Byn Justice -- log

[Nyr]

Sometimes you may not get what you expect when you wish up for someone to bail your PC out of trouble...

Posted by request.

A loud horn blast sounds from nearby.

the toned, ash-haired woman **

To the west, a narrow path leads toward the main gates.
The portcullis are open.
[Near]
The cobalt, spidery-scarred mul stands here, keeping watch.
The sinewy, crimson-haired woman stands vigil beside the gate.
The massive, fur-covered man stands here, his beard swaying in the wind.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.


The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Lieutenant. Got a situation up North."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the severe, fine-boned man with the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the severe, fine-boned man:
     "Funny.  I'm up north.  What's the situation?"

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Just got manhandled by a Jihaen's half-giant, and i'm holed up in the Compound. They wanted to have a 'chat', that I wanted to have inside the Compound. Got a couple friends who 'disappeared' recently."

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "So, yeah, I guess I fucked up with the Northern Templarate, and i'm okay with getting lashes and punishments from you, but i'm not handing myself over for them to kill me. Unless you want them to, Sir. Aheh-heh-heh."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the severe, fine-boned man:

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Ain't positive, but I think the 'chat' is just lingo for 'kill you'."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the severe, fine-boned man:
     "Sheesh.  Go meet with them."

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "You kidding me? They're going to kill me! Seriously."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the severe, fine-boned man:
     "Why're they going to kill you?"

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Because I made them mad."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the severe, fine-boned man:
     "And why--and how--did you make them mad?"

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "*disoriented* Is it noon, or dawn...?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the severe, fine-boned man:
     "Snap out of it.  What'd you do to make them mad?"

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "I turned down that Kryl contract and returned the deposit. Apologized, like you said, but I don't think  it mattered none. Niketas has been after me since then."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the severe, fine-boned man:
     "Alright.  Let's see where we get."

You dissolve the psychic link.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the strapping, slate-eyed young man with the Way.

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Thanks, Leiutenant. I'll be...In the Mess."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "Good morning, Faithful Lord.  This is Lieutenant Copper of the T'zai Byn."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Good morning, Lieutenant. I was just inquiring as to your name."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "How may I assist you?"

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "One of your Sergeants, Lantry, is wanted for a discussion. He's using the Tzai Byn Compound to evade me. Quite simply, you may assist me by sending him forth."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "That would be the ahh... quietest way of dealing with this issue."

You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
< div>     "A discussion, Faithful Lord?  Seems to me that he's a bit worried that it is more than that."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "And it may yet become more then that, Lieutenant."

You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "I won't have my Sergeants ordered to their deaths.  Please explain, Faithful Lord."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "I am not accustomed to my orders being refused. Nor am I accustomed to the Tzai Byn Compound used to evade my questions."

You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "And while I'm not from Tuluk, I'm not accustomed to my Sergeants being ordered at weapons-point for simple questions, Faithful Lord."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "Perhaps we could discuss the matter over the Way while I'm up here?  I have some other duties to attend to for the moment."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Firstly, Lieutenant, I'm afraid you've been given some sour information."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Not a single weapon was drawn, or in hand."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "Weapons-point, half-giant-point, about the same thing."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Your games of semantics will not resolve this situation, Lieutenant. When he saw us coming, he fled inside the compound."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "When he finally gathered his courage to step out, I asked him to walk with us, so as not to cause a scene. He said he wouldn't be going to the Heart. At this point, yes, he was arrested. He resisted, and fled like a coward."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Now, the Sergeant will enter my custody, one way or another. On his own two feet, or on his back. It is rapidly coming to the point it makes no difference to me."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "What do you wish to talk to him about?"

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "His behavior."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "Which is problematic for what reason, Faithful Lord?"

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "He ran upon seeing us, and he refused a direct command. He has done so before, on top of poor execution of a previous contract."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "He was ordered to stay out of the Ivory. He knew he didn't belong here, which is why he bolted when he saw me. This man /will/ be turned over to me, Lieutenant. Understand this."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "Then I'll apologize for his behavior and send him South, not to do contracts in Tuluk in the future."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "This is unacceptable."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "I cannot make myself any clearer to you, Lieutenant. He will report to me. And every minute of my time you waste questioning me, and refusing me, turns this situation into something more then it need be."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "If they want to speak, can you be there with me, too? And in public?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "I'd be happy to speak with you both, in person, and in public, Faithful Lord."

You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
< div>     "With the Sergeant.  We can certainly work out a compromise.  The Byn has had years of dealing well with the Templarate."

A loud horn blast sounds from nearby.

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "As evidenced by your Sergeant's actions, certainly."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "I'd like to maintain those good relations.  And I'll whip the ever-loving shit out of the Sergeant, certainly, for getting me involved."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "But I'm not tossing him out the gates without more of an explanation, Faithful Lord."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "You are here in the Ivory?"

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "I am."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "We will meet with you, and Sergeant Lantry, a short distance from the compound gates."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the strapping, slate-eyed young man:
     "Pleased as spice-ale to help out, Faithful Lord."

Drill Yard
   Hard packed earth, sawdust and supplies serve as the foundation to
this drill yard as it expands toward the eastern wall.  High walls of sturdy
baobab loom behind the handful of buildings constructed along the perimeter,
reinforced with heavy beams and a rough skeletal frame of unfinished planks.
Visible in small groups are brown clad mercenaries running through polearm
drills and tactics while an officer barks out orders.  High above the
ground, supported by ropes and wooden beams is a rather large cage.  At the
base of the cage lay a simple trapdoor with a bone lock obviously used to
keep criminals or traitors secure. 
   A broad tower, flying a dragon-emblazoned flag, can be seen at the end of
the eastern yard while the yard expands both south and west. 
The tribal-tattooed, dusky man stands here.


To the south, small units of mercenaries train as the drill yard continues.
[Far]
The slumped, heavily-muscled dwarf is here, working upon a length of bone.
The fanged, obsidian-skinned mul stands watch, arms folded before him.
[Near]
The severe, fine-boned man is standing here.

Drill Yard
   Hard packed earth, sawdust and supplies serve as the foundation to
this drill yard as it expands toward the eastern wall.  High walls of sturdy
baobab loom behind the handful of buildings constructed along the perimeter,
reinforced with heavy beams and a rough skeletal frame of unfinished planks.
Visible in small groups are brown clad mercenaries running through archery
practice and tactics while an officer barks out orders. 
   A squat building stands to the south, while a heavy cloth tarp covers an
eastern archway leading into what can only be the latrines.  The yard
expands both north and west through the compound. 
The severe, fine-boned man is standing here.

Standing tall and snapping a salute, the severe, fine-boned man looks up at you.

The severe, fine-boned man sheathes a serrated bone shortsword.

Beckoning, you say to the severe, fine-boned man, in sirihish:
     "C'mon.  Also, I'm whippin' yer ass when we get back inside.  And I mean seriously."

The severe, fine-boned man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Won't be the first, or the last, time."

The severe, fine-boned man falls in behind you.

You suffer from use of the Way.

You say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "Ya involve me in this shit, I don' care if it's your fault or whatever, I'm gettin' my enjoyment outta it."

Tone a little snide, you say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "And if we do get dragged off to the Heart, well..."

After a moment, the severe, fine-boned man says, in sirihish:
     "I'm going to kill as many of them as I can, if it comes to that."

The strapping, slate-eyed young man sends you a telepathic message:
     "We await you, Lieutenant."

Snorting, you say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "Naw.  Captain knows where we're goin'."

The severe, fine-boned man puffs his cheeks out.

[Nyr]

-----
They have a meeting outside...a tense one.  Standoff averted, though!
-----

The black-tusked, shaggy-haired half-giant opens the gate.
The black-tusked, shaggy-haired half-giant steps aside, allowing you to pass.

Narrow High-Walled Path
   Jutting up from the hard packed earth are high walls of sturdy baobab,
stained a rich brownish hue and fashioned from reinforced beams rather than
the slender planks commonly associated with a simple wall.  Narrow and long,
you notice a gentle incline to the ground from the gate to the eastern yard
which could provide for difficult footing should someone be moving quickly.
Upon closer examination of the walls, one may notice the faint sheen of a
clear substance slick to the touch and making any notion of climbing near
impossible.  High overhead lay a series of wooden beams and triangular
platforms fitted with an archer's guard; a slanted wall of wood rising away
from the base of the platform to offer protection from the path below.
Outlined by Suk-Krath's merciless glare, an occasional silhouette can be
seen moving above the path, observing those entering the compound. 
   To the west lay a massive, wooden gate leading out of the compound while
an expansive drill yard can be seen past a thuja wood portcullis. 
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
The severe, fine-boned man is standing here.
The cobalt, spidery-scarred mul stands here, keeping watch.
The sinewy, crimson-haired woman stands vigil beside the gate.
The massive, fur-covered man stands here, his beard swaying in the wind.
The black-tusked, shaggy-haired half-giant closes the gate from the other side.

The severe, fine-boned man falls in behind you.

Pulling it free, Lantry stops using his bloodied spiky breastplate.

Flatly, you say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "I'm gonna kick your ass."

A long building stands here, often filled with shouts and mock battle.
[Near]
Nothing.


Walking with his sun-bleached breastplate in hand, the severe, fine-boned man says to you, in sirihish:
     "I know."

The severe, fine-boned man wets his lips, and swallows.

Center Training Hall
< div>   Hard packed earth, sawdust and a few questionable stains serve as the
floor of this training hall.  High walls of smooth agafari run east and west
from the center of this rectangular structure.  In the daylight hours,
mercenaries can be seen in varied stages of strength training, balance
drills and lessons.  Lingering in the air is the smell of sweat mixed with a
few less pleasant aromas brought in from the latrines.  Rows of hardwood
staves, weight benches and balancing beams have been stationed within this
center hall, providing adequate space for the bulk of the men. 
   The hall expands both east and west toward sparring circles and open
space while an archway leads south into the drill yards. 
The severe, fine-boned man is standing here.

Smiling thinly, you say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "An' mosta what they said was true.  So yer gettin' off lucky."

The severe, fine-boned man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Templar's Truth is twisted, ma'am."

You ask the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "How much 'sid ya normally pull in, per month, your share?"

The severe, fine-boned man says, in sirihish:
     "My share? Large, maybe large and a half on a good month."

Glowering, you say to the severe, fine-boned man, in sirihish:
     "Half.  Mine."

The severe, fine-boned man wets his lips and nods.

Pointing directly to the south, you say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "Ya almost got fuckin' gutted.  Why couldn' ya jus' fuckin' run AWAY instead o' here?  At leas' then ya ain't gotta drag yer bosses into this shit."

The severe, fine-boned man says to you, in sirihish:
     "I was being held by a half-giant. I ran wherever was closest. C'mon, some part of you is happy i'm around..."

The severe, fine-boned man shows a sheepish smile, though he swallows and it disappears quickly after he notices your eyes.

You say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "Goin' a step farther than what they said.  Ya don' do any contracts up here, ya don' come back to Tuluk, an' I get half o' yer shares for the next four years.  Ya skimp, and I'll cut ya myself."

The severe, fine-boned man says, in sirihish:
     "I'm alive. I accept."

As she pulls up your black-stained agafari longbow, looking it over, you say to the severe, fine-boned man, in sirihish:
     "Hm..."

You look down at the severe, fine-boned man.

Nothing describes this man better than the word 'severe'.
Shoulder-length blonde hair falls over his dark face, almost as if it wished
to hide what lay beneath.  His eyes contain a maelstrom of blues and greens,
serious and deep in their contemplation of the outside world.  Harsh lines
mark his fine, raised cheekbones, the long shelves that hold up the heavy
eyes.  His nose cuts down like a knife, long and pointed down like a finger.
His lips are ragged and worn from years under the deadly red sun, along with
his wasted brownish-black skin.  His demeanor seems set in a perpetual state
of stoic aggression based on his features alone.  Sinew covers his limber,
bony body, bulging at points in the forearms and his powerful looking legs.
Callouses measure in such amounts that the seem indiscernible from the
lighter skin of his palms and fingers. 
    The most noticeable thing about this man is how surprisingly -clean- he is.
Years of dirt and blood-cakes usually apparent on his face and skin are simply
missing. His skin appears a tone brighter. Now old acid-wounds riddle his
jaw leading up the right side of his face to his missing ear.
The severe, fine-boned man is in excellent condition.

The severe, fine-boned man is using:
<worn on head>           a dusty brown, hard-leather military helmet
<worn in hair>           a dusty dried rosebud
<worn in right ear>      a dusty purple, drop-shaped glass earring
<worn around neck>       a dusty purple, dragon-etched horror gorget
<throat>                 several large, blotchy burn scars
<slung across back>      a dusty heavy, broad-bladed battle scimitar
<worn on right shoulder> a dusty scrab-shell shoulder plate
<worn on left shoulder>  a dusty battered wooden flask with leather ties
<worn on arms>           a burned pair of two-striped studded sleeves
<worn around wrist>      a bloodied purple, dragon-etched horror bracer
<worn around wrist>      a purple, dragon-etched horror bracer
<worn on hands>          a dusty pair of spiked leather gloves
<forearms>               a tattoo of twenty tiny skulls
<worn as belt>           an ivory-bound wooden scabbard
<hung from belt>         a serrated bone shortsword
<worn around body>       a dusty hooded, brown military aba
<worn about waist>       an ivory-bound wooden scabbard
<worn on legs>           a pleated duskhorn leather kilt
<worn on right ankle>    a dusty supple, dark-grey strap-sheath
<left ankle>             a twisted tattoo of a sinister, thorn-covered vine
<worn on feet>           a dusty pair of spike-toed, thigh-high leather boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

The severe, fine-boned man quirks an eyebrow.

-- Lantry thinks: She's not going to...

Pointing to the severe, fine-boned man's helmet, you say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "Toss that over there.  Wanna show ya somethin'."

Reaching up to touch it, the severe, fine-boned man asks, in sirihish:
     "My..Helmet?"

Grinning broadly at the severe, fine-boned man, you exclaim to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "Yeah!  Yer helmet!"

The severe, fine-boned man stops using his dusty brown, hard-leather military helmet, revealing a missing right ear.

The severe, fine-boned man sets his dusty brown, hard-leather military helmet in the crook of his arm.

The severe, fine-boned man gulps.

The severe, fine-boned man says, out of character:
     "Consent to Torture and Gruesomeness given freely, as well."

The severe, fine-boned man says, in sirihish:
     "Sorry."

The severe, fine-boned man tosses the helmet.

Pointing over to the east, you say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "You go stan' over there.  Got somethin' to try."

The severe, fine-boned man stiffens.
The severe, fine-boned man walks east.

-- Lantry thinks: Uh oh.

-- #Lantry# clenches his buttcheeks.

You coat a chitin-head, purple-fletched arrow with poison.

You brandish your chitin-head, purple-fletched arrow.

You hold your black-stained agafari longbow.

The toned, ash-haired woman sights down the range.

You take aim at your target...

[Nyr]

You fire a chitin-head, purple-fletched arrow east.
The severe, fine-boned man swipes at it using his hands, but he misses
You see a chitin-head, purple-fletched arrow strike the severe, fine-boned man's arm.

East Training Hall
   Hard packed earth, sawdust and a few questionable stains serve as the
floor of this training hall.  High walls of smooth agafari frame form the
east end of this rectangular structure, a few thuja wood benches pushed
against them to provide a more comfortable rest.  In the morning hours,
mercenaries can be seen in varied stages of mock combat, strength training
and lessons.  Lingering in the air is the smell of sweat mixed with a few
less pleasant aromas brought in from the latrines. 
   The rectangular hall expands west toward its center, where a host of
weight benches and training equipment can be seen. 
A short, heavy jawbone lies here.
The severe, fine-boned man is standing here, rigid and unmoving, bleeding lightly.

Laconically, you say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "Now ya sit there an' think 'bout how bad ya been."

As she looks over the wound, tsking, you say to the severe, fine-boned man, in sirihish:
     "Ain't bad.  Ya ain't gonna bleed out."

-- Lantry thinks: Damnit.

You say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "But best'f all, ya ain't gonna be able t' fuckin' open yer yap."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "But I can still yap here! Aheh-heh-heh...Heh. *mental pain at the poison coursing through his veins*"

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "...Sorry. Contemplating."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The severe, fine-boned man looks up at you.

You say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "Anyhow.  Here's you bein' a stupid fuck.  Layin' here.  Ya did exactly what I said, 'cept ya knew I had an arrow in hand."

-- Lantry thinks: She's right, there...

-- Lantry thinks: I -knew- she was going to shoot me with poison!

-- Lantry thinks: I'm stupid.

You say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "An' ya know all too well, from reportin' t' me las' time, that ya had bad blood with a Faithful Lord.  An...ya stayed up here.  Knowinly."

You say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "'cause yer stupid."

You stop using your black-stained agafari longbow.

You say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "An' what'd I say?  Can't even a Lieutenant tell a templar they're a coward.  That's stupid to say."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

You say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "Tell 'em the contract is shit for pay?  Well, yeah.  I jus' did that, an' mostly 'cause I was annoyed at bein' yelled at for YOUR mistakes."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

You say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "Yeah, templars ain't on our side, either fuckin' city.  That's what yer job is.  Keepin' them from being pissed off at us."

You say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "It's a shit job."

Eyes brightening, you say to the severe, fine-boned man, in sirihish:
     "Oh!  Shit job.  Yeah, ya like shit jobs."

You subdue the severe, fine-boned man.

You drag the severe, fine-boned man behind you.
Center Training Hall
   Hard packed earth, sawdust and a few questionable stains serve as the
floor of this training hall.  High walls of smooth agafari run east and west
from the center of this rectangular structure.  In the daylight hours,
mercenaries can be seen in varied stages of strength training, balance
drills and lessons.  Lingering in the air is the smell of sweat mixed with a
few less pleasant aromas brought in from the latrines.  Rows of hardwood
staves, weight benches and balancing beams have been stationed within this
center hall, providing adequate space for the bulk of the men. 
   The hall expands both east and west toward sparring circles and open
space while an archway leads south into the drill yards. 

You drag the severe, fine-boned man behind you.

Drill Yard
   Hard packed earth, sawdust and supplies serve as the foundation to
this drill yard as it expands toward the eastern wall.  High walls of sturdy
baobab loom behind the handful of buildings constructed along the perimeter,
reinforced with heavy beams and a rough skeletal frame of unfinished planks.
Visible in small groups are brown clad mercenaries running through unit
formation, marching and mass combat tactics while an officer barks out
orders. 
   A long building stands to the north, while the yard expands both east and
south through the compound.  A narrow path leads west past a thuja wood
< div>portcullis toward the front gate. 

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Uh oh."

You drag the severe, fine-boned man behind you.
Drill Yard
   Hard packed earth, sawdust and supplies serve as the foundation to
this drill yard as it expands toward the eastern wall.  High walls of sturdy
baobab loom behind the handful of buildings constructed along the perimeter,
reinforced with heavy beams and a rough skeletal frame of unfinished planks.
Visible in small groups are brown clad mercenaries running through wrestling
and hand to hand tactics while an officer barks out orders. 
   A two-story barracks stands to the west, while the smells of roasted
tubers and cooked meat waft from beneath a massive, sandcloth tarp.  The
yard expands both north and east through the compound. 
The wiry, war-painted, mohawked elf hefts a massive axe over his shoulder here.

You drag the severe, fine-boned man behind you.
Drill Yard
   Hard packed earth, sawdust and supplies serve as the foundation to
this drill yard as it expands toward the eastern wall.  High walls of sturdy
baobab loom behind the handful of buildings constructed along the perimeter,
reinforced with heavy beams and a rough skeletal frame of unfinished planks.
Visible in small groups are brown clad mercenaries running through archery
practice and tactics while an officer barks out orders. 
   A squat building stands to the south, while a heavy cloth tarp covers an
eastern archway leading into what can only be the latrines.  The yard
expands both north and west through the compound. 

You drag the severe, fine-boned man behind you.
< div>Stinking dung splashes on your pair of studded, black leather pants as you blunder into a puddle.
*shluck* Stinking dung coats your pair of high, polished black leather boots as you step into the muck.
Latrines
   Filth and dung mark their presence with a thick fog of stench, almost
unbearable at midday in the heat.  Unlike the other buildings within the
compound, these latrines have been crafted from heavy blocks of gray stone
and thick mortar.  Troughs of carved stone lay against the eastern walls and
run along a slanted track toward a cesspool at the north end of the wall.
Hung upon the wall near the doorway are a series of grime covered bone
shovels while a wheelbarrow and cloth bags, filled with a combination of
sand and straw, sag against the southwest corner. 
   The occasional breeze allows fresh air and echoed shouts to be carried
into the latrines from the western drill yard.
A stone tub is here, beside the door.

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Uh ohhhhhhhhhh...!!!"

The toned, ash-haired woman drags the severe, fine-boned man into the nasty muck of the latrine, letting him
practically wallow in it, though not quite dangerously.

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "NOT FROM WHERE I WAS BORN! Guhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

The bearded, broad-shouldered man (Rythe) has arrived from the west.

Trudging through some muck, the bearded, broad-shouldered man looks at you.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man taps a hard salute to you, noticing your stripes.

The severe, fine-boned man looks up at the bearded, broad-shouldered man.

As she watches the severe, fine-boned man, you say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "That's right, ya covered in shit that ain't even yer own shit.  Northie shit."

You say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "The same shit ya dragged ME into, ya fuckwad."

-- Rythe thinks: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

-- Rythe feels awkward.

Glancing over, glaring, you look at the bearded, broad-shouldered man.
Shaggy, light-brown hair is jaggedly cut, rising only a few inches from
this thick-muscled man's long head.  The uneven bangs droop across his
bronze-skinned forehead and rest just above fuzzy, brown eyebrows.  Below
are his shadowy eyes of a hazel hue with dark rings underneath.  His round
ears stick out behind the dense, brown sideburns trailing down his angular
jaw to his strong chin.  A long, slightly bent nose ends just above a
thin-lipped mouth, which is surrounded by bristly hairs making up the thick
beard covering the lower half of his face.  His neck leads to a pair of
sizeable, spread shoulders.  Massive, heavily-muscled arms covered with a
few marks and battle scars lead to rugged forearms and large, callused
hands.  His strapping, barrel-shaped chest sticks out and narrows down to
thick hips where broad legs carry his heavyweight build upon large feet. 
His facial hair is twisted into two braids hanging from his thick beard
and his mustache is long and waxed to curl at the tips.
The bearded, broad-shouldered man is in excellent condition.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man is using:
<worn on head>           a dusty black, braxat-shell helm
<worn on face>           a pair of sunslits
<worn around neck>       a fanged, inix-shell gorget
<slung across back>      an embossed, bahamet-bladed battleaxe
<worn on torso>          a duskhorn scalemail hauberk
<worn on right shoulder> a dusty red-slashed, tembo-sewn patch
<left shoulder>          a tattoo of a yawning tembo
<worn on arms>           a pair of one-striped studded sleeves
<worn around wrist>      a slim, black leather wristguard
<worn around wrist>      a bloodied long, black leather bracer
<secondary hand>         a kite shield
<worn as belt>           a brown leather pouched belt
<hung from belt>         a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk
<hung from belt>         a bloodied serrated, blackened bone war-axe
<worn around body>       a dusty hooded, brown military aba
<worn about waist>       a duskhorn scalemail breechguard
<worn on legs>           a set of spiky leg guards
<worn on right ankle>    a thin, white-sandcloth ankle wrap
<worn on feet>           a smelly pair of dark-leather boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

The bearded, broad-shouldered man begins to slowly back out of the latrines, doing up his brown leather pouched belt as he goes.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man says, in sirihish:
     "Ah'll go later.. uhm.. "

Barking out, you exclaim to the bearded, broad-shouldered man, in sirihish:
     "Right!  Hold it in!  Get th' fuck out!"

Wobblegged, the bearded, broad-shouldered man walks west.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

You think:
     "Wait a second..."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the bearded, broad-shouldered man with the Way.

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "I'll make it up to you. With 'sid and glory for the Company! I promise."

You send a telepathic message to the bearded, broad-shouldered man:
< div>     "Naw, actually, come back."

You dissolve the psychic link.

[Nyr]

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "And casks of booze! Guhhhhhhhh..."

The bearded, broad-shouldered man has arrived from the west, stomping through the sludge-muck.

-- Lantry feels like vomiting but his throat muscles don't work so the vomit just trickles down his throat.

Dryly, you say to the severe, fine-boned man, in sirihish:
     "Oh, you're gonna pay it back, awright."

Piss splashes across his smelly set of spiky leg guards as the bearded, broad-shouldered man moves further into the latrines.

You look at the bearded, broad-shouldered man.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man (Rythe) taps a fist-to-chest standard salute to you.

Pointing to the frozen form of the severe, fine-boned man, you ask the bearded, broad-shouldered man (Rythe), in sirihish:
     "Aye, yeah, yeah.  Whatever.  Ya still gotta piss?"

The bearded, broad-shouldered man (Rythe) puts his pair of sunslits into his dusty hooded, brown military aba.

You say, out of character:
     "consent, of course, to, well, nastiness?"

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Noooooooooooooo...!"

The severe, fine-boned man says, out of character:
     "Of course! "

Shaking his head, the bearded, broad-shouldered man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Naw, ah can hold it in till after high sun.. Lieutenant. Just gotta pack some more bread in there.. "

You say, out of character:
     "just pee at this point but could well involve torture and gruesomeness later."

The bearded, broad-shouldered man says, out of character:
     "Consent given."

Shaking her head to the bearded, broad-shouldered man, you say to the bearded, broad-shouldered man, in sirihish:
     "Naw, ya gonna piss now.  On 'im.  Now.  Go.  Stream'it away."

-- Rythe contacts Lantry with the Way.

You say to the bearded, broad-shouldered man, in sirihish:
     "An' after yer done, ya don't mention it ta no fuckin' other Runner, Trooper, Sergeant, or I'll do the same shit to you, ya unnerstand?  Right now, this Sergeant's facin' my wrath."

-- Rythe sends to Lantry: Uhhh.. what do ah do?

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

-- Lantry contacts Rythe with the Way.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man nods to you, unbuckling his brown leather pouched belt slowly but surely.

-- Lantry sends to Rythe: Just don't get the face.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
     "Yes lieutenant!"

-- Lantry sends to Rythe: Or i'll skullfuck you.

Gesturing vaguely to the bearded, broad-shouldered man's groin, then to the severe, fine-boned man, you say
to the bearded, broad-shouldered man, in sirihish:
     "If ya miss, ya gotta clean it up."

Finally, adjusting himself, the bearded, broad-shouldered man whips it out, then focuses on a distant wall, sighing.

-- Rythe feels memories of barrels of water...water pools, and bottles of whiskey in the back of your mind.

-- Lantry sends to Rythe: I hate life.

-- Lantry severs his psychic contact.

A stream begins to flow from the bearded, broad-shouldered man, hitting the severe, fine-boned man on the leg.

-- Rythe sends to Lantry: Yeah..

The stream cuts off until the bearded, broad-shouldered man jerks his leg, and it continues again.

-- Lantry contacts Rythe with the Way.

-- Lantry sends to Rythe: Don't lie. You've thought about doing it.

-- Rythe sends to Lantry: What? No..

Encouragingly, you ask the bearded, broad-shouldered man, in sirihish:
     "Good work.  Don't get any wood, though, aight?"

-- Lantry sends to Rythe: Aheh-heh-heh-heh.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man says to you, in sirihish:
     "While pissin'? Um.. ok.. "

Shrugging, you ask the bearded, broad-shouldered man, in sirihish:
     "I ain't gotta dick, I dunno how that shit works.  Ya done yet?"

The bearded, broad-shouldered man shakes, the last few drops splashing towards the severe, fine-boned man before pulling up his leg guards and buckling his brown leather pouched belt.

Saluting after he's done his business, the bearded, broad-shouldered man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Done, Lieutenant."

-- Lantry sends to Rythe: *mental sigh*

-- Lantry severs his psychic contact.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

-- Rythe sends to Lantry: That damned Niketas eh.. ?

-- Rythe severs his psychic contact.

Nodding, returning the bearded, broad-shouldered man (Rythe)'s salute, you say to the bearded, broad-shouldered man, in sirihish:
     "Good work.  Now get along."

Jogging, the bearded, broad-shouldered man walks west.

The severe, fine-boned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Guhhhhhhh...."

You look down at the severe, fine-boned man.

The severe, fine-boned man sputters.

Nose wrinkled, but only a little, you say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "This is just a taste of the shit I gotta go through to keep one o' my Sergeants from bein' fucked over."

The severe, fine-boned man slicks urine off his arms and legs, and then vomits.

Wiping his mouth with the back of a grimy hand, the severe, fine-boned man says, in sirihish:
     "Oh..Man. That was wicked."

Beckoning, you say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "Now get outta that mess.  I got a beatin' ta give ya."

Drill Yard
   Hard packed earth, sawdust and supplies serve as the foundation to
this drill yard as it expands toward the eastern wall.  High walls of sturdy
baobab loom behind the handful of buildings constructed along the perimeter,
reinforced with heavy beams and a rough skeletal frame of unfinished planks.
Visible in small groups are brown clad mercenaries running through archery
practice and tactics while an officer barks out orders. 
   A squat building stands to the south, while a heavy cloth tarp covers an
eastern archway leading into what can only be the latrines.  The yard
expands both north and west through the compound. 

Drill Yard
   Hard packed earth, sawdust and supplies serve as the foundation to
this drill yard as it expands toward the eastern wall.  High walls of sturdy
baobab loom behind the handful of buildings constructed along the perimeter,
reinforced with heavy beams and a rough skeletal frame of unfinished planks.
Visible in small groups are brown clad mercenaries running through polearm
drills and tactics while an officer barks out orders.  High above the
ground, supported by ropes and wooden beams is a rather large cage.  At the
base of the cage lay a simple trapdoor with a bone lock obviously used to
keep criminals or traitors secure. 
   A broad tower, flying a dragon-emblazoned flag, can be seen at the end of
the eastern yard while the yard expands both south and west. 
The tribal-tattooed, dusky man stands here.

Drill Yard
   Hard packed earth, sawdust and supplies serve as the foundation to
this drill yard as it expands toward the eastern wall.  High walls of sturdy
baobab loom behind the handful of buildings constructed along the perimeter,
reinforced with heavy beams and a rough skeletal frame of unfinished planks.
Visible in small groups are brown clad mercenaries running through unit
formation, marching and mass combat tactics while an officer barks out
orders. 
   A long building stands to the north, while the yard expands both east and
south through the compound.  A narrow path leads west past a thuja wood
< div>portcullis toward the front gate. 

The severe, fine-boned man has arrived from the west.

The severe, fine-boned man comes running back with his breastplate held up. He smells -bad-.

The severe, fine-boned man drops a bloodied spiky breastplate.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man flinches.

The severe, fine-boned man kneels down in front of you.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man looks down at the severe, fine-boned man.

Smiling thinly, you say to the severe, fine-boned man, in sirihish:
     "Hopin' ya didn' forget, Sergeant."

You brandish your long, braided leather whip.

The severe, fine-boned man grimaces as several dozen Troopers and Runners gather around whispering wildly.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man dusts himself off.

Flatly, you say to the bearded, broad-shouldered man, in sirihish:
     "Hold'm."

Center Training Hall
   Hard packed earth, sawdust and a few questionable stains serve as the
floor of this training hall.  High walls of smooth agafari frame form the
east end of this rectangular structure, a few thuja wood benches pushed
against them to provide a more comfortable rest.  In the morning hours,
mercenaries can be seen in varied stages of mock combat, strength training
and lessons.  Lingering in the air is the smell of sweat mixed with a few
less pleasant aromas brought in from the latrines. 
   The rectangular hall expands west toward its center, where a host of
weight benches and training equipment can be seen. 
A bloodied breastplate made from a spiky exoskeleton lies here.
The severe, fine-boned man kneels in front of the toned woman.
The bearded, broad-shouldered man is standing here.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man subdues the severe, fine-boned man.

You raise a long, braided leather whip and lash out at the severe, fine-boned man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the severe, fine-boned man's back.

The severe, fine-boned man shifts in the bearded, broad-shouldered man's grasp, showing his gnarled back, already covered with age old whip wounds, more scar than skin.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man sniffs the severe, fine-boned man and grimaces, repulsed.

Lazily, your bloodied long, braided leather whip in hand, you ask the severe, fine-boned man, in sirihish:
     "So, ya still feel like ya wish ya hadn' been killed?"

The bearded, broad-shouldered man's body trembles from the force of the whip-crack, though not as much as the severe, fine-boned man's.

The severe, fine-boned man grimaces, though he doesn't shout as the whip rips into his skin.

You raise a long, braided leather whip and lash out at the severe, fine-boned man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the severe, fine-boned man's back.

Sputtering, the severe, fine-boned man exclaims, in sirihish:
     "I'm alive! Aheh-heh-heh...Alive!"

-- Lantry feels intense pain almost knocking him out.

Flatly, you say to the severe, fine-boned man,  in sirihish:
     "Only just..."

The bearded, broad-shouldered man looks from the severe, fine-boned man to you with a look of confusion then tries to hides it with a downcast head as he holds the severe, fine-boned man in place.

You raise a long, braided leather whip and lash out at the severe, fine-boned man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the severe, fine-boned man's back.

The severe, fine-boned man exhales sharply, spit drooling down to the floor from his cracked lips.

As she pulls your bloodied long, braided leather whip back again, you say to the severe, fine-boned man, in sirihish:
     "Yer lucky this is all they wanted outta ya."

You raise a long, braided leather whip and lash out at the severe, fine-boned man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the severe, fine-boned man's back.

You raise a long, braided leather whip and lash out at the severe, fine-boned man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the severe, fine-boned man's back.

Muttering, the severe, fine-boned man says, in sirihish:
     "You will have to wait your turn, Clay...I'll see you in hell another day. Aheh...Guhhhhh..."

A blank stare and apparent calmness turn the bearded, broad-shouldered man statuesque, save his teeth grinding down as he holds the severe, fine-boned man steady.

The severe, fine-boned man seems to almost go unconscious in the bearded, broad-shouldered man's grip, though he snaps to with the last whip crack. His back is a bloody mess.

Blood begins to streak down the severe, fine-boned man's back as you continue to whip at the bloodied mess.

You raise a long, braided leather whip and lash out at the severe, fine-boned man.
*CRACK* A long, bloody gash opens up on the severe, fine-boned man's back.
The severe, fine-boned man's eyes roll back in his head.
The severe, fine-boned man crumples to the ground.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man lets the severe, fine-boned man fall to the ground from the last crack of the whip, then backs away, eyes downcast.

The severe, fine-boned man finally loses hold on reality, his eyes rolling back into his head, and he goes limp.

-- Lantry feels the swirling image of the rugged, weathered man stepping over his body.

-- Lantry dreams: Not yet...But soon, Lantry Stetson. Soon. The darkness will drag your soul to us.

As she looks over the severe, fine-boned man, you say to the bearded, broad-shouldered man, in sirihish:
     "It's for the best.  Better'n bein' kilt.  Had t'...negotiate.  Wit' the templarate."

-- Lantry dreams: Soon...Hahahaha....

Staring down at the severe, fine-boned man's bloody mess of a back, the bearded, broad-shouldered man says to you, in sirihish:
     "He done fucked up good, mmhmm."

Shaking his head, the bearded, broad-shouldered man looks down at the severe, fine-boned man.

-- Lantry feels like seeing the image of the rugged, weathered man laughing over his inert body, his own rotting corpse disintegrating, skin sloughing off to the ground.

As she kicks lightly at the severe, fine-boned man's side, you say to the bearded, broad-shouldered man, in sirihish:
     "See to it that he's patched up afterward, Trooper.  An' then see to it that he's the fuck outta Tuluk within two days, or he's fuckin' dead, an' I won't be able to do a fuckin' thing about it."

The bearded, broad-shouldered man turns away from the severe, fine-boned man, then takes a sniff of his own aba, smelling of urine. He gasps.

Lifting an upward salute, the bearded, broad-shouldered man  says to you, in sirihish:
     "Damn, aye Lieutenant. Consider it done."

The bearded, broad-shouldered man grabs at the severe, fine-boned man's arms, pulling.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man subdues the severe, fine-boned man.

Tossing it down, you drop your dusty brown, hard-leather military helmet.

Grunting, the bearded, broad-shouldered man picks up a bloodied spiky breastplate.

The severe, fine-boned man is a rag doll.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man picks up a dusty brown, hard-leather military helmet.

The bearded, broad-shouldered man grabs hold of the severe, fine-boned man's armor, then drops his arms and grabs at a leg instead.

End of submission.

[Nyr]

I've unlocked the thread so comments and discussion can be had now...locked it so I could upload all of the log.

So...this was back when I was on team indies, and the Byn was part of that meta-clan group.  It is a log from (looks like?) early 2012.  I recall asking Lantry's player for a log of it, later on, as an original submission (IMO I thought it was a funny scene)...and (IIRC) the player said they did not have a log. I went back and looked, and sure enough--I was logging it.  Once I found the log and cleaned it up, I had it sitting here and waiting for an opportune time to post.

Word to the wise:  Log things! You never know what interesting stuff you might one day have inadvertently logged.

As a rule, we typically do not animate direct superiors and prefer to have them represented via request tool responses.  We much prefer to animate folks that are equal-ranked or lower for flavor animations.  However, there are exceptions, and oftentimes those exceptions occur when someone is getting into some kind of trouble, and an animation would be preferable.

[Bushranger]

This is the first thing that sprung to mind!

I miss Lieutenant Copper, she is a real lady.

[bcw81]

Leitenant Copper was a bro and I loved her.

[LauraMars]

Aww, LT Copper is still around.   <3 

[RogueGunslinger]

I love this log. This shit is hilarious.

[Desertman]

Templar: "I will have my way!"

Copper: "Except, I am a senior officer in a group of trained killers for hire, and there are a lot of us."

Templar: "No seriously, I'm going to have my way!"

Copper: "You don't seem to understand, no."

Templar: "Well, then just make sure you pee on him for me because I'm mad."

Copper: "Whatevs. Alright."

I got a pretty good laugh.

[Rhyden]

I think the fact that Rythe and Lantry were Waying one another while being peed upon perfectly summarizes the special relationship they had.

[James de Monet]

Heh, for someone professing to have none, Copper has some balls.


Edited to add: I like all the interesting rank dynamics in this log. Templar to foreign officer. Senior officer to junior officer. Disgraced junior officer to seasoned underling.

Something that might otherwise get overlooked here is Rythe asking his SGT what he should do. Sure, the Lt is the Lt, but Lantry is (presumably) his sergeant. Interesting and very real dynamic there.

Also, "Just don't get the face" FTW.

Nice post!

[Is Friday]

6 out of 10. Could have been funnier.

[Reiloth]

I think the fact that Rythe and Lantry were Waying one another while being peed upon perfectly summarizes the special relationship they had.

truf

[BadSkeelz]

I liked this log. I'd also like to see a log from the Templar point of view, especially during the "Tense standoff" between him and Copper.

[MeTekillot]

Ah yes, Niketas. He was certainly.

[TheWanderer]

I enjoy reading logs about grown men urinating on grown men.

More Byn logs, please.

[Barsook]

More Byn logs, please.

[solera]

I've been looking for a portrait of Lantry which I thought I saw somewhere here. I remember (I think) an imm posting under it "I know that bastard" . I thought the same.
It could possibly be in the Vis Zalanthas thread, but I can't browse that fast.

[Reiloth]

Credit to Briarfox. Sweet!

[solera]

Yes! 

Correction: Jerk, not bastard.

[Evilone]

Great read!

[KawaiiBear]

Great read!

[Ender]

Hooo boy, if I was that templar I'd be a lot angrier about that scum commoner mercenary lieutenant sass talking me.

[Desertman]

Hooo boy, if I was that templar I'd be a lot angrier about that scum commoner mercenary lieutenant sass talking me.

If I was that Templar I would probably keep in mind that scum commoner mercenary Lieutenant is a senior officer in the only truly reputable band of killers I might want to hire one day to do some work for me that I don't want to/can't risk my enlisted soldiers to do.

I can imagine they were thinking like any military minded individual would think. "I can win the personal victory today for my pride, but I am going to lose a valuable resource on future battlefields going forward if I do. I might want to show this leader of killers a little mutual respect.".

Angering the only reputable band of hirable fighters in the Known, especially on the level of a T'zai Byn Lieutenant is not only dangerous, but not very wise in terms of having that valuable resource at your disposal in the future.

It is certainly a way to garner a very powerful enemy, Templar or not.