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VoB - Bluttenburg Pass
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Konrad Ingmann
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PostPosted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 11:12 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

As the men ushered themselves in, as much to assauge their hungers, as to escape the cold, Ingmann cast a keen eye over the tower's interior. The history of the Nissian empire had never interested him overly much. It was his habit to disparage histories or, at least, those with an esteem for the past. Yet the place had a strange feel, something like a frontier post on the gulf between one hundred thousand yesterdays and today. The soldiers who garrisoned the tower looked out of place to Ingmann, and he wondered if he were not the same.

Holtz wrote:
"Ingmann, you seem well travelled. Is your home in the south as depressingly chilling this forsaken place?"


Ingmann turned and nodded politely to the Lord. He made an effort to put on his best demeanour. 'I should say that my homeland is considerably colder, my Lord. We are accustomed to taking our baths every morning in the snows, if they have fallen, and they often have. The cold does not bother me much,' he replied. Alomost as he said it, Ingmann felt the cold grip his bad hand, gently pulling and throbbing at his scar, making the bone ache, and causing his heart to race a little.

[OOC - Ingmann will generally try to avoid anything but small talk at the table, and will be more interested in listening to the others. He has lost his appetite for company, and is focussing on trying to ignore the growing pain in his hand. He will be pleasant, but will try to avoid being overly informative. Through the meal, he will ask simple questions about the coming expedition, if there is a lull in conversation]
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Raphaelus the Younger
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PostPosted: Sat Nov 28, 2009 12:54 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Louis de la ForÍt wrote:

"Fernus? No monsieur, I don't know that name. Perhaps if you can tell me something about him, it might jog my memory, though."


Raphaelus' face returned to its previous tired set, his eyes losing the curious spark they had possessed just a moment before. "No. It was but a passing fancy. Never mind." His eyes began to wander again, and for a time he appeared to be looking through Louis, before regaining his composure. "Now, if you will excuse me, I really must retire. Good night." He closed the tent flap behind him, leaving the Gustan outside. Lighting a small candle, he reached once more for his satchel.

[ooc]It seems to most of the camp followers that Raphaelus has taken an early night to sleep. However anyone coming close enough to his tent will be able to see the faint glow of candlelight pushing its way through the canvas, hear furious scribblings and occasional muttered swearing in Balorian. Raphaelus works long into the night, spending nearly six hours translating The Book of Qei'thuth. He collapses into sleep three hours before sunrise.[/ooc]
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Louis de la ForÍt
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PostPosted: Sat Nov 28, 2009 9:25 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Louis nodded at the scholar's abrupt departure. "Poor old man probably has no stamina left. He'll probably be asleep in moments."

With that, he picked up the dishes from both of their meals, and the remains of the bottle of wine, and wandered over to the Buxley's cooking fire. The sun was fully down now, and the chill was picking up, but he was not at all tired. It was rare to camp with actual people, especially female people, and he wanted to wallow in the company as long as he could.

One woman seemed interesting, camping apart from the others, over by the cliff wall. But for now, he would go be in the center of activity: the Buxley's fire. Catching the eye of the girl who'd brought him the plates and bottle earlier, he smiled. "I've brought these back to you, now. Where shall I put them?"

The girl rose to take them from him, but Louis stopped her. "Sit, girl. You've been running around serving food to the rest of us all evening. It's time to eat your own. Just point me to the place."

She sat back down and smiled back. "There's a trough by the water barrel to the side of the wagon, there. Put them in there, and we'll clean them when everyone's done eating."

That task done, Louis invited himself to the Buxley's fire. He poured himself another mug of wine, then frowned when that left only a gulp or two left in the bottle. Placing the bottle by his feet, he raises the mug "Mrs. Buxley, a fine repast. You have my thanks." And he quickly gulped enough wine so that he could pour the rest of the bottle in.
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PostPosted: Mon Dec 07, 2009 12:57 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Louis de la ForÍt wrote:

That task done, Louis invited himself to the Buxley's fire. He poured himself another mug of wine, then frowned when that left only a gulp or two left in the bottle. Placing the bottle by his feet, he raises the mug "Mrs. Buxley, a fine repast. You have my thanks." And he quickly gulped enough wine so that he could pour the rest of the bottle in.


"Ye be welcome." Mrs Buxley was still very busy with the nights food. The several dozen mouths to feed seem to keep her and the family rather busy.

Louis attention is drawn back to the daughter seated next to him eating his dinner. She smiled shyly, beautiful in a youthful way, despite the greasy work clothes she wears and her hair tied back with a scarf.

Her smiled abruptly stops and her face drops back down to look at her food. For a moment the reason isn't apparent, until a loud thud is heard off to one side. Turning, Louis sees the large Mr Buxely, heavy built torso naked but for a bloody apron that goes past his knees. The source of the noise seems to be the large cleaver he just put through a joint of mutton, his eyes glare at you from below knotted bushy eyebrows.
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PostPosted: Mon Dec 07, 2009 1:09 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Konrad Ingmann wrote:

Ingmann turned and nodded politely to the Lord. He made an effort to put on his best demeanour. 'I should say that my homeland is considerably colder, my Lord. We are accustomed to taking our baths every morning in the snows, if they have fallen, and they often have. The cold does not bother me much,' he replied. Alomost as he said it, Ingmann felt the cold grip his bad hand, gently pulling and throbbing at his scar, making the bone ache, and causing his heart to race a little.

[OOC - Ingmann will generally try to avoid anything but small talk at the table, and will be more interested in listening to the others. He has lost his appetite for company, and is focussing on trying to ignore the growing pain in his hand. He will be pleasant, but will try to avoid being overly informative. Through the meal, he will ask simple questions about the coming expedition, if there is a lull in conversation]


Soon, the captain of the guard enters the dining room. His dress uniform is a mess, clearly not having been worn in some time. The man himself is in his middle ages, around forty years of age. He is tall and drawn, with not a lot of bulk to his mass. He wears a moustache greased into upward curled tips.

Sitting down with a huff he looks around the room.

"Forgive my lateness, I had to see to some matters of discipline amongst the ranks. The men are never happy in this place most forsaken by Solarias."

Ere long food is brought in, and general small talk takes place amongst those seated. Konrad notices that those here from the venture avoid their reasons for being here, just talking about a business opportunity and make no mention of Blood ore or mining in general.

As the evening wears on, it is clearly obvious that the Captain, by the name of koenigsegg, is immensely unhappy with his posting.

"Some 30 years ago, it was an honour to be posted here, to be the first line of defence against the godless invaders from the east. But now, with them well and truly gone back to the cesspit of Nissia, this is a place where you are sent to be forgotten. Everyday my men stare down into that valley of damned souls and wonder why on earth we bother. I don't know what it is that draws you to enter such a decrepit place, it has nothing any normal man would desire there. But I tell you this, them people down there are still tainted from the east. Don't ever be foolish enough to trust a man who has lived under the Nissians. Godless heathens and boy lovers the lot of them."

Ingmann cant help but notice that the captain has the distinctive glassed over look of a man who has imbibed far too much of the drink being served at the table. A awkward silence descends over the table.
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Louis de la ForÍt
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PostPosted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 4:39 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Louis frowns at Mr Bruxley, then stand up. "Have I done aught to offend, goodman? I'll be working with you and your wife day in and day out through this season, and I'll not be having us fight You tell me what I've done to offend, and I'll amend it right here as we stand."

"You'll know there's none less likely to mean you harm, and that'll be of value where we're all going."
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PostPosted: Thu Dec 10, 2009 10:59 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Tiresome, Ingmann thought. Why do educated men still cling to facile notions? Forsaken by Solarias indeed. How can we be forsaken by that which has no existence except in the minds of imbeciles?

The anatomist consumed his meal with little relish for anything but its taste - the company bored him already. He was almost about to quit for the evening and retire to his tent when something the captain said broke him out of his introspection.

'Captain Koenigsegg,' he began, 'have you met many of these godless heathens you discuss? You must have had much opportunity to interact with them. Traders, and the like'.

[Ingmann will try and gather a little more information on the people of the Valley, though he will not press for too many details. Once he has finished his meal, he'll retire for the evening, thanking the host etc]
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PostPosted: Wed Dec 16, 2009 10:21 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Louis de la ForÍt wrote:
Louis frowns at Mr Bruxley, then stand up. "Have I done aught to offend, goodman? I'll be working with you and your wife day in and day out through this season, and I'll not be having us fight You tell me what I've done to offend, and I'll amend it right here as we stand."

"You'll know there's none less likely to mean you harm, and that'll be of value where we're all going."


The large mans eyes flick from his daughter to yourself before he speaks.

"Ye ain't done nowt to offend me lad." He stares at his daughter as he says this. He picks up another side of meat, which looks like venison to your hunters eye. He places it upon the chopping block.

"Im just preparing this 'ere slaughter for tomorrows dinner tis all..." The carving knife slams into the meat once more. Behind you, the daughter scurries off and disappears into the Buxley tent.

Mrs Buxely comes around to your side of the fire, clearing dishes. As she nears she speaks under her breath. "Never mind him, he's just a bit protective of his wee girls 'tis all." she carries on with her cleaning.
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PostPosted: Wed Dec 16, 2009 2:50 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Translations from The Book of Qei'thuth, author and provenance unknown.

Quote:
His blackened wings shadow the Earth, all must pay homage,
To Mereiu; Breu; Urias; he of many names...

Thirteen shall gather, around an altar of black stone,
Sacrifice unto the ancient one...he of many names...

Sacrificial stone, hewn four cubits by...


(Pieces of page missing, remnants appear to be illustrating a blasphemous ritual, text continues on the next page.)

.
.
.

His black tower stands on the edge of the firmament,
What arrogant burning sphere seethes behind.
Dank curtain of darkness, lifting again,
The natural cycle is complete once more.

Light and unlight, swirling and reforming,
By night he will arise, as prophesised.
After thousand years of drought, Erui and Archaus shall
Quench our thirst, and fill us with knowledge.

Stars shall fall from the night sky,
Night-Winds once again bring forth
The harbinger of destruction,
Mereiu; Breu; Urias; he of many names...
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PostPosted: Wed Dec 16, 2009 4:52 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Dorian wrote:
Mrs Buxely comes around to your side of the fire, clearing dishes. As she nears she speaks under her breath. "Never mind him, he's just a bit protective of his wee girls 'tis all." she carries on with her cleaning.


Louis nods, solemnly. "Ah, oui. I can see your concern. I certainly wouldn't make a suitable husband. Not now, anyway." He turns to Mr. Buxley, keeping his eyes on the man deftly weilding the blade. "Sir, you may rest assured that I'll not risk the trust we'll need to survive out here so far from our homes. Not for any crass daliances. I've seen what that can do to a community, and we've all more urgent foes than each other."
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PostPosted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 9:34 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

The remainder of the evening goes without incident. Many rejoice and look forward to this venture, partaking in much wine and food, whilst others keep mostly to themselves. Winter is nearing and the mountain pass is cold and a wind lightly lashes at exposed flesh, making people tremble with chill. As the Lunarion rises high over the camp, all but the most dedicated night owls are in bed, dozing to the sounds of the sounds of various nocturnal creatures of the Bluttenburg mountains.

Early the next morning, the guards rouse the camp and prepare to move on, to make the most headway for the day. Whilst more than a few have sore heads and uncertain bellies from too much drink, most complain for lack of sleep, feeling mostly unrested and still bitterly tired.

As such, it is a sullen party that makes it way down from the high mountain pass, descending from the west into the old damp darkness of Svalsing.
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PostPosted: Wed Jan 20, 2010 9:21 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Raphaelus was roughly awoken after only a few hours sleep. He could not abide such early starts, unlike these ex-Military types. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he quickly gathered his belongings and exited his tent. He could see that most of the camp shared his lack of enthusiasm. It was cold. It was wet. It was windy. Far from the temperate Balorian climate he was used to. The cold did nothing to help his aching joints, and he found his hands, worryingly, were even more stiff than usual. The scribes curse, he thought. Soon, within a few years at best, writing would cause him excruciating pain. He had seen many of his mentors fall into depression after the stiffening of the joints had rendered their hands useless. He would have to complete his work before the curse enveloped his hands.
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