Barbarian Nobility
We'll always have Paris.
- Joined
- Sep 22, 2008
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OPEN RP
Edward Longmember's face itched as if plagued by a million fleas, although to be fair hessian clothe was not known as the most supple of materials. Edward, like many other landless knights, ruffians and outlaws who had been contracted for this less then righteous battle had chosen to conceal his identity behind a mask; Sir Longmember was no shinning paragon of knightly virtue and valour, but he still had some level or reputation, a reputation that would not be served well by association with scum such as these...
The moon waxed high above the old stone mill - the objective of the evenings task. The Merchantman who had hired Edward at the 'Whores Bath Taven', the bunghole of Londons publican establishments, had courteously given the Knight some insight into the reasoning behind the nights planned butchery. His wares, some hundred casks of fine Langeudoc red had been stolen by thieves and stored in the Mill. Edward has personally 'questioned' the weasel who had been captured during the robbery...Something about the mans tone suggested the robbery had been sanctioned by a member of the peerage, although Edward held no reservations that such a nobleman would dirty his hands with the storage of the wares, all the better to wash his hands and claim no knowledge. Before the weasel had sucked back his last breath in agony he had promised Edward that there would be no more then ten men guarding the hoarde of wine...
Edward looked about him and counted at least twenty men - most were armed poorly, thugs from the city with cudgels, mean looking falchions and rusty dirks...amateurs. A few of the 'others' - maybe landless knights such as himself, maybe just regular sell-sword scum looked a little more dangerous...although Edward had not made introductions. Sir Longmember was very modestly armed; he wore chainmail, a heavy leather coif, gauntlets and greaves. He was mounted on a courser and armed with bastard sword, lance and mace, although the lance and bastard sword would not likely avail him within the confines of the mill.
Sir Longmember had a thirst for wine, but knew from bitter experience that to indulge his thirst before the killing could fare poorly for him. The longscar underneathe his clothes that ran from left nipple to his groin tingled at the thought...Nay, the time was at hand to get this thing finished.
Edward turned to the motley company...
Right lads, its time to be done with this thing. At my signal ride hard upon the mill, storm the causeway, kill everyone inside, load the wares onto the cart our employer has so kindly supplied us with, then torch the mill...
Edward raised his arm for effect, then gave the signal...
Edward Longmember's face itched as if plagued by a million fleas, although to be fair hessian clothe was not known as the most supple of materials. Edward, like many other landless knights, ruffians and outlaws who had been contracted for this less then righteous battle had chosen to conceal his identity behind a mask; Sir Longmember was no shinning paragon of knightly virtue and valour, but he still had some level or reputation, a reputation that would not be served well by association with scum such as these...
The moon waxed high above the old stone mill - the objective of the evenings task. The Merchantman who had hired Edward at the 'Whores Bath Taven', the bunghole of Londons publican establishments, had courteously given the Knight some insight into the reasoning behind the nights planned butchery. His wares, some hundred casks of fine Langeudoc red had been stolen by thieves and stored in the Mill. Edward has personally 'questioned' the weasel who had been captured during the robbery...Something about the mans tone suggested the robbery had been sanctioned by a member of the peerage, although Edward held no reservations that such a nobleman would dirty his hands with the storage of the wares, all the better to wash his hands and claim no knowledge. Before the weasel had sucked back his last breath in agony he had promised Edward that there would be no more then ten men guarding the hoarde of wine...
Edward looked about him and counted at least twenty men - most were armed poorly, thugs from the city with cudgels, mean looking falchions and rusty dirks...amateurs. A few of the 'others' - maybe landless knights such as himself, maybe just regular sell-sword scum looked a little more dangerous...although Edward had not made introductions. Sir Longmember was very modestly armed; he wore chainmail, a heavy leather coif, gauntlets and greaves. He was mounted on a courser and armed with bastard sword, lance and mace, although the lance and bastard sword would not likely avail him within the confines of the mill.
Sir Longmember had a thirst for wine, but knew from bitter experience that to indulge his thirst before the killing could fare poorly for him. The longscar underneathe his clothes that ran from left nipple to his groin tingled at the thought...Nay, the time was at hand to get this thing finished.
Edward turned to the motley company...
Right lads, its time to be done with this thing. At my signal ride hard upon the mill, storm the causeway, kill everyone inside, load the wares onto the cart our employer has so kindly supplied us with, then torch the mill...
Edward raised his arm for effect, then gave the signal...
