Solo [Southern Trading Post] You Shall Not Pass!

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A city floating in the center of a lake, Ravok is a place of dark beauty, romance and culture. Behind it all though is the presence of Rhysol, God of Evil and Betrayal. The city is controlled by The Black Sun, a religious organization devoted to Rhysol. [Lore]

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[Southern Trading Post] You Shall Not Pass!

Postby Joanna Arbor on August 13th, 2016, 3:23 pm

Summer of 516 AV, 30th Day
The Lakeshore Outpost
12th Bell

"No sir, you'll need to wait while we review your goods," Joanna said, voice crisp and bordering on irritation. In one hand was a bundle of papers; in the other, a quill that dripped a fat glob of ink every few ticks unless held at just the right angle.

"It's just fruit! What is there to review?!" He had lost his patience immediately when the Ebonstryfe Initiate hadn't waved him through.

"That's not how this works," she explained slowly as if to a child. "You request passage across the lake. We check your things. You wait quietly like the others, and then once we've dotted the I's and crossed the T's, you can go. No sooner, no later." With the end of her feathered quill, she pointed in the direction of the Bazaar.

"This is the fifth time I've been to this city! One would think you'd remember me and just let me pass," he snapped, and Jo started to grind her teeth. He took once glance toward the Bazaar and turned his nose up. "I'll not let this whole cart spoil because of one silly bitch who doesn't know how to do her job." There was a long silence after he spoke, and a few people who were in earshot gave the scene uncomfortable glances while moving away.

"Five times, you say?" Her voice was calm now, and she smiled. He nodded and folded his arms, looking very satisfied and superior for a fruit salesman. "Well then, forgive me sir. I had no idea. Let me just write that down." Very carefully, Joanna drug the quill's tip across the page, crossing off the man's name with a thick line of black ink. She handed these to the young man beside her - a member of her unit who had been silent throughout the exchange, but was grinning now.

A few more of her comrades wandered up, for they'd been stationed at the Outpost as a group for the next few days. They'd been listening from a distance like carrion circling a battlefield, and were drawn in to pick the bones. The trader saw them closing in and the smile slipped from his face. His already pale skin took on a pallid hue, and his hands came up in a universal gesture of surrender as he took a few steps back. She followed his retreat pace by pace, and when his back bumped his cart, he flinched.

In that moment of distraction Joanna ducked down, pushed off her back right leg, leading with the left, and buried a heavy fist into his belly. He doubled over in a mixture of surprise and pain, the air left him before he started to retch. While he was bent down struggling to recover, Jo grabbed a handful of his hair and moved him just so before twisting at the hip and lifting a knee to connect squarely with his nose. She felt bone and cartilage shift, and the dull crunch of it breaking was enough to satisfy her.

The force of her knee sent him up and backward, where he knocked the back of his head off side of her wagon before finally falling to the grass to lie more or less still. It looked as though he'd learned his lesson, mewling and shivering on the ground as he was.

"Shyke, Jo. You really are a bitch," one of the other Initiates jested, eliciting scattered laughter from the Soldiers.
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Joanna Arbor
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[Southern Trading Post] You Shall Not Pass!

Postby Joanna Arbor on August 28th, 2016, 7:23 pm

Some of the others cleaned up the mess as she took her spot again. Her unit mate handed her the quill and papers, a look on his face as though nothing had happened. And nothing had, really. At least nothing to bat an eye at. The trader had no citizenship, and while men and women peddling goods were welcomed with more-or-less open arms, there was a zero tolerance rule for paperless foreigners bad mouthing and openly disrespecting a member of Rhysol's military. Jo felt she'd made her point, so she turned to the others waiting in a half-hazard line to check in.

"Who's next?" A few of them looked a little pale from the proceedings, while others hadn't flinched. A man and a woman stepped forward, leading a pony weighed down by a pack saddle filled with odds and ends. "Names?"

"Triss and Bartley. Scavvers, here to sell our finds." Joanna's lip curled slightly with distaste, but she carefully scrawled their names and a general synopsis of their apparently valuable garbage.

"They're going to go through everything to make sure you're not hiding anything you shouldn't be; contraband, drugs, etc." They nodded their understanding and seemed open to the process, so she continued. "Have you been to Ravok before?" They shook their heads this time. "You can rest at Sheng's and stall the pony at Elderbay." She pointed down hill to the two-story inn surrounded by the little makeshift tent village of traders waiting for passage.

"Your bags will be checked there." Jo pointed further south next. "That's Elderbay, south of here. Just a word of warning though, don't put your fingers in the stalls."

"They don't like people petting the horses?" It was the woman who asked. She'd been quiet up until now, fiddling with their pony's lead rope and not meeting anyone's eye.

"No, it's just that the stablehands don't like cleaning up the aisle after a Bloodbane rips someone's hand off." Her eyes swelled up with fright and she cast a nervous glance toward the stable in the distance. The Ebonstryfe horses could strike fear in the hearts of just about anyone without even being there. Joanna dismissed them with the wave of a hand and motioned for the next group to come forward.
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Joanna Arbor
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Posts: 14
Words: 5401
Joined roleplay: August 4th, 2016, 2:07 pm
Location: Ravok
Race: Human
Character sheet
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Plotnotes


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