Low Effort

Ft. Mazrim et Seven Sons

Tviyr was the first boundary to be created when Fellsgard was freed from Bhelest. There is a diverse magnitude of adventurers that trek through this countryside. Decorated with grassland, coastline, forest, and jungle, it's quite the vision. Read more...
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Cairne Locke
Character
Mercenary Captain
Level
01
25 / 25 HP
18 / 18 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Posts: 2
Joined: August 25th, 2019, 4:19 am
Has thanked: 1 time
Been thanked: 2 times

Low Effort

Post by Cairne Locke »

The road to Verdant Row was about as familiar to him as the whores of Fellsgard. It also happened to be just as dangerous these days. He supposed there was no reason to complain since that meant more work for him and his boys. Still, not having the constant threat of death would be nice every so often. Locke generally found that he was never that lucky. The good lady Kaxitaki had a way of bending him over when he least expected it. Such had always been his lot in life. He wasn't dead, so there was something to be said there.

Maybe today would be different. Maybe he would not get fucked in about seven different ways. Locke sighed, he was becoming delusional. Must have had something to do with the drink last night. The mercenary could not for the life of him remember what he had consumed. Couldn't have been that far short of Misanyt's piss because it fucked him up well and proper. Locke was a man who could hold his drink but that had been something else entirely.

Quite an unfortunate outcome, mostly 'cause they were seeing to a contract today. Locke didn't travel just to enjoy the scenery, even nobles didn't do that. No, he was seeing to a bunch of corpulent merchants whose purses were very much in line with their figures. They had tried to renegotiate this morning after being told the road was safe by some of their friends the night before. Locke had not been in the mood for jokes, especially not when his head seemed like it had been split with an axe. The merchants' protests had died in their throats once they saw the look on the mercenary captain's face.

"Bout ready to throw myself into Nilbein's loving embrace," stated Locke as he rode up next to Mazrim. "Don't suppose you have a remedy for dealing with merchants who let words spew from their mouths like shit from ass?"

Locke was not a happy man.
Last edited by Cairne Locke on August 25th, 2019, 7:28 am, edited 1 time in total.
Word count: 336
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Mazrim Draelor
Character
Lord of the Morning
Level
01
25 / 25 HP
18 / 18 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Posts: 2
Joined: August 25th, 2019, 5:35 am
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Low Effort

Post by Mazrim Draelor »

The wheel creaked again.

One of the axles needed to be oiled, sanded down, or bloody well cut off and burned down. All of his body ached from the night before, and he couldn't even turn his head, unless he wanted to keel over from pain. Someone had told him to slow down, and it had only prodded him to redouble his efforts to end his misery in this shitty band through the cold comfort of a glass bottle. Unfortunately, he once again just barely missed the mark, and only had a hangover to show for it.

He could hear each fall of the horses foot, as one of them hurried to catch up to him. He swore to Ristgir, if this was one of the bloody merchants here to complain about the cost of protection, he'd show them the blunt end of his sword, so that he might remember what it was they purchased. Every single one of them had made their rounds, in some kind of fucking useless attempt to barter through sheer annoyance, or some other form of triviality.

It was just Cairne, though. He didn't hate the man outright, but when he spoke all he was able to say was, "Stay the fuck away from me."

After their horses plodded along a little bit farther, he looked over at his friend, a sullen look across his face. With a roll of his eyes, he simply tossed a flask towards the other man. It had some piss pour whiskey from the depths of commoners hell, but it got him drunk, and that's what really mattered.

After another moment, he asked the other man, "Next job, can we do something that won't leave me falling asleep in my saddle, at least?"

He turned back to the road, not concerned if he didn't get the flask back. The road would be a long one, and Verdant Row was a long way off, still. He'd have plenty of time to bully Cairne to return it, if he wondered off. He kept a hand gently rested on his sword, as they moved along. Even though it seemed quiet, it was always when he least expected it that trouble started to brew.
Word count: 370
User avatar
Cairne Locke
Character
Mercenary Captain
Level
01
25 / 25 HP
18 / 18 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Posts: 2
Joined: August 25th, 2019, 4:19 am
Has thanked: 1 time
Been thanked: 2 times

Re: Low Effort

Post by Cairne Locke »

"Cheery as ever," quipped Locke. Honestly, the mercenary captain had not expected anything less. He kept company with a bunch of veterans, murderers, and degenerates. Add a bad night of drinking on top of that and you have yourself a recipe for all manner of foulness. Locke himself had been more than happy to tell a few people to fuck off since they had begun this journey. Truthfully, part of him wished to just turn around and leave these bastards to themselves.

Unfortunately, they needed the coin. They always needed the coin. So here he was, on the road with a group of sour cunts. Locke caught the offered flask and raised in thanks to the other man. There really was only one cure and the mercenary wasted no time in indulging. A welcome fire burned his throat, bringing both relief and awareness.

"You should learn to appreciate these moments, they don't come round too often," stated Locke half-heartedly. Even he had to admit that he was bored out of his fucking skull. You weren't always going to find yourself in the middle of scrap in this business. A lot of times it was just waiting or making sure rich fools don't starve on the road. Then there were the other times where a man found himself desperately scrambling to survive amidst blood and chaos. The company that Locke kept tended to prefer the latter.

"Just keep at least one of those eyes open will you? It would be nice to make it to Row without getting shot in the fucking back."

Locke was not a happy man.
Word count: 268
User avatar
Mazrim Draelor
Character
Lord of the Morning
Level
01
25 / 25 HP
18 / 18 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Posts: 2
Joined: August 25th, 2019, 5:35 am
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Low Effort

Post by Mazrim Draelor »

"I'm not much of a brighter side type of guy, Locke. You should know that by now," He harrumphed at the other's suggestion.

He'd be the first to admit that he'd normally complain when they had to fight, too. It wasn't a 'grass is greener' type of thing, the grass was shit everywhere. This shit just bored him out of his mind, and at least when they actually had to fight someone they could normally badger the merchants to at least consider a higher wage. More money meant more booze, and maybe a nice brothel with some fine lasses.

He shook his head, as he continued, "I've got more than enough eyes..."

A sound cut off his words, as it dully sounded a bit distantly, but always too close for comfort. Years on the road had taught him that sound, and his reaction was instinctual, in the breadth of a second. Less than a second, a blink of an eye, or the catch of a breath might have lasted a million years in comparison to the haste with which he pulled at the mare that he had been forced to ride this mission.

He ducked low against the side of her neck, as she spun and he shouted. "Archer!"

In the distance, behind a small brush he caught a quick flash of reflection in the sunlight as the sun betrayed the archer. Mazrim had gotten his wish, or so it seemed. His heels dug deeply into the mare, as the dust kicked up behind her hooves. Her whine was sharp as he pushed her to move as quickly as possible, and hoped that she did not break a leg like the last one. This is what he had been born to do, and a wicked smile crossed his lips.
Word count: 299
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