M'Kay.. I'll start with one of my most recent..
Roleplay from Janna Da Hadez (24 days, 1 hour ago)
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The sergeant-at-arms of the training yards in Azzal carefully reviewed his situation.
He was lying on the ground. That was a given because the cold of the flagstones was seeping through the iron of his backplate with some insistence. There was a tight, hot pain making itself known somewhere below his stomach.. which itself was trying hard to release everything that had been presented to it in the last day. His jaw felt as though it belonged to someone else. He decided he didn't want to be around when it found him.
There was more. Someone was lying on top of him. Probably his second, Barker, judging by the stench of cloves and vinegar and the sheer dead weight pressing down on his thighs. What else? Odd.. The yard was silent.. which was wrong because last he remembered the evening drill had been well underway.
He opened his eyes with trepidation.
There was a woman looking down at him.
Oh yes.. The Woman.
She had marched up to him bold as brass in her wrecked and filthy bronze armour and had demanded to inspect his best infantry recruits. She had said something about presenting her noble credentials. He had said something that, in retrospect, had probably neither been as witty or safe as he had imagined.
Now he was lying helpless on the ground under a fat man who smelled of foreign condiments and whom, it now seemed, also suffered from a distressingly weak bladder.
He heard her, from a continent away, barking orders in a husky voice that, even in his prone and soiled state, caused hairs all over his body to rise. Possibly in self defence.
"The ten best swordsmen in this yard will fall-in behind me now." the voice growled.
He could hear the urgent clatter of armoured boots, set against a rising background of what passed for whispering between men deafened by thick padded helmets. He felt a damp chill as the still warm rays of the evening sun were blocked from him by a line of men.
"You men will follow me."
It was a declaration, not an order.
The sergeant contemplated his position as the sound of marching men faded, leaving only the echoed murmuring of the soldiers in the yard and the occasional badly stifled burst of laughter.
As he tentatively rolled the still recumbent Barker away and freed his numb and soaking legs he decided someone would suffer for this outrage, though he was not yet sure who.
Ideally it would be someone without a punch like a siege engine, the speed of a striking serpent and a knowledge of male anatomy that would put his unreasonably expensive female acquaintances from the docks to shame.
Nevertheless; someone would suffer and there were drills to complete.
Janna Da Hadez (Freeman)
