
(09-14-2015, 11:08 PM)Zaheela Wrote: *The poster is both glued on with Void-grade Glue and messily hammered in place....*
Awaken the Power in you!
OOC: Please note, the IC artist manages to somehow post this without anyone noticing.... OOCly, im having a blast....
The group of retainers stood around the table, dressed in various sets of mismatched armor and field wares. They were highlanders, all of them -- six in total. Snorts and snickers rose from where they had gathered in no small amount of volume -- in fact, one of them was practically whining as he tried not to simply burst out into roaring laughter.Â
"Do you think he knows this thing exists?"
"Probably not, we'd have heard about the murder from the Goblet's newscaller."
"What are those things, even?"
"I don't know, but me belly hurts -- Gods be good...only a tick before me knees give out...mercy, look at this mess..."
"I kind of like it, Â it makes him look less threatening."
"It makes 'im look like a bloody loon, that's wot it does."
A seventh voice joined the rest. "Who's a loon?"
Berrod Armstrong himself stood at the doorway to the company's private chamber hall; he'd just exited it for the morning. The Highlander was crisply dressed in standard adventuring wear, from the white pants and shirt to the black boots. His hair had been neatly combed and pulled back into a tail, and the red scruff along his jaw had been rather tidily marked and trimmed. There was almost no sign of the injuries he had sustained recently, save for the last remnant of a bruise upon his large bicep.Â
His appearance alone had alarmed the six young men into a scramble that somehow resulted in a bulwark of Highlanders before the table. Whatever they had been looking at was completely blocked out from view by sturdy bodies. Naturally, that only served to pique the red-head's interest. "...what's goin' on?"
"Nothin', bossman!" Barked Geffrid Garr. The dark skinned, tall Highlander was known for his love for fishing -- a love that saw him with many ventures in the field. "'How's yer health?"
"Health's fine, Geff -- now c'mon, what's that y'all got over there?" Undeterred, Berrod strode forward with intent to breach the throng. However, the short, bronze skinned fellow on the leftmost edge of the hyuran wall pitched sideways with a cry of pain.
"AUGH! ME GALLBLADDER! CALL A CHIURGEON!"
When he hit the floor, Berrod recoiled in alarm, then immediately rushed to the fallen man to inspect him -- not that he had the slightest idea of what a gallbladder -was-. "Burbrand! Burbrand, ey...! C'mon, we'll get ya into the infirmary..."
The diversion provided a ripe opportunity for the other five men to do away with the object that had drawn their scrutiny. It was unfortunate then, that Burbrand's brilliance in the face of hopelessness was countered by the absolute asininity of the large miner Doff Lake. The shaved-headed, dark behemoth of a highlander gathered up the rather colorful poster from the table as fast as he could, and made a terrifyingly effective task of cramming it into his mouth. By the time Berrod had turned to the rest of them to seek their aid, he was chewing it up -- the retainer held every appearance of an overly ambitious nutkin.Â
"...Doff, man -- now's not the time, Burbrand's hurt an' --"
"CONJURY!"Â
The shriek came from Bolieron, a blond -- and somewhat slighter than usual young fellow, also dressed in miner's apparel. He sprung to Burbrand's side and jammed a hand onto his gut that elicited a very genuine howl of agony from the otherwise pretending retainer. "There, he's healed!"
"It's a miracle!"
"Bloody providence!"
Both Bolieron and Burbrand pelted to their feet at once, to join the other four who had already headed for the front door at the clever lead of the ever scheming Pugilist retainer Darovic. He pushed it open and allowed the positive explosion of mankind from the Agent Headquarters. All Berrod could do was approach the door frame and set eyes on their fleeing backs. He suffered no shortage of bewilderment.
"What in the hells...?"