Whitlok ir’Khasamenn
Cool, well here goes then. This would be my preferred PC for this PbP. I still have to type up his background (which explains his favoured enemy and how he met Hanable) and will try and knock that over tomorrow night. Let me know if you have any problems.
Cheers
Daz
\m/ oVo \m/
That confirmed it in his mind. The merchant sitting outside the emporium and sipping from an expensive looking crystal glass, that shimmered in the sparse afternoon light, sported eight rings upon his chubby, immaculately manicured fingers and that marked him out for special attention; those simple gold bands marked him as an enemy, a member of the Aurum. Whitlok sighed, he had been in Korth for less than an hour and already he had stumbled across a diversion. A diversion that would likely make him late for his meeting, and he hated being late. But the simple fact of the matter was that if he didn’t act now he would be distracted during the meeting and Hanable hated it when he was distracted and didn’t pay close enough attention to the customers wants. So, those waiting for him would just have to continue waiting, he’d get to them when he had finalised this pressing business.
Whitlok whistled sharply and a large badger moved ponderously out of the shadows of the cart which had conveniently been providing a quiet place out of the way to doze. He reached down and stroked the top of the badger’s head with his dirty, stubby fingers. His gaze never left the gaudily dressed human that he had been watching now for the better part of ten minutes.
“So Digga, looks like we gotta lil’ job ta do fore our meetin” He muttered as he distractedly scratched at his wide, oft-broken nose. “But we be need’n a c’motion, sumtin to get this fella off t’ main street.”
He grunted as he stood, an old back injury making him wince in discomfort, and straightened his large, floppy, wide brimmed hat, the front of which had been pinned up so as not to obscure his vision. He looked left and right down the busy thoroughfare, weighing up opportunities for distraction. He spied a cart being drawn by two oxen and grinned – perfect, now all he needed was to make them bolt and that was something that Digga, with his sharp teeth and a well placed bite to the leg, was very good at. Unfortunately it also meant that there might be some damage to the street, an unavoidable side effect of his line of work. He was about to kneel and whisper his plan to Digga when he spied a figure wrapped in a dark, heavy cloak approach the merchant. The figure stopped at the left shoulder of the merchant, bent down so his mouth was equal with the merchant’s ear and whispered urgently while gesticulating towards the mouth of a nearby alley.
“Now this looks promisin’ Digga”, Whitlock said as a broad grin spread across his heavily weathered face. His square, blocky yellowing teeth, normally hidden behind his dark moustache, double-braided beard and depreciating scowl, flashed in the afternoon sun. “Looks like tis day might jus’ be a ripper after all me ol’ friend”.
Across the street the merchant rose heavily to his feet, his wide paunch stretching the expensive fabric of his expertly stitched and embroidered tunic. He eyed the crowd around him distastefully until his eyes settled on a mailed thug leaning against a nearby building. The merchant tilted his head imperceptibly at the warrior and motioned for the cloaked figure to lead the way.
“Interestin”, Whitlok mumbled under his breath “looks like tis jus’ got a lil’ bit difficult”. He quickly adjusted the straps on the chain shirt that fit snugly over his wiry body and stamped some life back into his feet.
Luckily for Whitlok he knew exactly where the alleyway that the pair made their way towards led. He watched as the warrior eased his way from the wall and strode nonchalantly after the pair. Whitlok studied the man, who he saw now was more boy than man, probably hadn’t even seen service in the war he thought to himself. The boy carried himself with an air of self-importance, he swaggered as if the street was his and even threatened an old woman that had the audacity to accidentally bump into him.
“Typical of the stingy bastards” Whitlok whispered to Digga, “tryin’ to save a few gold, buys substandard goods and now he’s gonna pay. Hehe, this is gunna be fun Digga, time for the old tag n’ trip me ol’ mate”
Digga slowly perambulated the crowded street, following the young warrior who was even now reaching the mouth of the alleyway. Whitlok, on the other hand, quickly raced up the street in the opposite direction, having to roll under the pair of startled oxen that blocked his way forward as they continued to work their way ponderously up the street. He careened around the corner of the next alleyway, climbed expertly up on to a pile of wooden kegs and launched himself into the air fingers scrabbling to catch hold of the rooftop. His heart thumped loudly in his chest as the roof gave a groan but he managed to kick his legs and throw his weight forward pivoting and rolling sideways on to the roof before a handful of tiles slipped from their housing and crashed to the alley below.
“Thank Balinor” he managed to squeeze out as he pushed himself to his feet. He pulled Khezek, his ancestral urgosh, from it’s sheath upon his back and steadied himself as he quickly made his way across the rooftop. Luck seemed to be with him this day, the damned Aurum was so confident in his wealth and the ability of the guard that trailed him, that he wasn’t even bothering to try and be unobtrusive. He was making enough noise, arguing heatedly with someone, the cloaked stranger Whitlok presumed, that he would never even hear the attack coming. Whitlok reached the far edge of the roof, caught sight of the merchant and his cloaked comrade and launched himself into the air.
He landed on his feet with a heavy thud, the soles of his high, black leather boots absorbing most of the impact. Letting the momentum of his leap tip him forward he drew his shoulders in and curled into a ball tumbling between the startled pair. The Aurum slouched to the ground and let out a scream as the razor sharp axe blade sliced through his Achilles heel. Whitlok rolled to a stop, sprung to his feet, spun and growled at the cloak figure.
“It’s the dandy man I want, I have no beef with ye at t moment and ye’d be best off keeping it tat way”
The cloaked figure looked down at the hamstrung man who was screaming and clawing at the hem of his cloak. He stomped on the merchant’s fingers and spat in disgust.
“You can have him dwarf.” A silky voice purred from the depths of the hooded cowl, “He has proven he is of no use to my mistress but I mark ye, and I will tell my mistress of what transpired here this day, and, know this, if my mistress desires it you will die. Know this to be true.” Before Whitlok could react the cloaked figure whispered ancient magic and disappeared in a swirl of inky darkness.
Whitlok quickly turned his attention to the warrior that was warily making his way down the street, his sword blade wavering as he held it resolutely before him. The merchant was slowly dragging himself up the alley, trying desperately to claw his way to freedom, a bloody trail marking his route in the dirt of the alley, flies starting to gather to lap thirstily at the mans lifeblood as it leaked into the ground.
The merchant wasn’t going to get far, not, at any rate, before Whitlok took care of the inexperienced warrior. He quickly advanced down the alley towards the young fighter, his axe shaft cradled comfortably in his hands. He wanted this over with quickly, and wanted the boy unbalanced. He glared at the boy, mustering all his years of experience in the Karrnathi army into his stride and bearing, trying to impress upon the young man just how much trouble he was in. The boy swung his sword threateningly before him; sweat beading on his brow, the tip of his blade dropping slightly as his immature muscles struggled to keep the heavy blade steady.
Whitlok broke into a run. The boy steadied himself for a charge but he wasn’t expecting what happened next. The dwarf hurtled down the alley and skidded to a halt just in front of the boy warrior, who quickly stepped back, tripped over the badger that had quietly snuck up behind him and fell heavily to the ground, the sword spilling from his grasp. Whitlok kicked the blade further away and jammed the point of his urgosh at the boys exposed throat, stopping just short of actually piercing the skin.
“Let this be a lessin for ye brat.” Whitlok thundered as he kept a wary eye on the boy “I watched ye bully the peasants in the street earlier, let’s see just how threatin’ ye are without that yard of cold steel at yer side. Stand, slowly like and strip”. The boy got shakily to his feet “I was only doin’ me job” he muttered as he unbuckled his armour and let it fall to the ground.
Whitlok addressed the badger without taking his hands from the haft or his eyes from the boy “Digga, go and see t’ that mewlin’ bastard that be makin’ ‘is way down t’ alley, don’t let ‘im go any further ‘fore I get t’ chance t’ finish ‘im orf.’ The badger ambled slowly up the alley, bearing down on the unfortunate merchant whose once immaculate clothing was now bedraggled and caked with blood, vomit, snot and tears.
“Now boy, tat weren’t doin’ no job, nope, you was employed t’ protect that snivellin’ ‘eap o’ trash back there n’ look at ‘im. If you’d spent more time doin yer job n’ less time parading around like some popinjay ye might’ve found yerself still employed and not in t’ unfortunate position you’re in at t’ moment.” The boy, was openly weeping and shaking and had stripped down to all but his smalls. “and those boys” Whitlok growled looking at his undergarments. “And then you can march on down the street or I’ll let me lil ‘airy friend over there bite ye dangly bits.” That was enough for the boy, he threw his (now thoroughly soiled) undergarments to the ground and raced down the alley and out of sight.
Whitlok turned back to the merchant that now lay still in the middle of the alley a short distance away, the bulky badger standing before him and blocking his progress forward. Whitlok strode resolutely down the dusty alley. His face set in a determined scowl. The merchant looked up at the bulky mass of the angry dwarf.
”Why?” he gasped “what have I done to you?”
“You chose t’ wrong side” Whitlok spat as the point of his urgosh flashed downwards “This is fer me kin you Aurum dog.”
To be continued????
