Thanks man. How 'bout this?
(Rather than read 14 pages of RP, I'm just gonna start out where Tom left it open. I'll try to jump in, but this one may have some time lag.)
It was raining again, as it often did in the port city. He didn't mind the rain, but gods above did he hate the sea, and all the sailing that came with it. Not that his stomach protested, but rather, something about being anyway that far from solid ground, well, he didn't trust it all too much. Mahrstadt was a main thoroughfare between the north and the south. It wasn't exactly a place that too many people stayed for too long. Most of the 5000 inhabitants had settled down and found work tending to the others that were passing through themselves. Halden himself didn't plan on staying long, but due to the storm, it didn't seem he had much choice either. He was on his way south. That's where the money was, not to mention any hope of finding an organized force to serve with. Lucky for him, he had made an arrangement with the ship's captain. Twice the fare up front in furs, granted they arrived in two weeks, two days longer than the voyage usually takes anyway. Then 10 silver back every day they were late. Call it paranoia, or insurance that the man get him there safe and in one piece. The captain had laughed at him at the time, and gladly took the goods, but now due to the storm, it looked like he would have free passage.
Might as well enjoy the colonies.
Most of the other stranded passengers, from his ship or others were markedly upset at the delay. Halden hadn't planned on spending any time in the Colonies, but now, given the opportunity, and not knowing when he'd have the chance again, it didn't take him long to find the adventure in it.
There was a pub nearby the docks. A regular stop for the sailors on their way through. Before they docked, he had talked with a few of them, and they had asked him to join them for a drink. Leave it to a sailor; in the middle of a storm, the sails whipped around, the rigging ready to snap, and the hull being tossed in the ocean like a child in a mother's arms to only think of the next bit of rum. Well, Halden could do little but accept. He was a man of the north. Tall, six feet even, strong, and pale skin. He had done a fair bit of drinking in the cold nights of winter in the longhouses and bailies of the northern lords. (They called themselves lords, but in truth, they were more just warlords or tribal chiefs.) He would just have to see how these southern seamen hold up.
"So you want to be a soldier, eh boyo?" The man called Thomas was a quick friend to Halden on the ship, though he seemed a quick friend to any he met, especially if drinking was involved. He hair was scraggly and grey, though he couldn't have yet been forty, and his teeth were only mostly intact.
"I'd like to lead them, if that's what you mean." There were about ten of them making their way to the pub, Halden included. It was hard to tell, because one man or another kept getting pulled off the rest by a flirty wench, trying to make the night's wage. Halden could see the whores kept a close eye on the ship, and when one came in, they'd go straight to work. This storm more like than not was good for business.
"Oh I'm sure you would, and I'm sure you could. You seem the man I'd follow."
"Thomas, you'd follow any man as long as there's drink to be had."
A short guffaw with a half-toothy smile made the man look older than he was. "Guess that's why I work for the captain I do I'd say."
By the time they got the bar, five of them were left. The others off to alleys or brothels or other parts of the city to spend their pay. The remaining party sat at a table in the corner of the room while Wil, another of the men, went to the bar to get a round of drinks.
Betting and dice was more his brother's style, but Halden just liked a good drinking game, and the sailors were only too eager to test his endurance. Halden had learned a few tricks though on how to cleanse his system, or at least accelerate it. It took a while to concentrate and perform the technique, but then again, you were drinking over hours. spontaneous magic (Change/Body - 1-2-1) (1 shift)
After a while, it became amusing to Halden, watching the sailors begin to slur and stumble. All the while, maintaining himself. A great deal of fun and a good deal of laughing was had, and at the end of it, his stamina impressed them enough that they started calling him 'Man of Stone' in their southern dialect. It wasn't long after that that Halden began to feel an itch to do something. No direction, just an urge. Well enough, the sailors seemed spent as they were. He reached into his pocket and gathered a few coins to leave on the table, not stopping to count exactly. With a man leaning on each of his arms, he began his way back to the ship.
First Mate Jones was the first to spot him on his return trip. Jones was half-sitting, half kneeling on the rail of the ship, smoking his pipe and looking omniscient. Halden thought he was a bit of a damp canvas when it came to a good time, but he was loyal and did his job well. Views he most likely got from his sailor friend.
Halden called up to the man, "Do you mind if I deposit these here," as he gestured toward his friends, "haven't the coin to put them up myself."
"As long as they won't mind my asking them to do a few chores in the morning. We might not be sailing on the morrow, but there's still work to be done."
"Yes yes, sail to sew and rope to splice and all that." As Halden said this he slowly let down those of his friends leaning on him, and they stumbled clumsily up the ramp.
"And where will you be staying tonight sir?"
"I'm off to see the island Jones, I'll be back before you sail."
And with that, Halden set off once more towards the city. It was late. Coming on midnight now, though the town was hardly asleep. With all the business done, the whole place was pretty well lit. When he inquired a shop keeper about the late hours, he got the response that should have been obvious.
"This storm has brought all the ships into port. There's a few hundred sailors and passengers alike now traveling through here. Best time for business I ever did see. And it's not like there the types who're unfamil'r with the nightlife, eh? My nephew will take over for me when I go to sleep, and we'll keep the shop open all night. Just good business."
He made his way down the streets, poking his head in and out of shops, briefly examining their wares. It probably wasn't hard to tell he wasn't a local. Cloth was plentiful in the Colonies, and made up most everything. Clothing was all cloth, vendors used it for makeshift shops, buildings had them for doors. Cotton and flax were in great supply both on the mainland and the island itself. So Halden's own leather vest under a chainmail shirt stood in stark contrast. Day or night, he could be seen wearing it. He had even slept in it on occasion. Habit of the north: it's not like you take too many clothes off. He had left his breastplate on the ship, having removed it when boarding. Something about platemail just isn't conducive to sailing. A hand-and-a-half blade adorned his back, and though he got a few uncomfortable stares because of it, especially when entering a shop. As long as he kept it well away in it's sheath, he didn't get much trouble though. Finally, he came by a place that was selling something interesting. A hunting shop. It was a simple building, sharing walls with its neighboring buildings. The shop itself was a single room with a closet and a staircase, leading up to the shopkeepers house, a style largely common in the South. Here in the Colonies though, it was more like a tent on top of a shed.
Much of the island was still unsettled wilderness, and so hunting and trapping was still valid business. Coming from the north, Halden was especially experienced in this trade. He looked at the walls only a moment before pulling down what he needed from the hooks it hung from. Rope, canvas, string, a small knife, a deerskin pouch, and a quiver of arrows. The shopkeep watched him lazily as he gathered the things, sitting in a chair in the corner by a small brazier. A desk next to him.
"That it?" The shopkeep said, obviously growing tired from the long hours.
"Actually, could you help me with something else," Halden replied.
"That was my next question." The comment came of sarcastic, although most likely unintended.
"Flint?"
"Sure thing." As he reached nimbly into his desk and dropped a small piece of black rock on top of it.
"What about a bow, this is a hunting shop after all."
"Well I don't keep them on display, if that's what your asking." The shopkeep got to his feet for the first time and walked to the nearby closet, opening it and turning to Halden, asking,
"You have any particular preference?"
"Not as long as it get's the job done."
"Fair enough." And the shopkeeper tenderly lifted out a wooden shortbow and a bit of string.
"Want me to string it for you."
"Won't be using it that soon." And he took both the bow and the string from the man, and set them on the desk. From his own pocket, he then drew out a few small chunks of what looked like glowing brown balls. He held out three with one hand for the shopkeeper to see.
"Polished amber, from the North."
The vendor's eyes did in fact brighten, but he followed up with, "That's very nice, but you won't be getting off that easy."
"I'm not one to haggle," Halden replied tersely, and he placed two more in the extended and and then placed all five in the palm of the shopkeep. He didn't protest.
Halden laid out the canvas on the floor of the shop and began to place his purchases inside. Save for the rope, he rolled the whole bunch up, the rope he then weaved in and out each end of the canvas roll to make a makeshift pack. He threw it over one shoulder, hatlessly doffed the shopkeep, who smiled minimally back at him, and then made his way to the woods.
*****
Halden didn't see any animals, and only sparsely was able to find their tracks, but then again, he wasn't really looking. It was just good to be outside on the hunt, and with solid ground beneath him. He found a nice clearing and decided to call it a night. He knelt down, and with his flint in hand, began to make a fire. spontaneous magic (Create/Fire - 1-1-3) (1 shift) He always had a natural knack for it, unsure exactly why. His father had told him that he was empowered with a gift at birth. But of course, being the son of the master-at-arms was a gift in itself. We warmed himself briefly, but it took no great while before he had layed himself on the ground and threw the canvas over him.
A Dream, but too real. Smoke. Hard to see. A village. Snow? Not the North. Thick with smoke. Hard to breathe. Water nearby. Can hear it. Closer now, village too. A river, with huts. Not alone. Soldiers. Clinking of metal. Can hear it, but too hard to see. "Sir." They know me. My soldiers. What village? Where's the smoke coming, ... around. Others. In rags. Hard to smell. By the river. Flashes. "Sir!" Screams. The river isn't water. Look up. Red. Forest is red, river is red, village is red.
Halden jolted up. For a moment he couldn't even see. He only felt. A cold sweat over a hot body. He was breathing frantically, his body coursing with energy, and his mind, out of control. spontaneous magic (Harm/Fire - 3-3-1) (3 shifts)
(Well, that's spontaneous fire magic, so I guess I'll let someone else RP the effect. Have fun. :-) )
