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Dawn reared as Abel yanked, harshly, on her reins – too strong, he thought too late. The mare harrumphed loudly, dropping back to all fours with jarring speed – in the saddle, D’Celeste bounced painfully. The greenskin before him took its chance, darting forwards and delivering a slash across the young noble’s forehead. A resounding clang echoed inside Abel’s head and his vision went dark – for a moment, he struggled to remember what was happening. There was some monumental pressure about his head and his forehead felt wet – I’m underwater? he managed to wonder briefly before lilting sideways. Dawn lowered her neck instinctively and Abel slid off her, mail shirt shivering with ripples as he ended up in a crumpled heap on the road.
Heinrich narrowed his eyes, hefting his blade once more and breaking away from his companions towards Abel – skirting the semi-conscious knight, the pit fighter leapt onto the fallen tree, sword coming crashing down overhead. Swift as the changing wind, the goblin chief crossed its blades between itself and its new foe, locking Heinrich’s weapon in place centimetres from its sneering face.
Laurent’s face contorted as he staggered forwards, quickly putting distance between himself and the jabbing and jabbering goblin at the end of the carriage. He slipped past Siegfried and was welcomed by another round of arrows, but none even came close to hitting the men. Exhilarated, adrenaline pumping furiously in his veins, the apothecary’s axe bit down once again – there was a wretched, gurgling squeal as it lopped off the enclosed goblin’s arm. Blood spurted from the greenskin’s shoulder, the jet splattering against the roadside trees for a moment or two before fading away; Siegfried kicked the corpse over before gravity did it for him, panting heavily as the redness at the edge of his vision cleared.
Valerie’s eyes darted from side to side as she tried to decide upon a single course of action, but the combat was relentless, continuing outside while she desperately considered her options. Something intruded upon her frantic thoughts. Marperic had just asked her another question; now he was sitting, facing her with wide eyes, but she didn’t have the slightest clue what he’d said. As if reading her mind, he began to repeat himself.
“I said – good gods they’re on the roof!” he yelled with a start as something stamped above them. The merchant climbed to his feet, banging on the ceiling with a palm. “Get down from there, you vermin!”
Satisfied to see at least one goblin with a quarrel in it, Matias became aware of an odd scurrying noise from behind. Twisting in his seat, he was just in time to see another of the greenskins pull itself up on top of the carriage and begin to stride carefully towards him ...
There was barely time to take bead on another target, when Matias heard the wooden coach stress under the climbing limbs of another goblin. Without any time to think about what he was doing, Matias' reflexes kicked in, and he sent a bolt high over the head of the goblin who would join him atop the coach. Simply, quickly, Matias replaced the crossbow in favour of his sword and shield.
"Come here you little wanker, taste of my steel..." he said confidently. But now there were foe on both sides of him. He had to think fast.
As per OOC post: this round Matias loads, fires, misses and then draws his sword/shield
Last edited by Micha Sieling : 07-17-2012 at 09:26 PM.
Splattered with blood from the exsanguinated goblin Siegfried turns, roars an unintelligible war cry and charges one of the goblins who had been harassing the now fallen Abel. As soon as he reaches the goblin Siegfried swings his axe full force at the goblin's left arm.
Simon took one look up at the goblin on the roof... He did not especially feel like doing acrobatics in a battle - an Estalian diestro he wasn't. He picked the easiest-looking target, the scrawny goblin that stood closest to its leader, and charged at him with his staff.
The blow connected, but did not strike with a lot of force.
Ponytar of myself by MeanMrsMustard.
Wary of Heinrich, the goblin chieftain stabbed out with the sword in its left hand, only to lunge sideways and stab with the right - years of experience in the pit had sharpened the warrior's instincts, though, and Heinrich saw the feint coming. His sword swooped around in a vertical circle, bashing both of the greenskin's blades aside. Pushing forward with his shield, the pit fighter swung on his heels, bringing his right arm forward like a lance; his blade bit into the creature's abdomen. He tugged it back with satisfaction as the goblin went cross-eyed. One hand went to its stomach and it staggered off the fallen tree - but it was not dead yet.
Spurred on, Siegfried and Simon charged at the creature loitering by Abel's horse - once again the apothecary's axe found its mark, bouncing off a collarbone, but Simon's staff was less effective as he poked away. Laurent hung back, leaning against a tree to pant.
From inside the coach, Valerie heard the footsteps moving to the front of the coach - Marperic stared as if his righteous frustration would burn a hole through the roof, but the young wizard doubted he'd be happy if that actually happened. Matias didn't even notice the two arrows that arced overhead as he raised his shield to meet the goblin, but he had no cause to worry - even with the higher ground, the greenskin's lack of training was obvious as the spear haft went well wide of his head.
Siegfried determined to finish this goblin off swung his axe full force at the goblins head but at the last moment he stumbled and his axe did not connect with the goblin with the amount of force he had intended.
Heinrich took a moment to straighten up as the greenskins’ chief lolled around on its back, using the height of the log to survey the rest of the skirmish. Laurent watched Simon and Siegfried charge while still panting against his tree – catching the pit fighter’s gaze, the boy looked away sheepishly. Bischof turned back to the wretched goblin, glancing over it almost casually before stabbing down twice. His sword cut through its neck and chest, severing the spinal cord – death was instantaneous.
The apothecary’s axe slammed against the increasingly panicking goblin’s shield, knocking the creature clean off its feet and onto its back. As it scrabbled for the hilt of its spear in the dirt, Heinrich stepped down from the tree trunk and raised his weapon high; a slow, almost ponderous coup-de-grâce ended its pitiful yelps.
Seeing the butchery behind the carriage, the remaining greenskins began to confer in squeaky tones. Many turned tail on the spot, disappearing almost instantly into the gloom of the forest. The one atop the coach looked around desperately as Matias slung one arm over the roof – inside, Valerie saw Marperic wince almost audibly at the sound of the mercenary clattering about – but as he pulled himself to his feet, his forearm exploded in pain; the lone remaining archer had finally landed a shot. Relief was clear on his foe’s green features as the goblin waddled cheerfully over the side of the carriage. Tripping over its own cloak, it yelled in surprise for perhaps half a second; it came crashing down upon its head, neck snapping and body flopping aside at a gruesome angle just outside the carriage door.
A quick step up was all it took, apparently. Matias slid a glancing blow off the leg of the little green mongrel holding the spear, but before he could bring his blade to and cleave the goblin to pieces - or try anyhow - his right arm exploded in pain. An arrow tore straight through the meat of his forearm, and almost instantly, he felt a sudden panic swell inside of him. His vision blurred, breath shallow, Matias Leitmann did the one thing he still figured he could do - retaliate.
With a disregard for his injury that he would regret some hours later, the young Mercenary dropped his sword and shield, hefted his crossbow from its position on his back and reached for another bolt. Using his left hand and feet to nock the weapon, Matias brought the crossbow to bear and sent his answer back.
His injuries were apparent, however. Matias' unsteady aim caused little more than a cut in the lone goblins arm, it was clear he had to steel himself.
The lone goblin gave an animalistic yelp and dropped its shortbow as Matias’s shot sank into its arm. Darting forward to recover the weapon, it paused only to wave one hand at Leitmann in a crude gesture before scuttling away into the forest, bow and wounded arm cradled to its chest.
Calm descended on the stretch of road between the two felled trunks – for a moment, nobody reacted. Heinrich in particular seemed a little dazed, as if drunk on adrenaline after dispatching two goblins in less than five seconds. Matias was almost too tired to lower the crossbow, standing and staring at where the goblin had been. The spell was broken when the carriage door swung open again – Marperic’s leather boot reached down gingerly and kicked the upside-down corpse away from the door. When the merchant did step out of the carriage, his eyes were wide and his frown was long; it was unclear whether he was disgusted, or simply disbelieving.
D’Abenne turned to peer up at Matias, one hand at his brow to shade his eyes from the afternoon sun peaking over the treetops. He regarded the mercenary patiently for a few seconds before clearing his throat.
“Do you think you could get down from there? I don’t think the roof holds very much weight.” There was an apologetic tone to his voice, but the instruction was urgent. D’Abenne hesitantly stepped around to the rear of the coach, eyes darting from his employees to the dead greenskins. Seeing Abel’s crouched form, his eyes widened.
“Gosh,” he muttered. Behind him, Laurent stepped out from the shade of the forest’s edge, avoiding the others’ eyes but unable to stifle a groan as he pressed one hand against the wound at his side.
Simon dusted himself off and examined the arrow wound on his arm. It was deep, but it did not look life-threatening... unless infection set in. At least Valerie was unscathed.
"Did our knight get himself killed, or what?" he said in mild irritation, noticing Abel's inert body. "Aren't these people supposed to protect us?"
He walked over to Abel and felt his throat for a pulse. It appeared that the knight was still alive after all. Digging into his pouch for a poultice and bandages, Simon began to tend to the nobleman's wounds.
"You'd better be grateful, not just compliment me for doing my gods-damned duty."
Heal 35: (d100) Wow. Epic fail. Using a poultice: (d10) wounds healed
Ponytar of myself by MeanMrsMustard.
Hearing the someone's been hurt made Valerie burst out of the carriage, where she saw Abel lying there, bleeding and unconcious. She rushed over to Abel and Simon, who was trying to heal him.
''Oh my gods, is he alright? Shallya, please let him live...'' Color drained from her face as she sat beside Abel, trying to wipe the blood of abel's face with shaking hands. I'm a wizard, so i know that something is out there, past what the eye can see... but this is horrifying... She throught to herself.
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Matias wasn't even sure what Marperic had said to him. He was panting hard, and the burning throb of his forearm was sharpening by the second. He slung the crossbow with some effort, and knocked his sword and shield to the ground. With a slow, careful pace, the Mercenary climbed down from the roof of the coach.
Matias regarded his comrades, not surprised to find he wasn't the only one injured - and not the worst by far as the Knight appeared to be near death - the only hope was that all would be alright. Goblins weren't the worst thing they could have run into in the forests of Bretonnia, and the group had nearly been done in by them.
Replacing his sword in it's scabbard and carrying the shield in his left arm, Matias strode steadily towards Laurent. "You going to live, friend?" he said, projecting as much empathy as the young merc was capable of.
D'Abenne snapped his fingers absent-mindedly, waving his index finger at Siegfried. "Mister Lehirman, you, ah, you said you were an alchem- I mean, an apothecary?" For the first time, the merchant noticed just how bloodspattered Siegfried was. For a moment, his mouth hung open as the words caught in his throat. Collecting himself, he continued. "Can you do anything for him?"
Laurent nodded at Matias, taking a deep breath. "Shallya," he repeated after Valerie. "There's a priestess in Remy-sur-Orne. She'll help."
"It seems your gallantry netted you the worst blow, Sir Abel," replied Marperic. Unlike Henri during the river journey, the merchant's tone held no sarcasm; it was not quite appreciative, but at least respectful of de Celeste's help.
D'Abenne followed Heinrich, nodding thoughtfully. "We ought to get moving again." He looked at the sky, gauging the time. "I would say that I don't wish to keep Achille waiting, but that would imply the man ever demonstrates an awareness of punctuality," he added sourly - in contrast with his hitherto jovial attitude, the sudden contrast made his words sound venomous. He turned back to the others, an unpleasant expression dissolving from his face. "Perhaps some of you that aren't too badly injured could help move the tree trunk. Ah - not you, Miss Hellsing," he concluded, catching Valerie's eye. "You can help me check on my goods." With that, he opened the rear doors to the storage compartment and began a perfunctory check over his wares.
Simon's efforts were appreciable; the young man efficiently set to removing the goblins' arrows first from Matias' arm before tending to himself. Heinrich strode alone over to the fallen trunk, walking in a tight loop around it to judge the best point for dragging. As Laurent wandered to the front of the carriage to watch the pit fighter (unhelpfully), Valerie joined d'Abenne at the rear door.
She quickly realised that Marperic wasn't all that interested in the safety of his goods - he was taking lids off barrels and boxes before slapping them right back down again. When she was standing beside the merchant, wondering what to do, he spoke in a low voice - almost a whisper, all the while looking forwards into the coach.
"Miss Hellsing, I must admit that I am not fond of the idea of having a witch in my employment. I am willing to believe that you are a, a licensed or sanctioned user or however you Imperials handle these things, if only because of how brazen your ... action was. But I warn you that displaying your powers at the drop of a hat will not be looked on kindly by many in this country." He paused, sucking in a breath through his teeth. "I don't know what your agenda is in travelling with me, and I do not much care, but let me make one thing clear." Marperic locked eyes with Valerie for the first time. "I will not be responsible for any trouble you get yourself into. I will not defend you to a noble or a guild, and I would much prefer if you kept your magicking to a minimum until we reach Couronne. Are we clear?"
In the background, Heinrich was huffing and puffing as he dragged the trunk along the rough ground and deposited it at the side of the road.
Hemnon, it's totally up to you whether you want to make this a longer conversation or just give a short response to d'Abenne; if you want us to have a bit of a back-and-forth discussion, we can arrange to do it by chat rather than hold up the rest of the players. As I said, up to you.
Valerie got a sour expression at the accusation of her being a witch, which she absolutely wasn't. ''Firstly, Mister D'Abenne, I am not a witch, but a wizard. Witches are unsanctioned magic users, hence the term 'Witchhunter' who hunts 'Witches'. Secondly, my master have trained me in the arts of magic, but more importantly, he teached me when to NOT use it. Im not stupid, even though you bretons think that we imperials are just that. i am no noble, nor have i any great lineage; i have my parents, siblings and their love for me. So i would appreciate it, if you would kindly keep your advices to yourself when they concern something you have no knowledge of... Like Magic or Witches and Wizards. I've been told of the dangers of magic more than enough times from people with experience on this subject.
Is there anything you need me to do or would it be alright if i go over there to cool off a little? Oh and do not worry, I am no spiteful person and would never think of putting a curse on you for accusing me of something i am not.'' She ended the conversation by exhaling her breath in a calming fashion, though still looking a little sour.
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Abel had been calming Dawn when he noticed Valerie and Marperic's argument.
They where too far away for him to hear what they where talking about, but Valerie's expression told it's own tale.
Owning to that Abel resolved to stay closer in the future, so he could ensure that D'Abenne wouldn't make any improper statements towards the lady.
Remember: Hope springs eternal. The dark days will pass and the sun will shine again.
The best way to learn something is to ask, so ask without shame.
To anybody overlooking the conversation, it would appear that Valerie's response tempered d'Abenne's indignation; his face lost the expression of outright anger, faltering for a moment at shameful before solidifying at simply stern.
"Of course," he said, calm once more. "It was - rash of me not to, ah, consider the training you must have undergone. I am sure you know how to deal with your powers. I simply stress that other Bretonnians will not." A scowl crept across his features, although Simon suspected that the merchant was doing his best to appear more serious than he actually felt. "Nonetheless, I would bid you recall that I am your employer, and I cannot have it be seen that you treat me with contempt. Kindly refrain from threatening anybody else with curses while we are on the road. But yes, go," he finished weakly, pushing the last sacks back into the dim compartment. "I think we are done here," he announced, much louder, shutting the coach doors with a theatric sweep of his arm.
"Please, I have supplies in my pouch. No clue why I bought them, really. I don't know the first thing about your craft, and as far as I could tell, he sold me a pile of ****e." Matias said, trying to hold himself still while Simon worked on his arm. It was a brutal pain the young man had never felt the likes of, and even would admit himself that it was surprising his arm still functioned.
"Thank you lad, it's a good thing you're here. I was beginning to wonder why D'Abenne hired such a young pair. Guess you're healers of some kind, no?" he asked, ignorant to the reality.
His arm patched, Matias did a quick search for intact bolts. He found one - that tree trunk had done most of his shots in.
Content with his kit, Matias did whatever he could to assist his colleagues in preparing the coach and continuing on to Remy-sur-Orne.
“Something like that,” said Simon as Matias walked off in search of his ammunition. Totally oblivious to the furtive conversation, Heinrich walked to the remaining roadblock. This tree was thinner, and much younger – its flesh was still green where some goblin’s weapon had bit a deep wedge through the bark. The wood was stringy around the wound, where the greenskins had simply pushed the trunk over until it warped and toppled. Wrapping his arms about the rough cylinder, Bischof had no difficulty tugging it aside. Depositing it at the side of the road in line with the other impromptu obstacle, he rubbed the palms of his hands against each other to dislodge stray particles of moss and earth that had dusted them during his exertions.
Marperic gave the pit fighter a warm smile and a nod before embarking the passenger section of the carriage. Taking the hint, the others followed in dribs and drabs. Laurent and Matias clambered lethargically back up front as Abel mounted Dawn and brought her alongside. The mare happily broke into a trot as the peasant and the mercenary managed to coax the carthorses into a syncopated gait.
Leaving the disfigured corpses and sprawling bloodstains behind, Marperic d’Abenne’s coach trundled onwards to more civilised whereabouts.
Weary as they were, the next couple of hours passed in near-silence. Siegfried in particular was prone to drifting in and out of sleep, being shaken awake as the coach juddered over bumps and potholes, only for his eyes to droop once more within minutes. Valerie and Simon were seated on either side of Marperic once more, occasionally glancing to each other meaningfully over the sedate burgher’s shoulder. Heinrich observed more than one of these glances, smiling to himself as he ascribed them an entirely incorrect significance.
Abel was happy when the road’s meander into the forest ended, the enclosing trees fading away as suddenly as they had sprung up. The route itself was still little more than a dirt track, but once they were free of the trees an unmortared stone wall appeared on the right, staving off any further expansion by the greenery. It was welcome evidence of human influence and provided silent accompaniment for many miles, even after the forest fell away to the south.
Eventually the softly rolling hillocks to the north closed with the carriage. Laurent murmured that they were near their destination, but as far as Matias could make out this stretch of countryside looked the same as any other. The mercenary found his imagination creating images of vast warhosts spread out on the plains, regiments neatly separated on the hillsides. Arrows and quarrels would fly between hosts until the horns sounded and the drums took up the rhythm of footsteps marching – orderly at first, but irregular as the lines closed, interspersed with battle cries that gave way to raw screams ...
The daydream was broken by a momentary flash – somewhere, far away, steel was shining in the sun. Glancing about the coach, Lehirman saw that the road was just turning at the base of a wide hill, and a small collection of buildings was just appearing around the corner.
“Remy-sur-Orne,” announced Laurent with a smile. From within, the others took turns to lean out the windows as Abel straightened up in the saddle to observe the village.
The hillside to the left was much shallower once they rounded the bend – atop it, in the distance, was a dark track leading up to a castle. The towers and battlements were perched officiously, gazing down upon the village and the forest beyond – symbolic, certainly, but for Abel it simply reminded him of the home he’d left to undertake his errantry. Between castle and carriage, the hillside was divided into strips of arable land; vast patches of wheat were interspersed with thin lines of other vegetables. There were several dark brown shapes moving slowly along the fields – on market day, most of the villagers would not bother tending to the crop, the knight supposed. On the other side of the road, the landscape sloped gently down to the outskirts of the forest, a hundred yards or so from the village proper. The buildings came into better focus as they approached. Most were simple houses of wattle and daub, squat dwellings one storey high. There were very few structures interrupting the low skyline.
The road led past several wooden pens, currently empty of livestock, and several houses clustered around a fork to the left leading up the hillside – most likely the lower end of the castle track. The villagers lounging in the shade watched the newcomers with visible interest. They were dressed almost uniformly – long brown cloaks seemed to be standard, even in the heat of the afternoon, and every women the carriage passed had her hood up, hair tucked away out of sight – a traditional custom in the Bretonnian countryside, and possibly even a law if the local lord was old-fashioned enough. Valerie drew a number of glances through the window of the coach, not all pleasant – but one look from Abel on horseback was enough to send any commoner shuffling away.
The vehicle trundled to a stop at a riverbank – the low, stone bridge across was currently swarmed with pigs, as a middle-aged man in sandals yelled and pleaded with the swine to cross. D’Abenne took the opportunity to alight, stretching his legs in the fresh air and sun as the pigs finally began to wander out of the way. Laurent set the horses to moving again, and they crossed to the east side of the river. The Orne was not as wide as the Sannez, nor as fast-flowing, but it was equally murky. To the left, it curled west, forming the northern border of Remy-sur-Orne as it flowed towards Couronne.
One on either side of the road, a pair of men-at-arms leaned against the east end of the bridge – it would have been their helmets, or perhaps their halberd blades, that Matias had seen glinting minutes earlier. The men straightened to attention as the coach passed, the mercenary noticed. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Abel riding at a walking pace alongside Marperic – and the two armoured men picked up their halberds and began to walk in step behind them. It did not make Matias particularly comfortable.
The coach passed a small stone shrine in the bend of the river, a dove daubed at the top; it was doubtful that there was a single village in the Old World without such a site devoted to Shallya, if not a larger temple. Off to the right was the sound of the market, a cacophony of good-humoured yells and pleas from a variety of wooden stalls. Many of the villagers saw or heard the coach, and it wasn’t long before somebody yelled “Laurent!” – and then it almost seemed like the entire village wanted to swamp the travellers, welcoming the local boy home with many cheers and hearty claps on the back and shoulders. When they saw his wounds, the volume dropped a little, taking in the bedraggled appearance of the entire travelling party.
“Goblins on the Gascard road,” announced Laurent, clearly loving the attention. “Killed most of them and drove the rest off.” There was another cheer, and many promises of wine and ale to Matias and Marperic, who seemed almost amused at the welcome. Abel, for the most part, was ignored, apart from a few dutiful nods and curtsies; now was not the time to stand on protocol, it seemed.
“We’d best get you to Émilie,” one man said to Laurent – before the young man could nod, a shrill cry broke out over the throng.
A space opened in front of a young woman about Valerie’s age, round of face and eyes, one brown lock curling across a cheek as she darted towards the carriage. “Laurent! You’re hurt!” She stopped just short of throwing her arms around d’Abenne’s guide, glancing about the crowd. She continued in a low voice that Matias could just about make out.
“Don’t go to her, Laurent. I can bind your wound at least as well.”
“Marianne,” Laurent replied, annoyance battling with concern on his features. “We all need some of Shallya’s help after scrapping with the greenskins. She’s a priestess! She‘s only going to fix us up.”
A sour expression crossed the young woman’s face – tucking the errant curl back beneath her hood, she turned, frowning. A number of heads followed her gaze. The crowd’s focus shifted to a tall, elderly man with white hair and a long, hooked nose. He carried a long, finely carved staff, crooked like a shepherd’s but of much finer quality, varnish obvious in the sun. It was a mark of office, or at least of respect. The village elder gave a slow nod, and the girl called Marianne turned on her heels and ran. The man with the staff threw a look over the party, before walking in the direction of the market – with that, the crowd dispersed rapidly, the villagers murmuring in hushed tones as they departed in ones and twos. Something significant had just occurred, but none of d’Abenne’s group could decipher the meaning of the glance or the nod.
Laurent sighed. “With your leave, I’ll visit Émilie. She’s our priestess of Shallya,” he explained to Marperic, pointing to a small hut beside the stone shrine. Marperic nodded. “Where is the inn?” the merchant demanded. Laurent pointed further along the road. “Can’t miss it. It’s got two floors.”
D’Abenne directed everyone else onwards. “You can join him at the shrine once we’ve settled in. I am due to meet my partner, Achille, around now, at the local tavern.” Matias took over the reins of the coach and set it in motion again. The pair of men-at-arms were still following.
As Laurent had said, the inn had two floors – about the only noticeable quality it had. There was a wooden board hanging outside, but the owner had neglected to paint a symbol or sign to betray the tavern’s name, if it had one. There were another two men-at-arms leaning against the wall in the coachyard. D’Abenne threw them a number of uncomfortable glances as he told the stable-boy to take care of the horses. “Inside,” he said gruffly to the others.
Yet another pair of steel-clad men greeted them within. They were accompanied by a burly man in leather armour sitting at the largest table in the common room, pen scratching over a pile of papers. The man looked up, eyes fixed on the group’s entrance with something like satisfaction. As Marperic glanced about, worry clear on his face, the man stood.
“You are Marperic d’Abenne, associate of the trader Achille Degaré?” he asked, his voice as deep as tumbling rocks. D’Abenne gritted his teeth before replying.
“I am. Where is Degaré, please? And who are you?”
“I have the honour of being the bailiff of Lord Forsard, the Viscount Remy. Degaré is bankrupt, and has come to an agreement with Lord Forsard to sell him some of his goods at discount.”
“His goods? They’re my goods!” Marperic interjected, but the bailiff continued as if he had not heard.
“By order of Lord Forsard, your right to trade in his viscountship is hereby revoked. You will undertake no business until his lordship inspects and taxes your cargo.”
“This is preposterous,” d’Abenne snapped.
“I will choose not to take that as defiance of his lordship,” said the bailiff coolly as the men-at-arms beside him lowered the points of their halberds in the group’s direction. Marperic rolled his eyes.
“Very well. When can Lord Forsard perform this inspection?”
“Not until tomorrow morning. You and your goods will remain here until then.” A strangled noise emerged from Marperic’s throat as the bailiff began gathering up his papers. The room fell silent, save for the creaking of wood in the background – over at the bar, the innkeeper was leaning forward, observing the unfolding events calmly.
Hearing many words that he didn't remember the meaning for, Heinrich more or less zoned out during the interaction between Marperic and the bailiff. After a bit, he zoned back in, noticing his employer being less than happy about something, and glancing at the others, Heinrich realized he didn't need to hurt anyone. At the mention of going to a temple of Shallya, he spoke up. "Ah, I would join, too, as long as it is no problem," He cut in, ignoring what might be considered social protocol.