involved. And he needed money to move out of the old farm, because Joe decided that Vidar's parents are both splat-dead and that he wants to get away from the country side. Y'know, get into a city and see what all the fuss was about.
But... he didn't really know who the poster was. Becca, the paper said, was a diplomat, a profession that his father said always brought in lots of money. Maybe being a bodyguard to someone fancy wouldn't be all that bad! Vidar rolled his shoulders and stretched and made his way to the board -- promptly shivering at the very sight of the woman with the weird hair and ugly face. His aunt didn't look that bad, and she was hit in the face with a tree.
"... 'ey! Where'd it go?" A brown eyebrow arched as he turned around, features wrinkling. "'ave you seen 'at paper? Was roit 'ere, I swear!" He turned to some random passerby, but they just shook their head. Damn!
Thankfully, while he didn't see Calintz's new find, he definitely caught the woman saying "Becca." His mother always told him he had really sharp ears, like when he heard that tree drop on the other side of the woods, and he was all ''Ey! Mum! Wot was 'at?' and it turned out he was right. Either way, he turned his head and walked over.
"'Ello! You Becca? Th' one tha' wants people t'elp, roit?" He must've been quite a strange sight. But even with his homemade clothes ("'anks, mum!"), Calintz was still a spectacle. Wearing nearly nothing?! What was with those people?! Back at home, he hadn't gotten no contact with things that weren't human, y'see, so he just wrote all these people off as a bunch of crazies who didn't like clothes. "Oh, 'm Vidar, by th' way. It's nice t'meet ya."
He felt sorta weird interrupting a conversation, but if he was still real unsure. She'd probably listen to him, anyway. He wasn't the one sitting down, nearly exposin' himself to everyone.
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Posted: Mon Nov 10, 2008 3:17 am
A lot of money, huh, Vidar? Well not really. As a rookie diplomat, if an experienced messenger, Becca didn’t earn copious amounts of money. She did, however, have access to extra funding to pay people accompanying her. Naturally this could be exploited to bump her own pay up but this was Becca. Her morals were pretty damn sound, once you got to know her, and stealing was strictly against her honour code. It was little wonder they’d picked her out for the job. Good morals, strength enough to look after herself when need be and really just a pleasant girl to be around. What could go wrong?
Before the half-naked Yarrian had a chance to even acknowledge her, a brown-haired country-lad had picked up the blue paper as well. Well then, for future reference, she’d always use coloured paper to stand out amongst dozens of wanted notices. Now she called him a ‘country-lad’ for good reason; firstly you could tell he was a country boy from his duds. Even here in Final Front they had two or three professional tailors who hummed away on their foot-powered machines, hand-sewn clothes were a rarity simply because most people couldn’t manage firm enough stitches. Secondly? Well, he had a country boy’s ruddiness to him, as if he’d given his face a good scrubbing just a few moments before in a freezing cold river.
See? Becca was good at this.
”That’d be me.” A grin tugged at the left side of her mouth and stretched across her cheeks, friendly and open. Becca was never one to put a guy on edge if she could help it. Vidar’s constant eye flickers towards the Yarrian, however, were rather amusing. She hadn’t seen many of them herself, but each to their own if you asked her. A hand, baring only minor calluses that hadn’t been caught by her gloves, was extended for a shake, and as soon as Vidar’s palm met her own she gave it a hearty shake. They say confidence is measured by how firm your handshake is. Apparently Becca was very confident. ”So you’re interested in a bit of an adventure, huh? You from around here?
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Posted: Mon Nov 10, 2008 5:17 am
Any amount of money, period, was quite a bit for Vidar. Living alone with his mother and father in the woods pretty much ensured that he wouldn't touch a whole lot of gold. The only time he'd see lots was when they'd all take a trip for the nearest town once a week, which was around ten miles away from their home. The Sabriel family would trade their lumber for gold, yes, but it'd be immediately traded off, again, for tools and supplies and such. Vidar never got to see a whole lot in one place.
Ohthankgod. It was Becca, and she certainly seemed friendly enough. Vidar's palms and fingers, however, were far more worn than the diplomat's, the skin thickened against the rough scraping of bark and clinging to a hatchet all day. With amusement, he noted that there weren't many differences between he and Becca-- he was only a few inches taller and they had the same hair and eye color. "Yep, 'm interested." Vidar tried to keep his eyes at Becca, but he kept glancing down every once in a while towards Calintz. He was half naked! No! Prolly three quarters naked! Who goes out in public dressed like that?! The only contact he'd ever gotten was human, so all these new species ov people were a surprise for him, definitely. Wot? You were Yarrian?
Ghezuntite.
Vidar's handshake was just as firm as Becca's. He made sure not to try and crush her, even though she looked like she prolly could handle herself. "Well, 'm a bi' new t'th'city. I lived near Fisherman's Poin' for mos' ov me life, but 's a nice place, really." His sheepish smile validated it, as if his hick-ish attitude or his accent wasn't enough. "'m no' too sure 'bout none ov the recen' news, though. I can figh', 'n I 'eard 'at would be enough." He let go of her hand, after a rather extended handshake.
The hatchets' bladed heads loomed a bit from behind his shoulders, bein' all 'grrr' and lettin' Becca know that he wasn't no pansy. Oh, and he could do a lil' bit of magic 'ere and there, but not a whole lot. It helped cutting down trees 'n such?
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