Post by Dungeon Master on Feb 21, 2013 2:33:55 GMT -5
Morning: February 21st, 23 CLE
Two weeks ago, Brand, The Burning Vengeance, torched the Noxian countryside. Two weeks ago, a military draft went out to all Ex-Summoners, all mages in need of employment. Reserves were moved to active duty. Military enlistment became an option for all Noxian citizens. The haggard-looking woman behind the desk had seen all kinds in the past fortnight: gamblers looking to escape their debts, prisoners wishing to serve out their terms in battle instead of in cells, bereaved wives and daughters, freed slaves with not a worldly possession. The list went on--and continued to grow.
She unlocked the building, greeting a minor officer who'd come to acquire his new unit roster. After delivering this and sending the man off with a respectful salute, she seated herself behind her parchment-laden desk, spectacles slipping down her aquiline nose, a tankard of black coffee steaming to her right. The Noxian army expanded in volume each day. Any moment now, the next new recruit would stroll through the office doors with a sob story or a patriotic reel. She was ready. She positioned the tripod of her name neatly upon her desk: Sgt. Darla Maxim.
Post by Kathryn Sonder on Feb 23, 2013 22:06:25 GMT -5
Kathryn enters the office dressed in her better casting robes, her posture ramrod-straight. Ordinarily, she'd be looking less formal, in stature and clothing, but she'd received a letter from her daughter, informing her of the open enlistment. Apparently, neither Edwin nor Brandon had arrived yet; she'd talk to both of them when she arrived home again.
"Hello, I'm here to enlist," she tells the woman at the desk- not curt, but not overtly friendly, either. "Kathryn Sonder, at your service."
Post by Dungeon Master on Feb 24, 2013 2:18:00 GMT -5
Sergeant Maxim pushed her spectacles up her nose, stood and offered a firm handshake, eyeing the woman up and down. She noted the robes and asked gruffly, "Mage? Specialties, if so." Down to business. She pulled open a drawer and withdrew a fresh folder full of conscription papers. A pen and inkwell sat on the guest side of the desk. It was beside these that the sergeant placed a stack of forms for the robed woman to complete--mostly simple questions, age, specialties, medical history.
She kept a few pages and a pen. "Status of citizenship? Last term served?"
Post by The Headsman's Pride on Feb 24, 2013 18:02:34 GMT -5
Click... clack... click... clack. The sound could be faintly heard from the other side of the corridor. At first it seemed as if four old men were walking across the halls each with a metallic cane; but as the sound got ever closer, one could distinguish a plethora of cacophonies within that sound. Joints turning, pistons pumping...
The sounds slowly arrived in front of the closed door, and then the mechanical orchestra fully stopped. Or at least, seemed to. Two particularly strange noises remained. One of them was the dull crackle of energy. Whatever stood behind that door had a battery of sorts, that was sure. The other one was stranger still. It was very faint, almost inaudible. It seemed like an exhalation... as if a tired steam vent had decided to start panting out of exhaustion. And then the door opened, pushed aside by a segmented black, metallic... spider leg?
Urgot's bulbous and bloated body shambled under the doorway, being ferried by four legs just like the one that had just opened the door; accompanied by the foul stench of death and rot. His soulless, mechanical left eye gazed at the sergeant while his white and rotten one examined the mage that had just entered the room. His legs positioned him near the table, where he could get a good look at the documents.
Post by Kathryn Sonder on Feb 25, 2013 13:34:53 GMT -5
Sonder returns the handshake, then sits to fill out the papers. A flicker of pain crosses her face, but she speaks as though it had not occured. "Fire specialist," she replies. "Born Noxian, full citizenship, last term served from 4 BLE until 2 CLE- the compulsory term." She fills out the papers as she talks.
Age: 45 Specialties: Fire, specifically the production and manipulation thereof Medical history: Diagnosed with fibromyalgia in 12 CLE.
As she hears the clacking in the hall, she raises an eyebrow- as the mechanical sounds increase in volume, so does her curiosity, but she continues to fill out the papers quietly, not wanting to seem perturbed. She doesn't turn to see who is the courier of the stench until the clacking approaches the desk, and she feels its eyes on her- his, Kathryn corrects herself, as her curiosity is satisfied by the glance. Urgot, the Headsman's Pride.
Post by Dungeon Master on Feb 25, 2013 18:56:06 GMT -5
Sergeant Maxim filled out her portion of the paperwork as the woman spoke. If she noticed the flicker of pain upon the magewoman's face, she did not give any outward indication. Again she pushed her glasses up her pointed nose, which was suddenly filled by the overwhelming stench of death. Maxim's attention snapped to the doorway, in which stood the decaying cyborg blob of a man: Urgot, the Headsman's Pride. He passed into the room and positioned himself beside her desk, mismatched eyes cocked in different directions.
Though his smell was atrocious, his leering gaze unsettling, he was still a national hero...
So Maxim laid her pen upon the desk, stood and brought her fist over her chest in a swift salute, then addressed the bloated corpse. "Sir, pleasure to see you, sir. May I be of assistance?"
Post by Kathryn Sonder on Feb 25, 2013 19:39:51 GMT -5
Following the Sergeant's example, Kathryn stands at attention, copying the salute, but saying nothing. The scent of decay disturbs her, as does the awkward, cock-eyed gaze. It's a credit to her self-control that these, even through the pain she feels as she stands, do not provoke a reaction. Her condition's acting up a little today, but she does her best to ignore it; she's not here to garner sympathy.
Last Edit: Feb 25, 2013 19:40:13 GMT -5 by Kathryn Sonder
Post by The Headsman's Pride on Mar 1, 2013 19:30:30 GMT -5
I am here to ensure the new blood stands up to the Noxian standards... Urgot shifted his robotic eye towards the desk, where the recruiter's nameplate stood. ... Sergeant. Now sit down and continue filling the forms His legs started working again, turning and moving him towards the mage that stood before him. His body hunched forward, positioning Urgot's masked head dangerously close to Kathryn's face. Through the vents in his face echoed his voice, deep and sinister. Is my presence perhaps... unsettling?
Post by Kathryn Sonder on Mar 1, 2013 23:29:02 GMT -5
"Perhaps, sir, though that wouldn't be my place to decree." Her voice is calm and steady- her icy blue eyes meet Urgot's with a clear gaze, and while there's a flicker of pain hiding behind it, there's no fear. The stench may have wrinkled her nose, had she not been perfectly aware of the importance of this. No trace of discomfort shows through, in her body or expression.
This hadn't happened when she was enlisting for her mandatory time, but then again, she knows from her daughter that this draft was put out by the Grand General- there'd be many tests for her to go through.
Post by Dungeon Master on Mar 2, 2013 6:48:25 GMT -5
The sergeant blanched. She glanced briefly over the fire mage, wondering what Urgot's grim assessment would entail. She'd begun to lower herself back into her seat when the door burst open, allowing in a frigid burst of winter air. On the threshold stood a harried courier. He marched across the polished wood floor, leaving muddy tracks in his wake.
He saluted firmly to all present, then drew out a letter printed on heavy parchment, sealed with the Noxian crest in official green wax. "Urgot, sir," he extended the missive, "Official summons to Darkbourne Hold."
Inside, scrawled in an austere hand, were the following words,
Executioner,
It is with great expectations for the future that I write you today. Abandon restlessness. Noxus has a job for you. You will seek audience with me at Darkbourne Hold immediately that we may further discuss the status of your employment and service.
Forever strong, Grand General Jericho Swain
After Urgot had taken the letter, the courier bowed low, then rushed from the recruitment office, seemingly relieved to depart. Sergeant Maxim blinked, lifted her chin slightly, peered down her aquiline nose, attempting to catch a glimpse of the letter's contents.
Post by The Headsman's Pride on Mar 2, 2013 7:02:30 GMT -5
Urgot pulled his head away from the mage and turned towards the courier, taking the letter with the prehensile metal digits on his cannon. He held it in front of his face, staring at it, and then carefully sliced the upper part of the envelope with his bladed right hand. He held the envelope upside down, and the letter softly landed on his bloated abdomen. Carefully, he picked it up and with a flick of his undead wrist, unfolded it.
... Very well. He turned towards the sergeant. You may continue your interview. I have.... matters... to attend to. Urgot then threw the letter on the ground and stepped on it with one of his metallic legs, destroying it. After that, Urgot's legs ferried him out of the building.
Post by Kathryn Sonder on Mar 2, 2013 18:40:06 GMT -5
The cold air does cause a slight shiver to pass over the mage's shoulders, and she stands, keeping her composure as well as she can until Urgot leaves. She picks up the remains of the paper out of politeness, and holds it to the sergeant.
"Is there a place to put this?"
If Kathryn was grateful that the undead cyborg was gone, it didn't show, but she sits to continue filling out the enlistment forms she's been given.
That was unsettling- and a bit unusual. Why would he come all the way out here just to test the new recruit? I'm nothing special; there are surely others who deserve the same treatment.
Last Edit: Mar 2, 2013 18:41:14 GMT -5 by Kathryn Sonder
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