Remnants IC

[TheGreatJabu]

Sir Quentin Moreau:

"Damn you to the bowels of the Beastmen, Claude! Wretched, stubborn mule! Come on, then!" Quentin continues to watch the distance between himself and the others grow as he fervently works to extricate a low-lying branch from its place tangled in his horse's mane. Claude, the horse, seems quite content to make no further progress along the path until his hair has been fully freed from the entanglement, and Quentin blows out a defeated sigh and smiles ruefully. "Alright, alright. Suppose I wouldn't want to keep going if my breeches were lodged in a patch of briars, either. Let's have a look at you."

A slight ringing can be heard as the tall, young Breton's armor gently clinks as he walks around to the side of his mount. He pushes the mail coif down off his head to rest on between his shoulder blades, letting his long, wavy brown hair fall down. He stares at the tangled mane for a few moments with his blue (and generally restless) eyes, when suddenly a sinister grin creeps up on his face. He reaches down to his belt to unsheath his dagger, then spends the next few moments sawing away at the trapped hair. The work goes quickly, as Quentin keeps his dagger extra-sharp since it has the dual purpose of keeping his goatee in proper order, and soon Claude is cut free. A few shakes of his head seem to indicate that his mount is none too comfortable with the sudden loss of weight from his mane. Quentin rubs the horse's neck for a moment and then begins leading the two back up the path towards the others. "I know it's not what you wanted, my boy, but it's far superior to being eaten by troll or ogre as we fall behind."

Quentin sets a quick pace to catch up with the others. From the distance, it seems that they've stopped and that there's another figure in the crowd - a soldier, from the looks of him. From a short ways-back, he speaks up to the others, obviously feigning hurt feelings. The man's Reikspeil is excellent, but it carries with it an accent that clearly distinguishes him as foreign. Whether it's from his natural speaking voice or his accent, all of Quentin's words come out as though he is simply playing with their pronunciations. "What's this, then? My trusted comrades will stop to chat with an armed stranger, yet they cannot spare a moment for my poor, suffering Claude? You Imperials have cut me to the quick!"