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Inn of the Wayward Soul - Pre-Game RP

 
"Nothing so exciting, my father's position isn't one that allows him to transfer the title. I'm a countess, but that's hardly exciting," she says with a shrug, "How did you lose your soul? Was it broken in battle?"

Tanvas listened to Damaris introduce himself, give part of his life story and as introduce his blades, a touch that he was pleasantly surprised with. Some people took swords as they were, nameless hunks of steel. Others gave them names. There was more to warrior than mere brute strength swinging a stick of sharp metal about, though that was quite the majority of it. But Tanvas had heard of warrior who carried weapons with such importance to them they would have gone to the ends of the earth for them. Which made Lam's comment a bite at him, only seeing the name instead of the weapon with the name. However, that was all it was for now. They were new blades. Having never seen battle by the hands of Damaris.

As he made to speak, he was immediately cut off as Damaris launched into explaining what a sell-sword was, referring to him as a Sword-Saint. He was confused but interested in listening too. He took hold of his newly filled drink and drank off it listening intently. It was then that he turned about the question to ask to what Lam had been before she decided to go exploring. He kept quite and turned his attention to her for the answer. What he learned was that she was a countess... Though he hadn't the slightest clue what that entailed for merfolk. He took a swig.

Then the question was bounced back to Damaris, to learn as to how he had lost his soul. Tanvas's brow raised as he looked back over to the swordsman, his shoulder dropping, having once again become confused with what was being said. He remembered that Damaris had partially agreed to the of having, in a way, lost his soul. This did little to enlighten him but did get he focused ready for Damaris's answer.

"It was a battle of sorts, but fought with words and emotions, not with blades. The lord I was sent to serve was an unkind, unjust man. In my homeland, a warrior's duty is to their lord no matter what. I would not submit to this rule.

He would not allow me to leave, keeping me inside his castle doing menial tasks. I broke my oath and exiled myself, taking up the ronin mantle and wandering the countryside. In this time of peace however, very little work is available. So many warriors, so very little battlefields..."


He trails off in either thought or emotion, staring at the table and losing his smile the further he goes on. A few moments pass, and he snaps himself back to the moment. He laughs and shakes his head.

"But to answer your question, I "lost" my soul when I broke my original oath, and until I can rectify that deed, I must wander and rent my sword to those who need it."

"I think you misunderstand," Lamére said, as she pointed to the man's Daisho, "Sword-saint, one who's soul resides in his blade," she said, a look of mild annoyance at having to explain something that seemed obvious to her, "If you sell your sword, than you must not have your soul in it, which tells me that this is not your soul-sword. I was asking how your True Sword came to be broken. My father's Soul-Sword has served him for many a year, and he keeps meticulous care to be sure not to let any damage come to it off of the battle-field. If his True Sword broke, he would not hesitate to kill himself on the broken blade." A look of pride overcame Lamére as she thought of her Father's impeccable honour. "Perhaps the ways of your land are far more different than my own than I had imagined."

The ronin blinks. Different? They sounded pretty similar to him!

"Our lands are not as different as you might think, but I must admit to some abnormality, having been raised by elves.

While we don't shatter our blades back home, we do use our wakizashi to do the deed. Hence Jishin--Mercy in the common tongue."


He ponders the first question for a moment or two, his forefinger and thumb cradling his days-new stubble.

"As far as my soulsword?.. Seijun, no question. It's the only true blade I've ever owned." He shrugs and sips his ale.

A visible shudder passed through Soulan at the mention of Soul blades...He rubed his right wrist as he made a fist several times with that hand. He acknowledged the barkeeper and nodded placing a silver piece on the counter for the room and 6 copper beside them to cover the cost of his stew. He took the stew and the mug of ale to a seat on the side of the room opposite the others, keeping his back to the wall and the door within his peripheral vision.

Fracko delights in the open nut and gobbles it up. Then he covetously grabs the bowl and leans over it, looking left and right and going to work on the nuts and popcorn.

"Do you, er, have any room in the stable?" he says to the barkeeper.

Isaiah goes over to the gnome. You may stay here in the common room for 4 coppers. Although, you will have to deal with the floor. The cots I have go to guests in rooms.

Fracko hrumphs and mutters and digs into his various pockets producing pebbles, sea shells, something that looks like a dried mushroom, three loose teeth, a bit of twine, the nib of a candle, a rattlesnake rattle, a raven's feather, a wooden whistle, a small jar of preserved frog eyes, a carrot, and bits of tin and copper.

The gnome slides four copper coins to Isaiah with a crooked-toothed grin and begins to eat the carrot.

Zynka

Zynka flashes a toothy smile at the prospects of a warm bath, "Oh gods yes, a bath, a room to myself, some of that shark I just saw, I want it all, please." Sliding two gold coins across the bar she adds, "Lemme know when this runs out, I'll eat now, but I want that bath as soon as it's full."

Sitting down on the stool she sips more slowly from the mug and waits on her meal. Watching as Isaiah works his magic on the little nut and summons more popped corn her eyes widen in delight and Zynka can't resist clapping with unrestrained enthusiasm. Even the simplest of magics caused a surge of ecstatic glee to rise in her heart and while such displays were not in keeping with a fierce warrior image she neither noticed, nor cared.




 

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