[Mercs] Company 2-11

[Lynesse {Celia/Jazzy} 398]

((IGN; CaptainOriginalz)

Name? Adrian Pryce, but people prefer to call me Pryce.

Race? Human.

Age? Thirty-six bloody years.

Soldier or Servant? Soldier

 

Why do you want to join the 2-11?

I have been told that I am more than capable of swinging a sword. All my life I have been beheading people for an old lord of a fool. I have been without purpose for some time now, and I see myself fit in a mercenary band. I do not really care for payment, all I need is a bed, some food and perhaps some gear and a new sword.

 

What do you believe you are worth to the 2-11 company?

I am a strong and diligent man, trained for fighting and killing both innocent children and massive roaring orcs. In my past I worked as an executioner for a fool of an old lord. I can cut wood, hunt, rob some pleb and over all just help with whatever is needed. I can hammer steel, but never really had the chance to actually become a smith. I also consider myself pretty good at clipping off elven ears.

 

Ser Jon Stirling sits at his desk, sorting through a rather large pile of applications. Today, he had drawn the short straw of having to sort through them all, to cap off a night of huge redemption for Jon. He looked proudly at his medals, which had not seen light for years, along with his newly forged gilded steel helmet. Today, Jon was a real knight again, by any measure. 

 

However, the pile of applications tonight was rather monotonous, filled with the desires and overambitious of poor peasants, unorganized riff raff, and general ne'er do-wells. It is at the near bottom of the pile, again, that a relatively acceptable application is found. 

 

Jon raises eyebrow at the application of Adrian Pryce. Headsmen oft forget the meaning of being a soldier, and the virtues of battle when they spend their whole lives lopping off heads of the weak and defeated. Still, the application was acceptable, as a recent influx of unbloodied and ambitious men left the camp green and inexperienced. 

 

He claps for the servant Winston, much to the young wood elf's dismay. The camp was a mess tonight, and Jon was only further adding to the world load of the servants. Jon dips his stamp in black in, pressing it firmly against Pryce's application. He shoots a sharp glace over to Winston, who quickly nods, running off to file the application.

 

Jon then proceeds to take out a fresh sheet of parchment, beginning to draft a reply to the original sender. When he is done, he again calls for Winston, who at this point is exhausting, huffing and puffing heavily. 

 

"Oy've 'lready drafted th' reploi, 'nd everyfing. Call fer ah messenger boi 'nd 'ave it deliver." Jon says, his vehement voice blooming throughout the Hearth Hall in the middle of the night. Thedric grumbles lowly, his room only across a wall from Jon's office, trying to regain his state of slumber. 

 

Winston nods, taking the sheet and does as he is bid. 

 

After a few days, the message arrives at the personal raven cage of Adrian Pryce's place of dwelling. The paper is now, through travel, ripped, weathered, but for the most part, still legible. Should Adrian open the letter, it will read...

 

"For the eyes of Adrian Pryce, 

 

    It is with great pleasure for us to state that we have read and reviewed your application. If you are still interested in being a part of us, please send a message to my personal raven cage, so that we may make arrangement (My IGN is LoTC_Celia). As an alternative, show up at our gates, if you know where they are, as someone should be on duty. If you are, however, unaware of where our place of dwelling is, we would be more then happy to send a runner over to guide you.  

 

    Best wishes, 

 

    Ser Jon Stirling, Captain of Company 2-11."

[MrNewVegas101 4]

((Minecraft IGN: MrNewVegas101  ))

Name: William Russell 

Race: Human

Age: 24

Soldier or Servant: Soldier, Sell-sword

 

Why do you want to join 2-11?

I've had the pleasure of being on my own since I left the service of my liege lord some years ago due to... differences between the lifestyle of my lord and myself. Though were he to tell you of his young squire his tale may stray from that of my own, leaning towards the fact that I may or may not have bedded with his maiden daughter. Travelling the roads has taught me much and has given me the chance to practice at my swordplay quite a bit, thus improving my skill substantially. As much as I enjoy my freedoms of doing whatever I choose, I still require food and drink to survive, both of which are hard to come by without coin or a job. Seeing as your company can provide both for me, I believe I would be able to sacrifice some of my freedoms in order to aid the group in its quest for coin or glory in return for a bit of food and coin on the side.

 

 

What do you believe is your worth to the company?

As stated above, I am quite proficient in the art of swordplay, should you require my sword I will gladly offer it in return for food and coin. Another talent of mine is that I am quite the fletcher, creating arrows and bows of considerable power that may turn the tide of any battle.

 

[Praetor 1548]

((Minecraft name: SpamShok ))

 

Name: Razani Al'shayat

Race: Human

Age: Fifty-five

Soldier or Servant: I wish to be a servant. My days of fighting are over and I no longer seek the glory I once craved. I wish only for the chance to win some gold and be among free fighting men once more.

 

Why ye want tah join 2-11? My days of fighting are over and I no longer seek the glory I once craved. I wish only for the chance to win some gold and be among free fighting men once more. I can cook and was once the captain of a great warship, I know about boats large and small. One day this knowledge may be useful. I can handle salaries and was well educated by great men.

 

Are ye worth more den spit? It is not worth lowering myself to such a comparison.

[KarmaDelta 968]

((Minecraft name: KarmaDelta ))

 

Name: Galaeron Durothil

Race: Wood Elf

Age: 377

Soldier or Servant: 

Soldier.

 

Why ye want tah join 2-11?:

I was once a pirate, sailing the seas with a crew that was more family to me then my own. The beginning of my life was my lowest point, and once I was accepted onto a crew, I had meaning. I found my true self plundering, making love to beautiful and exotic women, and getting into bar fights with my family. 

 

Those times are over now, and seeing as I no longer have a ship of my own, along with a family, I wish to find my next profession. As long as I get paid and have a women at hand, I should be fine. Even though being an ex-pirate is saddening, I will make up for it with new adventures with my possible new family.

 

 

Are ye worth more den spit?: 

I have been spit on, and at one point, I was. But now I take things with a smile on my face, a drink in hand, and a lovely lady in my other.

[The Lion 717]

DJ Leone lays a record down on the jukebox.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fVZJMDZCMhI

 

The second of the Deep Cold of the year, 1466

 

Captain Leone slumps in his chair after his massage. Tomorrow would be a big day, not one to be lacking on. He reviews the applications while smoking a green cigarette.

 

 

 

"Gal'ayron Derot'il, sounds loike ah chump."

 

Leone writes back to Galaeron Durothil,

 

 

Dear Mister Durothil, you sound like an acceptable member, those 300 or so years must be worth spit. Send a letter via "bird" to Captain Leone of Lesterly ((Dokahn)) or wander up to our gates with pride in your eyes. If you don't know where we be then we'll send a scout to find your arse. Tanks fer dah service, whelp.

 

Said in truth, Sandor Leone

 

Leone stands up when he finishes and takes the next letter and throws it in the fire.

 

 

 

He returns to William Russell's letter

 

"Probebleh a noble toyp wit dat name."

 

Sandor writes back, 

 

Dear Mister Russell, I think you'd have great potential in our army. A good fletcher is few and far between. Report to our gates or send a "bird" to the return address ((Dokahn)). You sound like you don't need a scout, but no shame if you need one to lead you here. Tanks fer dah service, whelp.

 

Your Captain, Sandor Leone

 

With that Lion ashes the last of the cactus green and retires for the night.

[KarmaDelta 968]

[Not gonna lie, I do not normally listen to music when reading this stuff, but I am glad I did. Not my type of groove, but that made reading the letters much more enjoyable.]

[IrishPerson 693]

((Minecraft name: MrGreene_HD  ))

 

Name: Dah name beh Paddy.
Race: Ah beh human.
Age: Ahm thirty-nine winters young, laddy.

Soldier or Servant: Soldier ov course!

Why ye want tah join 2-11? Ah 'eard ye' lot 'ave booze 'nd lots ov it. Me axe fer a bit ov whiskey, eh?

 

Are ye worth more den spit? Ye' dunnae see spit wit an axe so aye, ah am. 

[Raktar 140]

((Minecraft name:  )) Zyra_LoTC

 

Name: Allyriane Hua
Race: Human
Age: 23

Soldier or Servant: Servant

Why ye want tah join 2-11? I am looking for a group to put my skills to work and have a good time.

 

Are ye worth more den spit? I am not only a fisher but I am also a chef, meaning I can catch a mean salmon and cook it good.

[Kim 1327]

11th day of the Snow's Maiden, 1467

Winston slides into his chair, kicking back to balance carefully on the back legs. He hums as he grabs two letters on the table, using his finger to pry open the first one. After reading, he sits forward, preparing a letter in response.

 

Mister Paddy,

We'd be happy to accept you into the Company 2-11. You can come to our gates or send a 'bird' to Winston ((kim78717)). If you need assistance getting to the settlement we can send someone to assist you here.

 

Looking at the second letter, he nods again, scribbling almost the same exact thing down, but with addressed to another person.

 

Misses Hua,

We'd be happy to accept you into the Company 2-11. You can come to our gates or send a 'bird' to Winston ((kim78717)). If you need assistance getting to the settlement we can send someone to assist you here.

 

Winston seals the letters, sending them off on birds before heading back to his room.

[Madezz_ 1]

((Minecraft IGN: ))

Name: Renji

Race: Kharajyr

Age: 23

Soldier or Servant: I can both or whichever is needed the most

I

Why do you want to join 2-11? I wish to join 2-11 because I am looking for an abled and active group to be apart and build relations with other characters. Also some ood rp on the side

What do you believe is your worth to the company? I can alot for the group as a Servant or Solider..as i servant I will cook food and make fletch and fish, as a soilder I am very dangerous with a bow and my marksmanship is like no other.

[KUSHerZombie 222]

*Max notices the posters and sends in an application.*


((Minecraft IGN: kallimar123   ))

Name: Max R.

Race: Adunian/Elf

Age: 38

Soldier or Servant: Soldier

 

Why do you want to join 2-11?
I wish to join 2-11 so I can gain some extra coin, and this seems like it will be the easiest way. Also, I can swing a sword quite well and I need some way to put it to good use.

 

What do you believe is your worth to the company?
My worth is the fact that I can be deceiving. I can also fight fairly well provided I'm given the right equipment. 

[Lynesse {Celia/Jazzy} 398]

10th of the First Seed, 1497

 

At the least, the fires kept them somewhat warm through the harsh winter. Snow and ash intertwined on the cold winter stone, blowing around heavily in the wind. The blaze, engulfing the roof the tavern had just been put out. A large fire took over the camp, presumably at the hands of Kovachev, Carrion, and Decturum bannermen. The assumed betrayal was quite literally bone-crushing.

 

Though, it was not to Jon to remember. A thick haze engulfed his mind as he struggled to recall the events of the past day. For him, it hurt to move. He hobbled around the camp at a slow pace, though in some retrospect, he could consider himself to be among the luckier of the day. 

 

The ash that covered the camp in a thin layer was not only that of the remains of the the proud thatched roof buildings that one stood strong, but also the remnants of many comrades, who did not receive a fate as favorable as Jon's. The thought brought great guild to the grizzled old knight, accompanied by the constant sharp pain in his chest, where he was presumably gored. 

 

Lion was no where to be found amiss the chaos. He was off finding zen again, Jon assumed. His wounds that befell upon him put him in condition to take garrison. Two, the near-mute stood silently as ever upon the gate, the duty now befallen upon him. Meanwhile Elizabeth, Lieutenant of the once numerous and strong Company 2-11 lead cleanup and rebuild efforts. A looming aura of defeat filled the camp, it seemed like. 

 

Jon would have no more of it. He slowly made his way up to the wall, by means of a slow and stumbling hobble. He stopped mid step, a cold breeze, that should've taken it's course far away, for spring seemed like a distant dream, though the month was the First Seed. There was a bitter irony as Jon stepped back in the cold wind, bundling up. It had been right after the Company had taken two massive steps forward, only to be knocked down by a cold wind of betrayal. 

 

He eventually made his way up to the top of the gates. A sharp pain pulsed through his body as he attempted to speak, his once booming voice seemingly gone AWOL. Still the old knight was able to gain the attention of some of his men.

 

"Ordah! Ordah!" he said as his echoing voice scoured the camp. "Drop yer tools, 'nd stop wotcha doin'. Gathah boi th' gate 'nd let th' old mon speak." Paddy said, standing ever vigilantly beside Jon to assist him, lest he fall down the side of the wall. It hurt to talk, though Jon was determined to make his point.

 

Eventually the riff raff settled down, standing below Jon, who was on top of the gate. It did not take a great read of body language to assume an air of demoralization had filled the lungs of Jon's troops. They gave him questioning looks still, wondering what he had to say that would make them stop their work. 

 

"Oy'll cut straight tae th' shite, lads. T'is week, we got fooked ovah. Our fort 'as been burned tae th' rubble 'nd we gots men tae bury. Oy'm not 'ere tah command contractors or gravediggahs. If t'is ain't wot ye wont, leave. Th' gate open." he said, gesturing to Two as he pulled the lever to open the wooden portcullis. Slowly a few men edged towards the gate. Elizabeth spat on the ground as they made their leave. 

 

"Oi'm not 'ere tah command fookin' bandits 'nd brigands 'ere evah. If ye wont tae go loot th' countrysoide, take yer torches 'nd pitchforks and gu." Jon said, his eyes scanning over his men. Gambino, Fist, Oslo, Felix, and Croesus were nowhere to be found, along with the traitor of Aldersburg. "And gud riddance tae t'em if ye asked me!" Jon thought to himself.  

 

"We losin' ah identity as mercenaries. Ovah th' past year, we've 'ad brigands, traitors, 'nd fookwits in ah midsts. Ye lads one of t'ose?" Jon asked, snarling at the crowd. They remained silent, though a few gave a small shake of their head. 

 

"Gud, 'cause we startin' **** essentially ovah. Ye wont tae get rich and doi wiff t'ree pretty whores on ye cock? T'en get workin', 'nd don't ferget t'at we mercenaries, nae bandits 'nd brigands. Oy'll see tae it t'at th' glory, binniss, 'nd success ah Company 2-11 be restored." With that, he nods, waving his hand in dismissal and sending the crowd back to their work.

 

He turned around, looking at the newly rising sun. Mayhaps this signalled a new day or dawn for Company 2-11. There was no doubt one was sorely needed. 

[Proddy 2247]

(( Xtreme_Prodigy:  ))

 

Name: Iman Tanner
Race: Human, of Highlander descent.
Age: Two-and-twenty.

Soldier or Servant: Soldier.

Why ye want tah join 2-11? I have knack for this sort of work, and it pays well.

 

Are ye worth more den spit? That's for you to judge, but I'd say so.

[Lynesse {Celia/Jazzy} 398]

Jon pens a simple reply, sent the the place of origin. The letter eventually finds itself at the lap of Iman Tanner, where he may make his decision on whether or not to open the rolled up piece of parchment. 

 

Should he choose to glance over the sheet, the words etched on the paper would appear to be...

 

"To Iman Tanner,

 

    The freemen Company 2-11 would more the love to have extra hands around, especially at this time of labor where we all must work to set up a foothold in these new lands. If your interest still persists in joining Company 2-11, please feel free to send me a direct bird message to my personal cage ((LoTC_Celia)) and I would be more then happy to make arrangements. 

 

Sincerely, 

 

Ser Jon Stirling, Captain of Company 2-11."

[The Lion 717]

 

It started as any mid-year day does in the North. Sunny with a slight chill breeze, wild flowers waving gently in the grass, and wildlife bounding to and from. The day was pleasant and average. A day like this is worry free, but below the surface something was stirring. Deep within the maze of tunnels and shafts a power flows into the rock. The cave walls begin to close in with a suffocating sensation as the  tunnels descend. An ever present pinging seasons the stale air after a wild ride down a steep staircase. Light shines in the distance and seems to engulf a metal giant from within the sightless darkness. The mechanical beast vents arcane steam as it's drill arms drive into the stone in a brutal twist of sparks and metal. =o= DeNurem Inc. DIGGATRON. =o= is stamped plainly on the leg of the magically-engineered feat that works dutifully against the earth. Without warning the machine stops and turns to shine it's beacon-like headlamp down the hall behind it. A frazzled and wide-eyed Captain Leone lazily pops the release hatch and the Iron Giant's front opens with a burst of exhaust. Lion takes a moment to smoke and eat a handful of shining mushroom caps before slowly shutting the suit and hitting the ignition switch to evoke the machine to life with a deafening roar, "Back to the grind, Diggatron!"