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 Posted: Thu Dec 04, 2014 5:26 am
 (Art by kaname423)|| Stat Page || Updated: Jun/30/16
Experience || 50
Inventory
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Posted: Fri Dec 05, 2014 8:29 pm
  Name: Dovev(Doh-vev)Race: WaterGender: MaleBase Traits:
Secretive
Dovev, as a person, is very mysterious. They are very closed-mouthed about their past and their deeds, and about the past and deeds of others. Many well-kept secrets lie behind that calm, pleasant demeanor, and Dovev can be trusted to be burdened with more. Dovev does not judge a person based on secrets, when they judge at all: in the end, what they are focused on is the present, not the past.
Mercenarial
Dovev is not ashamed to admit that their loyalty can be bought. In fact, they are very quick to inform others of this: They are yours as long as you pay in some way, and if they aren't yours they are someone else's who CAN pay. Dovev isn't picky about what that payment is. They take money, goods, services, favors... so long as it is fairly material or potentially useful in the near future. Although they value friends and friendship and family, Dovev will always put material goods and whoever is paying them first.
Well-spoken
Dovev, listened to his noble masters and, though careful study, a quick tongue, and long practice, has an excellent vocabulary. They make a point of enunciating clearly and precisely and are always polite and professional. Dovev takes great care to speak in a very straightforward manner and makes it a point to never lie unless they absolutely must. What you hear from their lips is exactly, precisely, what they mean. Though they can be blunt, it is sometimes refreshing to deal with the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, stated without any lyrical twists and turns. Class: Towards SentinelPersonality:
Dovev is the sort of person that calmly keeps their distance. While a slave at the will of capricious masters, Dovev made violence and protection their life. Now free, they have made a concious decision to continue that life for pay. Over the years of watching the noble games of deciet, Dovev has learned that violence need not be done in anger, nor need it be done on one's own.
Dovev doesn't judge - to Dovev, the world is too complicated to judge, and it is not their place to judge it. Dovev's philosophy is simple: People need things done, things they might not want to or be able to do themselves. So, people need help, Dovev provides that help. Dovev is flexible- they will do anything they are asked, and do it to the best of their ability. As long as material goods and services are forthcoming, Dovev is yours, until the terms of the contract run out or Dovev gets a better competing offer.
Dovev could easily be your friend one day and your murderer the next. It is not, of course, personal. In fact, Dovev may regret the act. They do, after all, have a concious, and they have people they like and don't like, friends, allies, family, and such. They do have loyalties to these friends and family, loyalties which they take seriously. At the end of the day, though, Dovev is a professional and they make this very clear: They are where the pay is. Perhaps if they care about you and/or your continued business they may give you a courtesy warning about something that could inconvenience you, or a discount, or even credit, but in the end, their loyalty is to their payment.
Dovev may regret some things that they do, but Dovev gets over it. Their harsh training and life destroyed their innocence long ago, and few things remain that will shake them. Dovev has few boundaries, but those boundaries are very clear cut and stable: There are things that Dovev will absolutely refuse to do, no matter what the pay, but these things are few and far between.
Dovev does not bring up their past or the things they hold taboo, not unless they must. They keep their secrets close at hand. Their story is not for public consumption, nor is it anybody's business. The past is past, alas. Dovev, though sometimes haunted by the past, prefers to keep their feet squarely in the present.
Although Dovev can be a mystery, Dovev is not a liar. Dovev does not disguise what they are- a thug for hire. They know this, and they do not mind others knowing this, nor what they may think of this. It is what they are. Simple as that.
Dovev remains calm and polite and personable under even the oddest and most trying circumstances. Even when blood is flowing on the ground and adrenaline rushes through their bloodstream, Dovev is calm and careful with their words, almost meditative.
This does not mean that they don't get upset, or happy, or excited. They do, as much as anybody else. But it is almost like Dovev has found a sort of inner peace that keeps them balanced.
In short: Dovev is a polite mercenarial warrior whose gentle voice and disarming speech pretty up their truths even as they hide the greater part of themselves behind secrecy. A good friend to have, definitely, but one that must be maintained otherwise they may be your enemy.Color:Copper [color=#8f4700][/color]
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Posted: Fri Dec 05, 2014 8:37 pm
 History:
Dovev was taken from his family so early that he barely remembers them. All he does remember is the constant training, his fate decided before his feet even touched the ground of the slave market, before the Oban with the winning bid led him away.
There was a tradition in the household that purchased him to have a Matori as the personal guard to their leader. Usually, the responsibility was passed to the likeliest child of the guard, but their current guard, though growing older and ready to train her replacement, had no children, and she could not bear any, so Dovev was brought in.
She did not spare anything in his training, and the boy had to learn to grow up fast and use the sword she provided him. She beat him at the slightest hint of disobedience, crueller than any Oban master, but he did not break. Instead – just as she had intended – he became forged into a weapon.
She trained him in fighting, endurance, observation, and atheletics – all the things he would need as a bodyguard. Her cruelty eventually softened into a harsh sort of pride and, when he came of age at 16, he was given his true task – to protect the heir to the household. She still trained him, but he learned to enjoy the brief respites of his job and to find peace in the precise movements of his training sword. Though not old enough to take up a real sword yet, he became more than capable of protecting his master with his body alone. And he did so, though the threats he faced were no more than bullies, picking on the young master for his frail, scholarly appearance and manner, and the occasional lout or pickpocket in the streets.
He dealt with those threats squarely, without thought, regret, or embellishment, like the weapon he had been taught to be, and he had thought that that was loyalty. But then, suddenly, war came and went and he was free. And, with freedom, he realized he didn't want to be where he was anymore. Not that he had anything against the boy he had been protecting, but Dovev, with his new freedom, realized that he wanted to go.
He left the place that had been his prison and his only home, and walked out into the big city, training sword at his back. Persistent despite resistance to his race, he began to take odd jobs, eventually gravitating towards jobs that used his experience in fighting. The prentice soon found himself decently entrenched in circles that used him for protection, enforcement, and general muscle and thuggery. His 'purpose' forgotten, he was satisfied with those jobs: They paid, and that suited the young matori just fine. He aspired to be nothing more, but... Well... Fate was likely to say otherwise.
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Posted: Fri Dec 05, 2014 8:44 pm
Repeat:
Wermyn
Irroghal
Just That:
Extra Charge:
Other:
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Posted: Fri Dec 05, 2014 8:45 pm
Inventory:
Sword: Dovev has a sword, poor quality and hard bought, that has served them well thus far, though he of course hopes to buy a proper one someday...
Purse: A cynic would say that this is young Dovev's most prized posession... they would be right. It contains Dovev's currency, and to Dovev that means power. Currently, it is fairly light... he hopes to change it.
Knapsack: Dovev's third post important posession (after his purse and backpack), it contains written contracts, practice books (he is teaching himself proper reading and writing skills), and various supplies and sundries.
Sleeping Mat: To sleep on.
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Posted: Fri Dec 05, 2014 8:47 pm
In Progress:
Abandoned:
X ~ Its Cold Outside ~ Dovev and Teslaron ~
Complete:
X ~The Meaning of Freedom's Cry ~ Solo ~ 1590 words
X ~ What is a Sellsword without a Sword ~ Solo ~ 929 words
X ~ The Way of the Blade ~ Class Affinity Solo ~ 1047 words
XX ~ I'm in the Market for ~ Dovev and Irronaghal ~ 110 words
XX ~ As All Adventures Start ~ Dovev and Wermyn ~ 144 words
XX ~ Rain isn't the only Problem ~ Dovev and Wermyn ~ 214 words
XX ~ A Choice of Morals ~ Class Solo
X ~ Meta Chapter 7: Rising Tide
X ~ Meta Chapter 7: The Time has Come
X ~ Meta Chapter 7 Response ~ 205 words
X ~ Undesirable Raise ~ Solo 767 words
Progress:
7/35 Growth Points
/5 EXP Growth Points
Needs: Class Quest
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Posted: Fri Dec 05, 2014 8:49 pm
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Posted: Fri Dec 05, 2014 8:56 pm
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Posted: Fri Dec 05, 2014 9:08 pm
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Posted: Tue Apr 21, 2015 6:16 am
Job: As All Adventures Start
Client(s): Wermyn
Payoff: 114 Words and The beginning of an interesting adventure with an interesting young male and a potentially massive payoff
------------------ Dovev had never thought, that day in the tavern, that he would be turning to thievery, but now that he had stolen coin in hand, he could see why it was appealing. In fact, he could see no real reason why not. It was as much a job as any, with as much of a payoff as any. It was simply not... employed.
He could see himself turning to banditry when times were thin, though he hoped not: such activities, if overdone, could chase away customers and hurt his business. But, if he needed to get some quick cash to survive...
Well, perhaps on this long journey to the mountainous and barbaric lands, he would learn a few less-violent tricks from his employer. And, maybe, after this job, there would never be such a thin time to harry his haunches.
Such was the hope.
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Posted: Tue Apr 21, 2015 6:25 am
Job: Rain isn't the Only Problem
Client(s): Wermyn (Versatile Prompt)
Payoff: 214 Words and protected his employer from a bandit attack, and seriously rethought his idea of potentially being a bandit
------------------ Perhaps being a bandit was not so profitable after all. Dovev thought as he cleaned his blade of their blood. The tent had been damaged by arrows, his employer had been damaged, he himself had been damaged, and they had lost some supplies. They would have to spend some of their precious funds – precious for Dovev, anyway – on supplies in Yera, as well as on maps and warmer clothing. Dovev would prefer to afford it all without turning to dishonorable methods, but if he had to... then he had to.
In the meantime, he wanted to reach the relative safety of the Leaf settlement as soon as possible, where they would find healers and other services to speed his employer's recovery.
In an attempt to gain funds and other supplies, he spent a lull in the rain stripping the bandit's bodies of anything he could use or sell – rations, weapons, good clothing and armor. They had attacked him, and so their right to posession was forfeit.
A few intact weapons, jewelery, and even coins met his efforts, and he relaxed. Between what they had, and what he had taken from their aggressors, they would have enough. He arranged their bodies in some semblance of respect and returned to his watch.
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Posted: Sun May 31, 2015 10:54 am
The meaning of Freedom's Cry
When: The day the Oban war ended
Result: 1590 Words and Walking away to freedom and a new, uncertain life, and miraculously finding a place to stay
------------------
“Freedom!” came the joyous cry from the road outside the compound.
Freedom... It was an interesting concept. He listened to the growing echoes of the cry, looking to where his teacher stood. She spoke with her master anxiously and Dovev knew she would not take to such a thing as freedom. She would serve this family until she died, very likely.
He looked at his own master, the Oban he was bound to protect, and squinted thoughtfully. He was a year or two his junior, and the boy definitely needed protecting. He was not a warrior. He was not built not to fight nor to endure and honestly not really built, either, to succeed his father either. He was suited to a quiet, unnoticeable life, but such was how Oban middle-nobility worked. The boy was the first born child of this family, and would have to grow up and do his duty to his family. He had to. He had no choice.
If the cry could be believed, the war had come and gone, bringing freedom for Dovev and his teacher in it's tide. But not for the boy. The young Oban was no slave, but he was shackled all the same by obligations of blood and kin.
Dovev, though... Dovev was free now to choose his destiny. Would he choose to stand by the boy and live his life with him? Would he choose to protect the boy, even now?
His teacher would would. She would shackle her newly-loosed feet back to where she felt they belonged. It was her life, and it had – at one point – been his. He looked back at his teacher and shook his head, silently, to himself.
Not anymore... Dovev thought.
It didn't have to be his life anymore, and he didn't intend for it to be.
Quietly, quickly – for he could only do it if her back was turned – he turned and walked away from the place that had been his home for so long, where his blood and sweat and tears had been spilled to forge him into a weapon and a shield. He had nothing against the boy – the young Oban had done nothing to Dovev, and had been generally pleasant in general – but Dovev felt a need to move. Moreso, he needed to leave.
He walked away, his feet moving faster of their own accord as he left his life behind. Dovev had no plans, but this did not bother him as he trotted out of the courtyard, out of the estate, and into the city. There was chaos in the streets, and Dovev maneuvered into the crowds, blending in to the general mayhem.
He had walked a long way into the city's winding alleyways and avenues when he realized he had forgotten his blade. He contemplated returning for it, but he decided against it. By this time, the estate would have known he was gone and, free or not, there were apparently expectations of where and how the newly emancipated servants would go – back to their masters, of course. They would be looking for him. Worse, his teacher would be looking for him and if she caught him, she would flay his hide.
Of course, they would not find him – he was too far away for any search of theirs to reach him. Unfortunately, he was also too far away to pick up his weapon. In his haste, he had left the old training blade behind, and retrieving it now was not worth the effort and trouble. He would simply have to buy a new one.
Buy. Purchase. The more urgent problem was that Dovev had no money. Nothing to buy a new sword with, no money for clothes, nor for a place to sleep. He needed these things and thus he needed money. He slowed his pace and looked around him at the quieting, yet restless streets. A woman watched him warily, an Oban not of means to have had slaves herself. He gave her a respectful nod in response to her glower. She grimaced, then shook her head.
“Boy.” she said, beckoning him over, “You want to help an old woman?”
Dovev bowed. “This one would be honored.” he said, hopeful - Perhaps this was the kind of job that he was looking for, one that would pay him and see him provisioned for a while.
She relaxed. “Now, theres a Matori that still remembers his place.” she said approvingly, “You wouldn't believe the mess they've been making in there, celebrating their freedom... animals.” she gestured, and Dovev could see that what he had thought was a house was a tavern of a sort, a nondescript place decorated to appeal to a slave given liberty by their benevolent masters, and willing to share some generously allowed coin with others of their master's race. Dovev had only glimpsed these havens of the Matori, and his teacher had never taken him to one, nor frequented them herself. He could see that there had, indeed, been a mess.
“And you wish this one to clean it?”
“Well.” she said, looking him over, “I was going to be saying 'assist', since that's all you lazy Matori want to do when you're not bound, but if your offering...”
Dovev nodded. “This one is offering.” he said.
“Good.” she said, “There may – may, mind – be coin in it for you if you have it spotless.” she said, taking a relieved-looking seat outside, “Theres a broom and a cleaning rag in the closet in the back.”
Dovev got to work. His teacher had often made him clean – it was her third favorite punishment after extra weapons training and lashings, and so he knew what to do. The old woman, enjoying the rest his work afforded her, talked at him, complaining, seemingly uncaring that he was of the Water tribe himself.
“Aye, ya. I'll have to close up this business, you know.” she said, looking around her noncommittally at the walls and decorations, “It was lucrative, you know? In this part of the city, slaves got themselves allowed out sometimes if they was good. You know, to have a day off – or a holy day off, most usually. They got a little grease for their pockets for something special, for extra credit with Nerad, you see.”
Dovev could understand – the god of judgment was fair, and such an act of benevolence would weigh well in their favor when Essd came to take them.
“So, I figured, why not give the fishmen a bit of their home to throw their coin at, eh? My brother was a slaver, so he had loads of stuff from the isles, and I figured; why not use that? Did pretty well for myself here, the only benefit I've ever gotten out of slaves, not being able to get any of me own.” she scoffed, “Or their master's money, for that matter, tightfisted bastards. Giving coin to slaves and passing by common street beggars... oh, Nerad will judge them, all right. He will.” She rocked in her chair as Dovev listened and cleaned quietly. “But now, there's going to be Matori taverns opening up – run by fishmen for fishmen, and where do you think they'll go? Mmm? With all their newfound job money, eh?” she shook her head, “Aye, and its about time for a change of business, ain't it?” she said, looking around at the décor, “Maybe a decorations dealer – I've had to repair and remake half of these at least five times yet, so I've practice. Yes, that suits me better than serving drunk fishmen who think they're better than us peasants now that they be free...”
Dovev dusted his hands off and bowed. “This one believes his task is done.”
The woman blinked, looking around her at the cleaned, better smelling tavern in surprise. “Ubelli's arse. So it is...” she nodded, approvingly. “Say, boy, you have somewhere to be?”
“No, ma'am.” he said, inclining his head, “The coin...”
“Oh, aye.” she reached for a purse, absently fiddling with a few of the precious coins. “Well, if you've nowhere, might you be willing to help this old lady again for a while? I need to move all these things around and a strong young man like yourself might be able to help me do it. I've a spare room I can rent to you...”
Dovev watched her, wary and disbelieving. “This is quite generous.” he said.
“I'll be working you hard, boy, and don't you forget it. Just don't try any funny business – I've a lock on my door, and if you try anything with this old lady...” she grinned wickedly, summoning a brilliant ball of flame to an outstretched hand, “You'll get your fins burnt off.”
Dovev bowed. “Understood.” he took the coins from her other hand, “And the pay?”
“You get the room in return for your heavy lifting.” she said, “And some coin if you do a good job of it.”
It was, Dovev knew, hardly fair and just a hair shy from slavery, but he also knew he had to start somewhere and that whatever coin he could scrounge would be welcome. “It is a deal.” he said.
“Excellent.” the woman said, the flames receding, “I'll show you your room then and we'll start – bright and early – tomorrow.”
This was not a problem for Dovev.
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Posted: Sun May 31, 2015 10:56 am
What is a Sellsword without a Sword
When: Three weeks after the freeing of the Matori
Effect: 929 Words and A proper sword is acquired and a new potential job found.
------------------ The din of the market clamored around Dovev as he halted at the weapons stall, his eyes immediately drawn to the rack of blades. It had been three weeks or so since the end of the war, two weeks since he had aided the old woman, and the city was still unsettled by the freeing of their slaves. People still spoke of the meaning of the pronouncement, of the new king and his family, of the situation in the barbaric lands of the north. There was worry and fear, and Dovev was either ignored or stared at with wariness, as if he was an unstable and wild animal. That was how many felt about the freed slaves – that, no longer bound by chains and servitude, they would revert to barbaric fish-monsters and wreak havoc on the city. Others saw them as much the same – cheap employment only slightly more expensive than slaves and about as expendable. Dovev didn't care either way.
His work with the woman at her once tavern, now furniture and decoration store, had netted him only a pittance of coin, though she was allowing him to keep his room if he ran errands for her. It was acceptable – to not be forced to linger in the street like a criminal was a blessing that Dovev did not hesitate to appreciate. He had taken her cheapness and used it to grow connections, and in the preceding weeks had managed to scrape together a modest supply of coins from odd jobs and other work. He knew exactly what he would spend it on.
The smith, a brawny Oban woman, watched him with iron-cold wariness as he inspected the weapons on the rack. All were of beautiful quality, shimmering in the filtered Oban sun like splinters of its rays. He took one from the rack to inspect it, turning it over in his hands and testing its grip. It was a fine example of the weaponsmith's art, well balanced and honed. Dovev would have wanted it as his weapon.
He returned it, grudgingly, to its rack. He could not afford such a thing.
Dovev spent some time searching in the rack for swords of lower quality and, finding none on display, he turned to the shopkeeper. “Pardon this one for asking,” he said politely, “But might you have something of...” he hesitated, “affordable quality in stock?”
The woman glared. “Are you insulting me, splasher?” she asked, her voice a rough growl, “Are you asking if me, smith to the army, has any low-quality stock?” she loomed over him, “You dare to ask me that?!”
“I wish to make a purchase of a sword.” said Dovev calmly, unintimidated. His teacher had been worse when she was angry, and he had learned to take her fury in stride. “I am simply asking if you have something within my price range.”
The woman spat. “I don't sell to splashers who have a price range...” she bared her uneven teeth, pale against her dark skin. “Get.”
Dovev took that as a no. He half bowed, graciously, and turned to walk away and seek out a different weapons stall. That was, after all, the benefit of the market – there was always another stall selling what you desired. If this lady would not sell to him, he would find another that would.
“Hey, you, boy. Wait up.” An Oban soldier pressed his shoulder forcefully. Dovev turned and waited, patiently, to see what the man's intent was. Dovev had ways to deal with pushy people, and he knew he could down the man at least long enough to escape capture or harm. The man signaled him to wait and, under the smith's glare, purchased a fine sword and scabbard for far more than it was worth. The man replaced the sword he was carrying with the new one and beckoned to Dovev.
He led Dovev to a quiet alley, away from the sun but close enough to the bustle of the market crowd for Dovev's ease. “It's your lucky day, boy.” he said, handing his old sword to Dovev, “I'm feeling generous.” Dovev inspected the sword, removing it from its scabbard. It was a very basic sword, imperfect in weight and heavily notched and dented and dulled with use. “There. Its yours... if you do something for me in return.”
“Thank you. What can this one do for you?” he asked, watching the soldier levelly. Dovev would not agree to any task, of course, and the man was much older than he was, but he assumed that the task would not be too objectionable – after all, he had just been offered a functional weapon.
“Nothing too terrible.” the man said, pleased at Dovev's reaction, “Just a chance to show off what you can do with it. Were you a gladiator? A bodyguard? A private soldier... what. Before you were freed, that is.”
“This one was a bodyguard.”
“I thought as much.” the man said, thoughtfully, “I know a guy. He needs someone young, strong, and able to help him with... a task. So long as your not afraid to get those fins of yours dirty?”
“If you are offering a job, this one is willing to take it. If it pays.”
“It might.” the Oban looked him over, “Meet me at the North gate three quarters to noon. I'll introduce you, and we will see from there.” He offered his hand, “Deal?”
Dovev shook it with very little hesitation. “Deal.” he said, intrigued.
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Posted: Sun May 31, 2015 10:59 am
The Way of the Blade
When: Dovev's first job
Effect: 1047 Words and A good start to a productive career
(Class Affinity Solo)
------------------ Guard duty for Dovev was far from boring, or so he told himself as he scanned the area around the road and the merchant. A job was a job. That it was his first real job as a sellsword was not lost on him. He was not guarding alone – there were others like him accompanying this merchant this merchant. Some were more experienced. Some were less. Some had had training like him. Others barely knew how to strap in their sword, let alone use it. All were water earthlings, young ex-slaves that could be hired for cheap for this trip. The pittance they were payed – and Dovev knew it was a pittance – was more than any of them had ever gotten before. Dovev saw it as a starting point, from which greater sums would follow. He needed experience and references and money to open the way to better jobs, and in that way the Oban soldier had given him a greater gift than the old, dented sword that he wore at his hip.
Dovev had been concerned that a job found for him by the soldier would be less than savory. Not overly concerned of course – the young water boy was willing to get his hands dirty if it came to that. To kill, even. But Dovev had heard of other things that Obans did to Matori, and those were not things he wanted done to him. Guarding a merchant caravan – or the watered down version that this single merchant and his set of Xaraan was - was more like what he hoped for. Sure, the goods the merchant was carrying were a mystery to him, and the merchant themselves was a shady man, constantly wary of anybody dressed in official garb on the road, but what did Dovev care? If the goods were not legal, that was fine with Dovev. So long as he was paid. So long as he had references and connections and all those other necessary things.
The desert hid little but bones, but as they walked along the road between the cities, Dovev tensed, his yellow eyes scouring the sands around them for threats. Something was not right.
Their little 'caravan' was alone on this stretch of road, without even silhouettes to keep them company on the horizon. The loneliness made the back of Dovev's neck tingle, but that was not the only thing: the air, oppressive and hot as usual, smelled of sand and of leather. It sang with anticipation and bloodlust, a feeling Dovev had only felt once before.
Before, when he was still being trained as a bodyguard for a young Oban, he had accompanied his teacher and her master to a party. His purpose there was not to partake in the festivities, of course, but to observe how people moved and where threats were most likely to lurk. He had felt it then, too, right before an assassin had leapt out at his master, dagger drawn with the truest intent to kill. He had quailed then, but his teacher had not. She engaged the assassin and dispatched them handily. The matter was resolved. The party stuttered, but continued, unabated. Dovev had learned, then, what instincts were. And now, his instincts sensed trouble.
He loosened his sword and waited. He did not have long to wait: brigands soon leapt from the dunes, daggers and arrowheads glinting in the sunlight. “Hand over your goods.” they declared, “And we won't have to bother slitting your fat throat.” The merchant opened his mouth to speak, but Dovev was already there. His sword was unsheathed and he moved swiftly and efficiently - he had cut down two brigands and had engaged the third before the cry came: “Guards!” shouted the merchant, his voice high and tinny.
Dovev moved mechanically, processing the situation and responding almost through sheer muscle memory alone. His teacher had been brutal, and she had taught him well. Dovev dodged an arrow and then another, ignoring the screams of his fellows as he hunted the archer in the dunes. The woman ran, and Dovev pursued her only a little before letting her flee. If she ran, surrendered, or died, he considered himself victorious. He didn't need to force either fate on her.
He returned to the fight, just in time to see one of his fellow guards die, choking on the blood that leaked into a new wound in her chest – her lung, likely. Dovev's blade cut deep into her killer, then cut again as he drew back and swung. The brigand dropped with a grunt, and then, almost miraculously, all was silent. Only the winds of the desert, gently scraping sand against sand, sounded in the emptied expanse.
The merchant took a deep breath, looking over the carnage. “Well.” he said, “That's that. We're moving on.” Dovev helped to nudge the Xaraan back into movement, and they left the scene of battle behind.
Dovev cleaned his sword as they walked, wiping away the blood and other mess that coated it. He felt nothing for those who had died, and this surprised him: though he hadn't known the other guards beyond the past few days, or the brigands at all, he knew he should feel something for the dead. Some compassion, sadness, or even anger. But he did not. He felt nothing - only a desire to move forward and complete his task and get his coin.
The city loomed ahead of them, and they passed through the gates with wariness, and then relief. Money was placed into each of the guard's hands in turn, along with a dismissive gesture one by one until the merchant reached him. Dovev accepted the clammy clink of money, closing his palm around the indifferent roundness of coin. “You.” the merchant said, looking him over with weaselly red eyes, “You, come with me. I have another job for you.” Dovev bowed as the other guards dispersed into the city, pocketing his coin.
“Yes, sir.” he said.
“That's what I like to hear.” sneered the merchant, “Well, come along then.”
Dovev rose from his bow and followed the man, face impassive. One job was complete, another... was soon to be. This was, he knew, a good start.
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 7:17 am
Job: I'm in the Market for...
Client(s): Irronaghal
Payoff: 110 Words and met a very interesting leaf woman and thus gained a new, sharp sword and a potentially very profitable recurring client
------------------ Dovev had never met a leaf tribesperson before, but he had found that – at least this one – was not the savage barbarians that he had been taught they were. Instead, she had been quite reasonable and willing to negotiate a fair price for his services. Dovev appreciated such discretion and intelligence, and he hoped he would have the oppurtunity to work with her again.
In the meantime, the capital – and his new, extremely sharp sword – opened the door to more clients, more oppurtunities, more money. That is, of course, if she did not want to contract him for longer... which he would be delighted to do.
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