First Few Steps

Sam


He stares at Lyke quizzically, expression stretched somewhere between bemusement and incomprehension, "Yes, I am clean now~"


He tugs a lock of hair, it squeaks, before bouncing back into it's curl.


"Now you can see my hide pattern!" he chuckles, taking a seat, pulling up his sleeves to show the bizarre milk-white scars marbled on dark, coffee coloured skin, "Arrow. Arrow. That one is burn. Also burn. Claw. That is bite. From horse. That one is tusk from boar," he points as he goes. They are all over; knees, elbows, sides of his ribs, hipbone, collarbone, hands...


"Back is... mainly whips," he pauses, smile slipping, "And brands. He liked using those,"
 
It takes little time for the inkeeper to get the rooms prepared for group. The room closest the stairs goes to Osric and Eahlstahn, while the room further out, overlooking the front, goes to Lyke, Sam, and Abram.


The night is dark and quiet. No moon peeks out from amongst the starless cloudy sky, no wind rustles the few trees left standing. All is silent, until the morn.


Light slices through the gloom of the enclosed rooms, cutting through the slanted slats in the shutters. Many of you are woken by the loud harumph of someone out working the stables, or the soft whinnies of horses in their stalls. The tromp of marching feet may have woken other, muffled with the distance, but still annoyingly resonant as the guards march through the town square.


The smells fare little better, though not by much. The stench of horse manure seeps in through the window shutters, fighting with the scent of sweet porridge drifting from the downstairs.
 
Lyke


Responding to Sam by slowly reaching down and patting his hair for a few moments. The coarse yet now somewhat clean fibers oddly springy under her fingers. She pulls back as he starts going over his scars, Lyke giving an ever so slight nod of sympathy before pulling back to verbalize and let out a couple grunts.


She turns a bit, blocking the view from any observer except of course Sam and points at her mouth. Hesitantly, she opens up her mouth wide and snags a finger around her cheek to show him her own wounds. They had used calipers to not cut, but rip her tongue out. Be it their own sadism or just what was on hand, the calipers were heated and the burns were evident. A lack of tongue obvious, a few scraps of flesh quiver in the rear of her throat with white burn lines throughout her mouth.


She waits till Sam leans in closer for a better look and snaps her teeth shut right before his eyes. Pulling back and laughing she ruffles her hand again before stepping off and heading up to her room with one of the mugs.


Taking off most of her gear, the thick leather and various harnesses, Lyke lounges in the bed she claimed. The other two being little more than straw mattressed cots, the actual bed a rag filled affair in a keyframe style. Lyke cranked the supports as tight as she could before setting up in the bed. Using her seax, she spent most of the night picking at her nails and teeth before nodding off.


@PixelWitch @KamiKahzy
 
Osric Silkhand





Osric emerges at the crack of dawn with no small amount of grumbling, sitting in a dark corner to eat his breakfast, taking time to build his composure. One must look like a leader, afterall.
 
Abram





Abram's head jerked slightly as the morning sun glazed his eyes through the shutters and the morning smells of civilization hit his nose. His eyes remained closed as he inhaled deeply and slowly pulled his hulking frame up into a sitting position. He exhaled and stretched his arms and back, enjoying the sudden release as his joints popped and cracked at various stages. Even before the failed campaign it had been months since he had slept under a solid roof, and the results were obvious to him. He felt refreshed and relaxed, ready to ease into the day and get to work on whatever job Osric had lined up for them. Abram made a mental note to ask him about that, he'd been rather secretive with the details last night.


After stretching his legs Abram got up from his cot and scratched at his hair. He was wearing his normal clothes, a cotton shirt and slacks, and proceeded to pull on his boots before leaving the room and quietly closing the door behind him. There was some business he had to attend to this morning and it simply couldn't wait.


After he left the latrine Abram came back up to the room and grabbed his gear. The others were starting to wake so he didn't need to be overly quiet as he strapped on his armor once again. Was it practical to wear his armor indoors? Not at all, but it was the easiest way to ensure it wasn't stolen while he broke his fast. Once he was fully dressed he lumbered downstairs as graceful as a bear and took a seat at table with Osric. The pretty barmaid came by with a bowl of porridge for him, which Abram took with a smile of thanks for 'Wee Jenny'. Abram nodded to Osric before he began spooning the hot meal into his mouth, thoroughly enjoying the heat and mild spices that had been added to the dish.


@Grey @Teh Frixz @PixelWitch
 
Sam


He was used to waking early, stirring as the sun made an appearance. The comfiness of the cot in comparison to his usual sleeping arrangements was a far cry away. A bucket of water sloshed about his face and torso to wake up and banish the grog of sleep and morning breath.


Dressed and snuck downstairs, he proceeded to inhale three bowls of porridge and a pint of milk. He looks like he's never been happier.
 
The long ride from the keep, being the wall, had tired her. After all, she wasn't too keen on horseback, coupled with the fact she was on guard duty as well, her face would be set in a glum gaze. The speed was kept as Catalya would eventually have the horse reined and tied. She stood outside, noting the area and through coincidental gaze the sight of the fading dye on her hair. A moment would be taken with right hand tentatively nestled against the hilt of her "rapiers". Surprisingly she hadn't been gutted coming here, and now stood out front with what would seem to be an elegant set of leather armoring. Leather would creak audibly, causing a head to turn.


In fact she felt like a walking banner. She wasn't the smartest person in the world, by any means in fact; but that wasn't to say she lacked common sense. The house mission she had been dispatched here on was left construed purposely, and now that she had arrived the woman honestly did question it herself. In any case, she tried to treat everything like a fight. The first step was usually to move. Or, make steps to move rather. The things she was taught, and how she was raised made her ignorant of most of her surroundings when in thought; which are usually techniques in how she could best another in a fight.


There would be a turn, and she opened the inn door fluidly, leathered boots thudding lightly with her arrival. " Morning. " the greeting would be uttered in the general direction of the most heavily populated corner of the room, then she would move to sit at the bar of the inn, enjoying her last bits of noble 'poshness' while they lasted.


Once she sat, she would glance to her left spotting the young boy enjoying his meal. A true child of war. If he was paying attention to the woman, he would received a smile, and nod of the head. She had a soft spot for kids really, but she would allow him to enjoy the meal instead of outright asking if anyone was apart, or familiar with New Hope, and or mercenaries. Instead she just decided to take the ignorance of "nobility" and sit silent until approached or questioned. Guard duty wasn't necessarily over just yet, as she was still armored heavily. While she seemed for the most part very well garnished, most of it would be sold within weeks.


They (being the armorers and treasurers of house Ferldain) had discussed how they could make a discreet monetary transaction. They ruled out her simply jingling on the road with coin, and cooked up a better measure. They simply built the value onto her body, and once done New Hope would have a generous lift to whatever their financial situation was before she arrived. At the end of the day, she was there to fight; she didn't truly care about the rest of it.
 
Lyke


The roads would usually be wet. Kelen had a habit of hanging onto moisture sweeping down south from the forest creating at times what seemed to be an impenetrable fog. By midday most of the fog would have fallen into the earth, hovering near the ground and allowing the once solid land to be churned into a butter like slurry of mud.


The carriages would slow to a walking pace, allowing their group a speed advantage from up the incline they had hidden upon. The banners go slack as the wind dies down. Banners of the Iron Rose.


A shout, arrows launched from bushes. Children scream, nuns scream, men scream. Lyke screams.


Or at least awakens trying to. A hollow gasping resonance something akin to a bark. Her heart pounded while her mind attempted to make sense of where she was. A bed in an inn. Not tossing bodies into a mass grave along the side of some forsaken road.


Lyke does a quick check over herself, slipping a finger in her mouth to check on how the burns were scarring up and to make sure nothing was getting infected. She swipes around inside, wincing a bit at the pain before withdrawing her finger and sniffing it. Morning breath with hints of alcohol, good signs. No rotten sweet smell of infection anymore. Still wouldn't risk it.


Lurching up off the bed, she performs a quick morning toilet before dressing, sans heavy coat, and heads downstairs. Sam was already up and demolishing the inns winter stores and it seemed Abram and Osric were up with a move on as well.


What stopped her halfway down the stairs was the heraldry she just saw in her dream moments ago. She pauses to pinch her side, making sure she wasn't still in some ale induced dream. Feeling the sharp little nip of pain, Lyke deduced she wasn't sleeping and decided to play it cool.


Stepping on past the beacon of the House, Lyke sits at the larger table, flagging down whoever was working for a drink. While waiting she makes eye contact with Osric, doing the 'get a load of this' gesture with her thumb and flicking her eyes to the visitors purse.
 
Catalya would've luckily evaded most of that mud, and lean back against chair. As she was facing the more open area, the woman wouldn't go unnoticed. Though, she wasn't gazing over at her long enough to note the inquiry made. Her eyes had moved to rest elsewhere before a slow chant of words could be heard audibly to anyone within earshot of the room itself. "I am Catalya of House Ferldain, I've come to speak to the mercenaries here on official business". she would say, even though her body language didn't read nobility in the slightest.


At the words however, she rose, hands moving to the spaulders on her armor, and removing the clasps for the cloak & cowl. She would pull them away in unison, then make a small spiral with her hand wrapping the cloth up. With that, she placed both on the table, eyes flicking to each party in the room. She was a charm tip-toeing around people, but not in matters of the tongue. She was curt, and direct.


In that light, one would notice that her accent does match her claim, but her mannerisms, and sometimes slouches shoulders would suggest otherwise.


She wasn't smart by most means, but she made sense of fighting, and all its aspects. Gloves would've been removed next, joining the cloak and cowl; "Or am I in the wrong place?". The question would be asked with a light smile towards the woman that had just sat down. She already had a dull respect for the woman solely for her face. Scars built character, and scars like that usually meant the person wearing them was about business.


She would stand there massaging her fingers, which would be visibly nicked in dozens of places. It would look like training sword cuts, rather than an actual weapons markings however, and for now she remained relatively silent, red strands fluttering lightly as she turned to look from the woman to the young boy at the counter eating.
 
Sam


Sam's eating finally slows. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights. If that deer had a mouth full of porridge and oats.


For a moment he didn't' think she was real. Her colours where too bright, her armour too shiny. Not a hair out of place. She looked like one of those colossal oil paintings the Master had in his mansion, rows of them all hung in gilded frames. All of them filled with statuesque people, donned in glittering full plate, draped in velvet and surrounded by exotic fruits and well groomed hunting dogs.


His swallow was audible. He shrank in his seat, looking tense.
 
Catalya would sigh aloud, walking within what one might consider uncomfortable range of the woman, peering at her, and locking eyes as the other was likely drilling metaphorical holes into her head.


"You don't exactly look like you mend sheets, or shovel shit for a livin'." the words would come, her eyes piercing the other. "You gonna' stare at me all day, or point me in the right direction?" she would ask, using a boot to slide the chair out, and sit down in it with the poise of a tigress. Almost reminiscent of someone ready for something. Or, in this case someone who didn't intend to sit for long.


For now, she would simply stare at her, bulky wrists laid flat against her thighs, center-of-mass would be leaned forward, left eye lightly squinting towards the woman.
 
Lyke


If anything good came of having her tongue torn out, it was the ability to say volumes without a word and the ability to generate copious amounts of saliva. Without rearing her head back, Lyke utilizes both of her innate abilities at once. A thick syrupy stream of expectorate landing at the newcomers feet said all Lyke thought about her House and what she thought about the attitude the armored serf had.


She lets a wicked smile cross her face before nudging Sam again, letting him know to continue to eat.
 
There was an immediate thought to knock her across the jaw pretty hard, but there was probably a line between asserting who you were, and simply offending a band of people that would murder you without a second thought. Eyes would peer down at the spit, then a sigh was heard as she straightens her back.


She would however smile at the woman, noting she indeed knew the scarred boy. "Cat got your tongue then?" she asked, smirking a little then getting to her feet. She would walk over to the table, personally convinced that she had found exactly who she wanted. Catalya collected her items, not donning them this time however. Instead they were held in a rolled ball at her waist. She thudded towards the door, glancing over to the woman partly before moving to step outside.


"Twat.." the word was uttered as she stepped outside, yawning just after. Catalya would get a moderately sized knapsack from her horse, happy it was still there in the first place, then move to go back inside the inn/tavern.
 
Osric Silkhand





Osric watched the exchange with practiced disinterest - he'd made a bet with himself that Lyke would pick a fight sooner or later, and this newcomer had the look of a professional - either a monster hunter, or some lordling's pet murderer. Finishing his smell beer, he stood, stretched, and gave Lyke a pointed look on the way past.


Yet he was smiling. Say what you like about her, she's more honest that most people with tongues, he thought.


Outside, he nonchalantly placed himself in the stranger's path. His bow was the bare minimum courtesy. Does this one play the game?


"Greetings, Catalya - forgive me, but must I call you dame or lady?" He said, hands away from his weapons.
 
Abram


Abram had hoped to ease into his morning but the powers that be decided his moment of rest should expire posthaste. With a spoonful of porridge halfway to his mouth Abram noticed the well armed and armored woman stride into the tavern with purpose. Her gear seemed noble yet her gait was confused. A noble mask worn over a common soul. Abram was having a hard time reading the woman to be honest. His time with Lord Valern had taught him how to recognize nobility and how to address such individuals, but his time with the quartermaster and in the field had taught him to recognize a warrior. This woman seemed to show signs of both, an odd hybrid he had never witnessed before.


The woman's actions were far more catlike than Abram was expecting, but when she neared the table he silently reached for his halberd with the hand that wasn't tasked with spooning porridge. His grip tightened ever so slightly when the woman seemed to seek out Lyke of all people and put forth a confrontation of sorts. Clearly this was a show of force to prove her worth to the 'mercenaries' she sought, but to Abram it was not well received. His time in the kennels had taught him the loudest dogs were often the the weakest, while the silent watchers often held the most bite. Still, no sense in dropping your guard around an unknown, so Abram kept his hand on his halberd and both eyes trained on the scene. He might have even felt bad for Sam were he not so focused on being ready to act.


Luckily Lyke's typical response seemed to confirm the woman's suspicions and, strangely enough, defused the situation. Once the woman was out the door Abram relaxed his grip on his weapon and looked to Lyke. She had a predatory grin on her face, likely her own way of preparing for danger. When the woman came back into the tavern though, and Osric rose to formally meet her, Abram couldn't help but grow a slight grin of his own. He nudged Lyke gently and pointed to the two as they conversed, quietly telling her, "I wager she feeds him those fancy gauntlets in a moment."


@Grey @Teh Frixz @PixelWitch @KatarinaMID
 
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The woman would've paused before returning inside, looking towards the man that followed her outside. She made a visual check of his figure, top to bottom and considered him to be less than threatening. The bow in particular, caused her to step back lightly, staring as he spoke. She would indeed respond with a nod of the head, though her body still slouched slightly. "Lady?" She would say, a telling grin causing her to almost look away. She would shake her head, and reestablish eye contact. "Catalya works for me... I'm not here to play dress-up, I'm ere' to fight. Simple as that".


She would suddenly (take) notice that he had effectively blocked the entrance, then shift the knapsack on her back. "I thought she was in charge... Has the pretty face for it..." the attempted joke was made, a small smirk now stagnant on her features.
 
Osric Silkhand





"Lyke has a particular way with newcomers," Osric says, with a thin smile, and steps aside to let her pass. "Osric Silkhand, at your service, captain of our little company."


He follows her inside with a furtive glance at her figure and points to his table.


"Let us discuss the terms of employment, if you're here to join us."


Poor etiquette, cool demeanour, confident stance, he thinks. But probably not here for me.


He makes a mental note to keep an eye on her. The prospect is not wholly unpleasant.
 
The name 'Lyke' was repeated once in her head, and she nodded towards the man. She would reach a solid hand out to shake Osric's if he allowed her too, then take the opportunity to head inside. She would close her eyes lightly at the change of light, yawning again, this time causing her to visibly shiver. "So is it Captain, or Osric"? the question came, quite pertinent considering his own question to her moments before.


Catalya, rested all of her things down together, but somewhat to the right side of the table, sitting down and looking up to Osric. He would notice her body was indeed curvaceous, though his observing such was indeed, best done in a furtive manner. The woman would sit again, this time giving everyone in the room an "eyeball" for some seconds. She spoke loudly, and clearly; so listening in would have hardly been a problem for anyone in the room.
 
Osric Silkhand





"Osric for now; you're not under me yet," he quips, and settles into his seat, gesturing for the tapster to serve drinks. "So, by what means did you hear of us, and whence have you come, and why, indeed, would we be glad to take you?"
 
She would listen, fingers intertwining as he spoke. When he made note that she wasn't under him yet, she smirked, nodding. "Who hasn't heard of the fearless mercenaries of New Hope?" she would ask, very much sarcastically. In fact, she had no idea why they had sent her to this place. Catalya would have been ten times happier at home, fighting for the Rose. Depending on how he took her comment, which ironically might have passed for genuine admiration, she would pause.


'Is he joking?' she wondered, assuming he missed the original announcement she had made upon arrival, or simply didn't know what the shield wall represented. Even given the addition of the Viper, it was a generally well-known house. "West... The Martyred Pass..." her lip had curled lightly, and she breathed in a bit to add "The Wall?" Catalya would finish.


Eyes moved to the person he had tasked with refreshments, though she was practically dying of thirst, she was too prideful to drink from strangers. Her eyes had flashed to the other violently, but very much absentmindedly at that; then back to Osric. "I was sent here by lord Klaus Ferldain... I guess Lords don't generally like bastards with their house name I gather." she had went ahead and given a bit about herself with that comment.


"I'm just here to lend a hand, or blade... Learn what I can and hopefully go back to my wall some day." she would let that sentence out fluidly, nodding to the tightly wrapped cloak and such. "All this is to be sold, horse included it's to be considered generosity house Ferldain. I'm sure some sod'll buy it." with that, she shrugged lightly, leaning back in the chair and staring across at him.
 
Abram





Abram listened in on the conversation between the warrior and the noble while he finished up his porridge. This woman was intriguing to him, and considering the makeup of their little group he would be glad to work with another trained warrior. Never hurt to have more steel at your side.


When she mentioned selling the horse however he snorted derisively and, while licking the last bits of porridge from his spoon, stated bluntly, "Waste of a good horse."


@KatarinaMID
 
Sam


He had not moved from his spot. Eyes trained on her in the same manner a dog watches a stranger enter their home, openly and with little care for it's rudeness. His porridge was now getting cold. Though his appetite had shriveled in the past few minutes and it went unnoticed.
 
Osric Silkhand





"No one," replied Osric, with toothy smile, "we've been here only one night."


He folds his hands demurely on the table, indicating no hostility.


"I am therefore intrigued by your prescience - how did you know to find us here? I've spoken to no Ferldain in some time, and when last I did there was no snake on their banner."


He eyes his fellow mercenaries; an obvious, broad gesture, leaning in his chair.


"We could surely use a fortuneteller..."
 
At that, Catalya's lip caught, face sinking ever-so-lightly. This was there first night there? Her eyes would flick around, taking a mental note of everyone's position, and actions. It was safe to say most of the room had its attention focused on her, and at that moment she felt oddly out of place. Her seated poise changed again, that more malleable position she had used when sitting in front of Lyke before.


"Well... I was under the impression you lot favored this area. Lucky break I take it..." the lie was attempted, eyes flitting to her left briefly, then locking back on Osric. Bare fingers rubbed the scarred flesh on her knuckles, and she would turn her head to the male with the Halberd. Oddly she would have noticed this first, then his own words, and actions. A shrug would be given in his direction. "I never liked horses anyway.." the woman would say, losing the sarcasm in her voice, and this time being quite honest in her view on the animal.


With that, she leaned back again, her demeanor seeming to flip-flop between alerted, and relaxed at the flick of a dime. As he mentioned the snake fitted on her armor, there would be a light grin on her face, but she would let him finish as she slowly unraveled the balled cloak. When he finished, the cloak would have been unraveled up until the sigil which was now in clear view to anyone near the table.


"The Viper on my armor is an honor to me. For someone born a bastard t-..." she would pause, canting her head lightly "I said that already right? Anyway. The Viper is my title. My Mother was called Dovah Rose... Though, I understand she was much more infamous as The Bloody Rose... After I be-.. Almost beat her, I was given the title The Iron Viper. After she was murdered, I received this armor... A gift I suppose." Catalya would say, fingers still brushing over the others, seeming calm, but alert.
 
Osric Silkhand





"A curious honour," Osric says, "but family is odd, is it not?"


He leans back, relaxed.


"I don't doubt your arm; on the Wall you're good or you're dead. We have a contract in this place for our current number and I expect our employer will not be open to extending the agreed upon payments to a fresh hire." he explains, gesturing to the tapster for another pint.


"You can imagine how we might look like charlatans. To that end, I'm afraid we may not be able to pay you immediately."


He smiles sidelong at Abram, "and that horse is too useful to sell."
 
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