Egression

[lawnmowerman 3040]

EGRESSION

 

 

 

 

8th of the Deep Cold, 1530

 

    The oaken planks of the quay creaked under the weight of the party as they crossed the docks, their forms bent as they shouldered crates carrying all the belongings they would need. The sun had yet to dawn over the seacoast of Felsen, but already the heavens were painted a deep orange with the promise of the coming morn. A simple and ragged sloop bobbed languidly in the frothy waters, as a crew of nimble sailors darted around its deck as they made ready for the voyage soon to come.

 

    At the head of the band moving towards the boat stood a gaunt but brazen-looking man, his straw-colored hair shaggy and windswept as he squinted his eyes at the ship that could carry him across the Shattered Sea. The vessel lacked all the flair and prestige of the flagships that loomed nearby, but it had beyond a doubt weathered countless storms. The man quirked an odd smile at the thought, before he looked back to his retinue.

 

    The five men at his heel stood ready, faces set with determination as they hauled their personal effects across the pier. They carried swords, polearms, and arbalests, the steel of their armor glinting faintly with luster in the dim light of the morning. They looked a crew of mercenaries, but the man carried little doubts, for he had fought with them time and time again; for the loyalty they had showed him he would repay them with the glory they had long sought. The man affixed his band with a resolute nod, before he approached the midshipman that stood before the agile sloop.

 

    “You the lot lookin’ for passage to Aeldin, then?” the swarthy fellow inquired, knitting his brows as he looked over the band of unkempt warriors.

 

    “Th’ very same,” the sandy-haired man drawled, eyes darting to the crew aboard the boat that had stopped idly to watch him. Seemingly shrinking under his gaze, they busied themselves with the sails and riggings, and the man grunted in dull riposte before looking back to the midshipman.

 

    “Six ‘undred crowns, was it?”

    “Aye.”

 

    The grizzled figure tossed the sailor a hefty moleskin pouch, and even as he snatched it from the air the man’s eyes widened at the weight to it. His eyes went up again as he watched the man and his soldiers file up the narrow plank and onto the deck of the boat. The man frantically hustled after them, and soon enough the boat was prepared to make sail.

 

    The man gripped the rails of the boat as his ship set off,  a smile plastered over his features as he watched the harbor of Felsen grow smaller. He gazed out over the sparkling waters ahead with a sense of anticipation. There was much to be seen in the fabled land across the waters; coin to be accrued, alliances to be forged, a legacy to be made.

 

Ser Athirius Roke sailed into the horizon with his band of motley retainers.

 

 

 

Edited November 6, 2015 by Guck

[CheekyNolan 5420]

Allard Fournier folded his arms over his chest, remaining stationary while the vessel disappeared behind the orange of the dusking sky. "Let's hope the band of sell-swords behave accordingly, they'll learn quickly not to poke the Roke."

[Heff 2460]

Ed waves to Arthur as he departs

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.