Sabata: Mercenary Recruitement [Sam 30th MT]

[Maeve]

OOC: Just a clear warning that all those entering this thread will potentially end up in the War of the One in whatever capacity their talents serve them best

IC: Julius inspected the batch of slaves that stood before him. A bit scrawny looking, but they will do, he thought with a sigh as he opened the mouth of one them. Julius was a darkhaired man that in his manner of speech and clothing quickly betrayed himself as a merchant of the Mouth. There were a lot of them in Sabata lately, although most did not so openly engaged in the illegal slavetrade as did Julius Shapio.

The slave trade had recently become even more profitable. Kislovan and Amun Rah had been net receivers of slaves but now this new area was demanding workforce and it promised to pay well. So well in fact that against his normal habit Julius was not just processing slaves. He had also send up a recuiter, sitting to the sideways in their location just out of the walls of Sabata. In a cosy tent of course, promising mercenaries the world if they would just sign on the dot. Their contractor had even set up a portal, humming and puffing in another tent, protected from the damning sun and the blasted sands, even if barely. Julius hoped it would remain in operation for now. There was serious money to be made.

[Guest]

Sullen, Holler peered at the dark man whistfully strolling between his wares. This was his third owner in about as many days, and that did not sit well with the 339 pound Orc. First carted off to market, then hauled away to the Arena and now this! Oh, how I would like to kill someone right about now! With his brooding, beady eyes he followed the man from the Mouth. Opening his jaws he licked the dried blood from his arms and hands. The cocktail of his own darker Orcish blood and the lighter reds of his latest victim was a heady mix.

His last residence sure hadn't been to his liking, but at least he knew what was to come. The Arena had seemed like a place where he could've settled in, but this new venue had Sleipnir baffled once more. Why did this man pay so much money to buy him of the Arena? What had he in mind? Looking down at his shackled wrists he once more tested them with his strength. In the Arena they at least took those rotten things off! Not at all happy with his situation, the brown haired Orc emitted a persistent, ominous growl. Without the need for words it told everyone rather convincingly to keep their distance.

[Grant]

There were, oddly enough, several orcs among those collected. Orcs could easily be recognized as highly inappropriate for the desert environment...a land that was harsh, hot, gritty, and without even a trace of water...and the bulk of the orcs found in Terra Incognita were either slaves or corpses. Holler was no exception to this trend, and he found himself collected among several other slaves inspected by the thin, raptor-like form of his newest owner.

The slaves collected here weren't unusual, but they all shared one common purpose. Slaves could be used for any number of tasks, from simple labor to agriculture to housekeeping and even pleasure. For those collected alongside Holler, there could only be one task at hand. They were all fighting slaves, property specializing in combat either for martial purposes or for entertainment. At perhaps sixty souls strong, it made for a disturbingly potent collection of what amounted to desperate killers. With nothing to lose and no reason to feel otherwise, these slaves most often found themselves in the gladiatorial arena or perhaps as expensive bodyguards for some wealthy citizen.

Today, however, something different was on the horizon. A series of liveried guards approached at Saphio's signal, guards that began to unshackle the slaves. As they did this, the gentleman himself took a position before the collected group. "Attend to me, dogs. Your time has come! From this place you will be sent to a distant land where you will fight. Those of you that survive will earn riches through spoils and plunder. Earn enough spoils and plunder...and you can purchase your freedom. Earn even more spoils and plunder...and you will be both free and rich. Your new owner has agreed to those terms...and will even arm you as a...courtesy..."

One of the guards worked his way to Holler's side, pulling the stay chain through the orc's binds. Grunting up at the orc, he asked "What weapon do you choose?" as he allowed the slave's bonds to fall free. An iron collar remained around Holler's neck, but that would be little more than a nuisance.

"...so that you might earn a new future for yourselves through combat," continued the narrow, sharp man before the group. "It is a good day to be a dog."

[Guest]

Unrest planted it's seedlings with firm roots within the group of slaves. Something definitely was off! The atmosphere shifted from tense expectation to shocked consternation as the liveried guards started to free them of their shackles. Confused murmurs started to rise in volume.

"Attend to me, dogs. Your time has come!"

This command was followed by a strained silence. What was this all about? As their new owner laid out his plans, slaves looked at each other with hope, confusion and suspicion in their eyes. Could this be true? Could their future just have turned to the better?

'Free, spoils and plunder', these words plucked at Holler's inner core until they found the right chord. They resonated deep inside of him, sending shivers of anticipation and hunger up his long spine. Memories of the days with his family and friends, the bloodshed, the feasts, they all came flooding back making his eyes slightly misty.

Startled out of his daydreams by a guard, he barely managed to stifle a menacing growl. After all the man was freeing him from his bonds. Swallowing his gall, he watched impassively as the guard slid the holding chain from him. At the man's query, he snorted and said: "I'm Orc, I fight with Razhakain!" Looking up at Saphio's last words, a grin distorted Holler's face. It sure is a grand day for a dog! Drawing in a healthy bucket of air, he started to bark. A low, heavy bark, which resembled those of the war dog breed. After a dozen or so, the barks deteriorated into Sleipnir's deep barking laugh. Give me a sword and a target and I'm happy!

[Grant]

"When you get to the other side of the portal, you will report to Governor Maglio. You belong to him now...and you will obey him, and he will give you your chance to fight," bellowed the thin man amid the growing racket of the slaves preparing for war. The guards completed their sweep of the group, handing out weapons and equipment to resupply the fighters...and as they finished, another door was opened to reveal a hallway beyond. "Once you've got your weapon, step down that hallway, grab up one of those bags, and proceed through the waiting portal. Remember to make your peace with whatever God you hold before you do."

Holler was armed in whatever fashion he wished, though none of the slaves were equipped with any ranged weapons...proof that the slaves were expected to be used up close, no doubt the shock troops of the Western Army. Already some of the slaves were heading into the waiting doors, grabbing up one of the heavy, leather sacks before they disappeared into a large, circular field of blue. The Portal.

The Portal itself was something of a headache to look at. A ring of iron, it was cluttered with gears, pipes, valves, and gauges that detailed everything from pressure, temperature, fuel supply, and remaining time. A few nobs detailed the destination of the Portal, though the symbols upon the nobs...like the symbols upon the gauges...were lost upon Holler along with every other orc present (and most of the humans, too). Despite the cluttered, mismatched appearance of the Portal, it seemed to be running stable, the ground shaking and the air blowing as it's unseen motors powered it into life.

[Reiker]

He heard they were signing up people for a war. War meant money, and he wanted a lot.

He'd been walking through Sabata for a few days now, ever since he was thrown here by some bitch he didn't even know. The only good thing about the bitch to him was the sword she gave him before he was sent crashing down here, sand grazing his face and burning his eyes. He didn't even thank her for it. He just took it to the nearest smith, pawned away the precious stones adorning it (marking it as something special), and used it to bargain a smithing on his blades. He had no idea how special that blade was, a personal weapon of Count Drakedoder's own armory, and he had it smithed to his style.

He crushed the sand beneath his feet as he stiffly walked to the man he understood to be hiring mercs. He saw orcs and men chained by cruel and black steel, collars of metal to their necks, being lead to some tent. Every walking thing that went in the tent didn't get back out. He heard a slow humming from it as he passed it and spared a glance within it from a distance. He thought he saw flashing lights, but he passed it too fast to see it clearly. He didn't care enough to want to see what's inside so he just left it behind him and went directly for the war-monger directing slaves from his sight.

Reiker stopped a few feet from him and asked, "You hiring? I heard back in the city that you were hiring killers to fight a war. I want in on the gold, but I don't come cheap." Three golden earrings glinted on his left ear as he spoke and a strange blade, clothed in rags, made a piercing shadow over the merchant while he held it on his shoulder. He looked at the merchant deeply and narrowed his eyes under th heat of the sun. His free hand twitched beside him at random times and he was lowly making rat-like squeaks from the side of his teeth.

He was a fighter, but the only armor he wore were his black bracers. Everything else was clothing, and under the heat of the desert sun, he was strangely dressed in dark colors. Sweat trailed from him but his face and form stayed stiff and rigid at all times.

[Guest]

Luckily some of the pieces of equipment lying around, were Orcan in style. Holler quickly snatched up the stuff that came as close to his own - now long lost - armour and weapons. He was rather annoyed to notice any lack of ranged weapons. His favored short bow had been taken off him, what felt like, ages ago. Without any means to replace it, he just had to work with what he'd been given. Shrugging he adjusted the rusty Targ on his back. With his blackened fingernail Holler pierced the band, which held what seemed to be a low quality broad sword in an even cheaper looking sheath. It was a few sizes to big for him. I wonder what kinda brute wore this before me...

Governor...? Governor Maag Lee O? Trying to figure out the name of his newest employer, the tall, muddy green Orc started to shuffle towards the doorway. As Sleipnir neared the portal his hair stood on end, as if every single strand wanted to get the first glimpse of the blue circlet. Somehow the former sailor expected the slaves entering it to be spit out again as sad, little heaps of blood, bone and gore. When it didn't happen, his mind was appeased only slightly. As Holler however was properly Orc-born, he sure as hell wasn't gonna show any weaknesses to his future comrades. With a bravado he didn't feel, he bent down, grabbed one of the heavy sacks and all but ran at the portal's shiny surface. In a flash he saw odd looking dials, pipes and nobs when he rushed past, but then he hit the magical doorway...

[Grant]

Grabbing up one of the bags...it was a cumbersome bag full of what might have been scraps of metal...Holler stepped through, leading the column of large, brutish thugs through the blue portal and onward to the distant colony. Each of the sixty or seventy slaves carried one of the bags, for so long as they lasted...and each one seemed to hold much the same thing. Stepping into the Portal was a disturbing experience for the orc, leaving him with a sensation not unlike the ground falling away and the ground mixing and swapping with the sky...and for a very brief moment, Holler believed he could hear the sounds of an orc shaman chanting, one of the many chants orcs shared in their dismal homeland of Le Boise Noir. But before he could recognize the chant or the chanter, the moment was over...and he was out of the Aether once more, reappearing in Pan's Isle.

Elsewhere...

Watching the slaves disappear in a long, brutal line, Governor Remassu smiled and turned to greet the newcomer. A hired sword, of course. Less expensive than a slave, but without any risk of future maintenance. Mercenaries were the backbone of Sabata's local defense...mercenaries in the service of the Merchant Lords, mercenaries in the service of the local traders and merchants, and mercenaries in the service of the fledgling, semi-independent government that nominally ruled Sabata. Most of those mercenaries had been approached for opportunities in Pan's Isle...but only a few had accepted. A pity considering that a valuable mercenary made for a very efficient line officer.

"I am. And mercenaries never come cheap..." lied the Governor. Haggling was second nature to any Merchant Lord, even when negotiating for something as simple as hired muscle. "...if they're worth it." Remassu glanced first at Reiker's equipment before he selected one of his own guards...a man Reiker instantly recognized as a red tribesman due to his red-lined sari. The tribesman stepped forward and offered the curious gesture of greetings familiar among the indigenous People of the Sands. The Governor continued. "Show we what you are worth, mercenary. And...no blood, gentlemen. Neither of you hold any value if you're wounded."

The nomad tribesman stepped away and withdrew his weapons...a curious, short sabre with a wide blade along with one of the sleek, curved kukris often used by the People. The blade was slender, curved, and quite lethal when used by a proficient master...but precious few could ever master the kukri due to it's strange shape and design.

[Reiker]

OOC: You are acquianted with my blades aren't you?

IC:
Reiker heaved the rag clothed blade from his shoulder with one hand and set it before him, facing his adversary. He angled his blade to that of a piercing point and lowered his form to balance his stance. One hand held firm; immediately beneath the hilt, while his other hand held, with three fingers, the ring it had for a pommel.

[Grant]

The moment stretched into a flicker...and then several flickers. And then a few more, reaching perhaps a quarter burn. "Well, c'mon, mercenary! If you want to earn a decent pay, then you have to show a decent skill," spat the Councilor. Motioning towards the tribesman, he continued. "That one already has a job, so he needn't prove a damned thing. You, on the other hand, are nothing more than a blade and a lot of stink...until you show me otherwise. Get to it, or get going."

A collection of thugs were gathered around the older man, each one armed and armored in a variety of variations...but all wearing a similar livery that must be associated with some great house or another. Fabrics, like wood or leather, didn't fare well in the harsh desert heat...and their tabards were severely faded and worn, the desert winds of Terra Incognita having eaten away at them such that they would look decades older than they truly were. Despite this, the metals upon them gleamed brightly, metals upon crossbow, sword, knife, buckle, and button...metals that twinkled from coppery brass to polished steel.

[Reiker]

"Sure. Whatever mate."

Reiker dashed forward with his blade angled to his opponent's torso and pushed with all his might making sure the full weight of the blade was at its tip and that his momentum was staggeringly powerful.

[Grant]

The tribesman wasn't expecting a lunge, though he certainly was not surprised by it. As combat went, such a maneuver would be considered extremely risky, as it left the attacker rather defenseless and unprepared for response...especially if a large weapon were used such that both hands were committed to the strike. Instantly convinced that he could not...that he should not...bother with blocking or deflecting Reiker's attack, the tribesman chose to step aside instead, stepping quickly to his left (Reiker's right) such that the tip of Reiker's sword pierced past him, leaving him to step forward such that he could tap his kukri knife into Reiker's throat.

"What just happened? I didn't see. What happened?!?" barked the aged merchant from where he stood and watched, though neither combatant could hear him clearly.

[Reiker]

Reiker smiled. He wanted him to step to the right.

The swords hilt was longer and thicker than most handles, and was built for faster and easier maneuvering. He used the momentum of his thrust to move even further forward. The momentum of his movement and the weight of the weapon set mostly to the blade made it easier for him to suddenly twist towards the other man in one wide sweep at torso level.

The move was simple. The hand holding the topmost part of the handle pulled back and the other hand that held the ring-like pommel pushed forward, as he did so the hand that held the uppermost length of the handle (Reiker's right hand) slid lower. As his left hand pushed it suddenly increased the range of the blade because of the right hand sliding back towards the pommel.

This was the beauty of his blade. A handle the length of half a spear, and the blade of a two handed bastard sword.

[Grant]

Two hundred pounds of muscle and tissue...eight pounds of steel...Reiker could not stop his lunge even if he had wanted as much. He couldn't shift his attack, either...not until after he had recovered his footing and his balance...and while he might reach further for his target, the tribesman was too close...not too far...and increasing his reach was a futile gesture against an opponent close enough to bite.

The tribesman didn't bother to trip, punch, or tackle the rushing mercenary (he simply didn't have the time to consider such a response). Instead, he did indeed tap his blade against the back of Reiker's neck as he passed, shuffling away and turning to prepare for the mercenary's next attack.

"No, no, no! I didn't see it! Again, again!" shouted the Councilor, watching both combatants as Reiker's charging lunge separated them before their next clash.

[Reiker]

OOC: Tangina ang Hirap. Thanks for the chance jo. BTW. It wasn't stop. Will try to be more elaborate.

IC:
Reiker didn't expect his movement to be that hard to do. The weight was terribly unbalanced for good momentum of movement and his swing wasn't fluid enough. He wasn't into it enough. He wasn't supposed to stop the movement of the lunge. He was supposed to push it forward and use the pummel to effect a sweeping slash as it went forward and reached the limit.

He needed better unity with his weight and muscles too. They helped a lot in placing the large blade in ideal places. He was lucky the merchant didn't see much of the tap. He needed something better into this, better thinking.

He roar-hissed his displeasure and started for the opponent once more. Now he needed to do everything he could to demolish the opposition. This new blade of his needed more practice and this wasn't such a good start. He was angry and played with his mind. Strategy started to filter away, but after a second of venting off he pooled all that frustration into analyzing the enemy.

He gritted his teeth and stood squarely, facing the man. He set his blade before him and held it in akimbo position before he lowered his form once more in preparation for another lunge. This time he'd do it right. Something unexpected.

Right foot forward, left foot back. Left hand gripping the ring-like pommel, right hand clutching the handle. The left hand drew back and strained for the next attack. That was the only move he knew the other man would consider too stupid to do again. This was a risk he was taking and he knew that the only way this would work was if he got the physics to it right.

The right hand launched forth the blade like a spear straight for the enemy once more as the left hand pushed forward. His whole body spun with the weight of the blade. This time the angle of the blade looked like a basic lunge, but it was tilted to one side a bit as the launch was made to make it spinning to Reiker's right be immediate as soon as the lunge met its limit. His right hand let go of the blade as soon as it was off like a spring and he fluidly tried to reach behind for his daggers of similar design to his sword.

As soon as the blade swept to the side he hoped it was heavy enough to have the momentum needed for swift centrifugal speed. He needed to spin the blade to his back because he knew that, that was where the enemy would jump to as soon as he thrust his left foot forward.

[Grant]

By the time Reiker turned for his next lunge, the tribesman had prepared himself. He circled Reiker, moving from his right to left...to Reiker's right...with his heavy shortsword in his right hand and his kukri held in his left, the blades spread wide. This time, he didn't bother to close with the mercenary, instead choosing to step to the side, parry and hold.

Clang.

The heavy shortsword was perhaps half the weight of the blade Reiker swung into it...and it gave the tribesman to shift under the impact...but his block brought Rieker's blade to a stop at the extent of his sweep, leaving Reiker's extended blade to waver to the ground. Curiously, the tribesman didn't attempt a risky close attack this time, choosing instead to step back, continue his circling, and await another lunging attack.

Surprisingly, it was the tribesman who spoke next. "You need more than one trick to protect your life, guarrdi. Show me your second trick."

[Reiker]

"Up yours bitch." Reiker smiled when he said it, "Damn you for takin it easy."

He didn't stop his movement even if his sweep was wavered. He knew the man will do something and constant movement was the key.

When the enemy stopped his blade he spun his body so that his back was stuck to his blade, twisting the blade to a vertical slant as he spun. One hand held the blade by its highest handle for easier control while his free hand formed a fist and struck the flat of the blade so that the force would restart the inertia he wanted.

The desert man talked, when Reiker used the force of his striking fist to swing his hand holding his blade for another swing. As he did so he loosened his grip just enough for the handle to slide and increase in range once more. His free hand drew a dagger of similar design from his back and stuck it to the circular pommel of his modified blade. If something happened, he'd pull on the pommel real hard and send his blade back to a more controllable length.

[Grant]

Clang!

Once again Reiker's blade was stopped into the thick steel of the tribesman's short sword, the warrior accepting the force of the strike and allowing it to displace him somewhat before he would step back and continue his circling. It became clear to Reiker that the desert warrior had no intentions of actually counter-attacking the would-be mercenary, choosing instead to allow the strenuous attacks to wear down his opponent's strength instead.

"Stop, stop, stop, stop! Enough..." barked the Councilor, his hands raised high up and waving as if they might somehow give the combatants to hear him more easily. "C'mere and tell me what you think."

Nodding and stepping away from Reiker, the tribesman resheathed his blades and offered the older man a shrug. "You recruit for army, not for arena."

The Councilor considered this for a moment. It was true...the mercenary had no great value fighting in rank. Wild, reaching swings...no defense at all...the man was ideally suited to spectator fighting (for as long as he would survive), but wouldn't do well fighting on a battlefield in a rank of soldiers. But then, it was always possible that he might learn...or that he had other, less obvious abilities. And really, does it matter? If I can fulfill my contract, what difference does it make? It isn't as if I must use him.

"Very well, you'll get a coronet from me now to retain you for today. You'll report to Governor Maglio's aides in Aveas. That's Pan's Isle, in case you aren't familiar. And you'll get three circlets per week plus whatever spoils you negotiate while there. If that suits you, you may use this portal for free right now...or pay to use it later, the choice is yours."

[Reiker]

"You're not exactly an army are you mate?" he snapped back at his earlier opponent as he sheathed his dagger. He heaved his sword upon his shoulder and continued, "If I was fighting ten 'stead of one you could have seen something else. Besides, it's not like I'll be fighting boys as good as him everytime."

"Tell you what, why don't you tell some of your boys, as much as you want, to fight me. This time, blood can be spilled, and if you like what you see why don't you up my bill a little, eh?"

OOC: Your good.

[Grant]

"I have a better idea," replied the older Councilor. "Why don't you take the coronet and negotiate your own rates from Governor Maglio in Aveas? Frankly, I don't care what you're paid or how well you fight. I don't need mercenaries...I just need proof that you can handle a weapon. I suspect you'll earn far more in spoils, anyway. Wars are often like that...picking your wealth off of the fallen. So long as you've got the courage to be there. And survive."

The older man fished out the single coronet he had promised and flipped it through the air to land on the dusty, hard ground near Reiker's feet. It was a small fortune, delivered in a small measure of metal. "Now take the coin and enter the portal...or be gone. If you choose to fight, tell them you've come from Sabata to serve Governor Maglio. They'll know what to do with you there."

The older man waved to one of his guards before he turned to waddle slowly away, whistling a light, airy tune to himself. The bulk of his servants remained and watched Reiker, clearly curious what the mercenary would decide.

[Reiker]

Reiker watched him go before he laid his eyes on the single coronet. He twitched his head to one side and heaved his blade upon his shoulder. He grunted, and spat at the coin upon his feet before he turned and walked away for this portal. Governor Maglio, the name to remember.

[Morg]

Skilled