Jump to content

Shanty

Members
  • Content Count

    16
  • Joined

  • Last visited

2 Followers

About Shanty

  • Rank
    Apprentice

Recent Profile Visitors

72 profile views
  1. The falcon-eyed man looked to Azelhart, fixing his boots to a precise alignment before addressing his fellow advisor. “I impelled Warin, Job, Vicar, and Lambin. They will return once they find something worthwhile. Should they not, my hard-working scouts will be here before sunrise.” As the pulsing sun steeped farther towards the horizon, the small shine of Jericho’s stone eye dulled. “I’ve seen night swallow men like hapless lambs; I assure you my scouts were elected well.” With that, the silvery-haired man turned his attention back to the construction of fortifications. Jericho found small pleasure in watching the outpost refine itself. Though a usual tenant of stuffy war halls and map rooms, Jericho could recognize the simple worth of sweat and vigor.
  2. Jericho quickly mobilized to chart an assault. He began with eying the leanest men in the outpost, swift to note that they acted as scouts given their nimble physiques. Bestowing the scouts with little more than a marked map, Jericho sent them off to probe the encampment. After marshaling his patrol, Jericho turned his attention to the camp and its poor fortifications. He spent the rest of his time in daylight’s fleeting embrace ordering sentry towers and barricades, hoping the dogged soldiers would make short work of their construction.
  3. “I’ll see to it as soon as I can once I’m supplied with men.” Neither thrilled nor repelled by the prospect of military action, the ends of Jericho’s face remained frigid as he replied. “Is it known if the pillagers are well armed?” The tactician’s mind set itself alight as he considered the angles from which he could engage a bandit encampment.
  4. Jericho fastened his cuffs before turning to Addison. From thin lips came airy words, the kind of speech fashioned to fill bureaucratic halls. “I do see... potential in this sordid place.” The snow-haired man looked out to the passage, reeling at the sight of ramshackle tents and inadequate fencing. “Should we take Azelhart’s proposals to heart, we could perchance make something of this outpost.” “If we provide sufficient lodging, we could set our sights on more... ambitious matters.” Jericho dug his heel into the soil beneath it, attempting to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. “Just how far will these roads stretch, Mr. Azelhart? I’m certain you grasp how much of an undertaking it would be.”
  5. Among the more rugged men and women stood a man with slick white hair and a gaunt countenance. Despite his blanched features, Jericho Wyrd proved to be a fairly youthful man, his buckle-tipped boots having walked the earth for a mere thirty-five years. There was a certain strangeness to the way he conducted himself. In sharp contrast with the bustling soldiers, Jericho steadied himself to the ferry’s planks with arched shoulders and aligned feet. He took measured steps as he disembarked the ship, exacting to the very inch. Only adding to the man’s eccentricity was what stood lodged in place of his right eye. A dulled jade stone protruded from Jericho’s face, glinting along its edges with the beating sun’s luster. The tactician scanned the outpost with a small, learned sheen in his singular eye, plans and designs already running about his thoughts like whistling stars against a blackened sky. He also would regroup with Addison, awaiting further order from the Master Knight.
  6. “I um, I fear Gallia’s a pond’s length from here.” Brighton chuckled to himself, conceding his contact information anyways. Once he settled his exchange with the mercenaries, the cleric strode lightly to Addison. He was sure not to pace too airily, as he knew unburdened steps to be a privilege most of the grisly conscripts incapable of enjoying. ”Where to now?” No matter his battered coat, Brighton had come to appreciate the time he spent in Valucre’s untamed wilderness. He often found his senses dulled by Rheya’s docile stone streets, so the worth of damp soil and muggy air was not lost on him. @Phoebe
  7. “I believe so.” Tentatively, Brighton patted the Master Knight’s shoulder, hoping it would ease her back into the world he himself had readjusted to. There was a certain calming quality to the plainness in his pallid face, one he perhaps had acquired over the course of his medical work. However, his muted expression quickly furrowed as the stench of decaying flesh rose, forming a sickly, swirling brew with the once unsullied breeze. Hoping to occupy himself, Brighton flashed Addison as small, reassuring grin and turned to aid the maimed soldiers. As he steadied one by his shoulder, Brighton waved his bare palm over the man’s exposed flesh, causing his tendons to reform and his skin to fold back upon itself. ”How long’s the trek from here?” He’d call back to Addison, hoping his louder voice wouldn’t agitate her. @Phoebe
  8. Brighton thrusted his arms forward, causing his spiraling blades to part in two and speed towards the boar men with ear-splitting velocity. If he were to slay the beasts closest to him, the cleric would clumsily duck past the singed pig man as it soared behind him and attempt to regroup with Addison. As his initial adrenaline high dulled on him, the stench of greasy flesh would lurch upon Brighton’s senses, impairing him somewhat as he attempted to reconvene with the Master Knight. @Phoebe
  9. Brighton’s untrained stance would shift as Addison’s did. He dug his shoes firmly into the soil, swaying his arm to the closest swine man, waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. Just as the creature drew a mere wagon’s length from him, Brighton clenched his fingers, causing his sanguine barbs to gash the soot-tainted air and whistle towards the monster’s neck. ”I pray this doesn’t violate my medical vows!” Brighton chuckled nervously to himself, hoping to the sky above that Addison’s voice would ring out through the dust. @Phoebe
  10. “I’ve only a few combat spells!” Brighton quickly shut himself up, staring back to the beastly hog men he had most likely alerted. The cleric could feel their bellows of humid breath blast against him as they drew closer. Channelling some odd sense of timely resolve, Brighton pulled a small glass shard from his coat pocket and slid it across the pale skin of his palm. Rather than falling along his forearm, the blood which inevitably trickled out from his laceration began to swirl out from his hand, suspending itself in air as it formed strange, angular shapes. Scarlet needles danced about the cleric as he turned back to Addison, shooting the Master Knight a small nod. @Phoebe
  11. With little hesitation, Brighton ducked off into cover between the wagons, watching as bodies fell to the ground about him. His expression grew chillingly flat as men and women lost themselves in large billows of dust, obscuring Addison from his sight as well. Pangs of guilt rippled through his skin as death swirled around him, though he’d solemnly realize that most, if not all the soldiers were beyond his aid. ”M-Master Knight!” The cleric called out sightlessly to Addison, still managing to keep his etiquette in line. @Phoebe
  12. Brighton shirked as the sound of air-piercing wood rung out, only to settle with a grisly crunch. The cleric lifted himself slightly from his nook, compelled to aid the man. However, he’d seat himself quickly, unsure of what else could emerge from the wooded abyss around him. He was no stranger to battle scars, but rarely did he find himself tending to soldiers mere moments after affliction. “Wh-where’d it come from!?” @Phoebe
  13. The cleric, his senses mercifully unfettered by the lengthy trek, made swift notice of the jungle’s many features. A pair of vibrantly-shaded, slickly feathered birds flew overhead, only to vanish back into the forest depths mere moments later. A cacophony of woodland noises rung out as rays of serrated light gleamed down through the canopy. Before he could lose himself in the jungle’s presence, a large, colorful plant caught Brighton’s sight. It was a strange shape, nearly taking the form of a human figure. “Oh-oh Addison!” He’d call to the Master Knight, failing to register her earlier inquiry. “That there’s a wise woman.” He’d sway his finger to the growth he spotted. Held in the floral body’s arms was an urn-like pouch, one filled with some sort of watery secretion. “Its nectar is said to have regenerative properties.” @Phoebe
  14. Brighton scanned the men and their weaponry with an inquisitive glint in his dulled eyes. He boasted little expertise when it came to armaments, but always was quick to identify items of uncanny character. He was drawn to one in particular, a long rifle with an odd shaft. In place of an ordinary gun barrel was a pillar of dried wax, a series of arcane characters etched along its length. The outlandish element of its otherwise regular composition made the rifle seem more akin to a large candle, as melted wax lined the muzzle's rim. "Euh, that one's... odd." He'd point to the exotic firearm. @Phoebe
  15. Brighton nodded shrinkingly as he heaved himself up with the Master Knight's aid. "Those weapons, of what nature are they?" He'd peer back to the crowd, his eyes quick to make level with their outlandish arms. @Phoebe
×
×
  • Create New...