The Bard Babe
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Posts posted by The Bard Babe
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Edited by The Bard Babe
Arkin couldn't help but laugh as Arinth began his song again. Oh, what a time he would have with this man. He could see a long and fruitful future ahead.
At the sight of a few approaching cavalry thugs Arkin revised his statement. He could see a long and fruitful future ahead, provided they both survived the night.
Subtly turning to a position more likely to allow his acrobatic tendencies and ordering another round of drinks with a jangling wave of his hand, Arkin nonchalantly tugged on his gloves as Arinth and the cavalry had an astounding battle of wits, or lack thereof as the case may be.
Knowing the situation far too well, Arkin could count down the seconds until the first punch landed. He could see Arinth's doubtful glances at Arkin's apparent lack of size and strength, but the infantry man didn't yet know Arkin's style. His past was full of thievery and walking, sometimes quite literally, all over the thugs and guards that were tasked with capturing him.
He had been practicing on men like these since he was a tiny boy, and as Arinth was about to observe, size really made no difference to a man like Arkin.
As Arinth's face found itsself with an imprint of the lead cav's fist, the drinks arrived and Arkin tapped the nearest cav on the shoulder, leaning on the man's arm, seeing as that's where his own shoulder reach up to. Shocked, the man stopped his vicious growling and slow steps towards Arinth and turned to Arkin. With a grin, the scout picked up a drink from the table and held it out to the man. Obviously, the cavalryman was too caught out to know precisely how to respond. Arkin shrugged. "You looked like you could use a drink." he grinned before splashing ale into the man's face.
That was when the fight really picked up. Chanting grew around the room and the musicians onstage picked up a fast reel to match the growing noise and tumult.
Arkin was too busy smashing the second man-a shorter, stockier fellow with a stupid moustache-on the back of the head with his now empty mug, to notice any change in his external environment. Ducking under a punch from the newly-recovered ale-face, Arkin threw his mug at somewhere where the man would feel it and glanced over to check that Arinth was managing. Arkin winced as he saw the infantryman deliver a vicious bite to his initial attacker, who was already sporting a few beautifully blossoming bruises. Seeing the fellow Arkin had bashed on the head with a mug approach the pair, Arkin threw his back against Arinth's, and turned back to the giant ale-face.
Of the three, why had he ended up with the biggest?
Shaking his head, Arkin saw the man lunge towards him and quickly sidestepped, ducking and weaving, bending at angles impossible for most men and leading ale-face in circles around Arinth and their foes. Seeing a booth nearing, Arkin saw his moment and leapt atop it, showing off ale-face's bad brakes as the bigger man failed to stop and crashed into the table, crushing it and head-butting the wall, taking one of Arinth's attackers with him. Smaller men may have been knocked out, but ale-face's stature and thick skull unfortunately kept him awake, and the other man was quickly brought around. Taking advantage of his moment's respite, Arkin quickly gathered up all of the mugs around him and took a gigantic drink at any that had any liquid remaining and sent empty mugs flying at Arinth's attackers every time a man looked like he would break through the infantryman's defenses.
Seeing ale-face rear up near him and trusting his feet in a way only a drunk acrobat could, Arkin sent his remaining mugs flying and jumped off the booth, onto the heads and shoulders of the amassed crowd, many of whom who had started off merely cheering on the cavs or Arkin and Arinth, and were now fighting in amongst themselves.
About to set his body to full-scale bolting mode as ale-face's massive feet thundered in pursuit, Arkin was surprised by a fist flying from over his shoulder to hit the man square in the face. Grinning back at Arinth, who was rubbing his knuckles, Arkin bounced up onto the stage beside them and stole the fiddler's bow, brandishing it like a sword as he leapt onto a table, kicking the face or stabbing the eye of anyone who got too near as he reached over to Arinth. Throwing the bow into the eye of the man holding Arinth by his collar, Arkin knocked a pile of dice leftover from some abandoned game under the feet of his drinking buddy's attackers. As they stumbled back and slipped over, their balance not nearly as good on the ground as it was on a horse, Arkin threw a wink at Arinth and offered a hand to pull him up onto the table with him, where they both stood, back to back, ready to take on anyone who dared approach.
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Edited by Elgee
inserting paragraph breaksCeridwyn smiled brightly at the Mistress of Novices and took the proferred seat in front of the powerful woman. The office Ceridwyn had found herself in was similar in ways to her mother's study room, but everything in the office was real, as opposed to the numerous well-crafted, but nonetheless counterfeit designs found throughout her Fat Cat Inn back home.
Bringing her mind back to the moment at hand, Ceridwyn nodded at the woman who would be controlling her life for much of the foreseeable future.
"Why yes, Mistress, I was tested and brought here by Kevrin and Farrissa Sedai. They discovered me when they stopped off at my Inn in the Cairhien Foregate. We then progressed to do a long, long…very long ride to reach here as soon as possible. I believe Farrissa Sedai was...rather impatient.”
Ceridwyn was impressed with how she had managed to avoid cursing throughout the whole speech, even when remembering her intense dislike for Farrissa; she refused to give her the honourary Sedai title in her head and attempted to hide her simmering anger at the woman. It really didn’t take much to spark Ceridwyn’s short fuse, and having travelled on very little sleep due to her fear of the dark whilst having her feathers ruffled by the woman had slashed away any attempt at anger management, leaving Ceridwyn’s tired mind to flare into anger that much faster.
She still had managed to avoid swearing. This brought an even larger smile to Ceridwyn’s face as she awaited a response from the Mistress of Novices. It occurred to Ceridwyn that she had no clue what the woman’s name was.
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Are there any active illuminators RPing?
Does anyone wanna do an RP with my up in coming illuminator once her bio check is through? XD
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Ceridwyn took in the girl sitting on the opposite corner of the room. Her tanned skin held the slight red tinge of the thoroughly scrubbed and her chestnut brown hair gleamed slightly in the light as she ducked her head. The girl’s nerve-wracked, socially awkward and wary nature briefly melted away as she pulled a stray leaf out of her hair.
Ceridwyn’s curiosity was instantly fired up. This Nyanna seemed to have a great story behind her if she was scrubbed down and had leaves in her hair.
Standing up and walking over to Nyanna, Ceridwyn held out a hand for her to shake. Normally she would just go straight in and hug her, but Ceridwyn had sensed that Nyanna might not be quite up for that. “I’m Ceridwyn Taereth, but feel free to just call me Dwyn, everyone else does.”
Ceridwyn glanced up at the ceiling from where she stood and slowly spun around, her innkeeper’s eye looking for aesthetically pleasing places to add colour to. “You’re perfectly right, I just got in off the road-straight here from the Foregate, through night and day.” Hoping that her voice didn’t wobble like her knees did as she mentioned those nights lost in her fear of the dark, she made her way back over to the pile of novice whites she had abandoned upon entry.
“I tell you what, it’s going to be hard for me to get out of Foregate colours and into whites.” With a shrug, Dwyn reached back to attempt to untie her dress. Growling in the back of her throat, she added, “Harder, considering how well this knot is tied.” Looking over her shoulder back at Nyanna, Dwyn smiled pleadingly. “Would you mind helping me out? I’ve never been any good with these knots.”
As soon as she was sure the other novice was approaching, Dwyn asked, “So, you know where I’ve been dragged in from. Where are you from?”
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Arkin snuck a piece of bread into his mouth as he continued to wander the palace. He was now periodically scouring the floors in a random order so as not to be noticed, taking it all in once more, this time noticing every small thing and learning the nature of the people. A few times, he passed Yriel, or Arinth or Mehrin, but it was easy enough to ignore them.
He was shocked by a hand on his collar as he was pulled into a corner, coming face to face with Arinth. Arkin's heart slowed down fast enough, but he tipped his drinking buddy a glare anyway as the man explained his confusion. Arkin grinned at Arinth's lack of direction and servantly behaviour. He was one of those entered to dress up and play guard later on, unlike Arkin and Yriel who were really there to figure out an escape path.
Arkin rolled his eyes at Arinth's terrible cover story. "The main flaw in your plan there Arinth, is that you have no trunk.” he grinned, before pulling a flask out, half-emptying it and handing it over to Arinth quickly, keeping an eye out for any senior servants. Arkin had already come across a few and quickly figured out who they were. Best to keep out of trouble when he was undercover. Arkin was actually quite impressed with how little trouble he’d found himself in.
Taking an empty flask back from Arinth, Arkin quickly vanished it and stepped out into the corridor. With Arinth trailing behind him, Arkin made his way randomly down corridors, laughing at and correcting-or attempting to correct-Arinth’s terrible bad posture. He was too much of a soldier to be a servant.
Some voices caught Arkin’s ear as he made to round a corner. He slowly came to a halt, grabbing Arinth’s collar as the man made to continue on into the next corridor and pulling him back with some deal of effort considering the difference in their sizes.
Arkin put a finger to his lips and cupped a hand around his ear, gesturing around the corner, where he had heard the voice of the Seanchan highest, the woman that brought everyone to the floor with her mere presence. A lower voice, a man’s voice, was opposite hers, a voice Arkin had never heard, but could guess the owner of.
Arinth’s infantryman’s ears picked up on the voices much more slowly than Arkin, and so the scout ducked his head around the corner. The seanchan’s back was to him, and he could easily see the face of the mystery man over her back. He cocked his head to the side and pointed to a strip of red on his servant’s uniform once he had checked to see that there was no-one to see his suspicious behaviour but for the man.
The man didn’t look at Arkin at all, he didn’t even acknowledge that he knew he was there. There was a moment of tense waiting from Arkin, as he polished a piece of silverware and strained to keep the man in his vision. After Arkin’s eyes had started to hurt from watching the man in his peripherals, finally, the mystery man brought his hand up and itched his hair, gently brushing his red lapel on the way down.
Certain that their exchange had gone completely unnoticed, Arkin hung around for another moment so as not to draw suspicion to any particular movement made by either him or the man before moving back down the corridor with Arinth trotting next to him.
As soon as they had rounded another corner, Arkin grinned at his drinking buddy, restraining himself from more exuberant actions. “We know where Calder Berrick is. Now we just can’t lose him.”
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Edited by The Bard Babe
Arkin barely held back a laugh. Wow. He was the same as the others. Predictable. He had no idea when the last he’d been called predictable was. Light, he didn’t think that he had ever been predictable in his life. Maybe that was why he got on so well with the so blatantly straight-forward Arinth.
The circling continued, a good thing for Arkin. He cocked his head to the side slightly, taking in Mehrin’s words. He knew that information from his old Master, he just wasn’t so good at implementing it. Alright, he was bloody terrible at implementing it.
Mehrin’s sigh had Arkin itching to rub the back of his neck, but he resisted, adjusting his grip on his knives as the older man lunged forward to test his defence. With another yelp, Arkin ducked the blow before his brain could catch up, sending a sweeping horizontal blow at Mehrin’s guts, imitating the man as closely as he could.
He found his wrist caught and held with great ease by the big trainer. A brief shove from the man was automatically coped with by Arkin with no conscious effort on his part, which resulted in some eyebrow raising when Mehrin commented on his remarkable balance. Arkin’s grin at the praise was cut short by the flurry of blows that followed, leaving him breathless and his brain focussed completely on the training blades.
His muscles straining from over-use and his grip sweaty, Arkin took a deep breath and tugged off a shirt, leaving him in a light shirt that was much cooler.
“Now, we go again.” Mehrin ordered.
His mouth setting into a determined line, Arkin ducked away from Mehrin’s blows, by then somewhat used to them. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply duck and weave and occasionally throw a strike back at the older man, getting into the feel of the spar. Every time he got used to it, he felt the speed increase up until the point where Arkin’s mind had once more completely focussed itself on the fight.
Mehrin’s knife flew upwards from the level of Arkin’s waist to slash at his throat. Arkin brought up his knife to knock the blow aside and spun to the side so Mehrin’s arm was in front of him. Feeling his hair flash around to whip Mehrin in the face, Arkin let out a laugh, rewarded by a punch in the back from the older man that sent him flying into a forward roll. He flew back to his feet and sent a low blow towards Mehrin’s stomach. He blocked it with his own knife and Arkin flicked his other blade towards the trainer’s ribs. Mehrin blocked it as well, shoving it out of the way and stepping forward, refusing to release Arkin’s first blade and therefore forcing Arkin backwards. The smaller man relied on fast feet to not stumble as he worked to block the series of blows coming from Mehrin’s spare hand, flying quickly towards his face, his neck, ribs, thigh, stomach. About half of them connected as Arkin’s movement was thoroughly restricted and his fighting being done with only one hand.
Fighting through the panic in his brain, Arkin shifted his weight, once, twice, thrice, and whipped his arm out of Mehrin’s forceful block, bringing both of his blades up simultaneously to cross around either side of Mehrin’s and twist it out of his grip.
Deep shock took over Arkin’s senses and he could do nothing but stare at the training knife caught between his two blades. In some corner of his mind, he knew that he should move and do something, he knew that Mehrin had been going easy on him and that if he had wanted to keep ahold of that knife, then there was no way that Arkin would have it, but his reflexes were too distracted to react before a swift punch snapped into his face and threw him reeling to the floor.
Arkin didn't mind however, as he knew somewhere in his pain-clouded brain that he had just discovered his signature move.
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Arkin noticed that their pace of walking had slowed as they made their way to the recruit tent, but he made no comment, unsure whether to attribute their meandering to a desire to chat or a measure of difficulty from Jehryn.
He grimaced as the conversation turned to talk of uniform, but shrugged it off. His external...eccentricitiy was founded in his trinkets and his cloths, which could easily be added onto a uniform later on. Arki's brow furrowed as he considered the pang that hit his stomach as he heard the word 'uniform'. He's never worn a uniform, or anything vaguely close before. He'd never belonged to anything for long enough, he'd never wanted to belong to anyhting before. The thought of an enforced dress code had always disgusted him. Arkin enjoyed things being special, and so he'd never stuck around long enough for anythin to be every-day. Uniforms indicated responsibilty to a group and a long-term commitment of some sort.
Until now, the very thought had repulsed him. Light, he'd once moved from Andor to Ebou Dar just to avoid being stuck in a uniform.
And now, he found the idea strangely inviting. It seemed that the idea of committing to the Band filled in the hole that his Master had left behind. That was why he had searched the Band out, wasn't it? To find something else to commit to. To go and be what he was.
Arkin remained in silent contemplation throughout Jehryn's self-deprecative speech, concern creasing his brow as the man tore himself down.
When he asked whether Arkin really wanted to do this, it gave him a moment of pause. Commitment. A uniform. Belonging somewhere, having somewhere to go back to, people to go back to. It was the one adventure he hadn't yet tried, and now he found that yes, yes, he really did want to.
Giving Jehryn a nod and what was to become his trademark grin, Arkin reached out to clap him on the shoulder. "Well, maybe you're right, but personally..." Arkin stopped to give a shrug. "I don't think all heroes are found on the battlefield, sir."
There was only one person that Arkin had ever called sir before and meant it. The title had simply slipped out at the end of his statement. A sincere smile took over his face and Arkin felt a moment of affection for the medic. Stepping closer to the tent, Arkin took a deep breath and straightened his scarf, shaking his head to clear it and checking to make sure his flasks were still concealed. After a moment of thought, he took a swig from one before hiding it once more within the folds of his clothing.
He opened his arms up to Jehryn. "Do I look ready to meet the recruit master?" he asked with a grin.
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As the other scouts slowly emerged form the bushes, Arkin pulled off the bandanna that held back the clinking noise from his hair trinkets and earrings and such. He shook his head to release his hair, releasing a soft ringing and dull clanking into the air as he ran a hand through the dark locks. It had been a long day and they were heading back to the Citadel, after a day rather lacking in entertainment as far as intruders went. The downfall of being a scout was that Arkin couldn't cure his boredom by his default technique of loud singing, instrumental improvisation and chatter, as the job description of a scout detailed the need to be silent, something Mehrin had picked up on straight away. And so, Arkin had been suffering through in complete silence, actually doing work with no distractions. Up until now.
The man before them now turned his magnified eyes onto their dress, their scouting 'uniforms'. His comments, drawn from the obvious connotations of their clothing, shocked the other scouts, but Arkin merely barked a laugh, amused by the man's intelligence and his free tongue, similar to Arkin himself.
The man turned to Arkin and asked clearly whether they were of the Band. The other scouts didn't deal well with having an intelligent man around, and Arkin couldn't help but laugh at the lack of forethought the man displayed. He asked their origin because he wanted to know, he was curious, not because of any result their identity would have on him.
The man's nerves quickly showed themselves as he hurriedly re-asserted his oh so threateing armed state before Arkin could respond.
Everyone's eyes widened as the man raised his obscure weapon over his head. His face quickly fell and a look of horror put everyone on alert as the call to hit the floor went up. Fast reflexes which were a trademark of the scouts made sure that most of the crew did as they were bid before the blades flew out of either end of the man's staff.
Arkin, who was closest to the man and directly in the blades, grabbed the newest, rawest recruit who was standing right behind him with paralytic shock over his face, and threw him down to the ground. Arkin himself didn't bother-he was much shorter than the blade's trajectory.
Opposite him, the scouts' biggest member sidestepped from the blade's path and grunted as it buried into the tree beside his head. He scowled at Pahl and wrenched the staff from his grip, throwing it over to Arkin, who caught it in one hand and pulled up the guy he'd forced to the floor with one end.
Holding out a hand to the man who had wielded the weapon and leaning on his staff, Arkin grinned and nodded. "Not to worry friend, we are indeed of the Band of the Red Hand. And who would you be, with your amazing technology?"
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The Pink Loincloth Tavern
in The Band of the Red Hand
I wanna see more of Europe. And I wanna go to America. Anywhere in America, I haven't tackled there yet, but I think I have plenty of time for global gallivanting, and I plan to take on Europe instead of going to schoolies.
Do you guys have schoolies? (In Australia, all the grade twelves that just finished school go up to the gold coast for what is called schoolies week, during which time they all get either high or drunk or both and stay that way for a whole week. They actually give the schoolies a whole beach and guard it against toolies (Too old for schoolies))