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The Book of the Damned

The Book of the Damned

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A one on one rp for me and Anna

1,003 readers have visited The Book of the Damned since blackrider created it.

Introduction

“You stand accused of being a spy for the north! How do you plead!?” The judges thunderous voice boomed throughout the small court house followed by a series of loud clacking of wood on wood as he raised and lowered the gavel repeatedly in an unnecessary rage. The judge, who’s old age was clearly shown by the many wrinkles and alarmingly bald head, looked extremely frail as if a small wind could knock him over. His small beady coal black eyes were transfixed on a shabby looking man before him, the old judges eyes seemed as if they were looking at evil itself.

The poor man who found himself under the judges bone chilling gaze seemed unfazed by the accusation, and used to the hateful look of the judge. The man straightened, his solid frame resembled that of a soldier saluting-his stance sharp and crisp. His hair, unlike many of the blonde haired clean cut citizens who filled the old courthouse, was a dark black, and his eyes, also unique, were that of a dark green with specks of brown. His face, which was actually rough with cuts and grime, was covered in a large black beard that trailed to the midsection of his chest. Along with his long dark hair that reached down to his shoulders, which had begun to mat together due to little hygiene, the man looked as if he was straight out of prison-looking to be in his mid thirties, his torn up pants, grimy white shirt, and grey animal pelt vest didn’t make him look any better. Yet, still with the look of a poor beggar, the man carried himself with a certain pride and manner that demanded respect. “I, Sir, Am of no such thing.” His voice boomed, cool and calm, but at the same time angered by the accusation. The truth was, all he was was a simple mountain man, living right on the large treck of mountains which separated two Kingdoms whose war had gone on so long none even remembered the cause, but fights were constantly arisen due to pure malice and hate between the two great warring factions-the only incentive to fight was to kill.

Unfortunately for Flint, who was the bearded man standing trial, he was born and raised in the Northern Kingdom, Opening him up to extreme racism and bigotry in the Western Kingdom. That meant that this was already an open and shut case, which always resulted in one outcome, a nice thick rope tightened around the spy’s neck. “LIES! LIES! LIES!” The judge roared, practically jumping his small old frame out of the creaky chair he resided in, placing both palms on the large table with a loud thud, his beedy eyes seemed to grow with even more hate “You were found by the Royal Scouts of the King himself plotting secret paths through the mountains for your fellow Northern scum!” The Judge roared slowly sinking back into his chair all, coughing the whole way down. He grew quieter, wheezing heavily. Flint thought it sad that the old man had worn himself out from a mere short shouting spell, as for what the judge had said however, Flint was amused…because the truth was he was merely hunting deer when hed run into “the royal scouts”.

Flint began to speak a response, but was quickly cut off by the lightning crack of the gavel, it seemed the judge was in the mood to yell again, his beady eyes turning to smaller slits like they did every time he yelled. “I deem you guilty of the accused crime! The punishment is the same as is for all other spys!” The packed courtroom burst into cheers and whistling, “HANGING!” The Judge hollered over the mallet, which was currently repeatedly striking the ancient table.


Before Flint knew it he’d been drug out side, being led onto the gallows where so many men-innocent and guilty-had been taken unwillingly by the cold hands of death. The crowd, which had now grown, roared and jeered as the rope was fastened tightly around Flint’s neck. It all seemed unreal to Flint, here he was, one pull of a lever away from death, and yet he wasn’t afraid. The large masked executioner grasped onto the handle, which when pulled would drop the floor out from under Flints feat, if he was lucky his neck would snap….if he wasn’t….then the true horror started, as the crowd was treated to a poor soul kicking and flailing limply in the air like a rag doll until the life was slowly choked from him.

“Wait!” A young voice shouted from a distance, the sound of hooves scraping the cobbled streets approached as the voice grew louder. “Wait!” It proclaimed again, the horse plowing through the crowd. The large executioner looked up from the lever, the man on horse carried the kings emblem. “This prisoner is to be takein to the castle dungeons immediately, by direct order of the king himself!” The large executioners hand twitched, as if called by the lever which held Flints fate. “Buh e’s been provn ta be a spy” The Neanderthal of an executioner said, pure and simple he wanted blood. “You dare to question your king?” The young errant said, raising a slender eyebrow on his young face. His right hand slowly found its way to the hilt of his sword, as if dareing the executioner to try anything stupid. “Righ then!” The executioner boomed “Guards! Get up ere ye stupid gits!”

Now Flint was almost sure this was a dream, the events that had just taken place were far to far-fetched to have actually occurred. He desperately wanted someone to pinch him and wake him up, but the large guard who approached him did him one better, sinking his large muscular arm into Flints stomach, quickly sending him to his knees with an extremely loud ‘thud’. At first flint felt the searing pain in his stomach, and then his world was swallowed into darkness.



Flint awoke in a start, cold sweat rolled down his forehead and had covered much of his now damp shirt. He quickly looked around, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head “Where am I!?” He roared, echoing long down the cold damp hallways that lay before his cell. Gripping the iron bars, yelling like a mad man he began thrashing at the bars, as if trying to rip them from the cell wall. It was now that realization set in, remembering clearly the events that had lead to where he now was, in the dark cold cell, god knows how many feet underground, all because he was born in a different place. He sank down to his knees, despair taking over, who knew what would happen to him now. It was hear, kneeling on the cold stone floor, he finally noticed the second man standing in the cell, a long dark cloak hiding his features, and the main reason Flint had not seen him until this moment. Flint stared at the figure for a long moment, slowly arising with his fists clenched, he didn’t know if the man was a friend or foe.

“So I see you’ve finally noticed me, Sir. Aiden.” The figure said, taking a step forward. His voice was sly and sharp, and contained the hint of forced kindness. “Quite a fit you had there, isn’t it? Id hate to run into that on the battle field…” he said it as if hinting at something. “…Any how….Are you familiar with folk tales, Sir Aiden?” Flint was silent, anger growing in him, here he was in a cold dungeon accused of being a spy and left to rot, and his cell mate wanted to talk about fairy tails. “What are you talking about!?” Flint barked angrily, taking a step forward. The cloaked figure stepped back, but then thought better of it, regaining his lost ground. “Well…uhm…” He coughed nervously “What if I told you I could grant you your freedom?” The anger in Flint rose, going from talks of make believe to that of false hope. “And how do you propose that…” Flint grunted as he sank back to his knees, resting his back against the cold stone wall, this man was obviously a crazy. “Just receive a simple artifact for me! You’ve heard of the book! The book of the damned! The book of darkness! His book!” Flint knew of the tail, as did every child in their lands, he simply chuckled. “The book that the gods themselves banished because no man nor god could control its power!” Flint shouted, it was the last lines of the story. He began yelling again “Yes! Ill get the book for you! Just as soon as I rip these iron bars from their place, storm my way out of the castle weaponless, and journey into the mountains to wherever it is the gods hid the book to end all days!”

“Tsk tsk tsk, Sir Aiden” The cloaked figure said, pulling his hands upwards to his hood, slowly drawing it back. The site of the man made Flint jump to his feet, even though the darkness hid most of his features, Flint could still recognize the cold deep eyes anywhere. The main continued talking, unafraid that Flint was on his feet “To talk to a king with such sarcasm! Indeed they named you The Brave Aiden for good reason!”

This was the final straw for Flint, his face contorted in anger as he launched himself at the man, grabbing him by the scruff of his hooded cloak he threw the man into the dark stoned wall with a loud crash “And what’s to stop me from choking the life from such a great king!?” He roared, his large callused hands wrapping tightly around the fair skinned king, who only smiled up at Flint. “Your life…” he replied quietly, it was rather hard to speak with your wind pipe slowly closing in on itself. The anger in Flints eyes didn’t die but his grip slowly loosened, until it was non existent altogether. “Your serious?” Flint asked, still finding it hard to believe “You want me to find you…this book? And if I do…I can leave?” The King simply nodded “….And if I fail?” Flint asked, as if weighing his options. “Then you shall at least get to taste the fresh air one last time.” The king said with a smile, already knowing his answer. And Flint knew he couldn’t refuse, sure there’s no way he could find a make believe book, but he was sure if he got into the mountains he could easily slip away from whatever goon, and he was sure there’d be one, that the king sent to keep an eye on him. “Ill do it…” Flint grunted with disgust, he hated the man.

“Excellent!” The king exclaimed happily, as if Flint was happy to help. “Well we mustn’t keep your comrades waiting! Come come!” And like that the king was out of the cell, opening the large iron door with an extremely loud creaking noise, his feet raping against the cold cobble stoned hallways as he sped off. Flint nearly had to run to keep up with him, a large frown on his bearded face, it was like chasing after a child. The king lead him along the long cold halls of the dungeon, until finally taking him up a large flight of twisting stairs, which opened into somewhere deep within the castle. Flint wasn’t exactly sure, but he was sick of walking through the lavish palace after about fifteen minutes of having to walk on the dark red velvet that trailed throughout the castle halls, he hadn’t seen one window, and he hated being cooped up inside (nearly spending all of his time outdoors). He also hated the millions of pictures that must have hung on the dark stone walls, all of old kings or famous heroes who had slaughtered his people by the thousands. He wanted to set fire to the palace and watch as the damned thing burned to ash, a task he’d almost accomplished long ago. “Where are you taking me!?” Flint thundered, sick of everything surrounding him. But before he could finish his statement the king had vanished through a large wooden door, decorated with lavished carvings of some forgotten battle in a forgotten time, Flint quickly followed.

Flint now found himself in a large banquet hall, a long oak table spread out before him with various meats and fruits, some of which he’d never seen, it was the most food hed seen at one time however. Somehow the king had already made it to the end of the table, sitting in a large golden chair with a warm plate of food already awaiting him. Two large, and heavily armed, guards stood at each side of the king, spears raised high with a lifeless look across their faces. It was now that Flint realized guards like this stood everywhere in this room, hidden well next to large statues, or in the cover of opened doors (which were evenly spaced throughout the room) Flint walked towards the king, who beckoned him to sit next to him….instead Flint took an opposite seat, sitting at the very end of the table. “Eat my friend! Have your fill!” He answered the kings request by sending the nearest tray of, what appeared some strange fruit, clashing to the floor, sending the contents everywhere. “All you northerners are alike!” the king roared, jumping from his seat “ Barbarians! The lot of you!”

Flint to sprang from his seat, hearing the unsheathing of swords all around him he slowly sat back down, pure malice in his eyes as he looked at the king “Then let me be on my way! Give me my damned burdens and let me go!” Flint roared back at the king, referring to “burdens” as his comrades.

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The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 2 authors

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Beth is standing in the banquet hall, in the doorway to the right of the king, her posture straight and her eyes alert. She listens as the king talks to the man at the table, whom she's never seen before. When the man raises his voice and knocks the fruit from the table. She reflectively grabs her sword along with the other guards in the room. The king quickly holds up his hand, stopping the guards from attacking. "Alright then," The king says with a small nod of his head, standing up from his seat as well. "Moore," The king says, motioning over to her. She quickly steps forward, standing to attention at the kings side. "You will be escorting this man on his mission." He says to which Beth quickly curtsies, "Yes sire." She says. She had been informed of her duties a few hours prior but she didn't know what the man looked like until now. She turns to look at the irate looking man, sizing him up. He definitely has her beat when it comes to size, but Beth is extremely quick and agile which comes in handy in fights. She walks over to stand next to the man, her nose crinkling slightly as she smells his lack of hygiene. Beth is wearing the usual guard attire, she has a sword at her waist as well as a knife hidden in her boot. "Follow me," She says simply to the man, as she turns and heads toward the door, out of the banquent hall, stopping in the door way to make sure he's following her. Her orders are clear, lead him out of the castle, let him take over from there, once he finds the book, kill him, and bring the book back to the king; easy enough.

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After receiving the belonging Flint had had with him when he was arrested, which were all unceremoniously thrown into a burlap sack, Flint was shocked to see the person the king had decided would accompany him on his foolish quest. It was a woman. A battle trained woman at that, something that was extremely frowned upon in his kingdom, in his lands war was a job souly left to men. Grimacing inwardly at the thought of having to babysit this 'warrior woman' Flint quickly followed in her footsteps out the castle, quickly coming to walk side to side with her. If he hadn't been so focused on leaving he might have even objected to her companionship.

After immediately following Beth Flint was very eagerly wanting to be out of the accursed stone prison the king called home. Finally making it to what he'd hoped, was the final door he placed both palms on the large wooden door and pushed forward, sending the door slowly creaking open, immediatley filling the poorly lit corridors with the strong rays of the sun. Stepping out into the fresh air, he breathed deeply, feeling the fresh Northern winds on his face. He could hear the kings loud crys of anger echo along the long corridors, but that didn’t matter to Flint, instead he lazily rested against the wall, folding his arms together frowning. He could just run away and see how far he got, but that was against everything he'd been raised as. He let out a deep sigh, he'd made a deal and had to pull through, or at least try and find the stupid book. He looked out over the small city that sprawled before him, the suns light slowly dying as it burned its way across the sky setting behind the large mountains, night was coming, which meant they'd have to set out in the morning, yet Flint would rather sleep in the streets then spend another minute in that castle.

Taking one more moment to breathe in the cool air he finally acknowledged his companion “Do you know of any decent inns in the area? We cant travel the forests at night, thats when the real monsters come out. And I dont mean my people.” His tone was harsh and accusing and as he asked he eyed the women up and down carefully as if trying to size her up, perhaps gauge her reaction to his comment?

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Beth stays quiet, just looking at Flint, a frown on her lips. She doesn't like his tone of voice or what he's implying. She notices him sizing her up but that doesn't bother her, she's gotten used to. The whole time she was going through her training, the others were constantly sizing her up, misjudging her just by her size. As the silence starts to grow more awkward, she finally speaks up. "There are quite a few Inns in town, though I would only recommend one." She says, turning and leading the way into town. She grew up in this town, so everyone knows her, one of the very few female guards. As they walk through town, lots of people take notice. It is pretty obvious that Flint doesn't belong here, his dark hair sticking out like a sore thumb among all the blonde people.

Beth doesn't pay the townspeople any attention, all her attention focused on Flint, making sure he doesn't try to run or anything just as stupid. She's not really one for conversation, she doesn't say a word as they make their way to the Inn. This Inn is owned by a friend's parents, they're just as proud of Beth as her parents are and consider her one of their kids as well. The inn is pretty nice, kept in great condition. A little boy, looking to be about 5 years old, comes running up to her. "Eliza! Eliza!" the little boy says excitedly, wrapping his arms around her legs. Elizabeth looks down at the boy, fighting to stay in control of her emotions. She wants to reach out and scoop the little boy up, play with him, like she had done many times, but now is not the time for that. "Not now Zeke." Beth says, not able to stop herself from reaching out rustling the young boy's blonde hair. "I'm working," She adds when the boy peels himself off her leg, looking as if she had slapped him. The look on his face tugs at her heart but she doesn't let it show.

"Zeke, come along now, leave Beth alone." An older woman says, as she walk down the stairs, over to the check in counter. "Yes, Mama," The little boys says, hanging his head as he walks away over to his mother, behind the counter where he starts to play with his toys. "So, what brings you here? It's been a while, you're looking just as good as ever." The woman says, smiling at Beth. Beth walks up to the counter, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Flint is still behind her. "We need a room," She says simply. The woman glances between Beth and Flint, frowning a little as she looks at him. "You know the rooms are always free of charge for you here, hun. But I don't want any trouble." She says, looking Flint up and down apprehensively. That makes her smile a little, but she quickly covers it up. "Oh, don't worry, Ann, I'll keep him in line." She says, a small hint of laughter in her voice.

Ann smiles at Beth, glad to see her lighten up, if only just a little. "Alright, I'll hold you to that." She says, turning to the keys hanging on the wall behind her, rubbing her chin as she tries to pick out the right room. "Ah, here we are." She says, grabbing one of the room keys and handing it to her. "It has a bed and a couch. All my double bed rooms are taken, sorry hun." She says, giving Beth an apologetic look. Beth waves off her appology. "It's alright, Ann. Thanks again." Beth says, grabbing the key and moving toward the stairs. She stops at the base and glances over at Flint. "After you," She says, motioning for him to go up first. "Room 106," She tells him, reading the number tapped to the the key.

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“After you.” Beth said as she motioned to the stairs, which were the last things on Flints mind. He'd been fixated on the young blonde boy sense they'd entered into the establishment. From the moment he'd ran up to Beth to the second he'd ran off something about him made Flint smile, he found comfort in the fact that whether he was in the northern or southern kingdom children normally remained the same. Usually they were untouched for the most part of the prejudices that plagued their families.

For a few moments Flint watched as the boy tentatively pushed a poorly cobbled together looking broom across the floor. Probably a family chore forced upon him. Regardless Flint could tell the boys eyes had a hard time staying off of Flint as he swept around the rather well kept establishment. As his chore drew him even closer Flint let a toothy white grin shine beneath his beard. As the boor hesitantly passed by Flint let out a loud “Boo!” in his gruff voice. It seemed like the boy was there one second and gone the next, as at that moment all that lay in front of Flint was a lone broom. The boy had probably ran to his fathers side for protection.

After that Flint returned his attention back to Beth, a fresh grin on his face “No, my fair captor” He slurred the words in insult “I believe I'd prefer a drink first, perhaps a meal even. Come join me if you can withstand the company of a northerner.” And with that he pulled the nearest wooden seat over to himself and sat himself at a table, waiving a muscular arm in the air at the inn keep Beth had been talking to earlier. The woman looked rather unhappy.

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Beth sighs as Flint stays where he is, watching Zeke as he does his chores. Her frown deepens when Flint scares the poor boy half to death. She's about to speak up but Flint beats her to it, refusing to go up stairs, insisting on getting a drink and food first. She has to admit she is hungry, she hasn't had anything to eat since breakfast, but she can't stand the man's insolence. She hesitates a moment but realizes she doesn't really have much of a choice since she can't leave Flint by himself and run the risk of him trying to run off.

Beth sighs quietly as she walks over and sits down at the table, sitting across from Flint. She glances up at Ann as she comes over to them, looking none to happy about Flint still being down here, in front of her other customers. Beth gives Ann an apologetic look. "I'll have my usual," She says. She knows the menu inside and out and doesn't even have to look at it. Ann nods her head, knowing exactly what Beth always gets when she comes in for dinner. "And what can I get you?" She asks, glancing over at Flint reluctantly. She'd much rather not even look at him if she could avoid it.

Beth leans back in her seat, glancing around the room, making sure there's no trouble lurking around. The king would be extremely angry if Flint were hurt or killed before he could complete this task the king has sent him on. She knows full well that if she doesn't succeed, she'll be lucky if the only thing the king does is kick her from guard. "You'd best eat fast. We're leaving at sunrise." She murmurs to Flint, not wanting to waste any time, or spend more time in town than she has to. She knows how much her people can't stand his people.

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After telling the waiter 'whatever tasted good' it wasn’t long before two hot plates of food sat at their table. The contents of Flints appeared to be mostly potatoes and steak, of which Flint had no problems with. He'd immediately began going to town on his plate of food, not bothering to wipe the occasional piece away that found its way into his beard.

“Leaving in the mornin eh?” Flint spat inbetween bites “Tell me, girlie, have you ever been into the mountains before?” Pausing after asking the question Flint pulled the burlap bag closer to himself that he'd received from the Kings court. At the same time he'd noticed the young boy enter back into the room, eying everyone in it cautiously-mainly Flint.

Two empty tables across from Flint and Beth sat four large sully looking men, peasants obviously by their attire but their bodies were large and lean from the constant work they were probably involved in. Of all four men every single eye in the group was transfixed on Flint, each full of hate and intent, a fact Flint either seemed oblivious to or rather simply cared to ignore.

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Beth smiles at Ann as she brings them their food, "Thanks," She says, before the woman scurries away. Beth turns her attention to Flint as he speaks. "Well," She says, hesitating slightly, "No," She says, admitting that she's never been up in the mountains. "What's wrong with going in the morning?" She asks, her arms crossed over her chest, hating the way Flint always seems to have some way to undermine her.

Beth glances around once more, her eyes landing on the men sitting at the table across from them. She frowns, clearly seeing the mens' intent. She stiffens in her seat slightly, moving forward to the edge of the chair, ready to react if anything happens. Though she's hoping they will behave, not wanting to fight inside Ann's inn. "Would you just hurry up and eat," She says to Flint under her breath. She picks at the food on her plate though doesn't eat any of it, her attention focused on the four men, watching them out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to be caught off guard.

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“Leaving in the mornin eh?” Flint spat inbetween bites “Tell me, girlie, have you ever been into the mountains before?” Pausing after asking the question Flint pulled the burlap bag closer to himself that he'd received from the Kings court. At the same time he'd noticed the young boy enter back into the room, eying everyone in it cautiously-mainly Flint.

Two empty tables across from Flint and Beth sat four large sully looking men, peasants obviously by their attire but their bodies were large and lean from the constant work they were probably involved in. Of all four men every single eye in the group was transfixed on Flint, each full of hate and intent, a fact Flint either seemed oblivious to or rather simply cared to ignore.

“Well to be honest theres nothing wrong with setting out in the morning. Honestly the best time to do it.” Pausing mid speech Flint turned the contents of his burlap bag upside down letting them all spill out onto the wooden table (he seemed to pay no heed to the fact that food also littered the table). “And don't get me started on the things that come out of those accursed peaks a sundown, that's the time of day you don't want to be caught dead up there.” As he spoke his eyes danced over the tools of destruction that laid before him before grabbing at the weapons greedily, first taking two tomahawks, one in each hand. Now smiling like a mad man he tossed one into the air, watching the perfectly balanced work of art spin upwards before falling back into his hands.

Hed inherited the weapons from his father, the perfectly smoothed oak wood handles extending about a foot each, both ending with a razor sharpened ax head on one side, and a deadly triangular point on the opposite side of the ax head, the original brownish wood had turned darker throughout the years, due to all of the blood that they had taken. Next was the long bone handled steal knife, the bone had come from the first beast Flint had killed, this he simply slid into his rough leather boots, not giving it another thought. Looping one tomahawk, through his belt, which seemed to fit perfectly, the other he tossed lightly in his hand, returning his gaze to Beth. “And why would I want to hurry lady warrior? I've simply been bidding my time and waiting for those poor sods over there.” He nodded behind him at the table of four. “To finally work up the courage to attack us. Give me an excuse to blow off some steam.”

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Beth frowns listening to Flint as he talks about the mountains, not sure what to say, so she just stays quiet. She's a little surprised he grabs his burlap bag and dumps the content all over the table. "What are you doing?" She asks, watching him as he starts grabbing up the weapons. She glances over at the four men again, seeing that they're even more on edge by the fact that Flint has so many weapons, sure that they're going to jump up and attack any moment now.

Beth shakes her head at Flint's words. "You want to blow off some steam? You go for a run, you don't go looking for fights inside an establishment such as this." She hisses between her teeth. She watches as the men get to their feet and make their way over to their table. Beth quickly jumps up, getting between the men and Flint. "I don't want to hurt you boys, why don't you just turn around and go back to your meal? I'm sure Ms. Ann would really appreciate that as well." She says, ready to fight if she has to, but hoping that it won't come to that. She feels the other people in the room staring, wanting to see a fight.

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Flint sighed inwardly as the men he'd been waiting for to attack him seemed to back down at the stern words of Elizabeth. Honestly Flint was impressed by the woman, even if he was somewhat disappointed by the lack of what he thought was an inevitable fight. As the day workers begrudgingly returned to their drinks at their lonely table Flint couldn't take his eyes off Elizabeth as she too returned to her seat across from Flint.

Before speaking Flint returned his loose tomahawk to its rightful place at his side. "So tell me girl, what would you like me to address you as? I know you Southerners can get rather hung up on your 'titles'" He sneered the word titles. "But Ill consent to calling you whatever you'd like, I am after all your prisoner for the time being." As he finished his sentence he'd begun stroking his long black beard with his right hand absent mindidly, not taking his eyes off the girl, He didn't even pay attention when Ann the bartender had come by to refill their drinks, instead his hazel eyes remained transfixed on Beth as if waiting for her answer.

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Elizabeth stands her ground, relieved when she sees the men back down and go back to their table. She knows Ann would never forgive her if she were to let a fight occur inside her Inn. She walks back over to seat and sits down, now relaxed enough to actually eat her food. She glances over at Flint as he speaks up. She frowns slightly when he calls her 'girl' her frown deepening more at his tone of voice as he talks about her people. She bites her cheek to keep from going off on him, needing to stay in control of her feelings. "You can call me Elizabeth." She says simply, her eyes narrowed slightly as she looks at him. She keeps his gaze, staring back at him as he stares at her.

She wants to speak up, tell him not to stare, but she doesn't want to let him know that he can get under her skin so instead she stays quiet and turns her attention back to her food. She quickly finishes eating and finishes her drink as well, leaning back in her seat. "You ready to go up to the room now? Sunrise will come a lot sooner than you think." She says as Ann comes back over to pick the dirty dishes.

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After Ann had returned and picked up their dishes, all the while giving Elizabeth a look that read “thank you”, Flint decided to accept Elizabeth’s advice and turn in for the night, but not before quickly telling her “Well then Elizabeth, you can call me Flint, as I'm sure you were already well aware.” And with that Flint stood from their shared table and headed for the stairs. So far the twos companionship seemed off to a rocky start at best.

After spending a restless night sleeping in the rather well kept shaby inn Flint awoke with a sharp pain in his neck. But that was to be expected when one slept on a wooden floor in the most awkward position imaginable. Sure, there had been a rather comfortable looking bed in the room Flint had been forced to share with Elizabeth but that previous night he'd insisted she'd be the one to sleep in the bed despite her protests. For as brash as Flint he'd let a flicker of chivalry show through his rough exterior.

Turning his neck fiercely to the right a sickening “Crack!” followed suit. Despite the painful sound the sensation seemed rather pleasant as Flint quickly sprang from his feet as if reinvigorated. Immediately looking around the small room, which consisted of not much more then a bed, a nightstand, and an ancient looking dresser. There was also a beautiful blonde woman who sat at the bed with a rag in one hand and a good sized sword in the other (which Flint noticed now seemed rather polished, as if a daily habit.) Her eyes bore into Flint like shed been watching him all night, which for all Flint knew had been the case seeing as he'd passed out almost immediately the moment his head had hit the floor.

“So..” Flint began, a little more kinder sounding then he had the whole previous day. Perhaps the possible hanging had made him grumpy the day before. “..You wouldn't happen to have any money on you would you? There's a few things we should pick up before we officially head out. Know any good merchants?” As he asked the question he seemed to realize how strange these questions were for 'morning conversation'. Most people wood have told Elizabeth good morning, and here Flint was asking if she had money. “Oh and dont take this the wrong way, im not tryin to buy shit for myself or somethin.” He waved his arms in the air in a 'no offense manner' “Oh and uh...good morning.” He added rather forcefully.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth was only able to sleep a few hours, too on edge about the mission to be able to relax and get a decent sleep. She was awake before the sun even came up. She grabed her sword and a rag, polishing it as she watched Flint sleep. She debated on waking him up, but decided to just let him sleep at least until the sun comes up, then if he didn't wake up on his own, she would wake him up. Though, luckily she didn't have to wake him.

She continues to watch him as he starts to wake up, cracking his neck. She doesn't look away even as he turns to look at her. She nods her head at his question. "Yeah, I got some money," She says as she stands up from the bed, putting her, now well polished, sword away. She can't help but to smirk slightly at his 'good morning'. She rolls her eyes at him slightly. "Yeah, good morning." She says, running a hand through her blonde hair, which she had brushed when she first got up but never put it up, it falls a few good inches past her shoulders.

"Come on, lets get going," She says, quickly braiding her hair up so it won't be getting in her face. She moves across the room to grab her things. It only takes her a few moments to gather things. She waits for Flint to get his things together as well before leading the way out of the room and downstairs. She turns the room key back into Ann, thanking her for letting them stay free of charge. On her way out, Zeke attaches himself to her legs again, wanting a hug before she leaves. She sighs quietly, not able to tell the little boy no. She kneels down and hugs him, his little arms wrap around her tightly. "Come back soon, ok Liza?" He says, once he lets go of her, beaming up at her happily. "I will, Zeke, I promise." She says, giving the boy a small smile before turning and walking out of the Inn. The smile quickly disappearing once they're outside, hating to show emotion in front of others. She glances over at Flint, her eyes daring him to say something about the little scene between her and Zeke. She can't really afford to show weakness when she's one of the very few female guards. If the other guards see weakness, they'd pounce. Not everyone is so thrilled about women serving in the guard.

Beth doesn't say a word as she walks with Flint through town, on edge, judging the reactions of the townspeople as they walk. A little while later, they arrive at one of the best merchant places in town. "Get what ever you need." She says to Flint, waving her hand around the shop. She glances around, wondering what he's going to need to get. She knows that she'll have more than enough money to get what ever it is, since the king gave her quite a bit of money to make sure this mission goes smoothly.

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Flint laughed inwardly at the emotional exchange between Elizabeth and the young boy once they had headed downstairs. Throughout the hug and afterward Flint seemingly refused to acknowledge the encounter-not wanting to embarrass the boy nor did he want to invoke the wrath of Elizabeth yet again. Instead he quietly followed Elizabeth out of the inn to the merchant shed mentioned knowing.

When they reached the merchant, which was a rather decently sized wooden booth containing items for sale ranging from furs to blades and even food, Flint took no time hesitating in picking out various items. First picking up a rather sturdy looking leather rucksack Flint began filling the empty pack with various dried meats and the occasional fruit along with a fair amount of furs. The merchant who ran the booth, a portly looking baby faced southerner, seemed to make it his business to follow Flint from item to item-voicing aloud his ever growing bill with each new purchase he picked up.

“I assume you'll be paying the full twenty gold pieces then?” The large well man dressed balked at Flint after he'd filled his pack. Of all the items Flint had gathered the price couldn’t have reasonably exceeded more then fifteen gold pieces, a fact Flint knew well as his right hand instinctively found its way to they head of a tomahawk that rested in his belt line. “I think you mean thirteen gold pieces, little man.” Flint barked in response to the mans comment, sounding extremely angry and provoked as he did so. Beneath his thick main of hair his face had even turned a slight red.

During the same time Flint was busy haggling with the fat merchant, over gold that wasn’t even his, he noticed three men out of the corner of his eye. The three were approaching rather fast, and as they gained ground Flint noticed them as the three men from the night before at the Inn. Only this time two of the men carried pitchforks and the third clutched a rather mean looking stick.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth was looking at a few things when she heard Flint haggling with the merchant. She makes her way over to them, wanting to make sure things don't get out of hand. While on her way over she spots the men from last night making their way to Flint, and from the looks on their faces in the weapons in their hands, she knows that there's no way they're going to back down this time. She puts herself directly in their path, blocking them from getting to Flint. "Unless you want trouble, you'd best turn around now." She says, pulling out her sword, ready for the fight. The men look at her, debating on whether or not they want to risk taking her on. After a few seconds, they decide they have the upper hand, three against her and Flint.

Elizabeth's hand tightens on her sword, seeing the decision in their eyes. They all rush at her, the one with the club, swinging it at her legs while the other two try to stab her with the pitchforks. She manages to jump over the club and dodge one of the pitchforks only to move right into the path of the second one which makes a direct hit on her left arm. She screams in a mixture of pain and anger as the man pulls the pitchfork back and takes aim again. She quickly brings her sword up and stabs the man who had stabbed her, landing a good blow in the arm that's holding the pitchfork. He curses loudly and drops the pitchfork.

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Flint quietly cursed at himself as he heard Elizabeth slightly scream in agony from the blow she'd received. Between being caught up in the arguing with the merchant and Elizabeth heading their attackers off Flint had honestly thought nothing would come from the group of ill equipped men, hed honestly thought they wouldn't have the gall to attack an official member of the kings guard. Apparently however the hate for Flint, a northerner, had overridden the groups logic.

Not hesitating for a moment Flints hands seemed to have a mind of their own, a tomahawk clutched tightly in his right fist before he had even completely turned to meet their attackers. Without any warning he let loose tomahawk with deadly accuracy, the gleaming blade head protruding from the skull of the poor man on the left who had been flailing wildly with a pitchfork. Before the poor fool who now wore a tomahawk for a hat had a chance to collapse to the ground Flint was already attacking the remaining villager who wielded a pitchfork, fear clear in his eyes after seeing his comrade dropped so quickly and his other partner in crime already bloodied from Elizabeth's attack.

Easily sidestepping the oncoming vulgar thrust of the pitchfork Flint was merciless in his response. Taking advantage of the opening his opponent had presented Flint wildly slashed at the mans exposed neck, slicing well past a quarter of his neck. Dropping the pitchfork and collapsing to the ground clasping at his neck and spraying blood the whole way down, Flint angrily spat at the squirming body on the ground.

His dirty fur vest and drab shirt were rather covered in blood as he turned to Elizabeth, who Flint fully expected to be standing over her dead atacker. The expression Flint wore before he spoke to Elizabeth was almost scary, the stone like look that covered his face was that of a pure warrior. “Are you ok?” He asked, concern clear in his voice as he drew his spare tomahawk from the head of his fallen opponent. “The bastards didn’t hurt you, did they?” As Flint finished asking he noticed the terrified look on the chubby merchant he'd been arguing with earlier. Hell, now they might even get away with simply paying ten gold pieces.

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The man Elizabeth had stabbed in the arm, looked at her in surprise. Taking that moment of surprise, she stabs him right through the heart. She watches as the man's eyes widen, seeing the life slowly draining from him. She reaches out with her foot, kicking him off the end of her sword. She turns to Flint when he speaks, seeing that he's taken care of the other two already. She won't admit it, but she's pretty impressed.

She looks at Flint, as his question registers in brain. She looks down at her arm where the pitchfork had stabbed her, seeing the blood trickling down her arm. She sheaths her sword, quickly covering the wound with her hand, mentally cursing herself for not having been fast enough to avoid all three attackers. "Eh, it's not too bad." She says with a small shrug of her shoulders, refusing to show weakness. In truth, it hurts like hell, but she'd rather die from blood loss than to ask for help. She rummages through her bag, using her teeth to tear a strip of cloth off one of her old shirts. She doesn't look at Flint as she tries to tie the cloth over her wound, finding it difficult to do with just one hand, but of course, hell would have to freeze over before she'd ask for help.

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Watching Elizabeth tie her arm off by herself with an old piece of shirt made Flint frown inwardly. He honestly wanted to help her. But what did he expect when almost every encounter with her had ended with him insulting her or her people? Quickly thinking he was an idiot and giving himself a good mental kick in the head Flint turned his attention back the the merchant-who Flint had noticed was now standing defensibly on the other side of his booth. The fat man eyed the dead men that lay in the street as Flint and Elizabeth approached him. Local peasants had already begun to strip search the poor dead fools for anything of value, a practice that seemed common among the various people who went by about their business, sidestepping the bodies as if they were left over puddles from a rainstorm.

“So then, we are agreed on eleven pieces of gold?” Flint asked the portly merchant who seemed to struggle with the 'yes of course' he gave in a stuttered response. “Elizabeth here will pay you.” Flint nodded to the wounded Elizabeth behind him. Before throwing the pack over his arm and sealing it shut Flint made sure to grab a nice thick roll of fresh gauze and stuff it into the bag, clearly thinking of Elizabeth's fresh wound even though neither of them would say anything of the incident.

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Elizabeth Moore


With the help of her teeth, Elizabeth is finally able to get the cloth tied around her arm. She glances over at Flint and the merchant, nodding her head as she quickly pulls out the eleven gold pieces, handing them to the merchant. She glances around at the townspeople, most of the side step the bodies, but a few, mainly men, seem to grow angry at the sight of the their fallen neighbors, even more so when they see Flint standing less than a few feet from them, knowing he had to have some involvement in their deaths. Elizabeth can feel the tension growing in the air. "We'd best get out of here before we have to fight off the whole town." She murmurs quietly to Flint, the first time she's even attempted a joke around him. She turns and walks away from the merchant, glancing over her shoulder at Flint, making sure he's following as she makes her way through town. Once they reach the edge of town, she slows down, letting him take the lead since she doesn't really know much about anything outside of the town.

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For once it seemed as if Elizabeth and Flint were in complete agreement, a fact he acknowledged with a sharp nod as the crowd began to grow slightly and slightly larger. “I think thats actually a very good idea.” And with that Flint and Elizabeth set out from the merchant square where the fight had taken place, fresh blood still clinging to each of their weapons as they fled the scene.

It wasn't long before they had both reached the outer limits of the city with Flint leading the way, the large stone wall that covered the entirety of the city was even within sight. The rest of their trek to reach the outside of the city had been rather uneventful aside from two separate occasions where younger men, children almost, had attempted to pickpocket both Flint and Elizabeth, however both attempts had ended with the wounded Elizabeth catching them in the act and chasing them off with not much more then a stern glare. Flint had been impressed.

As they passed through the gate of the ancient moss covered stone wall Flint had to admit he was impressed by the architecture. It was true his people didn’t believe in stone constructs, and yet he couldn’t help but somewhat marvel at the effectiveness of these defensive walls. Hell, it had kept him and his comrades out more times then he cared to remember. Brushing the memories aside Flint and Elizabeth ventured forward into the great forests that separated the city from the mountains where Flint had lived for the past several years.

After a day or two of hard traveling Flint and Elizabeth had found themselves deep within the heart of the great forests of the south. As night had approached Flint had cautioned Elizabeth that they should set camp, a fact Elizabeth had whole heartedly agreed with. Over the past two days it seemed as if the pair of companions had begun to form a slight comradery, it wasn’t friendship by a long shot but they had reached the point where they weren’t constantly verbally attacking each other, occasionally they even shared a kind word.

As the stars twinkled brightly high above them Flint idly stared at the small campfire both he and Elizabeth sat around. Grabbing a decently sized stick Flint poked at the red embers, taking care to stir them gently. Silently he wished to himself he'd picked up a bow and arrow when he and Elizabeth had visited the merchants quarter, he was already becoming sick of the dried meat and fruit they’d boughten. As he finished stirring the fire he stared across the glowing flames at Elizabeth, who appeared to already be sitting on her sleeping bag while yet again polishing her blade. The constant habit made Flint grin slightly. “Hows the arm?” He asked gruffly as he picked up a spare stick from his pile of lumber he'd collected for the fire, his spare hand finding its way to his large boot knife. He immediately began whittling at the stick he now clutched, a nervous habit he'd had sense a boy. “If you need fresh bandages I’ve some in my rucksack.” He quickly added, nodding to the large leather bag he'd been carrying almost all their supplies in.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth is sitting under a tree, her back against the trunk as she polishes her sword. She and Flint have been getting along a little bit better, at least they're not constantly at each others throats like they had been in the beginning. She looking up at the stars, or at least what she can see of them through the trees, as she polishes her sword, not really paying much attention to Flint. She doesn't think he'll run off now, figuring if he was going to run off, he would have tried it already, especially since she's wounded.

Elizabeth glances over at Flint when he asks about her arm. "It's alright," She says, glancing down at it, seeing the piece of cloth she had tied over it right after it had happened. They had been pretty busy the last couple days and she'd never really had the chance to change it. She sets her sword down by the tree and moves over to Flint's rucksack, rummaging through it a little until she finds the bandages. She quickly unties the cloth from her arm, sucking in air through her teeth as she peels it off, the cloth sticking to her skin a little from the dried up blood. She sighs quietly and glances around for some water to clean her wound with.

Spotting the water she moves over to it, tears off a bit of the bandages and pours a little water onto it, not wanting to use up too much of their water. She uses the wet bandage to dab at the blood, cleaning it up. The wound is pretty deep, but she's had much worse before. Once it's all cleaned up, she wraps it up again, with clean bandages. She glances over at Flint, seeing him whittling a stick. Thinking he's not paying attention, she lets the small smile form on her lips as she thinks about her father and how he used to whittle a lot too, when he wasn't working.

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After Elizabeth had finished bandaging herself the two were silent for awhile, the only sounds being that of the forests night life along with the occasional crackle of the fire along with Flints constant 'thunk' as he whittled away-he tried his best to make sure the wooden scraps found there way into the fire pit.

Finally breaking the silence Flint began speaking again, his hazel eyes finding their way yet again onto Elizabeths gaze. “I don't know what all you know of my people exactly, if anything.” He paused for a moment, as if unsure of his words. Durring the silence his whittling seemed to increase quite a bit, it was after all a nervous habit. Finally finding the words he spoke up again “But uh...Where I come from some people would consider us blood brothers.” He paused again, his eyes showing a hint of nervousness “Not that I mean your a man or anything!” He hastily added to the conversation, almost stumbling through his own words. “Just, you know, a saying among my people. We don’t have women who fight so the term doesn’t translate to well. I, uh, well...” Flint trailed off again, not even sure of what point he'd been trying to make. He was clearly referencing the battle in the city market that had taken place but could not find words to fully relate the point he'd been trying to make, and at this point he was just simply embarrassed. If it wasn’t for his thick beard Elizabeth probably would have even seen him blushing somewhat.

His whittling seemed to increase to almost super human speeds.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth quickly wipes the smile from her face as Flint looks over at her. She tilts her head to the side, as Flint talks, trying to figure out what he's trying to say. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as he seems to stumble over the words. "Blood brothers, huh?" She says, when he trails off the last time, not able to keep her face emotionless no matter how hard she tried, a small smirk appearing on her lips. She nods her head, taking a few seconds to get control of her emotions once more, wiping the smirk off her face. "Well, I should probably, uh," She says, trying to thank him for helping her with those guys, not sure she would have been able to take all three of them by herself, but she's never had thank anyone for saving her ass before so she's not really sure what to say. She runs a hand through her hair, "I should thank you for helping me out back there." She says, not really thanking him, just saying that she should, though that's the closest thing to a 'thank you' he'll get from her.

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Flint was shocked by Elizabeths response. To him it was almost an admission of thanks, or at least as close as the two would ever come Flint thought. He held his hand up in the air as if to stop her from speaking, the knife hed been using to whittle still clutched in his right hand. “No need for thanks Elizabeth. I know you'd have done the same for me. I'm just honestly surprised those fools had the nerve to attack us in the first place. My only real regret is I wasn’t paying close enough attention to help you before the Southern bastard had been able to land a blow.” He stopped speaking, the slight insult of southerners hanging in the air. Flint shuffled uneasily on his sleeping bag before quickly standing up and grabbing a spare log that he'd gathered earlier and threw it on the fire, which greeted the log with a loud 'pop'.

“I'm sorry about that. Its hard to not think of your Southern brethren as enemies. I'm sure you can relate, just the way I was raised among my people. You understand, yes?” Flint asked as he returned to his seat atop his sleeping bag. Quickly he reached into his rucksack and pulled out a large red apple and a decently sized piece of dried jerky. Without any word he offered the apple to Elizabeth from over the fire, the red flames making the apple glow a beautiful reddish hue.

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Elizabeth Moore


Elizabeth starts to let her guard down a little, a small smile on her lips as he talks, but at the insult of her people the smile quickly falls away, going back to her stonewalled self. She nods her head slightly when Flint asks if she understands. "Yes, I understand. But, unlike some people, I was trained to keep my opinions to myself and to know when not to run my mouth. Like in an Inn full of people who would much rather kill me than look at me." She says, not actually saying his name or anything, but the implications are clear. She reaches out and takes the apple from him, taking a bite as she leans back again, her eyes on the fire watching the flames dance.

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