Announcements: Universe of the Month! » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newbies » RPG Chat — the official app » USERNAME CHANGES » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Eudaimonia » Loot! » Natural Kinds » I have a funny idea » Life in the 21st century. » Song of the Runes » Plato’s Beard » Clues » Nihilism » Strange Tales From Hadean » Art Gulag [ Come get this Commish! ] » Visibility of Private Universes & Profile Customisation » Presuppositionalism » Aphantasia » Skill Trees - Good, Bad & Ugly » In-Game Gods & Gameplay Impact » Cunningham's Law » The Tribalism of Religion » Lost Library » Game Theory »

Players Wanted: Hellboy characters » 18+ Writing Partner [Fantasy, Romance, Etc.] » 18+, Multi-Para to Novella Writers please! » Looking for roleplayers » Fun tale full of angels, demons, and humans » Looking for roleplayers » A Fairytale World in Need of Heroes & Villains! » Are You a Crime Addict? » Wuxia RP » Looking for roleplayers » New Realistic Roleplay - Small World Life ٩( ´・ш・)و » Mentors Wanted » MV Recruiting Drive: sci-fi players wanted! » Veilbrand: The Revolution » Gonna do this anyway. » Looking for Kamen Rider Players » Elysium » Looking for roleplayers for a dystopian past! » Revamping Fantasy Adventure RPG, need new players » Here, At the End of the World (supernatural mystery drama) »

0
followers
follow

Crispin Grey

"You shant ask me, but my employer."

0 · 334 views · located in Medieval "Realm"(Alternate World)

a character in “Medieval Realm”, as played by CussingChild

Description

]Crispin is rather modestly handsome. With his dark, naturally spiky hair, and dark stoic eyes. His 6'0" frame and lean muscle make him naturally agile. He is a human of age 19.

Image

Personality

He holds a certain boyish charm about his mannerisms and clean shaven face. He's rather cunning and witty in his remarks. Though it can be argued he is pure of heart, his job foreshadows his cold nature. He is skilled in what he does and this shows in the confidence, determination, and courage he holds dear to him. Despite everything his morals are ever present, honour, loyalty, respect. He holds the utmost generosity for women, doing his best to be a gentleman. He maintains a certain animosity for men of authority.

Equipment

His longsword, and two daggers are always close at hand, usually worn at his belt. He always wears an assortment of clothing and leather armor. He owns a large brown horse by the name of Cristoff. And nearly owns a room of a local inn, as it's constantly under his rent and has been for a vast while.

History

As a young boy he was raised as a squire. Getting education and training in arms. He was under oath to become a knight before in a battle he found himself alone. He found himself in Reliquitia and found that being a mercenary had perks and well enough pay. He quickly made a name for himself with his ties to a repetitive employer, of the local crime syndicate. His ability and capacity to fight. And ofcourse, his charming ways and calm authority over the local officials.

So begins...

Crispin Grey's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Meredith Character Portrait: Garth Brumear Character Portrait: James Mallow Character Portrait: Erik Stark
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Crispin would silently saunter down the wooden stairs of the inn. He was groggy from a short and unrestful sleep in the confines of the scraggly, uncomfortable inn bed that he was accustomed to. His own insomnia not befitting his line of work. He had recently been caught up in the endeavors of a local arms dealer. Venturing out of town to handle a few bandits that had no doubt been unfortunate enough to take advantage of a small caravan. The poor blacksmith had relied on it, and what he had left had gone to pay half the price necessary. Usually he would disallow half payment. But this had been a good man, and though he covered it as if it was because he had a personal vendetta against the outlaws to which he knew not even their names, deep inside he had realized it may be the man's only hope. They were quick work, hardly knowing how to wield their small daggers and unwieldy bows.

Upon setting his eyes upon the ground floor he took in the unusual sight of the marshal, Jack Mercer, a strange boy that appeared to the eyes unnatural. And a dark skinned man that screamed, "braggart!" He caught the last of the man's voice, an air of overconfidence with an undertone of some distant darkness: "..it seems my manners have deserted me." He would scoff, looking from the man to the inn keeper, most lovely and gentle in her manner, Meredith. He felt a protection of her that he didn't for most people as if she were a sister or close friend. Not by relation, but rather her lack of judgement and willingness to rent a room out for so long to a mercenary somewhat hated and somewhat praised about the town.

The floor would creak as he took the final step off and onto the wooden floor of the inn, fluid and eloquent in his motion. Several easy strides and he would be at the bar, taking some not so very noticeable glances at the new faces and fellow patrons.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Meredith Character Portrait: Paige Veisley Character Portrait: Garth Brumear Character Portrait: Erik Stark
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Garth’s gleefully followed the Innkeeper toward the bar. As he marched after her his eyes scanned the inn once more. It seemed that while he’d been charming the fair lady, a few townsfolk had slipped inside the inn. Out of the corner of his eyes Garth spotted him. A man sat slumped in the shadows in the corner of the bar. Cloaked in the shadows the reclusive figure seemed to stare outward across the inn. The figure made no move to order a drink. It seemed content to simply sit and listen. A chill ran down Garth’s spine. There was something off about the figure, in-human almost. “Perhaps, this far north though. In public, they were never social creatures.” Garth muttered under his breath, and happily looked else where.

Garth continued to follow after this lovely Inn keeper. His eyes looking everywhere but upon the stranger in the back. As they approached the bar he spotted two other patrons. His smile widened at the sight of the first one. A pale skinned youth. The boy’s face that smarmy smirk that Garth adored. Truthfully he despised such smirks, they tended to be wielded by the egotistical of the world. What Garth did enjoy was wiping such smirks from their face. He tended to achieve this by removing said smirkers head. He winked at the youth as they passed by. “Perhaps when you're older, eh boy?” He meant nothing by the comment. Simply words between strangers.

They reached the bar with only caused the disgustingly large grin on Garth’s face to reach ear to ear. He seated himself beside the other patron at the bar. Simply by looking at the poor fellow Garth knew. A hangover, or a bad morning, they tended to be interchangeable. The Innkeeper placed a mug of ale on the bar for Garth. He lifted the mug into the air. “To hangovers, the only thing to keep me from drowning myself in ale.” With his cheers given Garth shoved the cold liquid down his throat. The Innkeeper hadn’t lied. It was damned fine ale. The kind found in the cellars of high lords and ladies. With a satisfied sigh slid the slammed the mug back onto the bar. “At the least I can’t call you a liar my fair lady, a fine vintage you carry. Perhaps the finest I’ve tasted in years. Which is saying something.” He lifted the mug in her direction. “For I have tasted many.” He winked her way. “Though I must inquire, did you mean to slight me.” His smile slid from his face.

It was an odd sight to see a sour faced Garth. His eyes seemed to lose their luster, his face seemed darker, and there was an air of menace to him. His free hand once again reached for the smicatar at his side. “Perhaps things are different here in the northern lands. When a guest gives his name, it is customary for the host to return the favor.” There was a darkness in his voice. As if every word were some veiled threat. His lips parted to revel Garth’s row of teeth. It wasn’t a smile he wore, but a grimace. A grimacing Garth had been the finally sight for many a man. ”Where I come from, to not give your birth name is a grievous insult. To withhold it means that you feel the other party is unworthy of even knowing their host. Let’s try this once more my lady. I am Garth Brumear, and you are?”

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Meredith Character Portrait: Paige Veisley Character Portrait: Garth Brumear Character Portrait: Erik Stark
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Crispin would have silently and casually moved his hand to the hilt of one of his two daggers, resting at his belt. The man was boisterous and loud, and if he truly understood the means of a hangover it would seem only courteous not to bellow. That was one thing, but to act as if he was going to take to arms against a woman innkeeper. There were lines you just shouldn't cross. With his other hand he'd be calm wrapping his hand around the mug giving a crooked smile to Meredith as if letting her know it'd be alright, and for the first time he would speak, his voice solemn and quiet yet noticeably confident and suave. "Thank you, Meredith, for the ale." And then he'd turn his head slightly to stare the dark man in the eyes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Garth Brumear," He would add emphasis to the name as if making a point of saying it. "It'd be a wise thing to lighten your heart, such outbursts are rather unnecessary." With that he'd tilt his head back taking a long swig of the ale before returning it to the counter. His index and middle finger of his dagger hand would play gently along the hilt. "You talk of manners, but truly are forgetting yours." His gaze would darken as his eyebrows became more acute. His voice would follow the example of his gaze as if there was no room for arguing with what he had to say, "It isn't customary here, in these northern lands, to challenge a woman in ways of combat." And as if to break the tension or rather challenge the man to calm, he would crack another smile, summing him up with measured calculation. His obscured view withheld to catch every slight movement that may be made within the vicinity of his vision.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Meredith Character Portrait: Garth Brumear Character Portrait: Rachel Mstovarelli Character Portrait: Rhyannon Vaux Character Portrait: Farah Vaux
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Alisa
One thing, Lady Mstovarelli always had time for, was to go out and walk among the common folk of the towns and villages. This way she could always held the hand at the very pulse of society, knowing the latest rumors and what-not from the first hand rather than her spies. Sometimes she would do it in disguise, so nobody would know it was her - one of the most mightiest persons of kingdom, while other times she didn't try to hide her persona.

Rachel was wearing her usual everyday outfit. Simple, but effective leather armor with rapier on her belt. Even if she had accompanied few guards, they were nowhere to be seen. So she could very well be alone as well.

Reliquitia was that kind of towns that she liked most. Small, quite and important at the same time, located at the strategic point of the Kingdom. It was easier to hold everything under control in such places but it had its own drawbacks as well. For example, the townsfolk that knew each other very well and acted as one in times of need. This could interfere with one of her beloved tactics of "Divide et Impera" (Divide and Rule).

Visiting Farah's shop was first destination of today. Rachel knew the talented shopkeeper and her charming sister very well, as it wasn't the first time she would stop to refill the stocks of some potions and herbs. Farah was so kind in fact that revealed few simple recipes to her, though nothing like her most precious secrets of course. Rachel even winked at Rhyannon once, stating jokingly that "Only person still holding secrets from her was her sister"

The inn was next where Rachel would want to go, especially now, when one of her boy-scouts brought the news of the new face arriving in town.

First thing she said stepping the foot inside the building was that her horse needs some attending. Immediately few young boys appeared out of the nowhere and she threw a gold coin to one of them. "Clean it and give some food" she said. At the first glance, she chose the boy randomly from 4 or 5 likewise individuals, but in fact the choice was pragmatic. One boy had horse-manure on his boots and some straw sticked to his cloths. He was also tanned more, from working in the field and had crooked legs, like riders have. It was clear that while other boys were simple townsfolk, this one had worked on a farm and would be the best choice to give horse to him. All these took couple of seconds for her to realize. Another 3 seconds went on observing the room and counting the number of all customers. 5 more seconds for spotting the upcoming tension between newcomer and hired-blade she very well knew already.

Crispin Grey may never met Lady Mstovarelli, but she knew quite a lot about his deeds. For example she already knew that he have dealt with an outlaws who were quite a headache for outskirt farmers and traders.

Other man was typical southerner, obviously had seen more than his share of battles and by all signs was suitable for the job, she was seeking the mercenary for. Because of that she didn't want the fight to occur, as one of the useful recourses could be damaged, or even killed off, but nevertheless she decided to wait and see what would happen.

Coming at the bar one of the townsfolk jumped up and offered her the chair he was sitting on previously. Rachel gifted the man with her half-baked smile and sat down, putting the coin on the bar. "The best of yours Meredith"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Meredith Character Portrait: Paige Veisley Character Portrait: Garth Brumear Character Portrait: Magerrothe'Gixendell Character Portrait: Erik Stark
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Garth’s brown eyes bore into the Innkeepers. Garth had once boasted that his glare could light a candle alight from twenty paces. An utter falsehood simply uttered during a drinking match. One that’d shamefully lost. Still the memory rose in his mind. His glare intensified. Perhaps if he glared with such glower, and menace, the Nameless Innkeepers head would simply implode. What a sight that would be. On the downside it would take days to remove all the chunks of her from his armor. On the upside he’d have another reason to drink. Garth would have been content to glare till his bread turned white. Sadly for those wish to see an imploded head, of which Garth could suppose were a great many bored folk, something else drew his attention.


The Stranger next to him spoke. Garth turned the full power of his glare upon the stranger. The fellow paid it no mind. Instead the stranger went on thanking the Innkeeper for the Ale. Thanking her, and calling her by name. The glare dissipated. it was replaced a wide smirk. It had been a while since a creature with such wits had graced Garth with his presence. Glares would have no effect on such a man. Simply looking at the stranger Garth could tell this was a man who could kill, had killed, and refused to be killed. Without thinking of it, the sellsword’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. His fingers tapping against the cold metal. The bloodlust was clear in Garth’s glinting eyes. He reeked of eagerness.

The stranger spoke of manners, and the treatment of women. Garth chuckled at the stranger’s words. “Some fine words you’ve spoken. If I may not challenge the fine ladies of these northern lands. That just leaves the men to challenge, Ser.” Garth eyes stared downward at the man’s hand. He watched the stranger’s hand dance along the hilts of his weapon. The sellsword’s raised his eyebrows at the sight of the weapons. He’d been right, the man knew his way around a weapon. Mostly far more trained than simply, stick them with the pointy end. If they fought now who might win their contest of steel, and bloodshed. The man had clearly just awoke, he would be tired slow. The Ale, and the threat that Garth posed had no doubt got the strangers blood pumping. Would it enough though? Garth slid the hilt of his sword forward. The steel of the scimitar glinted in the candlelight of the inn. The stranger knew how to fight. In real battle Garth stood a chance of being wounded. Perhaps even losing. He’d have to slay this well-spoken stranger in one swing. One vicious, bloody, corpse producing, swing of his blade.

With a sigh, Garth slide the blade back into it sheath. His hand pulled away from the hilt to rest on the bar’s counter. He turned to smile warmly at Meredith. “Meredith, Meredith, Meredith.” He spoke the name it some exotic wine. “No fault of your own lass. The only shame is that I didn’t such a lovely name would be put to such a lovely face.” Garth waved a hand as if to push aside the issue. He gave a bellowing chuckle. Raised his mug, finished his ale, and slammed it back onto the counter. Garth finally took notice of the company that had gathered. The figure had slunk forth from the shadows. Up Close it was perfectly clear what it was. Thankfully its attention was given to another fellow. Some man had, to Garth’s immense pleasure, paid for another round of drinks. Most odd of the bunch was the lady in the back. With her cloak, and secrets. There was an air of mystery to her. To all these folks that had gathered. All of them were certainly interesting. “Lass,” He pointed a meaty finger at Meredith. “It seems I’ll be spending some time in this town of yours. A room will be needed, name your price. If it means waking to your grace then I shall pay plenty.”

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Meredith Character Portrait: Garth Brumear Character Portrait: Rachel Mstovarelli
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Alisa
"The service. That's what I like in your place Meredith" Rachel told the maid after she brought the bottle of finest wine to her. "And I won't even ask about the wine" Taking a sip, she baked the smile and put the cup on the bar. "Perfect"

Observing the southerner, studying him through and through, Rachel was ready to interfere, if the actual fight would occur between Crispin and him. Though it was visible that fight could be ended swiftly, despite both sides looking equally menacing and able. Scarred man was flirtatious and clearly in a good mood, while Crispin looked serious and to the point.

Rachel took another sip from the cup, hearing how southerner said: “It seems I’ll be spending some time in this town of yours. A room will be needed, name your price. If it means waking to your grace then I shall pay plenty.”

Meanwhile, one of the customers was playing with his rotten apple, which he turned into fresh one with a help of an acorn and some handful of magic skills. She took a note of this person as well, but her attention was back to the sell-sword soon enough.

Rachel drained the cup in one last gulp and stood up, stood up and went through the door. After about a minute, kid approached scarred man with a piece of paper and little sack of coins, enough to pay for the week of living at the inn.

"Milady Rachel Mstovarelli sends her regards kind sir" Little boy said, little bit scared of the southerner's brute appearance. "She told me give you this"

The letter contained only the address (though it wasn't really necessary, as everyone in town knew, where the residence of Lady Rachel is) and couple of words: "Be my guest. Sooner - better. Best regards. Lady Rachel"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Meredith Character Portrait: Paige Veisley Character Portrait: Garth Brumear Character Portrait: Rachel Mstovarelli Character Portrait: Magerrothe'Gixendell
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

At first it appeared the man was preparing to fight, and though Crispin's body language was rather nonchalant he had been prepared as well. His fingers were meticulous as they left the hilt of the dagger as if not wanting to stab the air to hard. He allowed his focus to balance itself out once more and nodded in respect to the man for dropping his violent approach. He had the feeling it would have been a harsh squabble, and by the looks of this man he would have had to rely on his agility and speed rather than his build. He turned away lifting a hand politely to cover his mouth as he yawned. Then went back to his mug of ale, gulping it down thoughtfully. It warmed his very blood and thus made him tired. The place had picked up and was somewhat of an oddity today, mysterious people slinking about.

He stole a glance over his shoulder. Odd women to the likes he'd never seen before watching with peculiar interest all that was about the inn. And some melodramatic man with strange hair at the piano. Already he was distraught with the loudness and boisterous natures of the patrons today. Their shaded natures that had him on edge. And the interest that had him disturbed as she looked at this Garth fellow.

With measured grace he stood, taking one last drink of his mug and nodding to Meredith before exiting the inn. Staring side long at that strange lady before pushing out the door.
The fresh air felt rejuvenating kissing gently at his skin, filling his lungs in ways the musty air of the crowded inn had abused. Silently he reflected on the faces, running his fingers through his naturally on end, dark hair. A damp sickly sweat had formed on his temples, and he felt ill suddenly, falling back into the wall for support.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Rhyannon Vaux Character Portrait: Farah Vaux
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

He held his hands to a rail, shifting, for weeks he had suffered the insomnia, the headaches, the rolling nausea. He knew only one person, or rather two he trusted Farah and little Rhyannon Vaux. The teenage girl was quite the character, managing to put a genuine smile on his face. Often enough he enjoyed visiting, finding excuses, they were good company. Farah though very withdrawn and shaded was unique and beautiful in ways he wasn't quite sure how to put into words. An odd air about her that had an essence of it's own. He knew only those two, that he would trust with his health. After nearly fighting the eerily scarred and imposing Garth he had just had the pleasure of meeting. The fear in his heart was one he was used to overcoming, a healthy fear only ever followed by the overcoming of challenge. His clothe shirt, held tight to his body, even more so where sweat became apparent, making him uncomfortable. He lifted a hand and it shook silently and a pale hue was apparent in the sight of it.

It had grown progressively worse. But he maintained his smile and regained his composure, some people waving or nodding to him in jovial manners while others steered clear of quickly retreated to doorways. This was what he was used to, and had been since his third or so job within the town of Reliquita. Though he'd never admit it, it created feelings of loneliness within him. The town was quiet in the dull of the day, the guards seemed dreary going about their duties.

It was a short enough walk to the small apothecary shop and he pushed into the door, looking about in a haze for any sign of Farah or her lively sister Rhyannon.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Paige Veisley
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

There would be no sign of either of the two. So quietly, Crispin would leave. It would seem the Gods made jibes at him, cursing him with an illness and naught the means to go about getting rid of it. A cruel joke, and their laughter cruel. It would be back to the inn, then. It had grown into the night, and it was a clear one, not a cloud in sight, the large moon setting about a thin layer of light that kept him comforted. A guard here or there walked the street, torch in hand, and all others seemed to be tucked away in their beds. Shops were indeed closing, and in his ill state he had forgotten, or rather never willed himself to eat.

It was another short walk to the inn, and as he pushed his way inside. He lay eyes upon a small commotion. A frantic seeming man, cloaked, and he recalled this man from before. He seemed to be looking about. Crispin was no stranger to Reliquitia and it's people. But a sore sight, it would seem as of late when he seemed to know hardly anyone. He quickly grappled with the thought of questioning him, whether or not the man was alright. By this time however he was a pale fit for death, his eyes slunk with lack of sleep and desperation thereof for the elusive rarity.

He simply felt he had not the time for such things, he pulled gently at the leather of his vest, walking forth past the man, with slowed effort, toward the stairs up to his room on the second floor. He ached for the feel of his thatch bed, however uncomfortable it may be, it would be no doubt vastly more comfortable than this. He could already feel a weakness in his bones and muscles, a soreness in his movement.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Crispin woke after a few minutes, he still felt poorly and his chest pain was only slightly withdrawn, the rest not nearly enough for his aching body. He rose from the thatch immediately setting about pulling on a pair of pants, and then his boots, stopping momentarily before working the leather to secure them to his legs to wipe sweat from his brow and run his fingers through his hair. His head pulsated with some distant pain that teased him, unseen. Once he had finished in this struggled endeavor he pulled on his leather vest over his bare chest, his arms rippling with muscles that throbbed with every slight movement. And then he pulled on his large black cloak, using it to wrap around his face, though it covered up to his nose it did nothing by hiding the deep purple bags that had conformed to his face. Lastly he pulled on his leather bracers taking meticulous measure then to secure his belt and daggers, and then his longsword running his hands over the blade in moderate affection.

Then he went to a chest in the corner of the small inn room, crouching and hesitating before prying his fingers beneath a board and popping it out, retrieving a key. It was moments before the chest was open. He pulled from it, regrettably a small vial, if anyone had seen they would have noticed a massive sum of collected money, several small artifacts and then several of the vials. He set it upon his lips dipping it back and it filled his mouth and revitalized his lungs, his skin almost immediately taking a darker shade. He felt restored, but knew it was only temporary. It would only be temporary.

He put the key back, the board returning, looking as it had before, as if nothing had occured, the chest locked. Crispin stood recalling his recent encounters, he took the stairs two at a time eager to do what he could today. Though, silently in the back of his ever busy mind he hoped he wouldn't happen upon that same Southern man. He got to the bottom and was distraught at not finding Meredith there.

"Excuse me," He would look to a man at one of the tables, his beard coated with spilled ale and his eyes as brown as the plain boards of the in. He knew this man, not by name, but by nature. "Do you happen to know where the innkeeper is?" He asked, and immediately the man retired to thinking, less than a minute before he spoke up as if he knew he wouldn't be losing anything if he were to tell, and would not be gaining anything by asking the mercenary for payment for information or other things.

"Aye, I 'aw 'er leave, tal' o' the stables, or something li' that.." He would seem to falter before going on, but Crispin had enough to go on.

"Alright, thank you." And in gratitude a coin appeared in Crispin's hand and was dropped onto the table. The man took it hungrily, giving a toothy grin. On instinct a polite smile appeared on Crispin's face in return.

He left without a word to anyone else heading for the aforementioned stables.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Meredith Character Portrait: Paige Veisley Character Portrait: Chiru Character Portrait: Garth Brumear
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Garth ran a finger along the neck of the slain boy. The blood around the wound had dried. He’d give it an hour before it could be smell. Which left a very important question that had yet to be answered. As he stared at the boy the voice behind him drones on. The few words he cared to listen to left the all too familiar smile on his face. Of all the boys, in all the town, it had to be this one. Leave it to Garth to kill the one kid of this Pale Faced Stranger felt affection for. Then again perhaps the blame could be heaped upon his dearest lady Spymaster. Though it would require quite a bit of lying, and bribing. Hardly worth the coin. It seemed the only option left was to shove a sword through both of their throats. Twas a shame really, Merediths was quite the gem. “So much for laying low,” he whispered to himself.

Garth moved away from the body. He could feel the glare of the stranger digging into the back of Garth’s skull. Like a warming tingling. The southerner turned around to face his foe. The Stranger still held the sword tightly. Garth shifted his center of gravity. It would have to be quick for sure. He’d have to cut down the stranger before Meredith got away. Then the stranger opened his mouth. Absolving Garth of his crime. It return the Sellsword raised his eyebrows. The Stranger issues orders then left the stall. Garth sighed feeling the weight of the day finally crashing down on him. Bar fights, political intrigue, and playing detective with a possible vampire tended to drain ones enthusiasm of the night life. He looked down at the body, the cause of all this mess. “Unexpected being an understatement, eh lad?” Of course the rudely didn’t responded.

Garth exited the stall with a feed bag lugged over the shoulder. This time it carried something a bit heavier than straw. In the dark of the stable he could make out three figures. The stranger, Meredith, and the in-human child. Garth approached them with a welcoming smile. “Of course he stills smells of horse shit.” Chimed in Garth as he moved closer. From what he could overhear the two were arguing about the child. “Let her have my room at the Inn, that way when I get back she can have that question ready for me. You two lovebirds have a good night then, I’ve got some digging to do.” He winked cheerfully at the strange group then departed. This was hardly going to be a joyous experience. As Garth marched down the road, feeling the weight of a corpse on his back, he spotted something. A person moving down the street towards the stables. “Nosy little town, full of nosy folks.” Garth muttered his curse with a smile. He was just an armed, and armored man carrying a sack of horse feed. Best to just smile and move on. The person edged closer and closer. Garth stopped, laughed, and smiled wider. It was the man from the Inn. The one that Garth had almost gutted. The well spoken stranger. “Well if it isn’t my well mannered friend. Small town in a small world it would seem. What brings you out on an early morning such as this?”

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Garth Brumear
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Crispin had smelled many a rotting corpse, his own dried blood and that of others. It was heavy upon this man. His ears would be perked and himself alert, as it was so early. He would raise a skeptical eyebrow looking at first, the bag, under the mirage of some kind of feed bag. And then the southerner. “Well if it isn’t my well mannered friend. Small town in a small world it would seem. What brings you out on an early morning such as this?” He remembered the man and his lack of civility earlier in the day. Garth, he realized the name. He looked up to the sky and gave a crooked grin to the still dark morning, his hand would be unnoticeable as it glided to the hilt of his sword, his nonchalant and friendly stance deceiving as he prepared to do what he may very well have to do. After all, he was fairly sure that, there was some oddity within that feed bag. Perhaps a dead animal, but no, why would he hide the carcass and carry it about in a feed bag. The man certainly looked capable of killing, but would he just so casually do it, and then be careless in stopping to talk to someone with it upon his shoulder.

"Looking for Meredith, actually." He would take meticulous care to make a point of looking at the feed bag set upon the man's shoulder. Though his voice was slightly drowsy and strained it held a certain authority about it and the tone was overall that of a pleasant young man. "And I'd ask the same of you," He would hesitate, pulling his gaze to the dark man's eyes. Flicking his tongue over one of his canines before continuing, "Why out and about on this early morning?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Garth Brumear
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

It you could smell the brewing conflict in the air. The sight of it was enough to send shivers down the spine of any honest man. Garth with the corpse of stripling boy he’d slaughtered, the well mannered stranger reaching for his weapon. It was as clear as the look of mistrust on the stranger’s face. Things could get messy with a few words. Garth smiled warmly, at least as warmly as one can when carrying a dead body. The suspicion was clear on the Strangers face. Behind his smile Garth was mentally kicking himself. The smell. The damned smell. He’d hoped that the smell of horse manure would be enough. He’d behead the next beast of burden that crossed his path. To the murdering sellsword’s delight the stranger inquired upon the whereabouts of Meredith. “Looking to snuggle up close with the fine lady? A noble effort lad, sadly a vain one. She’s already with another. Male, strong-silent type. As for what I’m up to.” Garth felt the weight of the boy digging into his shoulder. “I’m sure you’d love you know my business as much I’d adore knowing your name. How about a trade between dishonest men.”

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Garth Brumear
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Crispin's smile would grow as he calculated every movement. Acute in his estimations, and for a few seconds the silence would be tense and as if by the will of some God it would be broken calmly and not with the sound of steel exiting it's respective sheathe, "I'm not in the business of trading secrets, I'm afraid." He would hesitate a moment before continuing, "Only in keeping them." His head would cock slightly to the right, though he overall decided to dismiss what was said of Meredith. The thought of cuddling up to her, definitely a strange thought. Wherever she may be, he hoped this "Strong-silent type" meant her no ill will. But soon he would be upon that and if it were that he did or it had befallen her..

The thought was disrupted as he decided it wasn't enough, and he worked to concentrate on the task at hand, the obstacle before him..In an ironic way, proposed justice if it were deemed necessary. He would hold a stare with Garth as if challenging him to disagree with his unknown request. "Now, I'd enthuse you to let me know what you happen to be carrying?" His iron will would flash as he struggled to read the man's face in the vacant darkness of the early morning. But to try and keep Garth un-nerved to the point of feeling as if it would be no use lying. He would add to his statement. As Garth's own resounded in his troubled mind.

"How about a trade between dishonest men." It brought a feral feeling of predatory instincts to Crispin's heart.

"After all then, Garth. What's a litte honesty between dishonest men?" His smile would become crooked as there was a deep sign of the facade of manners in the moment fading as it began to unveil itself as a hostile and rigid encounter.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Chiru Character Portrait: Garth Brumear
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

A look of confused conflict passed over Garth’s face. His smile became a frown, then the familiar grin again. Garth was unsure of how to proceed with the bravado driven stranger. It was obvious the nickname of, Well-spoken Stranger, fit the man quite well. To well Garth felt. He’d been itching for a fight since he’d walked into this nosy town. He’d been challenge at the bar, at the mansion, in a stable, now here in the streets. Each time his hand had strayed from his sword. The only corpse he’d made was of a stable boy who’d known to much. A feat which left little room for bragging. Garth Brumear, slayer of stables boys didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. Though, Slaughter of Well-spoken Strangers, had a nice ring.

Garth eyed his sword. He’d have to drop the body, rip his sword out, and block. By then the stranger would have removed his head. This deceased stable boy was proving a worthy opponent with all the nuisances it left in its wake. “Clever of tongue, you’ve got wit lad. Wit and arrogance. Two traits that never mix well. I speak from experience mind you.” Garth drew out his advice. He was delaying. his mind doing its best to convince him that this was another one of his horrible ideas. Sadly it seemed it was the only options. There had been plenty of only options today. He lowered the bag from his shoulder. It hit the ground with a sickening thump. Grath pulled the strings giving the Stranger a view of what lay inside. “Stable boy. Turns out, this is the part where you gasp in surprise, one of your villages is a vampire. Before you ask, won’t tell you. Nothing personal mind you lad. Business etiquette not to name the employer. Either way ole pointy fang got a hunger. Made a mistake, and made a corpse. I happened to stumble upon. He happened pay me well to make the body vanish.” Garth pulled the bag closed and propped it back onto his shoulder. “Now about that name?”

((OOC: Sorry for adding Chiru to the thing. Was a mis-click. Anyhow back from my Christmas break. BACK TO ROLEPLAYING.))

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crispin Grey Character Portrait: Garth Brumear
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Crispin would choke back a snarl at the sight of the poor slaughtered stable boy, he struggled to read the man's dark eyes in the waning light, what was said of arrogance and wit but a memory, thought it had been said mere seconds ago. To behold such a sight, reminding him of the cruel world. His knuckles would crack with the ferocity in which he grasped the hilt of his sword, and his mind obscured with a bloodlust for any man that would slaughter a child Crispin had once saw smiling about the village, making the most, of a most miserable life. And to think Garth willing to with hold the name of his employer. He would hesitate a long moment, to long a moment.

Finally he would calm, clearing his head of the impurities of recklessness. But without further hesitation or thought a name would roll from his tongue, "Arx Gaspier." It was the name of a man he killed a long time ago over a small blood feud. Though it was a lie, Crispin's face showed the uttermost confidence about the answer. His body language noticeably rigid as his clasp of the hilt faltered and then receeded.

He would momentarily consider paying for the information, or at least trying, he couldn't dismiss that Garth may or may not be telling the truth.. The throat was cut, but not at the angle a vampire would attack. As if it was one small stab to the throat, no further damage that Crispin could see upon further inspection. "I ask that you make damn sure his parents are notified.. You would want to know if your child was slaughtered with a sword by some unwieldy murderer." He knew not if Garth was honest, perhaps the vampire had cut the boy's throat and collected it rather than from the source sucked the blood. Or Garth was covering his own tracks, or those of someone else.

But without a doubt he knew he would fight this man eventually if not in this moment, it would be soon. He would show signs of frustration pulling his sword hand away to run it through his hair.

((Merry Late Christmas.))