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Author Topic: Seagorn Garrison(Nyermersis)  (Read 35902 times)
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Capher
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« on: January 29, 2006, 01:21:23 AM »

In the center of the city stands the Seagorn Garrison, where the law enforcers train and live while not on duty patrolling the streets of Nyermersys. The building itself is sturdy and well guarded by armed men who walk along the walls, and within the courtyard is alive with clashing steel and commanders shouting orders at training soldiers. Stretching into the Southgarden are the barracks, tired men disappear into the hallways while others reappear ready for patrol.

The man sitting on the steps leading through the gate to the courtyard glances up as you approach, “May I help you?” He questions in a deep resonating voice

Capher.

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Capher
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« Reply #1 on: February 14, 2006, 03:09:23 AM »

The guard, cold, wet and breathless walked the last few steps to the Garrison's guardhouse.  He stopped and yelled out. "I have been sent by Earl Legiramond to see the General."  He stood out in the rain, shivering, awaiting a reply.

Capher.

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Neiavrine
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« Reply #2 on: February 16, 2006, 11:02:23 AM »


General Versialias "One Eye" Ullor

A slim soldier points toward a heavy wooden door, which is fortified with thick iron bars. He does not look up, opting instead to continue to polish a thin rapier. Aside from this lone gaurd, the room is empty. From the door, which leads to the inner courtyard, the sounds of battle eminate. One thing can be heard, clearer than the ruckous of steel on steel, and banter of battle. A deep baritone, thick as morass, and as grave as granite, which shouts in quick, demanding orders. Keep your blade straight, Rufus. There is more chaos, then above the din, Dance back, Dance back! A moment of silence, and a great calamity! Swing like you mean it! The words are punctuated by a great crash, and then uproarious cheering. General saw fit to test out that new group of hired soldiers today. Said the weather was perfect for a good ol' match up. 'Tis plain rotten I say. The thin soldier grumbles in the general direction of the messenger.

With that said, the door swings open, and is quickly filled by a very large human. He is at least two peds tall, and is at least one and a half peds wide at the shoulder. His clothes, though at once rich and brilliant in appearance, are drenched in mud and rain water. Half of his face is hidden by a gnarled mass of grey hair, only his pale thin lips dare bare witness to the world about him. The long grey hairs about his head aire thinning, and so swirl in the feint wind in a dramatic dance. Over his right eye, rests a leather patch. He had lost the eye in a duel over a young girl, not suprisingly she went for the other man. His lone eye quickly scans the room, and locks onto the courior. What is it then boy? His voice is quiet and carries not one bit of humor. One word to describe the General would be Grizzly, and not one other would be required. This was the way Versailias lived. Never say more than was needed, and when you go in, go in strong.

-Ne'iav'rine-

Edited by: Neiavrine  at: 2/23/06 3:40
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She is suddenly a whirlwind of graceful death. Where there was once a steel monolith, there is now an eruption of violence and wrath. Her singing blades rend the stale air with their battle cries, as sirens they call to those who dare stand before her. Her blood is molten hate, and it churns in her veins like the rage of the gods. There is no mercy, there is no forgiveness, there is only salvation through shed blood. Fountains of sand meet her every movement, dance beside her as a partner to her power. Ne'iav'rine's prowess seems almost supernatural; as if even the earth applauded her ability with a display of divine preportions.

    -Ne'iav'rine
Capher
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« Reply #3 on: February 17, 2006, 01:51:23 AM »

the guard was thankful the rain had stopped, but the wind was still cold and he was shivering when the General came out. Though the guard had seen the General just a few times, he still had the same effect each time; the guard stood at attention. "Sir, the Earl wishes to see you and speak with you at the Castle. I am to wait for you and escort you to him." He then quickly added, "It is of a most important and urgent matter, General."

Capher.

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Neiavrine
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« Reply #4 on: February 17, 2006, 05:05:23 PM »


General Versialias "One Eye" Ullor

"Sir, the Earl wishes to see you and speak with you at the Castle. I am to wait for you and escort you to him." He then quickly added, "It is of a most important and urgent matter, General."

Let's go then. The General responds in his usual manner. Quick and to the point. He grabs a large axe which had rested on the wall behind him, and straps it to a belt loop. Without annother word he starts off toward the palace, inwardly curious as to what as the matter. His logical side told him it had to do with the merchants and their threats to revolt, and yet his gut told him something much larger was afoot.

-Ne'iav'rine-

Edited by: Neiavrine  at: 2/17/06 9:06
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She is suddenly a whirlwind of graceful death. Where there was once a steel monolith, there is now an eruption of violence and wrath. Her singing blades rend the stale air with their battle cries, as sirens they call to those who dare stand before her. Her blood is molten hate, and it churns in her veins like the rage of the gods. There is no mercy, there is no forgiveness, there is only salvation through shed blood. Fountains of sand meet her every movement, dance beside her as a partner to her power. Ne'iav'rine's prowess seems almost supernatural; as if even the earth applauded her ability with a display of divine preportions.

    -Ne'iav'rine
Capher
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« Reply #5 on: February 18, 2006, 03:24:23 AM »

The guard did not want to disagree with the General, but he was filthy. "Um...Sir, would it not be more appropriate for you to change first before you go see the Earl.  You know how he is when it comes to..."  He stopped.  "On the other hand the Earl did say is was most urgent." He added quickly. "Whatever the General wants to do."

Capher.

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Neiavrine
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« Reply #6 on: February 18, 2006, 04:41:23 PM »


General Versialias "One Eye" Ullor

The general had never been able to respect a man who could not get down and dirty. He himself had lived in the streets for his share, and found the mud as a testiment to his labour. He glances down at his soiled clothes with his good eye for a moment, then brings it back to the courrior. It seems to be riddled with a mixture of contempt and disbelief. He was no new recruit looking for a quick promotion! I will decide how I present myself. Ullor seems to think that even those words are too much, and instead of reprimanding the other man with the lash of his tounge, settles for a continued bone chilling stare. Without annother word he takes the three long strides between him and the large garrison door, throws it open with a mighty swing, and departs. The messenger would have to catch up, One Eye did not have the time for a slow escort.Perhaps I will be able to put that new unit to work? They should be able to neutralize any faction leaders by the 'morrow. The general's lips grin under his shaggy beard. He had put hard, long hours into those men, and had no doubts as to their capability. The one who called himself the Predator had a certain ego about him, seemed to think he was the best there was. As his boots splashed across the wide cobbled street, he contemplated as to how exactly he should solve the problem. One chain ruins the mail, was his theory on tactics.

Ne'iav'rine

The Chyrakisth leans down and lifts Rufus out of the muddy circle which had been their combat arena. He will be bruised by morning She decides as she easily lifts the man to his feet. He gives her a hearty thanks, and wipes the mud from his practice blades with a clean cloth. He was breathing hard and the wearyness is evident in the slouch of his muscled shoulders. Yet his lips are smeared with a bright smile.

The days training had been hard, the second straight day of individual combat training. Before everything had been about team work, and the group had failed miserably. There were egos here which still sometimes clashed, though now they seemed to understand that the missions they would be assigned to could not be completed alone. Each member had their own strengths and without working together, they would be killed. The pay was not so inticingly high for nothing.

Ne'iav'rine lifted one booted foot and then annother. The practice ring was supposed to be of sand, but the recent rain had left only a gritty thick mud, which quickly soaked into and under whatever you were wearing. Vetrus, that was an exceptional manuever. Though had Rufus not been unbalanced, his blade would be in your belly. As you choose not to armor yourself, you must take more care in your attacks. The beautiful orc's command of the situation is carried in the perfect authority of her voice. There was no questioning what she said, and so far no one had dared confront the 2 ped tall Chyrakisth. Though she had few doubts on who would as time passed. She scans the courtyard, noting the racks of practice weapons which are against the thick stone walls, each is protected by a long overhang and well maintained. Shields and various bits of worn armor also adorn the walls; each peice of equiptment is  kept in good order, though well used. There are three practice circles arranged in a triangle in the center of the courtyard, each about four peds in diameter. Ropes designate the outside of the circle, though the circle closest to her is malformed from the last battle. She carefully rearranges it with her foot, then looks back up to her command. She allows a brief smile, then becomes deadly serious. I have a feeling that your training is about to be cut short. Clean yourselves up, I believe we will be meeting with the General shortly. This was not simply a hunch, her sharp ears had caught some of the conversation through the door. Something was happening, wheels were churning. With a lust for battle in her voracious heart, she cerebrates the possibilities.

-Ne'iav'rine-

Edited by: Neiavrine  at: 2/18/06 19:39
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She is suddenly a whirlwind of graceful death. Where there was once a steel monolith, there is now an eruption of violence and wrath. Her singing blades rend the stale air with their battle cries, as sirens they call to those who dare stand before her. Her blood is molten hate, and it churns in her veins like the rage of the gods. There is no mercy, there is no forgiveness, there is only salvation through shed blood. Fountains of sand meet her every movement, dance beside her as a partner to her power. Ne'iav'rine's prowess seems almost supernatural; as if even the earth applauded her ability with a display of divine preportions.

    -Ne'iav'rine
Dagon Fai Ur
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« Reply #7 on: February 19, 2006, 08:09:23 AM »

Dagon watched carefully as the fight unfolded before him, his right hand began to itch for the strong grasp of the hilt of his longsword that lay fastened to his hip. The elf, eventually won the battle, and the beautiful elf-like orc stepped forward and lifted the human from the now peaceful battleground. She uttered a few suggestions to the victorious elf - who, like Dagon went into combat without any armour. The orc skeptical of the idea of not wearing armour, she however was not an elf - Dagon did not doubt that Vetrus was gifted with the same speed and agility that he possessed. What's better than armour, is not getting hit all... Dagon repeated his own philosophy on armour and waiting for Ne'iav'rine to speak.

"I have a feeling that your training is about to be cut short. Clean yourselves up, I believe we will be meeting with the General shortly." She spoke with assurance, and Dagon caught it for a moment as well - but with no clarity. He simply nodde and pulled his arms to cross his chest.

-*Dagon Fai'Ur*-

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Machrebs Ork
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« Reply #8 on: February 20, 2006, 06:13:23 AM »

Ork was leaning against a wall, absently looking at the two combatants. The spar didn’t interest him much. He preferred fights based on strength rather then agility, both when watching and when fighting. A bit of brawling - unarmed, or maybe with knives and clubs - was more his style. Another one of his favourite pastimes were the larger skirmishes. The chaos, the ploughing through several opponents wielding trusted axe - now resting against the wall next to him. There was the reek of blood, sweat and fear, the screaming of the wounded, the grunts and shouts of those still standing,… It's where he thrived. He was build for the merc job. He might not have been raised by his kin, but he was fighting with the same spirit as them. Combat ran though his veins.

But none of this was currently going through his mind. All he was thinking of was how delicious the beef tasted. He took another large bite out of the meat, the juice running down his chin and arm, dripping on the dusty floor, his chest and his pants. He had been travelling with Ne'iav'rine for a while now. She was good at commanding and he did well in taking orders, so they seemed to be getting along pretty well. Ork had a mixture of respect and admiration for the Chyracist, and she seemed to be tolerating him. It was hard to tell exactly how she felt about him tagging along.

A loud burp vibrated through the courtyard. Manners never had been his strongest point. He tore off another chunk of meat, slowly chewing on it. Good times ahead. He could feel it.

Ork
Orcs is made for fightin'

Edited by: Machrebs Ork  at: 2/19/06 22:17
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Capher
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« Reply #9 on: February 21, 2006, 02:01:23 AM »

The palace guard had to chase after the long-legged General.

OOC next post in the Castle.

Capher.

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Manik Targin
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« Reply #10 on: February 22, 2006, 07:52:23 AM »

Arriving at the garrison, they nodded to their fellow guard and walked through the gates. Manik headed for the stable while promising to meet the rest of his squad at the mess hall. The stablemaster was barely able to control himself upon seeing Manik’s new horse. The man took seemed to take the state of the animal as a personal offense to his profession. Only after explaining how he acquired the horse, and that it wasn’t his disregard for the animal that had injured it, had Manik been able to calm down the stable master. Manik promised the man he would take much better care of the animal. The stable master gave the horse a thorough look see and promised to do what he could. He said that the injury was bad, that the horse had gotten a stone lodged under its shoe and it was now infected. He said Manik should come back often to help with tending to the horse, that way the horse would get to know him and trust him. Manik agreed and thanked the man for his help.

After a leisurely lunch and some good laughs, Manik and the rest of the squad made their way over to the courtyard for weapon training with Sergeant Lynch. As they walked another guard came up and excitedly informed them that the General had been called to see the Earl. Putting two and two together, Manik had a bad feeling it had something to do with Lycheus’ news.

Sergeant Henderson had made sure they arrived at the training grounds a little bit early to meet Lynch. There were a number of people practicing on the muddy terrain. Vanen sneered at the one group practicing in a sparring ring. Manik’s eyes went wide, he had never seen another race besides human. There was an array of elves and humans, even an orc, and some that seemed in between. Manik couldn’t help but stare at the group, fascinated. Vanen saw Manik looking and explained what he had heard. Apparently some of them had been around for a few months. Assembled as an elite ambush group by the general, it was led by the female orc. Manik didn’t think she looked like an orc, she was stunning, but took Vanen’s word for it. Vanen also knew the human Rufus. The man had been a guard, but had volunteered for the elite group. Vanen said he was a good fellow, kind and ready to share a laugh and ale. The rest of the group for the most part had remained distant. Whether by nature or the fact that they trained non-stop, Vanen said probably both. The elf and the man Rufus had been sparring, and the elf had won. Manik was astonished at how fast they moved, their skill was amazing. They had been waiting a few minutes and Manik was excited for their own training, looking around expectantly for the burly taskmaster.

Manik Targin

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Capher
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« Reply #11 on: February 23, 2006, 01:57:23 AM »

Sgt Lynch

Sgt Lynch saw his "recruits" though they had passed basic training long ago and now were officially guards, he called anyone he trained recruits.  "Well maggots? When you are done staring at some "Pro's" we shall begin.  Maybe one day you will be as fast and skilled as those, mercenaries."

Sgt. Lynch did not care for mercernaries, or mercs for short, they killed for pay, not for duty or honor as he and those who were regular army did.  But he also knew they were a necessity, sometimes an evil one, but still a necessity just the same.

"All right we will once again practice more refined short sword skills. Pair of in two's and let's begin." He waited until they were paired off and then he began explaining, "The short sword is used, for in close fighting. Used by a man who is very profiecient, it is more deadly than a broad sword, or even a bastard sword.

As you can see," he explained as he executed some moves upon a wooden training dummy, " It is a weapon that requires smooth, almost cat-like reflexes.  It requires a man to be able to twist and turn, use his elbows, knees, and the weapon as one complete weapon.  No slashing, or power down strokes, the short sword when used properly is a weapon of lethal grace," he said as he finished with a short stab at a bag of sand upon the dummy's left side, then he quickly twisted around, and using a backwards thrust, stabbed the right side bag of sand upon the dummy, then still in that position, he took one step forward with his right foot, pulled out the sword, and with one swift motion twisted his body to the right, the sword following his upraising arm until it slashed across the dummies throat, spilling out the sandbag that symbolized it.  It was over in a bit over a nailsbreath of time.

"Even against an armoured man.  As you can see where the sword went in, in went where no armoured man has armour.  True the space is small and guarded, but as you can see, that is where the short sword, wielded properly, is the most deadliest, but first you have to learn how to get past his long sword to put your short sword and skills to the test."

Sgt Lynch stepped back to look at his handiwork, smiled and then said, "All right, lets start at the beginning." He shouted.

Capher.

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Manik Targin
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« Reply #12 on: February 23, 2006, 08:21:23 AM »

Manik watched closely as Sgt. Lynch demonstrated the drill on the dummy, trying to memorize the motions. Once they started the drill however, Manik had a harder time. Before he could barely attempt the drill he had to learn the basic stances and grips. The stance was only slightly different than with a quarterstaff, but it took a little getting used to. The other members of the squad had clearly done the drill a number of times and fluently worked through the attack. Dean the newest recruit besides Manik, had more trouble than others, but was doing okay. All members of the guards were required to attend these training sessions so that their skills didn’t disappear, but new recruits also had to attend extra training with Lynch so that they could improve rapidly.

After a bit, Manik got the hang of it, and his movements became more fluent, and he was doing just as well as Dean. Because of his quarterstaff work, Sgt. Lynch said his stance stood a little more offensively, but that it was a minor problem. Working through the motions produced a slight sheen of sweat and Manik enjoyed the labor. It was much more fun than working the farm back home. Others of the squad gave Manik tips and encouragement as well, and so he kept working the forms trying to make them flow just like the others’.

Manik Targin

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Capher
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« Reply #13 on: February 24, 2006, 02:28:23 AM »

Sgt Lynch

Sgt Lynch watched his recruits go through the motions, Manik had some minor stance problem because of his quarterstaff training; but after a few kicks here and there to straighten out his posture he soon got the hang of it.  The recruits got a nice work out and he was even pleased with the way Dean caught on.  He looked over at the other ring and watched them watching his men.  They were pro's, his men will stand the test of time as well. Manik shows more promise than the others. Though he had some problems with his stance, in a way his quarterstaff work will give him an advantage, if he can be trained to move smoothly from one form of fighting to another.  Most only learn one, maybe two forms in their life time.  Manik has the ability to not only learn but become a master swordsman.

"No, Manik! Think! How are you to get past a longer sword to use your short sword if your body is leaning forward. You are just giving your opponent more opportunities to cleave you like a piece of dog meat."

" All of you listen up. If you must lean forward, then do it upon the balls of your feet and be ready to duck, spin and jab and then back away from the reach of the sword all in one fluid motion.  Think of yourself like a snake, always weaving, looking for that first indication of your opponents swing; then dart in, strike and then get out again.  But if you are not quick enough, your dead!  Another way is to just stay inside of his reach if you can. Always jabbing at his unprotected areas."

" Manik with your quarterstaff abilities you can easily learn to use the short sword with both hands.  That gives you another advantage.  Most swordsmen only use their dominant hands, even when swinging a two-handed one, they grab the pommel with their dominant hand.  When you can use any sword, but especially the short sword with both hands equally in skill and power you have a tremendous advantage as you can do this,"  

Lynch quickly grabbed his short sword swinging it in a tight circle around his left wrist.  He motioned for Dean to take up a long sword. "Now attack me." He said.  Dean took the long sword in his right hand and did a basic down stroke upon the Sgt.  Lynch banged it away with his short sword, throwing Dean a bit off balance as he tried to bring the sword back into play. But before he had the chance, Lynch threw his short sword into his right hand, stepped into Dean and jabbed his sword into what would have been Dean's left side.  

"Did you all notice why I could do what I did?  Dean threw a very good basic downstroke with the long sword, but because I know Dean is right handed I put my sword in my left.  He swung down, I blocked with my sword, throwing him slightly off balance, because of him trying to hold onto a heavier sword, then as soon as I blocked, because I can use my right hand as well as my left; I threw my sword into my right, stepped in and gave him a mortal blow."

Lynch patted Dean upon his shoulder with his short sword. "I want you and Manik to practice each taking turns with the long sword and short sword.  Try to use both hands and see if you can see any weaknesses in each other."  He turned, "The rest of you pair up and do the same for about another hour then clean up your weapons, and the ring and then hit the chow room.  Some of you will be on guard duty on the night shifts, look to see who you are and after chow, get some sleep, you will woken up when it is time for you to start your shift. Manik I think you have the graveyard shift.  Let's get to work!"

Capher.

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Darien Gulath
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« Reply #14 on: February 24, 2006, 03:30:23 AM »

Calmly he waited in the shade of the wall near the combat arena with a water-flask in his hands. A water flask filled with alcoholic substance;… not really something his so called companions needed to know off. The training almost bored him to death sometimes (yet there where times when even for him the training became quite tense... something he would never admit tough), and yet again he had to remind himself why he was here in the first place.

Everything they did here was preparation for an oncoming assault on the city he had visited not such a long time ago. He had failed his mission in Voldar, something which rarely happened…
The commander of the city, one of the first ones in command; Damien Scar, had gone down rather easily, with some aid of a misplaced arrow that was meant for him. Yet the many long range aid that jumped towards the commander’s rescue prevented him from checking upon his target and squeeze the final live out of him. Also dozens of loyal companions from Damien gave him only little other choice then to escape himself.

The failure of the mission could not bother him much; Commander Damien Scar’s strong leadership formed a critical backbone of Lord Voltigar’s army; and would definitely play his part in the deciding of the oncoming war. The more conflict there was between the city’s the better it was for his business. The ones that hired him seemed to be much more determined on bringing the commander down; and had almost tripled the price on his foe’s head. Darién’s agile structure and deadly blades would be easily capable of defeating the commander if he would be capable of being the first killer to get towards the man.
It was not his failed mission that tore him apart from the inside, no,.. rather his little encounter with this dark mage who called himself Kain Cristar. A man with dark powers and strange demonic energies that where capable of summoning lighting from out of nowhere…
Darién had tried to engage on his target but nevertheless failed miserably…
To prevent turning into a smouldering pile of ash; he had taken a run. Within mere moments Darién managed to disappear into the darkness of night. From the top of the roofs he watched how the mage walked trough the alleyways in search of him. Darién would have killed him if he had not lost the feeling in his right arm by then. The electric shock he had received was burned into his flesh as an everlasting scar of the fight he had that day with the sinister bounty hunter. His arm became numb and caught a serious infection. From that point Darién searched for refuge in the darker district of Voldar, but could not find a single healer willing to help him. Every one of his associates seemed to have either disappeared or caught by the authority. Authority controlled by Damien…
Eventually Darién found someone willing to help him treat the wound in exchange for a bigger amount of cash then his current reward. Darién paid the healer in advance and got treated. For days he suffered from disease and infection and a terrible lust for revenge was bred.

So much things happened during those weeks,… About twelve assassinations and seven kills for pleasure he committed in voldar. Some of the lowlifes would probably never be missed anyhow, but a few of his murders did raise a certain attention. Bounty hunters and royal guards started to keep a good look out for his appearance at the taverns and on the streets, making it a struggle for Darién to keep hanging around within the city much longer. When he caught the news of the brewing conflict of the two cities he decided to seek out new business opportunities at Nyemersys. The city he had heard of but never been to before. The city of death…

Somehow a certain commander or lieutenant showed particular interest in his skills and reputation. He seemed to have no problems at all with having a dangerous killer amongst his squadron, instead he cheered it on. Someone who’s job in live is to bring death, where obviously considered useful tools during times of war. And now here he was in the courtyard of the Seagorn garrison. He would’ve rather skipped the training and jumped to the assault straight away, and also solo work was something he would've appreciated many times more. Yet his companions with who he had to train with showed some strong talents in different combat expertises. None of them where so remarkable and agile ofcourse in using swords the way he could, but they gave a worthy impression nevertheless in other area's of expertise...

The weather was cold and the liquid warmed him from the inside. Stronger brew’s where always more tasty during the cold winter period.
The battle between the human and elf hadn’t impressed him that much, his thoughts where still with Kain. His mood had gone from bad to even worse in those four weeks. His defeat ate him from the inside. He had killed two times more then usual from the point of his defeat to satisfy his burning desire to rip the mage’s head off. Also his victims often had to undergo painful humiliations and tortures before they where released from live with his sword. Yet the hunger to kill his dark foe had only grown worse.
And currently it led him to one hell of a frustrating, deadly and destructive mood. Nobody of the team really had any desire to hang out with him if it where not for business. And the gold coins within Darién’s eyes kept him from going ape-sh*t on any of those that where around him. Darién knew that the path before him was an opportunistic one and he could not afford to lose the favour of those in command of this little charade…

With a cold look he watched from a distance what Nei’av’erine and the other where up to next…
And that while he was still daydreaming about Kain; how he would rip the guy’s intestines from his still breathing body very slowly to inflict the worst pains possible after he would’ve ripped the man’s tongue out preventing him to beg for mercy…  

    Death:
A punishment to some, to some a gift, and to many a favor.  
    --Seneca

Edited by: Darien Gulath at: 2/23/06 20:02
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