Dec 1, 2014
espritchevalier liked this
' you left the templars, but the order sticks to your feet. '
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espritchevalier liked this
' you left the templars, but the order sticks to your feet. '
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espritchevalier
"a fine day it is to meet another so inclined on taking a path not... quite so weathered." trudging through ferns and brambles was always exciting, at least. by which arivis meant not at all. "what brings you off the trail?"
What had begun as a rather quiet night at a rather quiet pub had become anything but in a short time. The Bull's Chargers had rolled into the first hamlet they'd found for a bit of drink and a well-earned warm bed. At first, the tavern owner had been more than pleased with the sudden influx of patrons and the coin these weary mercenaries had brought. But, as the night wore on and the ale flowed freely, the weary band of sells-swords began to cause quite the ruckus, even as their numbers began to thin.
It seemed like for every drunkard that slunk away from the table to try and find the room they'd rented, their remaining comrades decided to grow louder just to make up for their lacking companions.
Loudest of all was their leader. Even seated, the one-eyed Qunari towered over most of the remaining men and women still sprawled at his table. And, he was apparently still not done drinking. There was a brief moment of silence from the horned man as he downed what may have been his fifth mug of stout (to the rowdy amusement of his chargers, of course).
But, it didn't last long. Soon enough, the Qunari raised his mug above his head and tipped it over to show those at his table that it was empty, much to their delight. Amidst the cheers, the Bull slammed his mug down on the table and turned a lewd, drunken grin at the weary tavern owner.
"Barkeep!" He slurred mirthfully, one huge palm planted on the table to sturdy his bulky frame as he waved the empty cup in the air. "I think that calls for another drink, what say you?!"
At this rate, no one in that little, once-peaceful town was going to get a wink of sleep thanks to how inconsiderate these sellswords were of their hosts and fellow travellers.
"Those who have the most power have the least grace."
silence, for a long moment,oh how the true rings likethe slaps and kicks, the leery grins of her betters,the nobles, the warriors,the merchants who deemedher less worthy of this life,the power they wield overlife and death, the alienationof one casteless to the next—to hell with their honor.there is a tightening of brosca’s eye, a grimace towide lips, mouth dry asthe past clings to her mind,the respond “aye" harsh andquick and many beats toolate."they are underservin’ o’such power.”