Post by Horsie on Jan 2, 2015 21:49:27 GMT
A story Harkovast wrote about mine and Canuovea's characters from Book 1 of the RP.
The Meal
With remarkable speed Konrad loaded and discharged his carbine.
In less than a minute he had fired the weapon three times into the air.
On the third shot the young ranger removed his hat and gave an exaggerated bow.
The Ivos girls applauded excitedly at this display of skill from so dashing a figure.
Marcus rolled his eyes in feigned disinterest, but smiled in spite of himself.
"Alright, you did it. Can we go now? We're going to be late."
"Sorry ladies," said Konrad putting his hat back on and straightening it "but duty calls. My commander here is hard task master."
The young ladies made noises of disappointment as the two soldiers said their good byes and departed from the park and began walking back towards the villa.
"That," said Konrad as they walked down the street "is just one of many benefits of the military life."
"Always trying it on." said Marcus
"Absolutely! If there's one thing I learned from my mother its to keep your options open when it comes to romance. She did very well out of it."
"Having to raise you on her own?"
"Well yes, but I was mainly referring to producing such damn good looking offspring."
"I've never understood how you can be so vain. Every Golta I've met thinks every other race looks like a grobla's arse."
"That's why it was up to me to re-educate them." He smiled "at least the women. Oh, before I forget, I'm trying something that might be alright, some new ammunition."
"Oh?"
"This!" Konrad produced a paper cartridge from his pocket and held it up proudly "You know what's in here?"
"Umm...some sort of pyronite?"
"Obviously," Konrad rolled his eyes. "But instead of one ball, this has also got three small buck shot as well! Think about it!"
"Is...is that better?"
"Is it...?" Konrad was exasperated at his comrade's lack of comprehension "That's four shots! Just imagine the damage that could do at close range."
"Look, don't do any gun talk at the table, alright?" said Marcus "I don't think people really..."
Marcus stopped as they walked up the steps into the building.
Koun greeted them in the hallway.
"Young master, your father and the other guests are awaiting you in the dining room."
"Thank you," Nodded Marcus "Konrad, I mean it, don't embarrass me."
"Look I know what you're referring to and I still maintain she took it as a compliment."
Marcus stopped and shot Konrad a stern glance.
"Look" said Konrad, raising his hands defensively. "I've told you a hundred times, I had no idea that was your mother. She's a good looking woman for her age, you should be pleased that..."
"Just don't." Said Marcus "don't do anything... anything Konrad would do."
"Well can I still wear the coat? Because I think the coat is pretty dashing..."
"No joking, this is important. My father is VERY hard to please. If he'd been there when you said that he'd have had you nailed to..."
Koun opened the door to let them into the dining room.
Already sat the head of the table was Marcus' father, Hostus, his face hard and stern like granite, his expression seemingly forever locked in scowling glare.
"You're late, boy." he said, his tone harsh and authoritative. "Chasing girls in the park, no doubt?"
Marcus shot Konrad a glance.
"Well don't just stand there, open jawed like a couple of Junlock drunks, sit down so we can eat."
Marcus hurried to take a seat.
Konrad took a more leisurely pace, handing his carbine and hat to Koun before sitting down.
Already at the table was Tyrus, the Panvos leaning back in his chair and snacking on olives from a bowl.
Next to him was Dominius, the large Centurion keeping his head down, obviously intimidated by such opulent surroundings. Finally there was Proculus, his small, thin frame hunched over some scrolls that he had spread on his corner of the table and was studying intently, not paying the other guests any heed.
Also on the table was a varnished wooden puzzle box, made of many complex twisting parts with a key hole in the middle. Hostus had given this to Proculus as a gift when his son was young, and Proculus often had it with him, tinkering with it. He was still unable to solve it, or find anyone else that could.
Marcus' mother and sisters were sat on stools against the walls at the sides of the room, waiting whispering occasionally to each other while the men spoke and ate.
Koun clapped his hands and slaves hurried in and laid out food for the guests.
"So, Marcus..." Said Hostus, speaking slowly at first as if his thoughts were building momentum, "you've been granted a command?"
"Ye-yes." Marcus found himself stammering in his fathers commanding presence, and made a conscious effort to compose himself "I have been granted a cohort in Yulurius' legion."
"Yulurius?" Hostus snorted in contempt "It would take a generous man to call him a commander. Typical of the type of soft, pampered aristocrat that's ruining our armies. All of em bought their positions."
"Not Marcus." said Konrad "He worked for his rank."
"Bloody right he did!" Said Hostus "I wasn't about to let him coast along on the family name! I had him keep it a secret we were even related."
"They didn't know who your father was?" Laughed Tyrus "what an absolute lark!"
"It was no lark," Hostus explained "Made him earn it! A commander needs good blood but even the best bloodline can run to water without discipline, without hardship. That's the problem these days, we're going soft. Nation of bullies, push around a few barbarians, think we rule Vellastrom. Let me tell you boys something, that's why we're losing this war. Oh yes, they wont tell you that at the academy, but that's the truth! We need to get back that old spirit, that old steel. That's what built this empire."
"Haha, damn right!" said Tyrus, grinning "damn right! I can tell you now we're going to give those Darsai a damn good thrashing! Damn good!"
"Tyrus finished first in his class for mounted combat." explained Marcus.
"And last in everything else!" laughed Tyrus "But put me on a suss and I'll get things sorted."
"They have Panvos at the academy now?" mused Hostus, before adding "Good... good to know. Panvos could teach us a thing or two I'd wager. If there's strength still in this empire I suspect they have the best part of it."
"His cavalry wing will be in support of my cohort" explained Marcus.
"Don't over look cavalry." said Hostus, firmly "You listen, boy. All that rubbish they teach you about it just supporting and guarding your flanks? Nonsense written on scrolls by idiots and sycophants. Every part of the army rests on every other part, like the stones of a bridge. Everyman supports every other. Footman, archer, cavalry, Panvos, Ivos..."
Hostus paused and looked at Konrad.
"And this must be Konrad... one of the mercenaries." He wrinkled his snout. "Marcus says you're a ranger."
"He says right, sir."
"Golta, yes...." Hostus nodded, clearly regarding Konrad carefully. "Useful. Very useful."
"They say the best scouts are Golta or Ano-Chee," said Tyrus "Well we've got bloody both! Damn right!"
"You any good?" said Hostus, leaning towards Konrad.
"Alright." said Konrad with a shrug.
"None of your Golta talk here, lad. You're going to fight for the empire you can learn to speak like a man and say what you think. Now are you any good?"
Konrad paused for a moment.
"I'm the best." He said flatly, meeting Hostus' gaze.
"I should hope so." said Hostus, nodding his approval as he sat back in his chair. "We pay you Golta enough for your work. I expect Marcus to report back that you've earned it."
"Haha, damn good!" said Tyrus "The best! I like that, I like that a lot. That'll put the fear of Bol up those Darsai, I'll bet!"
Satisfied, Hostus turned his attention to Dominius.
"What about you? Don't seem to have much to say for yourself."
"No sir." responded the large Ivos meekly, his head down and avoiding eye contact.
"Well don't just sit there slouching, what's your name lad?"
"Oi'm Dominius, sir. Oi'm attached to Tribuni Marcus' cohort as 'is personal aid, sir."
Dominius' thick, rural accent gave Hostus pause.
"You...you're not from a noble family?" Hostus raised an eye brow.
"No sir, I ain't."
"Hmm..." Hostus sat back in his chair thoughtfully.
There was a tense moment as everyone awaited Hostus' reaction.
"Good," Hostus finally stated. "No shame in that. The armies of the empire are made of decent hard working men like you. Good strong peasant stock. It's the officer class that's the problem, that's where the rot is!"
Hostus pointed a fork at Marcus.
"You could learn a lot from a man like this, life didn't hand him anything."
"Yes father."
"He's worked hard, he's made something of himself. He can't fall back on daddy if army life gets too tough...so don't think you can either!"
"Yes father."
"We don't need another generation of weak willed, spineless cowards running the army, too scared to get blood on their tusks because..."
"OH TO HELL WITH IT!" Shouted Proculus, screwing up one of his scrolls in a sudden burst of anger. "That idiot can't even add up simple numbers!"
Everyone sat stunned at this out burst.
"I just wanted him to hold the accounts, just wait till it was clear what prices were going to do!" Proculus shouted, practically trembling with rage at what he had just read. "And that moron is throwing cash around like flowers at a parade!"
"Proculus," said Hostus, his voice suddenly soft. "Now is not the time to..."
"I worked weeks to set this up for him, and now I've got to redo the entire thing from the ground up! ARGH!" Proculus was wild with emotion, taking a bite out of the scroll in frustration as his eyes welled up with tears. "One simple thing he has to watch! That stupid bastard!"
He looked up at the others at the table, and his face dropped.
They were all staring at him in shock at such an out burst.
Proculus quickly gathered up his scrolls in his arms and hurried out of the room.
Hostus was wide eyed. His face was not angry, just shocked.
His hand seemed to tremble slightly.
Everyone else in the room held their breaths.
"Well...yes..." Hostus spoke quietly, a tone Marcus only heard him use when Proculus had embarrassed him deeply "I will...I will speak with him. Please...please eat. Hail Caesar."
He raised his fist in a salute, which the other men nervously returned.
He then walked over to where Proculus had been sitting, picked up the puzzle box and walked out after him.
Marcus' mother hurried over to the table.
"I'm so sorry," she said in a hushed voice "he's been under a lot of stress, he doesn't..." her voice trailed off and she hurried out of the room after her husband.
The rest of the meal was eaten in uncomfortable silence.
Hostus and Proculus did not return to the table, though throughout the diner the two of them could be heard in the other room. Proculus was shouting, at times screaming, while Hostus spoke in that soft, sad voice he only ever used when talking to Proculus.
Hostus was always a figure of great strength in Marcus' eyes, and it upset him deeply to see his father hurt so badly time and again.
The End.
The Meal
With remarkable speed Konrad loaded and discharged his carbine.
In less than a minute he had fired the weapon three times into the air.
On the third shot the young ranger removed his hat and gave an exaggerated bow.
The Ivos girls applauded excitedly at this display of skill from so dashing a figure.
Marcus rolled his eyes in feigned disinterest, but smiled in spite of himself.
"Alright, you did it. Can we go now? We're going to be late."
"Sorry ladies," said Konrad putting his hat back on and straightening it "but duty calls. My commander here is hard task master."
The young ladies made noises of disappointment as the two soldiers said their good byes and departed from the park and began walking back towards the villa.
"That," said Konrad as they walked down the street "is just one of many benefits of the military life."
"Always trying it on." said Marcus
"Absolutely! If there's one thing I learned from my mother its to keep your options open when it comes to romance. She did very well out of it."
"Having to raise you on her own?"
"Well yes, but I was mainly referring to producing such damn good looking offspring."
"I've never understood how you can be so vain. Every Golta I've met thinks every other race looks like a grobla's arse."
"That's why it was up to me to re-educate them." He smiled "at least the women. Oh, before I forget, I'm trying something that might be alright, some new ammunition."
"Oh?"
"This!" Konrad produced a paper cartridge from his pocket and held it up proudly "You know what's in here?"
"Umm...some sort of pyronite?"
"Obviously," Konrad rolled his eyes. "But instead of one ball, this has also got three small buck shot as well! Think about it!"
"Is...is that better?"
"Is it...?" Konrad was exasperated at his comrade's lack of comprehension "That's four shots! Just imagine the damage that could do at close range."
"Look, don't do any gun talk at the table, alright?" said Marcus "I don't think people really..."
Marcus stopped as they walked up the steps into the building.
Koun greeted them in the hallway.
"Young master, your father and the other guests are awaiting you in the dining room."
"Thank you," Nodded Marcus "Konrad, I mean it, don't embarrass me."
"Look I know what you're referring to and I still maintain she took it as a compliment."
Marcus stopped and shot Konrad a stern glance.
"Look" said Konrad, raising his hands defensively. "I've told you a hundred times, I had no idea that was your mother. She's a good looking woman for her age, you should be pleased that..."
"Just don't." Said Marcus "don't do anything... anything Konrad would do."
"Well can I still wear the coat? Because I think the coat is pretty dashing..."
"No joking, this is important. My father is VERY hard to please. If he'd been there when you said that he'd have had you nailed to..."
Koun opened the door to let them into the dining room.
Already sat the head of the table was Marcus' father, Hostus, his face hard and stern like granite, his expression seemingly forever locked in scowling glare.
"You're late, boy." he said, his tone harsh and authoritative. "Chasing girls in the park, no doubt?"
Marcus shot Konrad a glance.
"Well don't just stand there, open jawed like a couple of Junlock drunks, sit down so we can eat."
Marcus hurried to take a seat.
Konrad took a more leisurely pace, handing his carbine and hat to Koun before sitting down.
Already at the table was Tyrus, the Panvos leaning back in his chair and snacking on olives from a bowl.
Next to him was Dominius, the large Centurion keeping his head down, obviously intimidated by such opulent surroundings. Finally there was Proculus, his small, thin frame hunched over some scrolls that he had spread on his corner of the table and was studying intently, not paying the other guests any heed.
Also on the table was a varnished wooden puzzle box, made of many complex twisting parts with a key hole in the middle. Hostus had given this to Proculus as a gift when his son was young, and Proculus often had it with him, tinkering with it. He was still unable to solve it, or find anyone else that could.
Marcus' mother and sisters were sat on stools against the walls at the sides of the room, waiting whispering occasionally to each other while the men spoke and ate.
Koun clapped his hands and slaves hurried in and laid out food for the guests.
"So, Marcus..." Said Hostus, speaking slowly at first as if his thoughts were building momentum, "you've been granted a command?"
"Ye-yes." Marcus found himself stammering in his fathers commanding presence, and made a conscious effort to compose himself "I have been granted a cohort in Yulurius' legion."
"Yulurius?" Hostus snorted in contempt "It would take a generous man to call him a commander. Typical of the type of soft, pampered aristocrat that's ruining our armies. All of em bought their positions."
"Not Marcus." said Konrad "He worked for his rank."
"Bloody right he did!" Said Hostus "I wasn't about to let him coast along on the family name! I had him keep it a secret we were even related."
"They didn't know who your father was?" Laughed Tyrus "what an absolute lark!"
"It was no lark," Hostus explained "Made him earn it! A commander needs good blood but even the best bloodline can run to water without discipline, without hardship. That's the problem these days, we're going soft. Nation of bullies, push around a few barbarians, think we rule Vellastrom. Let me tell you boys something, that's why we're losing this war. Oh yes, they wont tell you that at the academy, but that's the truth! We need to get back that old spirit, that old steel. That's what built this empire."
"Haha, damn right!" said Tyrus, grinning "damn right! I can tell you now we're going to give those Darsai a damn good thrashing! Damn good!"
"Tyrus finished first in his class for mounted combat." explained Marcus.
"And last in everything else!" laughed Tyrus "But put me on a suss and I'll get things sorted."
"They have Panvos at the academy now?" mused Hostus, before adding "Good... good to know. Panvos could teach us a thing or two I'd wager. If there's strength still in this empire I suspect they have the best part of it."
"His cavalry wing will be in support of my cohort" explained Marcus.
"Don't over look cavalry." said Hostus, firmly "You listen, boy. All that rubbish they teach you about it just supporting and guarding your flanks? Nonsense written on scrolls by idiots and sycophants. Every part of the army rests on every other part, like the stones of a bridge. Everyman supports every other. Footman, archer, cavalry, Panvos, Ivos..."
Hostus paused and looked at Konrad.
"And this must be Konrad... one of the mercenaries." He wrinkled his snout. "Marcus says you're a ranger."
"He says right, sir."
"Golta, yes...." Hostus nodded, clearly regarding Konrad carefully. "Useful. Very useful."
"They say the best scouts are Golta or Ano-Chee," said Tyrus "Well we've got bloody both! Damn right!"
"You any good?" said Hostus, leaning towards Konrad.
"Alright." said Konrad with a shrug.
"None of your Golta talk here, lad. You're going to fight for the empire you can learn to speak like a man and say what you think. Now are you any good?"
Konrad paused for a moment.
"I'm the best." He said flatly, meeting Hostus' gaze.
"I should hope so." said Hostus, nodding his approval as he sat back in his chair. "We pay you Golta enough for your work. I expect Marcus to report back that you've earned it."
"Haha, damn good!" said Tyrus "The best! I like that, I like that a lot. That'll put the fear of Bol up those Darsai, I'll bet!"
Satisfied, Hostus turned his attention to Dominius.
"What about you? Don't seem to have much to say for yourself."
"No sir." responded the large Ivos meekly, his head down and avoiding eye contact.
"Well don't just sit there slouching, what's your name lad?"
"Oi'm Dominius, sir. Oi'm attached to Tribuni Marcus' cohort as 'is personal aid, sir."
Dominius' thick, rural accent gave Hostus pause.
"You...you're not from a noble family?" Hostus raised an eye brow.
"No sir, I ain't."
"Hmm..." Hostus sat back in his chair thoughtfully.
There was a tense moment as everyone awaited Hostus' reaction.
"Good," Hostus finally stated. "No shame in that. The armies of the empire are made of decent hard working men like you. Good strong peasant stock. It's the officer class that's the problem, that's where the rot is!"
Hostus pointed a fork at Marcus.
"You could learn a lot from a man like this, life didn't hand him anything."
"Yes father."
"He's worked hard, he's made something of himself. He can't fall back on daddy if army life gets too tough...so don't think you can either!"
"Yes father."
"We don't need another generation of weak willed, spineless cowards running the army, too scared to get blood on their tusks because..."
"OH TO HELL WITH IT!" Shouted Proculus, screwing up one of his scrolls in a sudden burst of anger. "That idiot can't even add up simple numbers!"
Everyone sat stunned at this out burst.
"I just wanted him to hold the accounts, just wait till it was clear what prices were going to do!" Proculus shouted, practically trembling with rage at what he had just read. "And that moron is throwing cash around like flowers at a parade!"
"Proculus," said Hostus, his voice suddenly soft. "Now is not the time to..."
"I worked weeks to set this up for him, and now I've got to redo the entire thing from the ground up! ARGH!" Proculus was wild with emotion, taking a bite out of the scroll in frustration as his eyes welled up with tears. "One simple thing he has to watch! That stupid bastard!"
He looked up at the others at the table, and his face dropped.
They were all staring at him in shock at such an out burst.
Proculus quickly gathered up his scrolls in his arms and hurried out of the room.
Hostus was wide eyed. His face was not angry, just shocked.
His hand seemed to tremble slightly.
Everyone else in the room held their breaths.
"Well...yes..." Hostus spoke quietly, a tone Marcus only heard him use when Proculus had embarrassed him deeply "I will...I will speak with him. Please...please eat. Hail Caesar."
He raised his fist in a salute, which the other men nervously returned.
He then walked over to where Proculus had been sitting, picked up the puzzle box and walked out after him.
Marcus' mother hurried over to the table.
"I'm so sorry," she said in a hushed voice "he's been under a lot of stress, he doesn't..." her voice trailed off and she hurried out of the room after her husband.
The rest of the meal was eaten in uncomfortable silence.
Hostus and Proculus did not return to the table, though throughout the diner the two of them could be heard in the other room. Proculus was shouting, at times screaming, while Hostus spoke in that soft, sad voice he only ever used when talking to Proculus.
Hostus was always a figure of great strength in Marcus' eyes, and it upset him deeply to see his father hurt so badly time and again.
The End.