[FE: Episode 1] Emergence

The_IQ

New Member

Silvergrove
Mercenary ward
1000 City time
Slightly clouded, light rain



"Hear ye, hear ye," a crier shouted while waving around a loud bell. Causing the countless mercenaries that were waiting in this particular ward to cease their chatter and listen in. When a crier came to their quarters, it meant there was a sign-up and a job to be had. Unlike the people that entered and took one or two with them, criers often recruited extra forces for caravans. And caravans went out into the wastes. "Warriors, Mercenaries o' note'n present wastewalkers, hear ye! Th'Silver Merchant's guild be lookin' fer additional guardians fer a journey utmost ardeous in the wastes! We will depart in two days and shall take two weeks to reach Steelward!" He rung his bell once. "If yer certain y'got what it takes, report to the guild with due haste! Thank ye!" He brought his bell up again and started to repeat his message.

Among these mercenaries, towered none other than the former Thuluk chieftan, Arsenal. Who folded his hands as he listened, before nodding to himself. The large brute turned to his feet and casually moved over through the crowd, shoving and pushing aside anyone in his way roughly. He earned some ire, but most people were wise enough to leave the pointy eared, green-skin alone. They were quite a bit shorter than the massive stature of the man. And anyone was wise enough to not pick a fight with the masked savage.

It didn't take long for Arsenal to reach the guild. A scribe at a small, makeshift desk placed outside on the courtyard of the rather large, yet modest building. It wasn't constructed of polished marble or needlessly decorated. It was merely a large building to house the merchantile's bussiness. The desk had a sign infront of it, 'mercenaries' painted in black, sloppy letters. Arsenal moved into the queue. And just a few seconds later, he let out an annoyed grunt and just moved forward, putting his hand on the shoulder of the man that was currently writing and pulling him back. If looks could kill, he'd be dead by now. But they didn't, and Arsenal stared the man down, before turning to the desk. The scribe was taken aback by his rude mannerisms, but moreso by just how large Arsenal was. Pushing the small glasses on his nose, "N-name?" she stuttered, pulling up a new paper. "Arsenal, chieftan of the Thuluk tribe, leader of the Riv-elite" a deep voice, laced with a thick tribal accent came from him. Only made smothered and metallic due to the mask. Most people that were either complaining about his cutting in line or idly chattering were momentarily silenced as the name of the Thuluk tribe dropped. Everyone had heard the stories. The Thuluk raiders, the Riv-elite. "R-... Right away, Sir Arsenal," a soft grunt came from him and a hand softly thumped against the table. "Chieftan," he corrected. Before standing up straight again.

The freckled scribe eeped, before nodding. "Apologies, chieftan," she stated, pushing her glasses back up to her freckled nose. Causing a content hum from Arsenal. Being slightly reassured by the noise, she proceeded. "You realize the caravan departs in two days? Pay is 20 silver per day, daily pay-out. If you... Die," a slow growl from came from him, causing the young woman to swallow thickly. "We salvage your gear and bury you in the wastes. You bring your own gear. Are those terms agreeable?" A soft chuckle now resounded from the man. "I do not die. I agree," he nodded. Before turning around and leaving the queue, rolling his shoulder. "Wait, don't you need to-" he was already off, not interested in knowing where the meet-up point was or when exactly they'd depart. He'd just spend the coming nights at the main gate like the vagrant he was forced to live as due to a lack of contracts.
 

Jack Pine

Active Member
The 5'5 female figure in tight leather armor, a hooded cloak, and scarf with all of them in black. A rather large glaive across her back as she walked past the chief without so much as an acknowledgement of existence. Nora steps to the front shoving aside the person who had stepped up. "Nora. I don't care about the specifics, I agree. Now tell me where to go."
 

Hoshi

Well-Known Member
Silvergrove

In hiding and with nowhere much to go besides away from this city, the light teal and pink fringe-haired girl had made her way through the crowds and towards the line. Several people moved away after signing up and she waited patiently. The brusk attitude of the clan chief did nothing to assuage her concerns. "Mercenaries," she read and a part of her was concerned about the title she was now taking. But when one had the title of Queen and shirked it, one was always worried about any new mantles taken up. She waited her turn until the person in front of her was shoved aside, at which point, she crossed her arms and made a small pout with her lips while her foot idly tapped.
 

The_IQ

New Member
Silvergrove
Mercenary ward


Writing down the last details of Arsenal, adding a small note that she'd be positively surprised he would be present, she looked up to Nora next. Arching an eyebrow, before frowning. "Nora. Two days, main gate," she answered curtly. If the woman wanted to be swift and efficient about bussiness, she wouldn't at all complain. The individual that was shoved aside by Nora muttered 'bitch' under his breath as she left, before shaking his head and starting his sign-up as well.

When finished, the freckled, bespectacled woman glanced up to Grove and tilted her head. Before looking down at her sheet. "-...Name?" She questioned, quill moving down to jot down the response. "The-... Urhm, caravan will depart in two days," she stated. Looking up to Grove with a concerned look. "The pay is 20 silver per day, pay will be docked upon death-... Are you sure you want to do this?" She questioned with genuine concern. The scribe wanted to start to explain the horrors the wasteland held to the seemingly innocent girl. But everyone had heard the horror stories. Everyone knew the wastes were considered suicide. But then again, so much people were desperate enough as well. Though regardless, the girl's name came jotted down. Senna knew way better than to try to talk the desperate ones out of it.

Silvergrove
Main Gate (North), Silveria's Grace district
0900 City time

Clear skies, -2°C

Arsenal took it on himself to live as a beggar near the main gate, using the little coin he had left to spend his nights in the tavern. Trading mead for much of his stories of righteous, glorious and most importantly, gory battle. The two nights he spend on the streets near the main gate. Somewhere in an abandoned alleyway, was always in a drunken stupor. The fated day of the caravan departing in the wastes was one he woke up to with a massive hangover. Grunting in pain as he wobbled over to the preparing convoy. The same scribe present, most likely either the caravan leader or their hand. Still slightly drunk, the chieftan grabbed her desk and slurred out his name, grasping one of the pouches of silver. Before moving on to one of the mercenary designed wagons. Pulling himself in and propping himself up on a bench, falling asleep. A loud snoring starting from behind the metal mask. Senna arched an eyebrow as she had to make do with her memory of roughly seventy mercenaries and a slurred name. Then again, Arsenal wasn't all too hard to remember either. Twirling the feather around in her hand, the scrollkeeper waited for the other mercenaries that had signed up their name.
 
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