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| Gimme Your Sword; I said gimme yer sword! | |
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| Topic Started: Jan 12 2018, 05:49 AM (126 Views) | |
| Gouka | Jan 12 2018, 05:49 AM Post #1 |
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On the plains of Morrim, there was a road. It was a very roady road, a road in very definite, road-like ways. It was flat. People walked along it, sometimes in great numbers even. It turned into thick, morassy mud when it rained, and when dry enough, could choke travelers with its dust. For the most part, this road, an iconic example among roads, ran along endless fields of thick, plush plains grass. Along this stretch however, it brushed dusty shoulders with an overgrown thicket. This thicket was a thick thicket, hardy and sturdy to fend for itself against the strongest plain's winds, huddled down tight around a hidden pool of water from which its branches drew sustenance; a pool itself that was fed by a shallow, but steady trickle, from an underground spring. It would make a great location for a farm, were it not so dreadfully far from the reliably protection of any city. In the usual course of things, a thicket is a quiet, overgrown affair. At most, its leaves might rustle in the breeze, maybe even thrash and groan in an especially stiff wind. During cool, quiet nights, one might hear the sounds of rustling, scurrying critters, the chirp and cheep of roving insects. All quite peaceful, calming sounds. Instead, interspersed with a violent thrashing and crashing, this particular thicket sounded much like so; Gods damned pissing- Thrashing, crashing, squealing. Nononononono not that way not that wAY- More thrashing, angry squealing, almost a roaring kind of squeal. Piss and vinegar not the face not the FACE- A particularly violent crash, punctuated by a loud and pained squeal, as well as Gotcha now you whore's son! And then the thicket fell silent for a few moments. Then it cursed a god. Then it cursed another god. Then it worked its way through the pantheon for good measure. It punctuated these curses with a sound of branches being hacked and slashed at, as well as a great weight being dragged. Several minutes (And working his way back around the pantheon a few times) later, Gouka emerged from the thicket- bloody, scratched, and with great effort, heaving along behind him a rather hefty boar sow by the rear legs. It had not been a good morning for Gouka. He'd camped in the thicket, both to conceal himself from travelers along the road, and because the thick brushed offered cool shade and an even cooler pool of water. He had not deigned to notice the tracks around the pool, dark as the night had been, before bedding down himself. He'd awoken, not to his usual nightmares and the internal clock that told him when dawn had arrived, but to a lone sow snuffling through his herbal supplies. He'd tried to scare it off. The sow has politely declined to be scared off, and instead, had started trying to bite him. With a final heave, he brought the sow to the edge of the thicket with him, groaning as he rubbed at his strained back. He had a gash on his cheek where it'd nipped at him before he could get to his feet, and his grey eyes grimaced at all the scrapes along his forearms, thrashed against branches when he'd tried to throw himself on its back. It'd been providential luck it'd not been a boar at least, or he'd likely have found his entrails tangled around its tusks. All the same, not a happy start to the day. He glared at the corpse- he'd gotten lucky and stuck it in the throat with his swordbreaker- before plopping down, rummaging through his herb pouch, and promptly groaning. 'Of course the damned thing ate the ginger and garlic first. God forbid it eat the herbs I didn't need right now.' He gave the carcass another glare before standing up, reaching for his bastard sword. "Welp I hope you enjoyed glutting yourself, because at least it means bits of you will be seasoned when I throw your sorry hide over the fire!" Heaving on his sword with both hands, he chopped it down, slicing into the back of its neck. He went to go for another chop- and promptly lost his grip, the solid steel blade lodged firmly in the sow's neck bone. He swore. "Raziel piss on you! Gah!" He gave another heave at the sword, grunting as he tried to work it out of the bone. "Oh if pa could see me now. 'That wasn't very bright son. That's what axes are for, son.'" He kicked at the corpse, his sword still quite firmly stuck. "Well excuse me, Mr God's Given 'The Unbroken fecking Smith,' you wouldn't let me take an axe and I ain't had time nor material to forge one myself!" He grumbled as he plopped back on his rear. "Feh. 'Build's character to own only tools you've made yourself' my arse. Yer a cheapskate is what you are, Acies, a cheapskate." It seemed likely Gouka would spend most of the morning ranting to the sound of his own voice, trying to butcher this sow. By the gods, he'd at least get some pork flank for his trouble. |
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| Artorias | Jan 12 2018, 12:00 PM Post #2 |
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Weariness. Tens of miles firmly under heel, and no less exhausted for it, the Knight trudged onward, armored form slowed far beyond the norm. Hunger gnawed at his concentration, a beast let loose upon the granite wall of his unshakable focus. Fatigue joined in with a baying howl, announcing its presence with a vicious, deep ache from the depths of his frame. Wearing down yet another fresh coat of enamel, Artorias bit back a venomous string of curses and quashed the rebellion from within, wasting no time in eviscerating even the smallest signs of weakness, internal or otherwise. The road was yet long from here, and nothing good could come of such distractions. Ravenous thirst gnawed at parched airways, blistered esophagus screeching in tortured defiance as he deigned to ignore his bodily needs. The nearest known water source was a far cry in the wrong direction, and he had little intention of further delay crossing his path. Of which, even he knew not the why of his heading. Secretive parchment, unmarked, unsigned, and untraceable, had found his door upon his waking, near to a week prior. Whilst normally beneath notice, the style of calligraphy pointed toward a string of other, more descriptive notes from years past. Notes that, in fact, had led him to many a valued item or, extremely rarely, potential lead on his family. A grimace crossed his features for the umpteenth time, brows furrowing in irritation and eyes narrowing upon the horizon. It truly unnerved and riled the young warrior that, no matter his efforts, he simply could not trace them. If for no other reason then their uncanny ability to track his every minute movement across the continent, he found their necessity a rather sharp thorn to live with. Information such that could easily find his death, no matter his prowess or martial might. Grunting, he released the thought, gruff exhalation accompanying the mental purge. Lamenting on the "what ifs" would do him little good, and could only further sour his alarmingly irate temperament. Crimson orbs ever vigilant, he continued to scan the road for threats, or even points of interest. Despite the ludicrous scope of his travels, this particular road had never crossed his path, and as such he deemed it worthy of memorization. The material was dry, as with most flat regions; Occasional hills and natural divots the only break in monotony to be seen for miles. Except, of course, the overgrown thicket fast approaching. It was definitely an oddity, something that was quite apparent even from a few meters away. It was as if nature simply gave up any and all attempt to tame this particular stretch of fertile soil, weeds, flowers, and various other, unknown vegetation erupting from the earth as an earthen volcano. Pupils dilated, a familiar itch in his throat announcing its presence once more as realization dawned. Only with ready access to a large volume of fresh water could such a monstrosity sustain itself. A cache he was more then ready to seize. Swiftness returned, his cadence increased, mood steadily improving as he neared his target. Then, just quickly as it arrived, said positivity evaporated, movement registering to his optical orbs a millisecond before the sound found root. Left hand immediately glued to the hilt of Bruchigkeit, Artorias slid deep into a stance, fully readied and on alert for anything that might come from within the shaking reeds. Face contorted in concentration, he slid froward at a crawl, armored foot rarely leaving the ground as he slowly made his way towards the source of the ruckus. Now well within earshot, he found the noise to be, largely, port talk, the ugly type of verbiage spoken by those with little want for articulacy, and even less want for grammar. Noting the curses to be directed skyward, and the voice behind them, the light tenor of a male were he to hazard a guess, seemingly shielded just behind the first layer of green, Artorias abandoned any pretense of stealth and simply pulled the vegetation aside with a free hand. The sight that beheld his rubied eyes was quite unlike anything he'd ever seen, and unlikely to see again. The man, he now confirmed, in question was attempting to behead the rather fresh corpse of a female boar with a bastard sword. Quite ineffectively, at that. Taking into account his lanky frame, slim musculature, and average height, it was little wonder his flailing failed to take root in the proper position. Much more noticeably, to the point of momentarily drawing his eyes away from the youth, was the sparkling basin of clear, off-blue water just adjacent. Bringing his body to heel, his attention was then brought back to its primary target with renewed, unwavering vigor. It seemed his target had yet to notice him, but his instincts chided him, lecturing of a different story altogether. Caution reigning his once clouded mindscape, he spoke out, tone muted and cautious, yet no less powerful for it. "I seek naught from you. As I require use of this Basin, I ask that you stand aside, and I shall depart forthright." Simple, concise, Hell, it was almost polite compared to his usual banter. Severe dehydration had the strangest effects on people, and he was, by far, no exception. |
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| Gouka | Jan 15 2018, 01:15 AM Post #3 |
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"I seek naught from you. As I require use of this Basin, I ask that you stand aside, and I shall depart forthright." Before the words had even fully cleared the air, Gouka had vaulted over the sow's corpse, abandoning his entrapped bastard sword without a moment's hesitation, his hands finding their way to his secondary weapons- the swordbreaker in his left and the hammer in his right, cursing himself for his inattention as he came up from the roll, turning to face the source of the voice- which, all things considering it sounded like the voice of a man who gargles with sand, the sight before Gouka's eyes was surprising, but fitting. 'Built like a brick shithouse,' was the first thought to cross Gouka's mind. The man- if indeed it were a man- was a towering, imposing figure, clad from head to toe in dusty, but sturdy looking armor. Slightly taller than Gouka himself he seemed to be, and with a sword that very nearly scraped along the ground, as massive as it was. All the same, the armored giant had spoken in a fairly polite tone, if one that was painfully obviously parched with thirst. The tattered cloak was a tad overkill, in Gouka's estimate. For that matter, the crimson eyes staring him down were downright eerie. Easing back up out of his stance, Gouka looped the hammer and sheathed the dagger, though he kept his hands on both. "Evona's tits, you can give a man a fright sneaking up on them like that, much less looking like something Zanna herself would cook up." The man had a very... formal, way of speaking, but Gouka had little intent to let it disrupt his own manner of speech, shooting for an upbeat, jovial tone. No need to be completely insulting to a man wielding such a large cleaver. "But suffice to say, ser knight, I can hardly lay claim to this land here, much less this ample pool of water." He turned slightly, giving the still warm corpse of the sow a fierce kick. "I do, however, lay claim to this lousy sack of meat, if only because I killed the damned thing myself after it got into my medicine pouch." He pulled a hand away from his hammer to stroke at his chin, taking on a pose of mock deep thought. "Though if I'm to guess from that there heaping cleaver slung over your shoulder, you look like a strong sort. After you've attended to the thirst that seems to be scratchin at your throat, how's about lending me a hand securing my sword back from the hog? More than enough of it to feed two hungry souls, once it's been cut down into manageabley cook-able pieces." He struck up a finger, wagging it in a jovially mocking way. "And don't you go looking me in the eye and tell me a traveler this far from any town or city proper would turn down fresh meat." All joking aside, he did keep his guard up, ever so slightly balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to spring in any which direction that sword might go swinging. Not to say he was terribly impressed by it; it was, to his eyes, a gaudy, overtly long thing, with too much ornament and far, far too much length. In the words of his father; 'A tool ought to be functional. You make it pretty when you're trying to hide shoddy work.' Still, one did not do to immediately begin insulting a travel weary, well armed and even better armored knight, so for the time being Gouka kept that particular bit to himself. Always a time and a place for that sort of thing. As if the thought had struck him all the sudden, he mockingly clapped his hand to his forehead. "Well look at me, jabbing away like that, and not once did I think to introduce myself." He clapped his hands to his hips, half bowing. "Gouka, son of Acies, a smith only so called 'The Unbroken' because he was too miserly a bastard to want to replace his tools, so he made them to last." |
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