In this world, Magic is Everything. All people, all races, are granted with the power to perform mystical and magical feats via grimories, mystical tomes granted to each and every child on their 15th birthday. Those blessed by the mana can have their names written down in legend.
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Post by James Francis Silva on Apr 19, 2024 16:20:36 GMT -5
A Cold Drink
It was an unusually hot and humid day for this late in the fall season, leaves had already changed and some even started to fall to the ground. Boots on the dirt road, the estranged youngest Silva brother was cursing this strangely sweltering weather as he made his way through the smaller village. Or at least, small from his point of view. For the peasants that lived in it, it was just the right size. Earlier that day, he found himself waking up hungover in a pile of straw on a farm with a bruise on his cheek and his pants around his ankles, yet no recollection of how he got there.
He had an idea of how though. His last memory was dancing the night away with a beautiful stranger in a field, drinking and being merry. The pants around his ankles implied he got laid. Nice. The bruise on his cheek implied she was already spoken for by another, and the other had found them out. A shame, he liked her. So he picked himself up, pulled up his pants, threw on his trademark rose tinted glasses and made his way into town. The heat though, it was a dozen times worse than the throbbing pain on his face. It took him all morning just to find that piddly (some could call it cute) village.
Drenched in sweat, hungry and thirsty, James kicked open the door of the small local bar. First thing he noticed was it reeked. What of? He couldn’t tell. Poverty was his closest guess, and the source had to be the bartender, since he was the only one present. He let out a sharp whistle when he sat at the bar, grabbing the barkeep's attention. He tossed a handful of Yul on the table, “Food and cold drink please, I couldn’t care less what it is and keep it coming.” He poked at his bruise as he waited for his food, its sting taking away from his hang-over headache.
Some time passed, and James enjoyed a cool glass of water and a chunk of beef. As he ate, some others came in. Rugged farmer types mostly, smelling like cow shit and looking like life curb-stomped their faces in the womb. They almost made James lose his lunch, but he wasn’t about to give up the only meal he had today. It wasn’t until the prettiest face he’d seen since last night stepped in that his attention moved away from devouring his third steak. “Oh, hello there gorgeous.” He shot her the same sly grin he did the woman from the night before. Royal good looks, an outfit that clearly cost more than this town had in all its pockets, and a deep voice that could charm a devil. He had everything he needed.
As she stepped inside and he got a better look, he noticed she looked nearly identical to the young woman he was courting. The man that stepped in behind her was not James’ focus, but it soon became it when he placed a hand on her shoulder and started shouting. “You! What the hell are you doing here?” He stepped in front of the lady, and James spied an item in his hands. A familiar sword. James picked up the chunk of meat and took a bite out of it, not answering the question.
The man stomped over to James, “Look man, you want to lose more than your fancy sword? How about you get the hell out of town before I-” A quick punch to the gut. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to the floor as James reached forward and grabbed the sword out of his hands before it fell with him. He tucked the blade in his belt and looked at and took the last bite of his third steak, chewed slowly then swallowed.
“You done? Cool.” He stepped over the man as he slowly regained consciousness, rolled over and held his stomach while groaning. James stepped up to the young wife who was stunned in place, placed a finger under her chin and raised her gaze to meet his. “You troublemaker, go, he could use a hand.” Then he placed a bunch of cash in her hand, walked away and out of the bar with a full stomach, his sword back and the energy to get home. Wherever that was.
Question would be enjoying a meal sitting at a bar that was out of the way, but in a nice peaceful remote little village. Requesting a table more towards the back so he wouldn't be bothered. He took some time to himself on his way back from his patrol. Wanted to relax. Get himself something to eat and rest. His weariness from his travels. While patrolling was important, sometimes it could be rather dull. Much like today. We're up until a few moments. None of them for what happened to him. What she was fine with it meant he didn't have to get his clothes dirty and he wouldn't have to get in the scuffle. He didn't care for scuffles but accepted that they were going to be an average part of his life. The bar he was in was rather empty for the moment. Nice, peaceful, no huge concerns. He had to worry about just himself, his meal and the paper he was writing. That wasn't until someone came in the door rather loudly.
A man who looked rather banged up walked in heading straight for the bar. Clifford thought about getting up to check on him. However, when he threw his money on the table and demanded food and drink, he assumed he was well enough. Perhaps you wouldn't inquire on his way out. For now, though he got the vibe that this guy didn't want to be talked to based on his demeanor. Clifford wasn't the most observant man on the planet, but he did know well enough. When you leave things be and when to engage. Being loud and boisterous didn't cause him to have to get up.
The bar did so it's filled up with the local citizens already though, and he figured his time was about up anyway. Not that he didn't want to dine with people, but he had been here for a minute. And the table could probably be used for someone else who wanted to enjoy a meal or relax. Besides, he much preferred the city anyway, so it was probably time for him to get going. Though that's when things started to get a little more exciting. He witnessed a bruised man eating his third plate of food when he spied a rather beautiful woman walking in and going to make his move on her. Though a man, she grabbed the bruised man's shoulder and began to shout at him. Not knowing I'm in the back story, what happened before the next thing he knew he was on the ground, his eyes rolled back, and the man walked out.
Clipper thought about what he just saw and decided that the man who walked out was more in the right here than the man who started the altercation. Though he would probably still need to figure out what happened. He pushed his chair and hasn't already paid for his food. Walking over to the two of them. The man was still on the floor and doing it quickly. Check to make sure they were all right. The woman was more stunned, but she'd be fine and the man well, he clearly needed time to recover still. Not being a healing Mage, but knowing that he would recover. He walked out of the bar and looked down the road to see where the man was heading. Seeing him he walked at a quick pace to try to catch up to him. As he caught up his coat billowing in the breeze slightly he called out.
“Excuse me Sir.” Is all he would say standing behind him now looking over the man closer now, much lime himself his clothes were expensive and well made. He would assume he was of higher station because of this but said nothing to that. He gave a smile as soon as he had his attention.
“Well met, My name is Clifford of the Coral Peacocks. I saw you scuffle…if you want to call it that back at the bar. While you took him down rather quickly I couldn't help but notice your hurt. I feel I'd be neglecting my job if I didn't offer assistance…maybe you're going somewhere and I can help get you there?” He offered to the wounded man. His stance wouldn't be hostile though he would also be ready just in case. Though he made sure not to seem aggressive.
Post by James Francis Silva on Apr 22, 2024 13:31:30 GMT -5
Your Betters
James groaned at the bright light of the late afternoon sun, raising an arm to shade his eyes and squinting up. He was ready to leave this town behind, though he would remember (What he could through the drunken haze) his time here with the nameless, married seductress fondly. Taking a step forward, he felt the squish beneath him and looked down at the cow patty he just stepped on. “Goddamn.” He let out a burp from all the red meat and started to walk away, only for a voice to ring out directly at him. He turned around and stared blankly at the Magic Knight, nearly staring through him. He wasn’t hiding his apathetic expression at all.
“Hurt?” He looked around at his own person, unable to spot any wounds. “What? No. I’m just hungover.” He stared at the peacock mantle and rubbed his tender temples. A bunch of pansies, if you asked James. Honestly the whole Magic Knight profession was full of pompous assholes who overvalue their own importance… but he couldn’t deny the perks. He just couldn’t stand by all the rules and regulations. He had spent enough time under someone's thumb, like hell he’d do it for a job. Especially when he had no need for money.
James pushed past most of the man's words, “Look, Mr. Peacock…” He gave him a look up and down, his clothes were nice but of a relatively cheap make. Clearly he was not from around here in this piddly little village, probably some sort of low-ranking noble house from a larger town. Still, like everyone else James regarded him like dirt beneath his feet. “...I don’t need your help. Unless, you’d like to clean the cow shit off my boots? Peacocks are only really good for preening after all.” He lifted a leg and showed the bottom of his boot to Clifford, a cocky smirk forming on his face.
His one hand remained resting inside his kimono, his other loosely lay on his blade. Not even his hand, instead his wrist sat relaxed just below the guard. He knew what he was doing, goading a proud knight. All he wanted at the moment was to show his superiority. Not even as a Noble, or a Silva. He was James Francis White, this mans better. He put his foot back down in the cow patty, the squelch was loud and disgusting. “C’mon. Do your duty, clean my boots.”
Clifford ignored his slight against his squad. Not being that petty he remained looking at the man. As he raises the boot on his foot, telling him to do his job and clean the shit off it. Clifford thought about it for a moment. This man thought he was better than him. Perhaps he was someone important, but he wouldn't show it here. As you stared at the man's raised boot for a moment. You just started to snicker slightly, giving a small laugh. There was some humor to this situation. However, it was more of an ironic humor as he shook his head. He would wait to talk until he stopped chuckling to himself. After a moment he stopped composing himself. Looking at the man giving him a smile like he would anyone else.
“No, I don't think I'll be doing that. You're clearly fine so I'll be on my way, best of luck to you.” He said giving him a small wave, though there was a tone of dismissiveness to it. He wasn't sure who this was but he didn't want to escalate things right now. He just wanted to check on the man, nothing more. And without he had nothing more to do here. He didn't want to spend his day. Listening to this man taunt him or make demands of him. But that he would turn away from man and start walking back towards the bar where he would summon his wagon to take him home. He would look over his shoulder one last time. Giving a small smile to the man with his boot raised in the air.
“Oh, and citizen, one more thing. Please watch your step, no need to soil your other boot” He said, now fully turned away from him and walking back towards the bar. He didn't think this was the greatest move on his part, but he was still prepared. He had a small vibe. Based on the wounds, the man had thought that whoever was, he wasn't a calm type and basically tried to goad him. He assumed he was of higher status. Though to him that ment little, he respected his superiors, this man was nowhere near on the level of his superiors. He did it best, though not to let his thoughts trail off. Not wanting to be completely left unregarded by the stranger, but he was done with the conversation.
