Post by Dungeon Master on Jan 29, 2013 22:33:03 GMT -5
A wooden sign hangs over the creaking door to Ol' Morg's, a chipping white-paint illustration of a sailboat upon the horizon. A bell rings when the door swings open and entrants are greeted by the smell of fresh-baked bread.
Various maritime gear lines the little shop's shelves: tar and twine, sail patches and simple fishing poles. There are a few tables over by the window, at which some rugged-looking sailors sit eating the buttered bread Ol' Morg's wife sets out each morning. In truth, the shop is as much a source of equipment as it is a source of news and rumors among the Demacian low-born.
Last Edit: Jan 29, 2013 22:34:04 GMT -5 by Dungeon Master
Post by Gillam Dunwall on Feb 11, 2013 23:27:12 GMT -5
February 5th, 23 CLE 12:30 AM
The moonlight glanced off the still surface of the water, a testament to the tranquil evening at the Demacian Harbor. However, anyone who had been to this harbor recently knew that no evening was tranquil there.
Demacian's nightlife mainly was within the city, at taverns and pubs. However, the harbor had a nightlife of its own. Sailors, mercenaries, and travelers would often stop by to look for work, spread or learn of rumors, or just chat.
A known area of the harbor known to do this was Ol' Morg's Boating Supplies. By day, Morgan Sallsworth, who was more commonly know as Ol' Morg, was an ordinary marine supplies merchant. By night, he was a drinker, a sailor, and one of the best men around to find rumors from.
A cloaked figure stepped up to the shop, and could hear a huge amount of noise from inside, which was very contradictory to the outside part of the harbor. He pushed open the door, and was greeting by warm lights, tons of men in either sailing attire or simple clothing, and a burst of noise.
Gillam walked up to the old man who he assumed was Ol' Morg. He turned around when he saw Gillam. "Oh! Another guest! Welcome, laddie, pull up a seat! What can I do for you, fine sir?"
Gillam did not proceed to pull up a chair, but instead continued to talk. "I am looking for any mercenaries who are looking to be hired." Oil' Morg turned to the crowd, and then shouted to the whole shop, viciously wounding Gillam's eardrums. "Hey fellas! This man is looking for mercenaries willing to work!"
Some men turned to look at Gillam, somewhat interested, while the rest continued to chat and squabble amongst themselves.
((This is an open RP for any mercenaries or travelers willing to join Gillam. Semi Open for others, but PM if you are wanting to jump in.))
"No matter the era, I am Demacian, through and through."
Elenwe’s journey eventually led her to the ports of Demacia, and she found the place to be a great wonder- clean and pristine, a great place to take long walks. Her lack of documentation greatly irked port authorities, causing them to bring her to processing. Their efficient administration eventually worked out her status as a gypsy, and was promptly issued a universal writ to identify her as such.
She found herself once more at the dock’s mercenary inn, where the international warriors could find booze without Demacian Guards breathing down their neck. Still, a few demacian soldiers were present, mostly to keep order.
Elenwe was playing her violin for an audience of half-drunk sailors and mercenaries, her merry tune lifting up their spirits, a few inebriated enough to clap their hands and dance. A few wanted to dance with the young, entertainment-dressed girl, trying to grasp her waist and bare midriff or some leg through the thigh high slit on her skirt. No hands could connect though, and she simply danced with an almost precognitive grace past their drunken staggering and performed small dances in the slower parts of the song, appearing to have evaded their physical advances with artful dodging... which made the mercenaries laugh even more in amusement.
This wasn’t some nameless inn, after all. This was Demacia, and misconduct against minors carried typically harsh punishments; not that the alcohol blurred minds cared, try as they might continuing to chase Spooks as she played her next song.
Ol Morg made his announcement to the crowd, which drew half-hearted responses.
“Ah, sorry lad, looks like the lady musician over there has most of their attention. She’s quite lively, don’t you think?” He said to Gilliam, returning to his routine.
Post by Gillam Dunwall on Feb 12, 2013 20:35:10 GMT -5
"Indeed. Music always calms me, even in some of the most stressful mindsets." Gillam continued to listen to the music, paying keen attention to the girl playing the violin. "Violin is such a graceful instrument, don't you think?" Ol Morg was too hypnotized by the music to respond, so Gillam left the question hang in mid air.
"If you could make the announcement again once the music is done, I would be grateful." Gillam smiled at the sailor, and then turned his focus back to the young musician.
"No matter the era, I am Demacian, through and through."
Elenwe did not play a third song, as one particularly persistent middle-aged mercenary kept trying to hold her hands. His breathe smelled of ale and his hands were covered in pork grease. He was muscular but also had quite a belly, a shield on his back and a morning star at his belt.
“Come on little pretty one, come with me upstairs...” He said, smiling and confident of himself.
“Sir, please, I am a humble musician passing through. I wish not to be troubled.” Elenwe explained clearly, backing away from the man’s advances.
“I said I’ll pay for your company you gypsy who-!” Elenwe gasped at the things he was about to say next. Deeply offended, she slapped the man to shut him up. That drew a few looks.
The man lashed out with a clenched fist, only to strike a solid wooden post Elenwe purposely stood in front of. He cried out in pain, clenching his now broken knuckles and began cursing.
The tavern quickly fell quiet when a Demacian Street Justiciar, stood from her table and moved between the girl and the offending mercenary. These special members of the Guard were known to be extremely swift and brutal in their enforcing of the law. Though a short-haired blonde woman of fair build and height, she commanded fear and respect from her uniform, and the authority that came with it.
She grabs the mercenary by the collar, displaying strength powered by his conviction in the law. “Solicitation... Assaulting a minor... cussing in public. That’s five years at labor camp, mercenary. Anything else you want to add? Maybe kick a puppy?”
“I’m... I’m sorry... justiciar... doesn’t... I have... a Mercenary writ...” The bearded mercenary pleaded. They exchange a few more silent words, ending with the mercenary nodding profusely. Elenwe looked at Ol’ Morg and Gilliam. She had dealt with mercenary folk before, but never this... troubling. Again, Ol Morg makes the announcement, once the commotion resolved itself. He keeps a baleful eye on the red bearded mercenary.
“Are... are you alright, lass? You look alright. That...animal doesn’t belong here.” The old man said, coming out from behind the counter. He had a daughter the same age, and felt as any father should towards Elenwe. The musician approached sir Dunwall and inquired into employment, as she needed income fairly soon.
“Excuse me sir, might I inquire as to the nature of the work you provide?”
“Ah... lass, he needs mercenaries... not little waif musicians like yerself... ” Ol Morg said, looking between the girl and Dunwall. Elenwe heard but didn't listen, and looked at Gillian intently.
"Please? I am... in search of immediate employment."
Post by Gillam Dunwall on Feb 12, 2013 23:36:09 GMT -5
Gillam remained silent during the whole exchange with the mercenary and the justiciar. Back in his time, he had seen men worse than him. Still, Gillam did not take kindly to rude men who did such things. The knight made a mental note not to hire him.
When the musician approached the sailor and Gillam, the Demacian still remained silent. After a brief pause, Gillam finally opened his lips. "I'll take her." This aroused several glances from nearby mercenaries, and Ol' Morg's eyes widened. "Laddie, she can't fight! No offense, but she is not the person you are looking for!"
Gillam's lips formed a faint smile. "If she can't fight, I will teach her. At the very least, she can be a servant. However, I am still in need of more men."
This time, the knight made the announcement himself. "Do I have any other takers?" he addressed to the men. Three of them raised their hands, and joined Gillam's side. Gillam turned to the lady and spoke softly to her. "If what you are looking for is coin, I can provide. You'll need to be handy with a blade, or another form of arms, however."
"No matter the era, I am Demacian, through and through."
Elenwe decided to go retrieve her other things, mostly a large backpack filled with sellable items like potions, herbs and handmade trinkets. What made her stood out though, would be her staff... which was magical in nature.
"I am... eager to learn swordplay from you. I believe I have had enough of this place for one day though; is there another place for us to wait?"
Post by Miles Fortuna on Feb 14, 2013 18:43:25 GMT -5
((Because I was getting my OC approved))
Miles had experienced a long day. Many a problems had arisen with the Caravan Leader, mostly about the excessive cleaning of Fortune, the Hextech Rifle, and Riches, his Katana. He was tired, so he went to Morg's. He thought back to that morning. He was sitting there at the town forge, getting permissions, he took his hammer and raised it high. He brought it down... thunkthunkthunk The shape of the new design he had was forming. A bullet that would revolutionize Hextech Weaponry. It would track a heat source within reason, searching for targets in front of it with a 97 to 100 degrees heat source.
He took it to the firing range and grabbed a torch. He adjusted the bullets tracker to the correct range of heat. He shot, it travelled a foot from the gun and exploded in midair. He cursed and walked back to the caravan. He sat down and took his rag, he cleaned the gun, it was blackened from the shot. The caravan leader came to him, a stern look on his face. He smelled the alcohol on the leaders breath. Miles looked up, a smile on his face.
"You, yeah you, what you smiling at." The leader said.
"Nothing sir" Miles replied.
"Thats right, call me sir you little piece of ****" The leader sneered.
"I'm sorry?" Miles said, his anger rising, getting ready for any sort of fight.
"Let us get this straight... You get 1/10th of the profit?" The leader said, a large sneer on his face.
"That is correct." Miles said.
"Then you pay me 9/10th of that too me, for protection, from ME!" The leader raised his fist, a surprised look across his face, Miles was already barreling him down... The leader looked surprised, a brief glance from his friends told him 'win, or we leave you'. The leader grabbed a wooden plank from the ground and started swinging it at Miles. Miles ducked and weaved, closing down the gap. He grabbed his gun and grabbed it by the barrel. He gave a wide swing at the leaders head. The leader dodged and roared "THATS MORE LIKE IT".
Miles panted, the sweat rolling down his face. He feinted an attack to the right and then spun to the left. It connected with the leaders fave with a large crack. It did not break but Miles checked it. He then bowed, walked up to his horse, grabbed his money and walked into the city. Toward Ol' Morgs.
His mind was brought back to the bar, a maiden sung. She was pretty, and the men listening sure thought so. He watched with amusement as a lord struggled to find a few mercenary's to fight for his house. The singing stopped. He looked to were the singer was, she was hurting one of the listeners, a Justicar came in. He saw her step in beetwen the maiden and the mercenary. Morg called again. Miles stood, needing work.
He walked up to the lord, the Maiden and a few others already up, four stood with the lord as he walked up. He walked up and listened in, then walked up and said, "Ello' there. The names Miles, this is Fortune, and this is Riches," Motioning to his weapons. "How may I be of service"
Post by Gillam Dunwall on Feb 15, 2013 0:10:11 GMT -5
"Perfect. I see you have gathered your things, as you must be eager to leave." Gillam smirked. This young girl would probably only be a temporary guard once he found replacements, but she would be a very interesting one indeed.
Gillam was about to call for mercenaries one more time, when a young man walked up to him, introducing himself. After he had finished speaking, Gillam replied. "Yes, I was looking for some mercenaries, particularly guards, but anyone who can fight will do. I would say the pay is fairly reasonable, too." Gillam winked, then proceeded to quickly scan the shop. He felt an odd suspicion of being watched, although it was probably just his natural instinct as a soldier kicking in.
"No matter the era, I am Demacian, through and through."
Post by Miles Fortuna on Feb 21, 2013 20:15:37 GMT -5
((Well soooorry...))
Miles watched Gillam with a genuine interest, the Noble seemed to be unaccustomed for such a location. The noble seemed off, scanning the room for something, or someone that was not there, unless thier was someone else there?
He heard a yell and saw seven men rushing them from behind. Miles whispered to whoever could hear, "Let those bastards come" Miles grabbed a stool, as cutting off a head in Demacia would not go over well for him.
Miles learned something in the next few seconds, first Gillam definitely was a soldier, second, Gillam had enemies, Gillam may not even know whom. He saw other assailents stand up across the room as Miles started on the attackers. The new band of Mercenaries ((Which will need a cool name, like Gillam's Ghosts)) were heavily outnumbered, but at least they had weapons. Gillam yelled at the nearby mercenaries to protect the boss as he grabbed the chair. He swung it at the lead attackers head, breaking it on the poor sod's head.
The other six rushed him, having no other option he got into a defensive stance, dodging and weaving through punches, dodging a third of the punches, he still took a lot of hits, he lost his balance and fell backwards, praying for someone, or something, to save him, a shoe rised and fell, squishing his face to the floor. A loud voice that he sadly recognized filled the air.
The Caravan Leader
"Sorry bout' the problem mates, just taking my mercenary back..." Miles tried to stand, the man's boot squished into his face harder. Miles had no choice now. He grabbed riches by the hilt and swung it at the mans legs. The man's scream split the quiet that had fallen over the nearby crowd. The man's blood spilled over Miles face. The stench of blood filled the air. Miles stood up, feeling sick. He looked at the man screaming on the floor.
"Take my friend to a hospital or medical ward or something, thier is no rush. Don't worry, you have time until it is irrepairable. About five minutes to be exact." Miles cleared his throat. "That was sarcasm, he is going to die unless you hurry." Miles went to Gillam, "I'll be outside."
He grabbed a bucket of water and quickly cleaned up the blood, he reached the far side window, facing the ocean. He hopped out, just as he jumped he heard the sound of a justicar walking in.
'That was close' Miles thought.
((I would recommend all y'all writing what you did during the fight, try to make me be the only one who did the cutting and maiming of a man.))
Post by Gillam Dunwall on Feb 22, 2013 0:24:04 GMT -5
Gillam was about to ask what the noble meant, when the bar suddenly filled with assailants. None were seriously armed, but they were organized and looking for blood. Gillam didn't want to wound anyone as to get in trouble with the Demacian code of law, so he handed the musician his short sword.
"Stay behind us. If you get charged, fight back. Don't slash to kill however, that might not go over well with the justicars." Gillam smiled for one faint second, then revealed his hidden buckler and turned to face the hostile men.
One of them saw that Gillam was some sort of significance, so he immediately rushed towards him. Bad move. Gillam swung the buckler, connecting with the man's jaw as he slumped over. Another one tried to flank him, but Gillam was ready. This was the first combat the knight had experienced in a long while, but by no means was he rusty.
Gillam turned his focus towards the flanker, bringing his buckler in for a low strike, connecting with the man's legs, sending him flying through the store and crashing into a table. He was about to turn towards Elenwe when he heard a voice over in Miles' direction.
Gillam swiveled his head to face the new enemy, when he was already on the ground, and Miles was standing triumphantly over him. When he requested that Gillam follow him outside, the knight followed without looking back. He could worry about the musician later, as he was sure that more men would be on the way.
Gillam stepped out into the cool midnight air. "I am guessing those were intended for you, huh?" Gillam asked, looking around the harbor. He continued, not waiting for a reply from the man. "We'll, whatever the hell that was back there, rest assured one of us is gonna take the heat for that..." Gillam sighed, looking up into the moonlit sky.
"All I was looking for were simple mercenaries, and I found you, a musician, and a whole lot of trouble." His breath turned to mist as he spoke, turning to face Miles. "Nevertheless, you are a good fighter..."
"No matter the era, I am Demacian, through and through."
Spooks sighed, listening to the two men's exchange.
Then, she saw a group of armed men come into the tavern/ship and began to attack her would be associates. He defended himself quite well, and being a rather meek looking figure Elenwe was left unbothered, almost. Once Gillian gave her a sword though, one wised up and decided to take Spooks on, but found all his attempts at grabbing her or striking her unfounded.
Elenwe tired of such men, and spoke a few arcane words, the air around the hostile attacker rippling slightly. In frustration he picked up a bottle of whiskey and attempted to break it on the bar for an improvised stabbing implement- only to find the bottle sturdier than it should be, and simply bounced off the table and breaking against the man’s head. He fell to the ground, head bloodied by his own misfortune.
Spooks allowed herself to laugh, but looked at Miles being pinned... then freeing himself in a grisly fashion. She gasped at the sight of blood and looked away, cringing and feeling nauseated. She placed the short blade on her belt for safekeeping, following behind the Knight outside. She held her staff in both hands, gasping as she ran after them.
“I am to assume that we must relocate now? Clearly even a demacian inn is no longer as safe as it should be... and more justiciars must be coming.”
Post by Miles Fortuna on Feb 26, 2013 16:40:18 GMT -5
Miles unsure of his feelings on what just happened frowned. "I jut endangered you all, you all nearly died, and you are fine with that, you do not seem to care about the fact that you nearly died!" Miles paused, a clearly grief stricken face. "I apologize but, I am not sure I am the best man for the job, but I will do my best. If they try another attack, well then I won't be so reluctant to use fortune and riches..."
Post by Gillam Dunwall on Mar 3, 2013 20:05:06 GMT -5
"Well, after fighting many battles, you start to get a sense of immortality, if you know what I am saying. Besides, those were simple ruffians. They weren't professionally trained soldiers, or anything like that."
Gillam glanced around the harbor, then turned to the musician. "That is true. We should probably flee while we have the chance... Well, you two might have trouble with that."
Gillam stroked his chin. "Both of you should probably leave Demacia for the time being. We can meet up in about 2 or 3 weeks, the uproar about this incident would have probably died down by then."
With that, the noble ran towards his estate, disappearing in the night.
"No matter the era, I am Demacian, through and through."
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