Khelandria was lost. It wasn't that she didn't intend to wander the Old World. It wasn't even that the Empire was not a good enough destination. But she had arrived there more or less by accident, and she wasn't sure ... When spring melted the ice in the Sea of Malice, and the Corsair fleets had prepared to race to be first to the raiding-grounds for a profitable summer of slaving and pillaging, Khelandria had been sent a dream. She remembered it now. Her blessed Lord of Murder had appeared to her. In His voice harsh with the shouting and war-cries of battle - music to her ears - He had told her to rise up and leave her chamber in the Temple and go with the raiders. She thought at first that He wanted her to aid them in their divine bloodshed and glorious mayhem. She'd done so with murderous joy in her heart in the manner of all her sisters in battle, painted with crimson gore and screaming the praises of Khaine. Khelandria sighed. For her, no more perfect form existed and the many aspects of the War God were her guidance and her inspiration. But when the last ship had pulled away from the summer shore of the Old World (she was hazy about where; the combat brews were heady stuff) Khelandria had been struck with sudden clarity. She had grabbed her pack, leaped over the side of the boat and waded back into the pounding surf, still tinted red with the blood of the slain. The sacrament of blood had blessed her as she strode away from the disbelieving Corsairs. Being practical pirates, they had mostly shrugged and got back to setting sail, and Khelandria saw no need to enlighten them beyond a polite wave of thanks for the transport. She had first to find a way into the deeper lands of the Humans, which she did easily enough as a lone Elven traveller. She had some facility with the simple tongue they mostly used, because quite a lot of the sacrifices were vocal about their defiance and ultimate fate. She picked up a bit more easily enough as she wandered. At first she followed the carrion birds, for they were known as companions to the War-Lord. Then, as the combat herbs cleared from her system, Khelandria had found herself alone, somewhere in the Human Empire, with a need for direction. She thought about trying to read the future in a corpse, but she had no skill in scrying blood and she was no studier of entrails - at least, not as an augury. She considered praying for guidance, but one prays to Khaine by committing acts of slaughter, and this didn't seem to provide much more than screams. The Witch Elf was dimly aware of other methods of worship, but she was a little rusty. She gave it a wholehearted try but nothing seemed to become any clearer. Also, people were still running away when she approached without trying to murder them, even if some of them did stare first. Khelandria stopped at a crossroads one grey Empire morning and took stock. Her upbringing in the Temple left her with no knowledge of who her father was, and who among the Witch Elves ever really knew that anyway? Her mother was a Witch Elf. There weren't any extra parental words of wisdom to fall back on, litanies not withstanding. But she had a need, and she had what the Humans called marketable skills. Simple enough to match her ability to kill with the need to have people killed, surely? It was novel to hold back on slaughtering anyone in her way, but Khelandria had contrived to find a bit of mercenary work. From there, it was possible to get work as a bodyguard to ladies. It seemed that the Empire had some funny ideas about women not fighting, which Khelandria found hard to comprehend. Didn't these women want to feel the blessed sacrament of battle on their skin? That too was an adjustment: she had to copy their habits of being fully covered until the moment of War. It certainly made for a strange life, but it gave her both the opportunities for a righteous kill she needed and the bonus of coins one didn't have to wash free of their previous owner's blood. Tavern keepers were picky about such things. She had tried to impress the need to acquire some more martial skills on her noblewoman clients, but when the first one actually fainted at the sight of blood Khelandria knew it was time to move on. So she found herself wandering the increasingly more backwoods parts of the Empire, seeing where her feet took her and always alert for a sign from her beloved Khaine. It was a warm, soft land in comparison to home, and the cloak around her swirled free as often as she let it when she thought no-one was looking. But for now, on the outskirts of the small - town? was it technically a village or a hamlet if it possessed an inn? - she wore it wrapped around her as if she felt the cold like these Old Worlders and stepped up to the door of the tavern. Inside it was warmer still, and there was a pleasant-enough music in the background. Khelandria gave a radiant smile to the serving-girl and asked her for some wine (if she had it) before seeing the notice on the wall. The smile wasn't as warm as it would have been without teeth filed to a point, but the Witch Elf was sincere. No need to be impolite to those one does not currently wish to eviscerate. She stepped carefully over the tail of one of the attendant wolves (Beastmasters hated anyone touching their animals, everyone in Naggaroth knew that) and nodded politely to those around the table as she took a seat. Their attention was focussed on the gentleman in the long coat, so she presumed he must be the one hiring. "Herr Constantine," she said, her voice rich and beautifully-spoken, with a hint of an accent, "you are looking for mercenaries, and I am seeking to shed blood in Khaine's holy name. I think we have a mutual opportunity to serve our purposes that it would be a crime to waste." She smiled, entirely free of subterfuge, and took a sip from her drink. She glanced around. Her keen nose caught the scent of bruised leaves and woad over the usual tavern smells. One of her woodland cousins? Someone who would know who she meant by Khaine, at least. Khelandria beamed. Battle-lust was not on her yet, and she had learned a simple truth: no-one bleeds now, so that we can all find glorious battle later. It was just like keeping a good supply of sacrifices for a holy day, rather than killing them all straight away, really. She could find more opportunities to serve her beloved Lord this way.
The door to the tavern slammed open by the push of a very large hand, the i trance had not been constructed to someone of his massive size and girth. The door frame creaked and cracked a bit as the ogre pushed himself in, going front or sideways in wouldent change a thing. The last thing to come through the door, much easier in due to the broken frame, was a large barrel the ogre carried under his arm, making it look more Like a casket Before looking any where else, he just walked up to the bar, it was not hard to see that he was no normal ogre, because he sported no gut plate, nor any club, but instead a cleaved and what could look Like brutal kitchen tools. With a few heavy steps he was at the bar. With his cask beside him, Tugg eyed the little bar man, "wus is the best you got, barman" his Said in a grovel deep voice, "un peaps small deal"
Again the door opened and a man in battered plate armor strode into the tavern. Glancing around he quickly spied the unusual group in the corner and made his way to them, signaling to the waitress as he went. "Wench, fetch me a bottle of whatever cheap swill serves for wine in this hovel." As he arrived at the table, the knight removed his helm. Revealing a mess of dark hair and a face that could have been handsome if not for the scar running from the severed half of his right ear across his cheek and down through his mouth, splitting his lip and giving him a perpetual snarl. Setting the helmet on the table, he grabbed the bottle from the serving girl and took a swig before turning to the group. "Terrible, there was a time when I wouldn't have even considered this fit for the dogs." He said before drinking again. "Aleron Dacourt, at your service. I understand you're looking to hire a few swords. I might be interested, if the price is right."
Vamir looked at the wolf priest. "Hail friend pleasure to meet you..." Vamir swung his eyes at the witch elf. @Jorimel "Witch." As he rose from the table. "What troubles do I have to escape from to see a evil think such as your self in the place of the human realms. Naggarothian?" His face cover off he was inching to his swords but he knew better in human society as he sat back down looked at her and said. "Come sit tell me your stories why your a wondering like a lost cub of the wilds. I'll even buy you a free drink." He motioned to the maiden. "Another if you so please." Then pulled another another seven silver coins to cover the cost.
In the distance coming from the south a certain sound cut through the thunder of the rain fall and occasional lightning strike. A sound that most of the townsfolk have not heard it almost sounded alien if it had not been so loud. It was the sound of a greenskin instrument called the squig pipes, the thing was a weird mixture of leather and bones jutting out to form the so called pipes. Though it wasn't the instrument that the younger townsfolk were running and hiding from it was the creature playing the thing. A huge orc clad in a massive suit of black metal armor proudly strode on the muddy path way. Though most of the townsfolk seem not to to hide from the orc but wanted to get away from the racket he was making. He had been walking aimlessly for days now playing the song he had taught himself in a continuous loop. He had no idea where he was at this point and he did really care all he wanted was to find a place out of the rain and to possibly find a job of some sort. He continued down the road until he past by the first buildings on the outskirts of the town and he started to slow his step but he kept the song at the same pace as before and just as loud. As he continued at his slower pace he noticed a board out side of the local tavern and he saw the ad mentioning the man trying to assemble a mercenary band. It actually took him a minute to remember how to read human writing as he like many orcs had to learn it themselves or at least bring a goblin that could which he didn't have. Though after a minute or two of remembering and still playing the pipes he figured it out and went inside the bar. He squeezed himself through the broken door frame and finally stopped playing with the final note fading. He tucked the contraption under his arm and squeezed it to let all the air out and placed it into a large pouch under his boar skin cloak right besides one of his many throwing axe and throwing knives hidden by the massive cloak with the fur still on it. he then at down at the bar and near the ogre. He looked around the bar as some of the people in the bar were staring at him and some were still covering their ears from the previous racket. "By da look on yer faces I can see ye liked da pipes eh? Oi bar keep give me somfing strong!" He same his fist down on the bar counter and the bar owner brought him a bottle which he quickly began to drink from. He looked at the ogre out of caution his life in two different war bands had taught him to be cautious of those bigger than him and he felt no different now. He still drank to his heart's content while the elves seated at a large table bickered with one another in an uncaring manner though as to show that small amount of caution would seem cowardly and cowards don't survive in orc society. Spoiler the song he's playing
Sebine walked through the human town a long blue robe with faded symbols of her family on it, her face hidden and her weapons sheathed, she walked as if a wraith through the town not seen or noticed as she moved quietly, her sheild hiden from sight but on her back. As she aproached the tavern she read the sign and walked inside, as she did she saw other elves but decided it best to walk to the bar first. "Bar keep il have one of your stronger drinks" as she spoke she put some gold on the bar "and id like to inquire about the advert"
Mariah had been traveling for some time trying to find a place to begin her quest for glory, though most had reject her for simply claiming knighthood as a female. This subsequently gained her the nickname The Rejected Knight. This term had motivated her more in her quest which had pushed her to this small town where would had spread of an individual looking for those how would seek glory. Upon entering the town she quickly pulled crimson hood over head that the people would not see a woman was wearing armor. She quickly made her way into the tavern, careful to not slam the door and draw attention. She then made her way to a seat near a window and with her back against the wall, that she may watch the others and analyse the situation transpiring before making a hastie desicion to reveal her reason for being her or who she was. After all, in these times one could never be to careful, especially one who people would care little if gone.
Khelandria was somewhat surprised. Not by the startled reaction, but the words after it. Because while she could tell how she'd got here, she realised that she wasn't sure how to frame in words what she was doing. And she did feel a bit lost. In Naggaroth, as the saying went, most problems are soluble in blood. But she wasn't in the Land of Chill and the unaccustomed degree of introspection she'd had available on the road was new as well. She knew what to do to defend herself, but she didn't need to draw steel and the High Elf next to her certainly seemed to understand that if she had wanted to murder people here, she would have simply started at the edge of the village and be knee deep in gore by now. She didn't venture this argument, since it was unnecessary and tended to ruffle feathers. Instead she inclined her head politely and accepted the drink. "Thank you," she said, politely, her accent foreign but her diction definitely upper class. "I was beginning to think I would have to drink the wine here instead of use it to clean my blades." She took a sip of the mug of ale and smiled at Vamir. Khelandria had a refined palate, but she was also used to the herbal concoctions of the Witch Elves so she sipped it without complaint. It was, as someone from even further north had once described such things, as rough as Ursun's arse. "As for why I am here, I am looking for suitable employment for my daggers in the first instance. As for why that is here exactly ... " She paused, looking up at the inn's smoke-darkened roof for a moment. "Well, my Lord told me in a dream. He has a purpose for me, I am sure. I am searching for what it is." She paused to regard the Elf for a moment longer. Some said that white hair was a mark of the favour of Khaine. Perhaps this was a good omen. "I have many tales to tell but what of yourself? You have come far from the homelands. Did you feel the call of the sea too?"@Valonox
Vamir looked at the Witch Elf, and smiled. "To be honest I did not believe in the Seafarers ideals thus I left knowing that I would never return unless another became king. But I don't like Malekith either so I am a lone wolf doomed to walk the lands alone unless I aid mankind. By the Loec's Shadows it is good to see an elf even if you are what you are. I think this has been the most honest conversation I have ever had with another elf. Probably because I haven't seen one in decades, so Elf whats your name and how goes the war." Vamir waiting for a response looked to the Maiden "Your finest food please, for the lady and I."
Mariah had taken the time she needed to look over the characters within the room, thus far anyways. She looked over at the wolves with some distain as they were filthy creatures in a place where one eats and drinks, which showed just how well labored their owners were. Then there were larger creatures slamming around and drinking, again something she disliked. The only one who seemed to carry herself in a manor of any respect was the one she heard called Khelandria. Nonetheless, it was obvious why all these out of place vagabonds were here. None fit in to this place, so their intent was clearly to join the call so she would be having to get used to them it would seem. Then there was this shady figure of a man. Black clothes, an arrogant air about him, and his leaned back deminor showed that he was of some importance, but just how important or what he was was yet to be found out. @Colapse She finally figured sitting in a Dark corner of the tavern was not going to help any further so she made her way to the man and his table. She then stop at the table and pulled back her hood to reveal her fair skin, red hair, and blue eyes. She spoke in a semi arrogant tone, with the accent common among nobles of Bretonnia, "I am Mariah De'Leon, last knight of the noble De'Leon family. Are you this Thomas Constantine? If so, I should like to join this mercenary group of yours. However, you may keep your gold as that is not what I seek." She seemed very straight and to the point, seeming to put it all out there right off the back. She then stood in a straightened posture with her arms crossed, waiting for an answer.
