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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Fiasco" data-source="post: 2735379" data-attributes="member: 15187">******Bastien sat at a large table in the centre of the common room of the Green Arms and gestured for the six strangers to do likewise. The recruits regarded each other and their host with guarded interest. They saw a moderately handsome man with a straightforward demeanour. Green eyes sparkled keenly as he looked them over. His brown hair, so dark it was nearly black was swept back to reveal a high forehead, and he affected a dark beard, cut fashionably short. He appeared to be in his middle thirties, a man favoured with both the wisdom of experience and a vigorous body. With an assured gesture he signalled for drinks to be poured for the assembled men. At his feet crouched Kurul, the muscular hound massive in its ugliness. The jug headed beast seemed asleep, blissfully ignorant of the raucous banter of the crowded tavern. Bastien frowned inwardly as he watched his guests being served. His first impression was not favourable, the best that could be said was that they were a diverse group. Over a hearty meal of Irudesh stew and braised lamb shanks, Bastien outlined the terms of service offered by his liege. Questions were posed and answers given, eventually to the satisfaction of all involved. Eyebrows were raised when he stipulated that Kurul would be part of their company but no objections were raised. With a clasp of hands, the deal was struck and moneys paid over. Each man accepted the Baron's silver to make a ten day journey to his lands. There they would submit to sundry tests to assess their suitability to form a gladiatorial company for the Halfast Games. Success would see them form such a company, failure would see them given ten silver sickles for their efforts and hearty wishes for a safe journey back to Halfast. Assuming they survived. As he passed out the freshly stamped coins, Bastien greatly doubted that all six would finish the journey let alone be accepted for training as gladiators. Each man gave his name when he received his pay; Gerard de Mowbray, a minor scion of a noble lord; the gnome Mortec (a creature almost unheard of this far south); Morgan, a young warrior from the Fastness; the woodsman Argonne, who wore a broad brimmed hat low over his face; the heavily cloaked yet strangely compelling Stravarius; and lastly Moxadder, a tattooed and bald headed beggar. They were a motley collection of highborn and low, human, barely human and non human. Only time and the wisdom of his baron would determine the mettle of these ambitious youths.Once the young men had accepted the commission, the talk became strained. Mostly unskilled in conversation or uncomfortable in their surroundings, they toyed with the remains of the meal with downcast eyes. Fearing a dreary night ahead, Bastien proposed a carouse at the Baron's expense. Hopefully drink and women would loosen tongues and lower inhibitions, and what more fitting occasion than All Summers Eve? The proposal was readily accepted, and they left the easy hospitality of the Green Arms, stepping forth into the hurly burly of the city. Bastien thought to slake the youths lust with an early visit to whores of Nightingale street before the opportunity to do so was lost to the fevered masses of hot blooded revellers. The choice proved unfortunate. Gerard's refined manners and fastidious nature forbade contact with common street walkers while the gnome Mortec was repulsed by the very thought of making such an intimate acquaintance of a human. The others seemed to be shy of expressing their desires in front of their peers. Only Moxadder accepted a coin and without a qualm, slipped down an alley way, rejoining the others a few minutes later.  Recognising his error, Bastien dryly suggested that perhaps they should make a survey of the dockside taverns. He barely troubled to conceal his smile at the mixture of relief and enthusiasm which greeted his proposal. The light was descending into gloom when the party emerged from Arrel Way to see the raucous docks spread before them. Fellow revellers rambled through the streets while on the pier, longshoremen, cheeks glowing with drink, strove to finish unloading a coaster before the light failed completely. Several wooden cranes arched against skyline, raising and lowering their cargo. Mortec, only half the height of his companions, struggled to maintain sight of his comrades. So focussed was he on his efforts that failed to notice the approach of a noble cavalcade as it made its promenade along the dock. "The Duchess Servessa", Bastien informed his charges as they craned to see the procession. Proceeded by four richly attired guards, the Duchess cut an impeccably regal figure on her splendid black stallion. Her escorts were somewhat less orderly as they struggled to keep the crowd at a suitable distance. Excessive drink and high spirits had made some of the subjects careless of the proprieties that were expected between subject and ruler. In contrast to this rowdy press, the crowds of people on the opposite side of the dock began to leave the walkway with unnerving haste. Marching slowly to the dolorous clank of bells was a procession of eight black robed figures. Dressed in the universal clothing of the leprous and diseased, the walkers inspired the horror of sickness in the drunken and sober alike. Almost as one they fled in terror from this fearsome portent of their mortality. From the safety of Arrel Way, Gerard watched with idle curiosity as the lepers neared the Duchess’ guards. The intervening crowds blew away as dust and an unnerved silence replaced the clatter of the docks. Even the hardy dock workers backed away to their storehouses, unwilling to risk the dreaded taint of leprosy. As the two parties moved towards each other, the guards slowed their steps and tightened fingers on the hafts of their pikes. The contradictory impulses of fear and duty warred on their faces as they held grimly to their march, compelled by their responsibility to uphold the Duchess' dignity. In ominous contrast to the guards, the lepers' pace increased, transforming Gerard’s curiosity into deep unease. An awful tension gripped the docks as both parties remorselessly approached each other, neither showing any sign of turning aside. A chill gripped him as he realised that the lepers’ movements were too smooth for people debilitated by disease. “Duchess! Ware the lepers” he shouted as the pariahs drew clubs and knives from the concealment of their black robes. Their lethal intent was unmistakable.</blockquote>

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