RoamingRonin

"Sushi catering?" 

The pain of losing a friendship on the rise rung true this day, as Musashi watched the Helena military clean the body from the streets. 

Unable to be there and witness the event was something that cut deep. The sting of regret, knowing that he had not been there to at least offer help. 

Truly, a terrible day for everyone. Once more, a redemption story is cut unbelievably short by the sword of fate. 

Musashi Masamune nodded at the declaration, and smiled to himself. 

”This day, the enemy becomes a friend. I am happy that he had seen reason.” 

The man would find a piece of parchment, as well as a feather with ink, and would begin penning him a letter of good faith, and an inquiry as to if he would like to meet for food and drink. An olive branch, if you will. 

”Study the sword to study the mind, you fool...an evil mind makes an evil sword.” 

They came in the heat of the day. 

There, in the center of the square, in the tiny hamlet of Millstone, I, along with a congregation of a handful of citizens, met to raise morale. To my left, as I stood on the pedestal, my daimyo stood. Evindal, the snow elf, who had recently suffered at the hands of the Sons of Malin, had written a speech for me to announce. I spoke with dignity, ushering in an air of confidence and inspiration to the people. Words that I did not realize would be needed in the hours to come. 

After I had finished, the group of citizens moved into the tavern, to consume food and drink. Evindal, seeming to be grim, did not stay long, and decided to wander the premises of his small estate. I would follow, along with another citizen. A sense of doom seemed to follow my daimyo wherever he went, and soon, he came to find himself sitting upon a bench, clutching his staff tightly, worry being evident on his features. 

“FIRE!” Shouted a guttural voice, which ushered in a volley of arrows to hit multiple buildings, and the tree in the center of town. Evindal rose to his feet, and drew his Aurrum blade, and I did the same with my katana. As I did, I felt the warmth leave my hands, and a chill set in. This must have been what was bothering him. 

From the tavern, a group of citizens exited, with weapons drawn. Among them, a Sage of Asimu’lei, and a good friend, Tantalus, as well as the Orenian fugitive, Kalius Denovan. Both were adorned in their respective armor, and ready to fight if need be. But it would be too late.

The opponents, who we found out to be Cheloveks, seemed to pop from the woodwork, and encircle us. Bowmen and swordmasters, with weapons primed to kill. We were completely surrounded. Their leader stepped forth, and accused my leader of trying to enslave his own people. How ridiculous! I mused to myself. But what if they held some truth to them…? 

But then the situation grew even more dire. An arrow was loosed upon the defensive position we took, and Evindal was struck! His arm was hit by a loosed arrow, and the invaders clarified that their intentions were nefarious. If not just for that, the leader of them, poured alcohol over himself, and lit himself on fire like some sort of ritualistic form of self harm. 

I knew that we would not survive a battle in the state we were in, and so collectively, it appeared that the residents of Millstone came together to one conclusion: retreat to the tavern. 

And so we did, and with us, we brought a female that had previously been neutral, but made her intentions known that she was indeed a Chelovek herself. 

My friend Tantalus remained outside, to try and quell any dastardly acts from reaching their fruition. The arguing went on for some time, while Kalius tended to Evindal’s wounds, and a few other men from Millstone would skirmish. One man succeeded in making them fight themselves, but he was dispatched after being shot in the skull by an arrow. 

Inside the tavern, the woman we had taken seemed to be up to something, and when Evindal returned from the cellar, with his wound freshly packed, she jumped at the chance. A kitchen knife taken from the bar would be her comfort, as she slashed at the snow elf, and cut him on his other arm. For this, she would be severely beaten, and rendered unable to stand for a time. 

As Tantalus’s arguments began to peter out, the Cheloveks became quite agitated. If not for Evindal’s reckless actions, I might not have been here to tell this story. Thrusting the doors open, he pushed past the armed warriors outside, and marched his way to the man standing in the center of it all, the one who set himself alight. 

After some tense moments, the snow elf turned back to me, and beckoned. I followed, as my loyalty to him outweighs that of my friends, though, after all that had been said, I was not so sure. I shook that thought from my mind, and hurried on, reaching the hillside. From this vantage point, I could see the enemy breaching the doorway, and cornering my friends. My heart ached to return to the fight, but in the meantime, we were both stopped by a wandering Chelovek, who’s name I could not remember. He expressed great worry, and while Evindal left me to speak with him alone, he confided that he felt the Cheloveks were the evildoers, not the innocent men and women of the hamlet. 

I urged the man to return to battle with me, but he abstained, and wandered off into the wilderness, leaving behind the coming battle. I quickly made my way back to the village, and took up a spot on the roof of the building that faced the tavern. From here, I could witness Evindal taking a few Cheloveks in combat, as well as three entering the tavern to fight Tantalus and Kalius. I quickly called for my messenger falcon, and wrote a message in the meantime, explaining the situation clearly, and where we could be found. I then sent my bird of prey into the sky, to hopefully bring some aid. 

I used interconnecting wires and cloth to sneak my way to another rooftop, and hide out while I deliberated my next move. While I did so, a fire was started in the bushes outside the tavern, and the smoke began to fill the area. I could hear the sound of battle, and the crashing of some wood, and peaked over the roof to catch a glimpse of the Chelovek woman sneaking out from the building. She exchanged words with the enemy, and ran to the outskirts. It became apparent later that she would be changing into armor, and she strode back into town dressed to kill. 

In the interim of my time remaining on the rooftops, it became apparent that the tide of battle changed inside the tavern. The Chelovek leader overestimated his fireproof armor, and burnt himself to nothing but ash! 

The other man with him would be stabbed in the back, and shot with a crossbow by Kalius and Tantalus, and he would soon die after. The third man ran out of the tavern, out of fear or some tactical advantage. This would be when the tide of the day changed entirely. 

Two Chelovek agents split off from the main force, leaving three to deal with three. It appeared that a man who mostly travelled unarmed, would be the center of an assault. Janus Seadane did battle with the agents, who apparently were leading a pregnant woman they had captured out of the city. 

This was my opportunity. 

I jumped from the building, and ran around the outskirts of town. To my surprise, the pregnant woman, who I would come to know as Faye Payne, and Janus were fighting two on two. I added a third to the fight, and as soon as the first Chelovek agent saw me, he dropped his weapon out of fear for his life. Pleading with me, I would not hear his cries, and I beheaded him cleanly, while the other man would be overwhelmed behind me, his skull stomped in and his neck massacred by Sarah Payne’s axe. 

From the courtyard, I heard the calls for retreat from the Cheloveks, but I would not let this go lightly. I rushed down the alleyway, and looped around the big tree. I planted myself firm, as the foes would attempt to leave. 

I would not let them. 

“You’re going to take on all three of us?” They questioned. 

“No.” I responded. “We are.” And from the alleyways came Faye Payne and Janus Seadane, and from the outskirts of the town came our aid: The Al-Faiz, the charge being led by Ameen Al-Nabeel, on horseback. 

What happened next would be considered nothing short of a bloodbath. One of the other Chelovek females was gutted by Evindal, who then went on to assault the last remaining Chelovek male. That man would be butchered by three people that day. 

The Chelovek Female who we had taken into the tavern had surrendered herself to me. By instruction, I was told to execute her, and I did as I was told, though something about it felt wrong in my heart. I tried to make her death as quick and clean as possible. 

It was only then, that the small congregation of Millstone would know peace, after all the Cheloveks were dispatched and dealt with. 

We collected their heads, and put them into a bag, in order for Kalius to clear his name, and put out the fire in the tavern. 

We were unsure of what to do after that, so much violence only caused grief, and many of us secluded ourselves in our homes, despite feeling a great swell of victory. 

This day will be known as the day Millstone fought for its independence, and won, only losing one man in the process. 

A total victory, but at what cost. 

[[ All credit goes to NOZGOD for hosting the event! It did not go the way we had planned, but I think the end result was more fun than we had anticipated! 

Masamune Musashi carefully reads over the contract, still shaky with his Common. 

He then nods, and takes it. Another Hemlock on the case. 

Marc of White smiles, as he read the missive. 

”My only regret is that I didn’t get to kill him myself.” 

He then kept the paper, and went about his day, a smile on his face. 

Marc of White, of the Hemlocks, looks at the missive, and nods. He then goes to gather some men, taking the case. 

Marc of White looked upon the news with a none too happy expression, before folding the paper gently and stuffing it into his pockets. 

He would then go to the other Hemlocks, and request that they join him on his pilgrimage to Oren, to see if perhaps the Oreners were offering a bounty on whoever was responsible for this crime. 

”All in a day’s work.” He said to himself. 

Marc of White, of the bounty hunter's guild "Hemlocks", reads over the missive and consults his cohorts on the contract, seeing who would join him and split the rewards. 

As of right now, he is the Hemlock on the job, and would make a visit to Helena in the coming days to discuss the details. 

Yeah, but when I “combatrp log” because I had to get my f*****g car that I just purchased, I get slapped with a four day ban. Such bulls**t. 

Marc of White looks upon the declaration, and saw that it was good. He nods and grunts in approval, greatly appreciating the newfound recognition. 

”Hopefully, more mina comes of this. The others and I are running a little light in the pockets. We must fix that.” He twirled a knife, before walking off to find some food and a drink. 

RP Name: Marc of White 

MC Username: KunLunKungFu

Discord: LunarLunatic#4141

What Nation Are You Affiliated With?: Ruswick

Why Do You Wish To Come: To learn some history, explore some new places, and most importantly, cool character development.

What Skills Can You Bring?: Superb combat ability, as well as a sharp detective eye and problem solving skills. 

Marc of White chuckles at the proclamation, and wonders if they realize that acting like barbarians will not stop the barbarism, and only further it. He reclines in his chair, and takes a swig of some fine liquor. 

”Ironic.” 

”Always the charge of a lesser man to tell others how they should live.” Marc of White scoffed. ”And thus, why many wipe their asses with Canonist bible paper when they finish in the latrine.”  He nails the paper to the wall with a knife, and then proceeds to use it as practice. 

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

Marc of White reads the parchment, a brow raised. 

”Uh...okay?” Was all he could mutter, since this House is, or was, unknown to him. 

This is nonsense. There should be major changes to the staff and ban system. Right now it is embarrassing. 

”A strikingly fresh bit of common sense. Interesting that it was posted during a tense period.” The bounty hunter agreed with the message, nodding in approval. ”Unfortunately, I don’t think anyone who should follow these guidelines knows how to read.” 

Marc of White reads over the scrap of paper, and laughs audibly. 

”Who let the smoothbrains get access to the printing presses? What a joke.” 

He crumpled the missive up and tossed it in the sewage ditch, where it belongs. 

“Hmm. Perhaps Ruswick isn’t the problem.”  Marc of White jabbed, reading the declaration. ”Perhaps the ghost of Swifty Sam is wreaking havoc elsewhere.” He jested to himself, crumpling the paper up and going on his merry way. 

Marc of White enters the Under-City of Ruswick, tired from the days toil, and of warring and deceit in general. So it came as some surprise to him that when he ventured around the city streets of Ruswick, that he happened upon the scene of a crime, one committed within the closely guarded walls. 

The house of Ryia von Savoia, also known to the council and people in the city as “Ruminating Ryia”, had been seemingly busted into. A curiosity pulled at him that beckoned him into the doorway. The lock had been busted clean off, and parts of the doorway had been splintered. 

Stepping through into the living quarters, Marc surveyed the scene. A painting had been slashed through, signifying that there must have been some sort of fight, and caused him to search further into the warrior’s living quarters. 

In his mind, he wondered who could have gotten the jump on his compatriot. She had been known to keep her head on a swivel. 

Eyes scan the living quarters over and over, trying to find some indication that his friend was alive, but so far, the prognosis was not good. Behind the mask, his face lie deadpan, and in his mind, he was trying to work out what might have happened. 

Over to the side, the bed she had kept her wolf in sat empty, and the items she had kept in her pantry had been shaken and stirred, some jars broken and cracked, further leading him to believe that there had been a struggle that had ensued while he was away. Naturally, he began to gravitate further in, noticing the bedroom, which had some blood peeking through the doorway. One hand outstretched, and pushed the door open enough so he could witness the horror that room withheld. 

Blood painted the walls with messy streaks, and blood tainted the white sheets that were wrapped tightly upon her mattress. Blood had pooled on the floor by her bedside, and caused his stomach to turn. So much blood. Elven or otherwise, no one could withstand losing that much blood.

“Dammit, Ryia.” He cursed her, becoming angry with the situation at hand. It seemed like his world was coming to a collapse, as his friends were being hunted down and killed. More deaths to add to the tally. 

Over at the other side of the room, he noticed a book. Pulling himself away from the scene, he scooped it up, and opened it to the last page written in it. 

What he found had confounded him. It didn’t make any sense at the time. Perhaps it didn’t need to. 

He stuffed the book away in a small pouch on his belt, and sighed. Another friend lost to him, taken by the war that had become synonymous with the Ruswick name. But he still harbored hope that she was out there. Perhaps she wasn’t captured or worse, killed. It was a fleeting hope, but one he felt the need to look into.

Taking the book with him, he exited the house and shut the door. 

There was work that needed to be done. 

Marc of White looked upon the paper leaflet with a deadpan expression. His brow rose to the mention of an Amadeo Clay. Poor lad or lass would surely be hunted down and killed for even associating with that court jester. He grumbled, shutting his eyes momentarily. 

”You poor bastard. Dying in a cell with no one but the cold company of a Haenseman. I guess it serves you right. Your mistakes and machinations will follow Ruswick for years to come. You endangered everyone you held dear, all because you wanted to get your rocks off killing a defenseless woman, and upsetting a hearty nation. You damn fool. You reaped what you sown, now this is your lot. I feel no pity for a man who endangers the lives of the innocent. Burn in the Underworld, but just know, it cannot save you. When my time comes, I will be coming for you. To the ends of the afterlife, RUN! My vengeance for those caught in your crossfire will be dealt, and in the afterlife, I have all the time in the universe.” 

Captain Flynt sat in his maproom, enjoying a pint of ale, and a fine book. That’s when his window was struck by the lost crow of Death themself. He sighed, and shut the book, knowing that this is an omen for something very near and dear to him. 

”So d’ poor bastard is dead, den, aye? Oh well, on t’ d’ next!” He shrugged, and opened his book back up, continuing to read by the candlelight. 

The man cloaked in white sighed, as he left the steps of Curon with the men of Morsgrad, delivering the body of the princess, as a sign of respect. 

He was sick to his stomach, but refused to show it. 

Captain Cayde Flynt looks at the paper declaration with a dismissive look, but then realizes what the morons on his council have decided to to. ”Those idiots have allied ME with Talon’s Grotto!?!?” 

Meanwhile, Marc of White looks at the paper declaration, his heart sinking into his stomach at the decree. He does not muster the words to express his distaste. He doesn’t need to. 

“Hmmmm...I could use a pretty strong drink meself, aye?” Captain Flynt smirks, taking hold of the paper. “And perhaps I could make some mina from t’ gamblin’.”