Just How Old Are Your Leg(s)? (Solo)

by **Horlamin** on June 9th, 2012, 1:00 pm

<1st day of Summer, 512 AV>

The walk from The Establishment back to Baroque Bay, where Horlamin had been earlier in search of a room to rent, was casual and without incident. Hand on sword the entire way, Hor considered the new developments in his life. It seems whoever watched over him didn't want him to leave the docks. Live there and work there. At least the ale was good. As long as he had that, maybe staying on the docks wasn't so bad.

And then the sound of wooden planks under his feet came upon Hor as he found himself on the bay. Walking onward, he looked around in search of Ol' Legs. A easy task to many people; just look for the guy with one leg. But the docks were crowded with workers, and Ol' Legs was an average looking guy if you imagined him with a second leg. It wasn't as if he towered over everyone else.

And then Hor spotted him, leaning against a post watching the workers. Striding over, Hor stopped in front of the man, and bowed his head to show his respect. One leg gone or not, he was still powerful. And he probably had powerful friends also. No need to piss him off.

"I was pointed in this direction to find work. They said ya need more taggers." Hor fell silent afterwards, waiting for an answer. Years in Sunberth taught him to keep your mouth shut unless what you had to say what was truly important. He had said what needed to be said, and his other question was of no importence. In fact, it would bring upon Hor negative consequences. But just for his benefit, he asked the question in his own mind.

How old are ya legs?

by **Archelon** on June 10th, 2012, 8:30 am

Old legs looked up at Horlamin from his stool. Just looking at him, judging his worth. Staying silent for a long time before speaking. "Yeah, but you're late. I don't like people late. It's bad for business and the crew of guards I had to hold up for you is waiting. I suggest you get over there," The man pointed towards an armored female, "where Carstens is and let her show you the ropes for a day. If you don't succeed in meeting her expectations you surely won't succeed in meeting mine. And then a five gold a day job would just up and vanish for you. Do I make myself clear?"

With nary another word, the man waved Carstens over who looked at Horlamin with a bit of dislike, "This the new Fish sir?"

"Yerp, he's going with you."

Carstens turned towards Horlamin, "Alright, we got to make up some lost time and that means running to the warehouses to meet up with the client. When we get there, we just make sure the goods get to the docks where the workers are. No funny business , or messing with any of the merchant's personal guards, nor the merchants themselves or any of the laborers. Keep a sharp eye out for thieves and I think you'll do fine. We get the job done with little fuss and you get your chance to come back. We don't, and let's just say your head might roll if you don't follow instructions or try to lead us into a trap. Capeesh?"

With those words, Carstens signalled to two of the other taggers, Bruster, and Wormwit, a man holding a bastard sword and the other holding a crossbow to fall in. Both looked at Horlamin a moment before turning to follow Carstens, content to be started on their way.

ooc :

by **Horlamin** on June 16th, 2012, 1:09 pm

Growing up in Sunberth gave people a chance to see some very weird things. But even Horlamin, a citizen since birth, had never seen a grown man being scolded by an older man missing a leg; that just isn't common sighting. Nor did Hor think he would be that grown man being scolded. But there he was, standing meek and silent while an unbalenced man lectured him. If this had just been some random cripple, Hor might've said something like 'If I tipped you over, I'd bet ya'd be late too.' But this was Ol' Legs and Hor doubted he would've liked being pushed onto his arse. In fact, the armed men around him probably wouldn't like it either.

So all Hor could do was stand there and take the verbal lashing without protest. Ol' Legs gave him the same points any other boss would've; tardiness, meeting expectations, and loss of gold if failure occured. Ol' Legs must've done this often as he allowed no room for Hor to reply. As soon as the final word escaped his lip, he waved over an armored female who he had mentioned was Carsten. A brief conversation followed, which included Hor being called a fish, before Carsten turned her attention to the fighter.

This Carsten was no different from Ol Leg's besides what was between her legs. How many lectures did one man need just to guard a shipment? This lecture was no different in one thing; they didn't want Hor to screw up. But other than that, this lecture was nothing but fluff. He had no details on destinations, logistics, nothing. Hell, she didn't even tell him the names of the other guards. All she said was run. So he ran.

Once Carsten had finished speaking, she turned, and took off running in the direction of the warehouses. Two men fell in behind her, and Hor fell in behind them. He was no runner; he learned to use his sword so he didn't have to run. Thankfully they weren't running full out; instead Carsten had set a steady pace. Hor doubted it was for him, though. No, he had to prove he could handle anything that was thrown at him. Hor was sure this pace was set for the man ahead of him who had to run with that crossbow in his hands. The man who had a bastard sword strapped to his back was having no difficulty keeping up with this pace, and he easily outdistanced the other man.

Hor quickened his pace for a moment to catch up with the crossbowman; a choice he would regret later in the run. He would regret this decision too. "How is guard duty assigned?" The air rushed from his lungs, and Hor gulped in more quickly, setting off a round of coughs. He was not the most athletic man out there when it came to cardio, and speaking while running was a difficult task for a novice.

The man turned to him, brown curls falling on his forehead as he ran. He replied, but not before Hor noticed that his eyes had a glazed look to them. Was he blind? "The pretty colors decide our fate." Giggles escape the man's lips, catching the attention of the other man, who falls back. Had Hor done something wrong to mess with the man.

"Don't worry about Wormwit. He always get high on mirage before work." Hor nodded in understanding; drugs made this Wormwit loopy. "Name's Bruster by the way."

"Horlamin," Hor replied without making Bruster ask the question. He tried not to say so much. How could this Bruster say full sentences so easily?

"I did catch your question you asked, though. Wormwit had it right to a point. Ol' Legs has a big board with different color tags. Hence our name taggers. He throws us together at random, and we go handle the job. We work together today, but tomorrow you'll be with other people. The colors decide our fate." And with that, Bruster quickened his pace once more, heading up behind Carsten. Hor fell in behind him, with Wormwit covering the rear.

The rest of the trip to the castle commons went along in silence. So Hor began to train himself in the running. He took in air through his nose, and released it out of his mouth. He didn't run too fast, but he didn't slow down any either. It was a nice, relaxing job. With a sword, buckler, and armor on. Nearing the end of the run, gasping for air was all he really could do. Sweat poured down his scalp into his eyes, and Syna beat down on his back with his rays of light. How could anyone like running?

And then they were in the storehouses. Hor didn't know how he had missed it, but he lifted thanks that they had. And they he collapsed on his arse for what moment of respite he would have before Carsten started barking orders again. Women barking orders. Now why did that sound so. . . right

by **Horlamin** on June 24th, 2012, 9:50 pm

"Did anyone tell you to sit, fish?" Carsten looked down upon Horlamin, who began to stand after her question. Women in Sunberth had to be the meanest creature on earth. Any other time, Hor would've been face to face with this woman, maybe even looked down at her. But give her a chance to stare down at you and she does just that. Oh, did it look menacing, and not just because of the short shord at her hip and the armor covering her body. No, she didn't anything like that to instill a wariness in any man. So Hor stood, and the woman turned away from him. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he followed.

Carsten drew up to an elderly foriegner with an unkept, white beard and turban atop his head. A Benshira trader, this far from his desert home; an odd sight anywhere. Though, after that petchin', magical storm, everything was out of whack. So Hor just paused to observe those around him. The man had two wagons, both filled with sacks and crates of goods. Each wagon had a driver already seated, but only one had a guard seated in the chair. One seat was empty, the merchants seat in the wagon. Hor knew he was there to help guard the shipment, but he had excepted a balenced number of hired guards and taggers. They only have five guards to two wagons.

Hor was about to voice his opinion, but Carsten cut him off as she turned her attention back to them. She even looked at Hor, question already forming on his lips, before speaking. "Mocto here just told me that he was very gracious of our presence. Some crazy man with warpaint covering his face had been troubling him the last few days. Ended up killing his guards besides Morojin over there. All he wants to do now is to get his goods loaded and be on his way to the next port. Now for positions. Wormwit, take point, Bruster in the rear." Carsten glances back at Hor, as if he didn't understand any of this. "You take the left flank of the wagons. Stand in between the back of one wagon and ahead of the ox team of the second cart so I can watch you. And don't try anything stupid because I'll be right beside you."

"Yes, sir." Horlamin replied, earning a small giggle from the high Wormwit. Bruster, just nodded towards Carsten, and released his bastard sword from his back; it appeared to be an extension of his arm instead of a weapon. It was apart of him. Carsten merely glared at him for a moment more before taking up her position on the right flank, pulling free her short sword. The Benshira guard had his scimitar hanging loosely from a sash on his waist. Even the drivers had daggers strapped to their thigh. And Hor had his broad sword, which he pulled free, along with is buckler. Four swords and a crossbowman. In the middle of Sunberth. Stepping into formation, Hor could only wonder what the city would throw at him. And then they were off; no time to think. Only time to watch.

And watch Hor did. Wormwit, high or not, constantly scanned the areas ahead, glancing briefly down each alley attached to the alley they rode down. It was Hor's job to looked down the same alleys to make sure dangers didn't slip in, thinking they had evaded the eyes of their caravan. After that, he had his trust in other's hands. Bruster covered his arse, Carsten his right, and Wormwit his front. Taggers, although picked at random, had to learn to trust others really quickly. Otherwise, you died. And Hor didn't want to die.

And as they neared the docks, Hor didn't think he was going to have difficulty with this transport. They would arrive safely without the usual difficulties one would face in Sunberth. Alas, that hope was shattered with the familar sound of a crossbow being fired, followed by a squeal common in this city; Wormwit had shot someone. If Hor hadn't known better, he might've misunderstood the man's motives; he was higher than the gods above, and he could've fired at a random person who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But Carsten crushed that belief too when she bellowed "Trouble in the front. Help me out, fish."

Hor only shrugged, and headed for the front of the wagons, which had stopped when Wormwit had fired. He was about to get his first taste of a fight in a while. Now Carsten was going to see exactly who Horlamin was.

by **Horlamin** on June 25th, 2012, 5:59 pm

Horlamin ignored the frightened horses as he stepped to the front of their caravan, Carsten drawing up beside him. This wasn't Hor's first fight, and as in any skirmish in the past, Hor took the time to observe the situation. Wormwit was currently reloading his crossbow, his first bolt lodged in the thigh of a vagrant. There were about four of them, not counting the already wounded man, all wearing poorly-made clothing. They were nothing more than beggers, with no money to buy food. So they decide to try and rob a caravan with the hope of it having food. Well they picked the wrong caravan to rob.

Hor glanced over at Carsten, who merely pointed with her sword at the men, who had recollected themselves. Even with armed men standing there in their path, they were still stupid enough to attack. Hor nodded, all seriousness, before stepping forward. He did hear footsteps though, Carsten maybe, or the Benshira. It didn't matter who it was; all Hor knew was he wasn't going to fight by himself. And then the fighting began, forcing all the thoughts of the fighter back. Now, all he would do was focus on the fight.

Two of the street rats turned their attention to him, both wielding clubs; they couldn't even afford a decent weapon, yet they have the nerve to attack the caravan. But to these men, those clubs were like great-axes, and they attempted to pummel Hor into submission. Hor held his buckler outward, allowing them to repeatedly strike it. The jolts were uncomfortable, but better on the buckler than his face. One of the men, his right eye covered with an ugly scar, attempted to sidestep his shield to the right. Hor swung outward with the buckler, catching the man in the arm, knocking him back. But that opened his defenses, and the second man, buck teeth visible in his grin, swung for his ribs with a sweeping blow. Hor pivoted backwards, bringing his sword against the club. Stealing a glance at scar face, who was still occupied from his blow, Hor brought the buckler down on buck teeth's forearm. The crack of bones sounded off in the alley, and Hor stepped back to recollect himself.

Good thing too, because scar face was back, swinging his club upward, hoping to catch Hor under his chin. One step back put Hor out of range for the attack, but in the heat of battle, he failed to realize that the wounded vagrant was laying behind him. His feet got tangled up on the man, and he stumbled further backwards, allowing scar face to strike at him. Offbalence, Hor only had time to turn himself away, and the club struck him in the bicep of his shield arm. A howl of pain escaped his lips, but he needed to muster through it. Scar face was wide open from his last attack, and Hor took the advantage. Hor shifted painfully, his bicep throbbing from the blow, but he brought his sword up past Scar Face's extended arms, planting his blade into the man's stomach. His expressing shifted from victorious to dumbstruck, and that was how it froze when death overtook him. Hor pulled free his sword from the begger, who dropped to the ground, and planned his next move.

Plan A was to defend himself from an incoming strike. His buckler shot up, catching the club, with buck teeth watching with a mask of rage on his face. Broken arm or not, he was still wielding that club; hunger did that to men. Hor knew he was the better man in this fight, but in the next instant he felt an excruciating pain coming from his leg. Hor shoved the club away with his shield, buying him a moment to check for his wound. And sticking out of his own thigh was the crossbow bolt Wormwit had fired. Had the petchin' idiot shot him? No, there was the wounded man, blood flowing from his thigh where the bolt had been before he had pulled it out. The man had stabbed him with the bolt! Red clouded Hor's vision, and he stomped his boot onto the man's wound, releasing him. He was going to pay for that.

But not before Hor rid himself of buck teeth, who struck again at him, this time aiming for his leg with the intent to hammer the bolt in further. Hor was having none of that, stepping out of the way so the club would hammer thin air. Hor swung his sword hand down, striking buck teeth in the wrist with the hilt of his sword. Forearm already fractured, buck teeth couldn't do anything but drop his club; that signaled the end for him. Hor swung at an arc, striking the man in the neck with the sharp side of his sword. It didn't decapitate the man, but from the large amount of blood flowing onto his blade, Hor knew he had hit a kill spot. He didn't even look to see the man fall as he turned to survery the carnage.

It seems Carsten had been the one who followed him into battle. Oh, now she was a fighter. A severed hand rested near her foot, along with the corpse that the hand went along with. Only one street rat was still alive besides the wounded man, and Wormwit quickly changed that as he fired for the second time that fight, catching the man Carsten was fighting in the neck. All that was left was the wounded man. The soon to be dead man.

Hor walked over to him, slowly but with a purpose, to the man who had stabbed him with the bolt. He was leaning against the wall of the alley, breathing heavily. But he looked up at Hor, no fright in his eyes. This was a man who knew what he had gotten into, and had accepted it. He was fighting to survive; Hor had done the same. But in this world, the fittest survived. And between these two, Hor was the fittest. The man didn't even release a scream as he was stabbed between the ribs. He died like a true Sunberth would die.

But a scream was heard in that alley, agony that chilled Hor's blood. He stood quickly, and headed back to the first wagon. The first he noticed was a head, just the head, rolling on the ground; it was the Benshira guard's head. But it was the driver of the second wagon who released the scream. He still had his head, but his torso was impaled on an odd sword held by a man whose entire face was painted. This had to be the same man Mocto has mentioned was tormenting his caravan. For what reason, Hor did not know.

But the man was here, and Hor was apart of the caravan now. He now had a new enemy, and this man was no begger with a club.

by **Horlamin** on July 2nd, 2012, 7:13 pm

Standing there parallel to the unnerved horses from the first wagon, Hor knew he had to do something. This man had already killed two men this day, and he doubted he was going to leave just yet. Wormwit was preoccupied with his own weapon, and Hor couldn't control the other taggers. No, he needed to make a move now, injured leg or not. So Hor sprinted for his target, or ran like a man with a limp could. Each footfall on his left leg sent a throbbing pulse to Hor's skull. Running the mile did not compare to this sprint from one wagon to the next. He had already been winded by the fighting, and his breaths came rapidly. But he survived to run to the attacker. Now he just had to survive the attacker.

And the man's first attack was dropping the corpse of the driver in Hor's path of travel. Hor halted in his tracks, allowing the Benshira to drop to the ground, but it still prevented him from launching an attack at the man. But this man lacked the same limitations, and he swung down with a vertical arc with his sword, hoping to strike him in the neck with his blade. This man had a height advantage, so Hor had to lift his shield arm above his head to block the strike. From this position, Hor couldn't strike back, but he felt the weight from the sword disappear, followed by Bruster yelling "Behind you!"

Time slowed down as Hor's adrenaline kicked in; unlike with the beggers, Hor had himself a true fight. Dropping his sword, Hor had only moments to recognize what had happened while he was blinded by his shield. Bruster's sword was embedded in the front of the wagon, where the attacker had been standing. If he was behind him, that meant he had to leap over Hor; that must've took some great skill in acrobatics to leap over Hor, who stood taller than the seat of the wagon. But then his time was up, and Hor whipped around, his shield barely stopping the strike that was aimed to cleave into his entire back. Hor noticed the splatter of blood on the man's warpaint; Hor hoped to add more after he struck this man down. Hor swung outward, hoping to push the man's defense open just a tad, before following with a quick slash across the man's chest. But this man was too experienced to fall for that sort of basic strike, and he stepped out of harm's way, drawing his sword back for his next strike.

And then Carsten was on him from behind, swinging for his ribs with her shortsword. How the man had known she was behind him Hor was not certain, but he shifted to block her strike allowing Hor an opening. Stepping forward, ignoring the pain from his bad leg as he pushed off it, he attempted to stab the man in his back. It wasn't until he was on his arse did Hor realize just how good a fighter this man was. With just a glance backwards, the man struck with his foot Hor's bad leg, knocking him off balence. He fell, landing roughly on the alley ground, and Bruster was there, taking his place in the fight. They kept the man at bay, but he was showing all of them up. Maybe he was a hired hand by a merchant, or just a fighter seeking excitement. Whoever he was, he needed to be stopped. But blades weren't going to do it.

Hor glanced at his surroundings, taking a quick look at his surroundings before coming to a conclusion. Standing quickly, the pain almost unbearable, Hor limped over to the left horse of the second wagon. What Hor had in mind was risky, and might hurt Bruster or Carsten, but it was risk he needed to take. How much longer until they made a mistake and this man killed on of them. He was an expert swordsman who could easily handle two fighters in close quarters. But could he handle a horse? Tapping the Horse on his front left leg with the flat side of his blade, he stepped back as he knew what was going to happen next. The horse reacted by getting hit when unnerved by getting away from it's "attacker." And he did so by bucking upward.

Bruster stumbled backwards, curses escaping his lips, but he was unharmed, and Carsten was too far from the horse to be harmed. No, it was the warrior they faced who got clipped, the horse hoofing him in the shoulder as he turned to strike Bruster. Stunned, the man could only gape as Carsten's short sword entered his body, protruding from his stomach. Blood escaped his lips, shock evident. What armed men would not do, a horse defeated him. Hor stepped up to him, smirk on his face, before ending the man. It didn't take much for his sword to exit the back of the man's skull; the brain matter that splattered his face was a sweet relief. He knew it wasn't his brain. And then all was quiet.

Releasing his sword from the man's skull, Hor turned his attention to the sword the man had been wielding. It wasn't something you saw on the streets everyday, and it might be valuable. But for some reason, Hor wanted to use the sword. Hacking and slashing was how Hor grew up fighting, but watching this man, it was like a dance. A dance of death. A dance Hor wished to learn. So Hor picked up the sword, and laid it on the second wagon. Bruster was calming the horse down with soothing words, words that sounded odd coming from the hardened warrior. "Risky shyte you tried. It worked though, so petch it." And then he turned his attention back to the horse. Hor assumed what he had heard was a compliment from the man, so he only nodded.

Carsten walked up to him after that; she had been speaking with Mocto once the man had been killed. "You and Wormwit load up the bodies, but leave the beggers and this face paint guy; the vermin in these alleys will get them shortly anyway. After that, take the driver's seat; you're going to show me what you can do with horses other than use them as weapons, fish." And then Carsten turned away. Hor just killed a powerful enemy that could've killed them if they had continued their fight, and now he was stuck loading corpses. Oh, how he hoped he earned a promotion from fish in short time.

Wormwit sat his crossbow on the second wagon, still fully loaded, so Hor decided he was going to load the bodies on the first wagon. Bending down, Hor pulled the scimitar free of the guard, setting it down between two crates; that weapon he would leave for Mocto, as he had no clue how the Benshira honored their dead warriors. Squatting down, Hor slipped his arms underneath the legs and shoulder blades of the guard. The man was about a hundred sixty pounds dead weight, and Hor was careful to not touch the clean sever at the neck; no need to get blood on him when he could help it. Plus his bad leg hindered Hor, but after slight struggles, he got the body up. Taking each step one at a time so not to drop the body, he laid it carefully on the back of the first wagon. A squeal escapes from Hor's back, and whips around, expecting another attack; why had he not put his sword back in his scabbard? And then he saw the head of the Benshira drop back to the ground with Wormwit backing away, a horrid look on his face it. And with all seriousness, the Mirage-induced drug addict said, "The head spoke to me."

Hor shook his head, annoyed at this idiot, and picked the head up. He shoved it at Wormwit, who backed up frightened, and that released some of his tension. He even chuckled as he sat the head down in the wagon. There was no need in asking Wormwit to pick up the second corpse; he would probably say it tried to shake his hand, so Hor squatted down. This man was lighter, so Hor had less difficulty picking him up. The consequence was blood covered the man's entire torso so it smeared on his scale mail. Rather disgusting, but it couldn't be helped. Although, after placing the second body into the wagon, he did use the man's shirt that was still dry to wipe off some of the wet blood.

By the time he was done, Carsten had waved him over to the back wagon, where she was seated in the driver's seat. Pulling himself up into the wagon required a little effort, since it hurt to push off with his hurt leg, but he eventually got up there. He passed a questioning look at her, and she merely replied "I spoke to Mocto, and he told me a two horse wagon was too difficult for a fish like you. So just sit and rest; you've earned it." Hor merely nodded, and sat back as Carsten moved the wagon forward with a flick of the reins. Bruster followed behind them, while Wormwit took point once more. But whoever witnessed what had happened this day wasn't going to mess with this caravan. That, Hor was glad of, because he wasn't sure he could move from this position if they were under attacked.

But other than a bump here and there, Hor had an uneventful ride. In under a bell, they arrived at the docks. Carsten departed to speak with Ol' Leg about their day today and probably how Hor had held up. But he didn't care. Hor reached back, grabbing the odd sword he had looted, and sat it in his lap. Today was over, unless they wanted him to unload the wagons. But tomorrow was a new day, with new possibilities. And new fights.

Hor was going to like this job.

End

by **Archelon** on September 27th, 2012, 9:28 pm

Thread Award

"..."

And the Results!!!!:

Horlamin :

Would you like some extra turtle sauce ? :