An Old Man's Quest: Part 1

Marcus Biscay · 08-02-2010, 12:53 AM

[html]

According to the story arc I've devised (I know, I'm evil), this thread should be post dated to the 29th. That alright with you? Also, don't mind the titles I put... I've always been one for sequence and order in storytelling.

"Savina Marino." Those were Anu's final words to Marcus before she departed. Savina Marino. Marcus had heard so little about this Italian Alphess, and yet he was so very intrigued with the idea of her. Firstly, she was a fellow European. Not only that, but she was Italian. Marcus had only known Italy to be beautiful beyond belief, and if Savina was only half as wonderful as her home, the old traveller would be quite content with their acquaintance. Secondly, she was the Alphess. Anu had not made any reference to an Alpha by her side, logically making her a very strong woman to imagine. The very thought of a third generation pack without an Alpha male caused Marcus' mind to shift. In the Middle East, he had encountered hundreds, if not thousands of packs. First Generations, always mobile, never stopping. Second Gens, hunting in small areas for months, moving, and settling again. Third Gens, with fixed locations, forming tribal attributes, and often utilizing human structures as bases. And Fourth Generation packs, with the full capacity to support large populations, utilize agricultural mediums, and create infrastructure. Never, however, had he seen a pack without an alpha male.

Though the intrigue of someone as interesting as Savina was more than enough to make Marcus' trip to the manor inevitable, his motives were not so transparent. By the time Savina should have caught wind of Marcus' arrival, the lonely wanderer had already started work on his newest project. He looked at it with tremendous promise. But soon, the look of promise morphed to a glare of doubt. If Savina were to take this gift the wrong way, trouble would be spelt for Marcus, and he may even be exiled from yet another home. Once finished, he packed his present into a small leather satchel, and retired to his quarters for the night.

The next morning, Marcus awoke at the ripe hour of 8:00am. He rose from his bed, wound his one functional fob watch, and suited up for his oncoming meeting. He hobbled to the galley, making note of the particularly odd way in which his right ankle was behaving. He made up his last batch of larded beans, enjoyed his last preserved feast, then collected his possessions, and cracked open the main hatch, opening his eyes to a bright new world. Marcus looked down at the fob watch he had taken out from his right waistcoat pocket, smiled, and began on his way, tucking the watch back into his vest, and leading with his left foot.

Marcus gaped at the sight of the large mountains before him. They reminded him of the Scottish Highlands, and made him crave the comfort of his old home. His next encounter, however, made him forget his melancholy thoughts. He stared at the remnants of what looked to him like a human made military establishment. Sites like these were common in Europe. Especially near Berlin. Mostly, they were used as prison camps, but occasionally, the Congregatio would seize control of one, and use it to extract information from unwilling participants. The images in Marcus' head sent chills down his spine. His cane picked up speed, and he declared that site to be a story for another day.

Moving onwards, Marcus began to hear the crash of water against stone. He assumed that rapids must be near, but was pleasantly surprised at the sight of waterfalls. The sound carried on in his ears as he continued North, checking his compass for accuracy every now and again. Eventually, Marcus became tired, and decided to rest at the next available opportunity. He also thought it a good idea to scavenge some food from the countryside. But where could he find such a relaxing and providing place? Just as the question crossed his mind, a massive windmill came into view from behind a small hill. Marcus thought this as good a place as any to take his break. He made his way up to the base of the mammoth structure, found a soft patch of grass, and sat on a rock, spreading his paws out into the grass, feeling the tickle of every luxurious blade, as they worked their way between his toes. Relaxed, the old man leaned back, removed his spectacles, and scanned the horizon, attempting to zero in on some sort of food.

500+

Ehno Marino · 08-03-2010, 06:26 PM

[html]
<style type="text/css">
.ehnosun b {font-weight:bold; color:#bf6f34; letter-spacing:1px; }
.ooc { font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:10px;}
.ehnosun p {text-indent:25px;padding:5px 10px;margin:0px;}
.ehnosun {width:400px;border:1px solid #77482b;background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v26/K ... hnosun.png);background-position:top center;background-repeat:no-repeat;padding-top:200px;background-color:#000000;text-align:justify;margin:10px;font-family:georgia, serif;font-size:11px;line-height:12px;color:#77482b;}
</style>

Thank you for starting! And post-dating this is just fine by me. :] wc: 575

Ehno had never much considered himself an early bird, usually rising well past the ripe beginning hours of the morning, or at the very least finding himself with a peculiar lack of energy until his mind seemed to finally shake off the last clinging remnants of a peaceful night’s sleep. For the past week, though, he found himself rising with the sun each morning, fully awake and greeted by disconcerting thoughts that had sprung up recently. The Italian man would drift from task to task as the sun pushed itself farther from the horizon, seemingly unable to fully settle down with any particular assignment in mind. In the growing tradition of this past week, Ehno had woken up bright and early this morning with that same insatiable need to find something to distract himself.

He had been feeling unsettled lately, and perhaps his strange morning activities of late should have been expected as a result. In the weeks after learning that Naniko had decided to slip away and leave their children alone in Phoenix Valley, he found that a curious little portion of his thoughts would always be lingering on it, especially within the last few days. And the more he thought about it, the more his would start to feel ashamed for not taking action and doing anything about it. But why should he dwell on his cowardice now? What would it matter? No, he was determined to distract himself with something else today, but finding that something was proving to be difficult. He had started off the morning determined to finish off the little figurines he had begun to carve days ago, but had accomplished nothing more than fiddling idly with some of the tools in his workshop before finally giving up altogether.

The chocolate furred male decided then to slip out from his home in the Manor, intending to perhaps hunt, perhaps take a stroll around the pack borders in a leisurely patrol. Instead he wound up spending time lingering around the edge of Rabbit Lake, the mere idea of productivity seemingly thrown out the window. Eventually he took to idly wandering along the lakeshore, drifting along past the new cottage that had been erected in the wake of Old Red’s fall and off to the west. Ehno had been contemplating going off on that small hunt once again when the old windmill came into sight along the horizon, its familiarity accompanied by the sight of a stranger resting at its base.

As personable as Ehno was, the thought of meeting a new face was much more pleasant than continuing to wander about the lands by himself. He adjusted his course to the windmill, wondering who this stranger could be. He was aware of a brief influx of new members being accepted into the pack of Dreamers, and entertained the thought of this man being one of those new souls. As he approached, he shook his head briefly to clear his lengthening bangs from his sight so that he could get a clearer view of the man sitting casually upon the rock. Amber gaze took in the sight of the stranger’s clothes and his cane, as well as the doggish pattern of his fur.

Curiosity piqued, he picked up his pace just a tad and began to wave to the other in a friendly gesture as he neared. “Hello there, stranger,” he called out, the words dancing with his ever-present Italian lilt.

[/html]

Marcus Biscay · 08-03-2010, 10:31 PM

[html]

Berries. There were berries in the woods just in the distance. Marcus decided that he would need to pick some on his way back so he could eat the next morning. But for the time, he would rest. He hadn't been walking lately, so his legs became quite tired quite quickly. Suddenly, the old traveller heard a voice calling to him. The voice sounded familiar. He had heard it's nuances many times before, especially on his visits to Rome. An Italian! Could this be the Savina Marino that Anu had told him of? No. Voice sounds male. He looked. Correct. Male, average sized. Adult. Approximately 4 years old. Scar, left shoulder. Healed. Estimated time of injury... One month prior. Cause of wound, quarrel. Fight. Skirmish. Too imprecise for weapon damage. Melee. Marcus adjusted his loupes, to zoom in on his target. Teeth. Bite. Not deep enough for terminal blood loss. Obviously... Subject waving. His eyes widened. Waving to me!

The old man sprung from his stone perch in a way that he hadn't in quite some time, and smiled at his accomplishment. He then re-focused on the waving Italian before him, and said, "Buon signore mattina. Parli italiano?" He caught himself. In Rome, he had always addressed people in their native tongue, but who was he to assume the same here? "I'm sorry. I heard your voice, you see." Grabbing his cane, Marcus began to walk towards the seemingly friendly, hopefully Italian man before him. His right ankle was still acting strangely. Perhaps he had hit it in the night? Who could be sure? The old man's only worry was that his slight limp may be taken as a sign of weakness. He liked the look of the man before him, and didn't feel like beginning a fight. He stopped half way to his target. "Assumption has gotten me in a lot of trouble, before. However, I do try to correct myself before I start wars I cannot finish." He started playing with a button on his waistcoat. A smile crossed his face. He had just reminded himself of his days in Athens. The king had sent a special request to the Congregatio for the assistance of 'The Musketeer'. The journey from Moscow was long and tedious, and so Marcus was more than willing to start the job when he arrived. After meeting the king in the royal chambers, Marcus was sent to find Achilla Descenna, who had been lost for several days. Assuming King Descenna meant the Queen of Athens, Marcus left the Parthenon, and began his search. Seconds before he dismounted the Acropolis, he ran into the Queen herself, returning from a stroll. A spry Marcus flew back to the royal chambers with the Queen in hand and---. Marcus violently snapped his head back to reality, and regarded the figure before him once more. He smiled, "But occasionally I stop too late"

500+

Ehno Marino · 08-04-2010, 06:46 PM

[html]

wc:423

The stranger was quick to spot him once he had called out in greeting, apparently studying him for a moment before leaping up from the rock he had been resting on. Ehno nearly stumbled in surprise when he heard the man call back to him in his native tongue. It wasn’t too often the Marino ran into someone around these parts that knew the language of his homeland. There had been those two Italians he had run into in the small village to the north, but he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of either of them in recent months. Naniko had also known her fair share of the romance language, but she was long gone herself, journeying off to who knows where to search for family. Ehno had been convinced that he and his family were once again the only Italian speakers lingering around this region, and now here was this stranger, showing off his own knowledge of the language.

The Marino found a smile leaping to his lips as the old man began to apologize and explain his assumption while grabbing his cane and hobbling closer. Ehno himself came to a halt a short distance from the other male, crossing his arms idly to rest against his chest. “Sí, parlo Italiano. Sono di Italia,” he replied, smile widening by a slight fraction. “I have to say, you have quite an ear to be able to recognize my accent. Most people around here aren’t familiar with Italian at all.” He made the switch back to English, unsure of just how comfortable this man was in speaking in Ehno’s native tongue. It certainly seemed like this male had experience with the language, and perhaps had even spent time in Italy himself. His preference for clothing and the ornate cane he carried with him reminded Ehno very much of Europe. Most of the souls native to this region preferred to remain closer to their wilder origins, and seldom did he see many Luperci around these parts donning clothing, but it certainly did seem to be a slowly growing trend, if he were to guess.

Ehno found himself wondering about the origins of this male. He certainly had the makings of a European, with his more humanized appearance and knowledge of the romance language, but the Marino didn’t want to put too much stock into his assumption without more proof. “I’m Ehno Marino,” he finally said after a short moment, offering the old man his hand in a greeting that wasn’t terribly common around these parts.

[/html]

Marcus Biscay · 08-04-2010, 09:28 PM

[html]

The strangely familiar man's words rang wonderfully inside Marcus' head. Words from another life. Words from another world. It had been years since the last time Marcus had heard the Italian language, and it pleased him that those times were not completely behind him. The scarred man's voice brought back memories of a time long ago. Not a carefree time, and certainly not a time of innocence, but a time before action met effect, and before effect met circumstance. Marcus listened to the Italian man speak. His words made light the weight on Marcus' mind. His outstretched arm did even more. It was unexpected for a third generation pack member to use such civilized gestures. Not disturbing by any means. Just unexpected. Though it shouldn't have been. As the man had said, "Sono di Italia".

Marcus reflected his acquaintance's gesture, and gave him as firm a handshake as he could. It had been a while. "Well, as you've probably guessed, I'm not from around here" said Marcus, indicating his accent. "Britain. England. London, in fact." He stopped himself. A surprised tension shot across his scalp, and he continued, "Marino, you said?" A string of thought ran through Marcus' mind: Another Marino. Savina and Ehno. Savina and Ehno Marino. Had not expected more than one person with the same surname. Then again, had not expected surnames. Perhaps matrimony? No, civilization too primitive. Then again, handshake suggests civilized customs. Perhaps these 'Dreamers' have been underestimated? European customs may have diluted primitive nature. Bleeding effect. Time will tell. His eyes met Ehno's. No. No no no. Eyes tell a story. Free spirit. Roving. Only possible conclusion: siblings. Getting lucky with Anu's past had given Marcus confidence. He continued, "I have heard much about your sister, Savina." Marcus smiled, and thought of a job well done. The previous day, he had been rusty. Today, his deductions took only seconds. However, only time would tell whether or not his skills were still worth their trouble.

300+

Ehno Marino · 08-05-2010, 11:54 PM

[html]

wc:340

The man was quick to grasp his hand for a quick shake, prompting the personable smile to leap back to Ehno’s lips. His new acquaintance went on to confirm his earlier suspicions that he hailed from Europe, London specifically. The name was familiar to the Italian, though he had never been there himself. His experience with England was nothing more than a brief night’s stay at one of its ports when he had been sailing with the motley bunch from Santander. Ehno had intended on taking the opportunity to spend more time there on the way back, but as circumstance would have it, he now had a permanent residence here in Nova Scotia. Perhaps this man would be willing to share some of his knowledge of his homeland with the adventure-loving Marino.

Before the old man had even introduced himself, he showed a brief flash of surprised recognition at his surname, continuing on to mention that he had heard of his sibling. “Have you, now? All good things, I’m sure. Savina’s done well in leading our pack here.” There was a touch of surprise to his words, stemming mainly from the assumption he had made that this man was relatively new to this region. He didn’t outright say that he had met her, so he must have bumped into another Dreamer or an acquaintance of hers earlier. It was quite likely to have been the former, considering that not many could have made it this far into Crimson Dreams territory uncontested. This prompted another line of thought to spring to the front of the Italian man’s mind, his ever present curiosity wondering more about this old man. It didn’t seem that souls from Europe choose to make the journey across the Atlantic all that often, and Ehno found himself wondering what his acquaintance’s reasoning could be. “What brings you all the way across the ocean to these parts, sir? An unquenchable thirst for adventure?” he questioned, tone light-hearted. Certainly this man had his fair share of stories to tell.

[/html]

Marcus Biscay · 08-06-2010, 01:11 AM

[html]

I wonder how far this can go without Marcus formally introducing himself?

Good things? Anu had been much too vague about Savina to allow moral assumptions. Marcus had barely gotten her name. But that was enough. The old adventurer's mind would quickly piece together any blank pieces from Anu's description. Savina was an Alphess. One without an Alpha. Based on that, she must be a strong female, capable of wonderful, and terrible things. However, the landscape was untarnished, and the people seemed good-natured. This led Marcus to believe that yes, she had done well leading her pack.

He was reminded of his intent. To make contact with Savina Marino, and gain a tangible standing in Crimson Dreams. A quick glance to the sky. Midday. Maybe quarter past one. Without knowing the location of Haven Manor, Marcus could not make a correct estimate as to the time he had left to travel. Though through seeing the windmill, he figured a house must not be far off. He had the time. He could talk for a while.

Marcus sensed a tinge of curiosity about Ehno. A question was brewing in his mind. This was not surprising by any means. Marcus arrived out of nothing, and to Ehno, he thought, he must be as a sword is in a gunfight. Completely out of place. A smile crossed Marcus' face. He adored being right. Behind his smile, however, shot another shiver down his spine. It was expected that many would want to know why he had come, but Marcus did not expect the telling of his story to be so difficult. His eyelids fluttered, and he rubbed his palms together. An almost embarrassed chuckle breached his mouth as he said, "If only I could claim that as the truth. No, my reasons for being here are much less pleasing, and frankly, far less interesting." Quickly, in an attempt to avoid the topic completely, the old man put on a playfully inquisitive face, and took a shot in the dark: "But surely your perception can't be all wrong, yes? You look like the sort who's never been able to stay at home. One of my own, you see. Back in my time, I went on my fair share of expeditions. And the next bloke's share. And his mate's, too. Oh, the stories I could tell you. And I'm sure you have a few of your own. Am I far off?" The facade was complete. Without his playful guise, Marcus may well have collapsed on the ground, but for now, to the outside world, this seasoned veteran had a lifetime of memories to spin into legends.

I can't breath. Why can't I breath? It hurts to look...
Marcus shook his head slightly to the side, and continued to smile warmly.

500 On the dot.

Ehno Marino · 08-10-2010, 02:50 AM

[html]

Haha, we'll see. Also, sorry for the slight delay--had a rather busy weekend. o: wc:426

It wasn’t often that Ehno had the opportunity to meet other creatures from across the sea out here in the land of Nova Scotia. Most canines in the region and the neighboring packs all seemed to be local, though some had often migrated here from elsewhere in the continent. They each of course had their own stories to tell, their own adventures and cultures to speak of. Ehno, however, would always hold a particular interest in tales from across the sea, from the European lands that he had originated from. When he met another who had dared make the journey across the ocean, he was often reminded of his first real taste of adventure, being but a yearling and venturing off to lands unknown. Meeting the old man here now was no exception to this, the simple mention of far away lands bringing forth a wash of nostalgia.

The Marino’s amber gaze simply watched the other at his embarrassed display of a reply, dismissing his reasoning as something that would hold little interest for him. Ehno wanted to dismiss such an assumption—surely any motive for uprooting oneself and traveling across something as vast as the Atlantic would be quite interesting—but before he could do so, the old man promptly spurred the conversation onward. His curiosity still bubbled in one corner of his mind, but he set it aside for now and let the currents of their swift conversation take him where it may. The doggish male commented on his supposition of Ehno’s own adventurous spirit and the tales such adventures could inspire, and it brought that old nostalgia of his to full force. Oh, the escapades he had had during his youthful wanderings. Yes, Ehno certainly had his fair share of stories to tell.

Ehno laughed a short, pleasant laugh, a broad smile lighting up his face in its aftermath. “You got me there. I’ve had my share of the wanderlust, certainly. Seen plenty of interesting people and places while wandering about the European continent, as I’m sure you can imagine.” Even his first few days out in the bustling streets of Rome had given him plenty of stories to tell, aided of course by the culture shock he had encountered when he arrived there. Growing up in a traditionalist, feral pack and then thrusting himself into the humanized culture of the ancient city had been quite the experience. “It’s certainly nice to bump into a kindred spirit out here,” he commented, a warm smile to match his new acquaintance’s spreading on his lips.

[/html]

Marcus Biscay · 08-11-2010, 05:39 PM

[html]

Not a problem! I've been quite busy myself. I've also been shedding a few layers of Newbhood XD. So hooray for that!

Correct! Marcus was correct! His head flew back in a playful laugh. A long grizzled arm outstretched to his side, assuming Marcus into a stance which almost resembled that of a fond embrace. He slowly recoiled into his familiar old stance, cane between his legs, and regarded Ehno with a faint smile. He saw himself in the young adventurer's eyes. One who cast off the restrictions of their home, and thrust themselves into the great unknown. He hoped that this man had had a more fruitful past than himself. He hoped that Ehno's motivations for travelling across such a vast expanse as the Atlantic had been more gleeful than his own. But Marcus was no hypocrite, so he didn't bother asking.

More interesting to Marcus was Ehno's Post-Atlantic travels. Where had he been? What had he seen? Perhaps he had heard of 'The Musketeer'? A rush of guilt hit the back of Marcus' head. He had not come here to be a hero. He had not come here to gloat about his past. Coming here had been a punishment. A punishment for his misdeeds in the past. Misdeeds... thought Marcus. Never had he killed without reason. Never had he slandered without evidence. The guilt receded, and Marcus began to think. What harm could come from a punishment being enjoyed? Why was this old soul meant to suffer for what he had not done? He would share his stories. Perhaps even trade his stories with Ehno. Certainly, stories were meant to be told?

"Kindred spirits... Yes," chuckled Marcus. "Strange though, that we have not crossed paths before. I have travelled far and wide. East, West, North, South-- South is good. South has wonderful olives. Although, I did run into a rather large building near Madrid with what seemed like an infinite supply of bananas inside. I love bananas. Olives too. I'm not sure how the bananas got there though. They don't grow anywhere in Europe. You have to travel far East to get bananas. Place called Siam city. That, or you could go South. Too far South though. Easier to go East." Marcus stopped. Perhaps he shouldn't tell stories. Often, he would reach out on tangents. Still, he really did love bananas. The old man noticed that he was staring into space. He snapped himself back, and regarded Ehno once more. "Italy, you say? Lovely peaches in the Romagna." Marcus relished the flavours he once tasted back home. The avocados of Santander and Madrid (not to mention those lovely bananas). The apples and grapes from the Po Valley. The figs and olives of Athens... Suddenly, a thought crossed Marcus' mind: Why the sudden fixation with fruit? His eyes wandered off once more...

500. No + , No - , 500.

Ehno Marino · 08-13-2010, 05:16 AM

[html]

yay! XD wc:332

The Marino smiled as the old man went on to mention a number of foods and places across the continent. It brought him back to the adventurous days of his youth, where he was surrounded by so many new sights, sounds, and ideas. He remembered the feeling he had when he realized that there was a whole vast world ahead of him to explore. He had sampled his fair share of fruits when in Rome, though he did not hold such a love from them as this old man apparently did. Something about their sweetness, while nice for a refreshing change of pace, always seemed off to him. Perhaps it stemmed from the strictly feral way he had been raised, but he had always favored fresh meats as opposed to fresh fruits or vegetables. “I do remember the peaches. Good, but a bit too sweet for my own tastes,” he commented.

“I passed through Madrid myself, but I can’t say I recall any large building filled with bananas." He laughed. "I wasn’t in the city for terribly long, though. That’s probably why I missed it. Headed straight on through along a trade route to Santander.” He remembered the hustle and bustle of the big city, surrounded by a language and culture he had only just begun to take the time to learn. He had stopped there along a trade route heading west, curious to see the city. He lingered there for about a week before packing up and continuing north to his initial destination on the route. Even then, he found it hard to resist the pull of the sea. “I loved Santander. Spent quite some time there, on the docks. It’s where I picked up my seafaring skills, and a touch of Spanish.” Obviously this man had his own experience with such skills, having made it all the way across the ocean himself. Ehno wondered how far back that experience went, where it had stemmed and where it had taken him.

[/html]

Marcus Biscay · 08-14-2010, 09:08 PM

[html]

Disregard the 'alert' rather than 'Alert'. For some reason, it wouldn't correct.

Santander was a wonderful place. All of Spain had treated Marcus well. During his time there, the South, and most of Portugal had not been civilized, and was mostly feral. The North, however, was wonderfully cultured. The people of Barcelona would all gather at a central location in the main city every week or so, and throw a massive party. One time, Marcus had been sent to oversee one of the celebrations. He had been sent as a sort of militia leader. The growing packs from the Southern lands of Tarragona had been extending their borders, and at the time, they were threatening the Northern Spanish packs. The night Marcus arrived, a Tarragonese messenger arrived with a scroll. It was a warning against any who would resist the army which was marching towards Barcelona. The man who received the message brought it straight to The Musketeer, who's eyes widened at the sight of such a declaration of war. Marcus' head jolted upwards from the scroll, and he said to the man before him, "Tell Diego to send the first three divisions to the city walls. And sound the garrison bell. I want all unarmed citizens inside the palace as quickly as possible. Alert Gabriel and his men. It's time for us to send a message to the King." Marcus ran to the city wall, and climbed the nearest tower. He took out his spyglass, and regarded the horizon. Hundreds of armed wolves were advancing towards the city. Another day had begun.

As Marcus thought on his past ventures, he listened vaguely to Ehno's words. It was too easy to get lost in his mind. "El Español es un lenguaje maravilloso. I picked some up in my travels as well. I met a man in Genoa once who could speak languages that I myself could never find a use for. He called himself a linguist." The man in question was none other than Pavische Callerno. The linguist part was true. Marcus had learnt almost every language he knew from Pavische. German, Italian, French, Russian, and Mandarin. English he was born with, and Spanish he picked up in Madrid during his stay in 2003. What was incorrect about Pavische was Marcus' apparent unfamiliarity. The Linguist was often contracted by The Congregatio to train recruits in language and dialect. Marcus had worked in the field with him several times, but had lost contact sometime after 2007. Still, a lasting impact had been left.

Marcus looked into Ehno's eyes. A feeling of inquiry fell over him like a veil. "So far, you speak three languages. I talk of linguists, but apparently I have one before me. Does everyone here speak in so many tongues?" Marcus thought of Anu. She did not seem cultured, civilized, or even socialized. She seemed to be one of the land. Yet here, before the old traveller's eyes was an Italian man, speaking three languages, and exhibiting behaviour which brought Marcus back to the times of his youth. A friendly handshake, an interestingly well educated mind, an impeccable taste for linguistics, and an oddly fantastic style of grooming. What sort of place had Marcus stumbled upon? A chuckle came through his jowls as he uttered the last syllables of his question. It was almost placed as sarcasm. Almost, being the operative word.

500+

Ehno Marino · 08-18-2010, 05:39 AM

[html]

wc:373

As the old man spoke in the old Spanish tongue, Ehno’s own thoughts were thrust into the past. He recalled with great clarity the time he spent on the ship with the sailors from Santander as they made their way across the vast blue blanket of the Atlantic. He had fond memories of the time he spent with that wild crew, sailing swiftly through good weather and adeptly maneuvering their way out of storms. The time spent on that sturdy, wooden vessel was almost certainly Ehno’s favorite part of his journey. The mixture of the sea, fulfilling work, and good company had been perfect for the young, adventuring Italian. It was perhaps the best note there was for his year of adventuring to finish up on.

His new acquaintance went on to speak of a linguist with the knowledge of many languages. Ehno wondered how interesting it would be to master a large number of languages. The Marino had had a keen interest in other languages ever since Bruno had taught him and his siblings English when they were young pups, but he was unsure how well he would be able to manage it now. He was getting along just fine with his mastery of Italian and English, and the somewhat fading grasp he held over Spanish. He wasn’t quite sure what he would do with another language around these parts, anyway.

At the old man’s question, Ehno paused to think for a moment. He couldn’t recall meeting too many souls around here that spoke much more than English. He shook his head. “Aside from my family, I can’t say I’ve met too many people in these parts that know much more than English. My, ah, friend—“ Really, what could he call Naniko? “—did know Italian and French, if I remember correctly. I suppose it’s possible that there are others out here that know more.” The question made Ehno go back to the earlier assumption he had made that this man was new to the lands. Surely if he had been here for a fair amount of time, he would have noted the residents’ lack of linguistic expertise. “I take it you haven’t been in the area for too long, then?”

[/html]

Marcus Biscay · 08-18-2010, 06:18 PM

[html]

I apologize for the shoddyness of this post... Muse is a little... off. I've been having bad headaches.

"Aside from my family." Surely he couldn't just mean himself and Savina. It made sense to Marcus that by now, Ehno would have found a mate and started a family. Savina may have well done the same. For all Marcus knew, the Marino family might have hundreds of members all across these lands. This was the thrill of adventure. This was the thrill of wondering just how vast something could be, miles before you have reached it. Though Marcus was well aware that the Marinos could not be more than about 30 in numbers, based on Ehno's age, and Marcus' prediction of Savina's age, it was amusing to imagine a legion of Marinos dominating the countryside, all rich with Italian culture. My very own Little Italy, thought Marcus.

The old man's fantasies were soon cut short. As the young Marino had said, most people in Crimson Dreams spoke no more than English. This seemed odd to Marcus. He wondered how large this land actually was. His charts had led him to believe that the lands of Canada were incredibly large, and life-bearing, yet what he saw before him, and what he heard from his new Italian contact, all pointed towards the entire territory being little more than a third world establishment. Even the small Isle of Britain held many different people, sporting many different languages, each with many different dialects. Liverpool alone held enough culture to fuel a whole continent, and most of that language and culture made it's way out to sea. Surely more than just Ehno and Savina had made it.

But the truth returned to Marcus with Ehno's next words. It was true, he hadn't been around for too long. Certainly not long enough to draw any conclusions. The old man's brow raised, and his mouth jarred for a moment. "No, no, not long at all. In fact, I just came to shore yesterday. My ship is still anchored down at the beach." An old arm pointed towards the South, where his ship rest. "It's good to be back on solid ground. Even better to be speaking to a..." Marcus' head turned to the side. What word was he searching for? "Familiar, entity." Marcus chuckled a pathetic chuckle, as if he was surprised at his own stupidity. He took out his left fob watch, regarded it's face, and frowned. "Bloody thing," he said with extreme disdain. "I can never remember which one of these things works." He tucked the watch back into his left waistcoat pocket, and reorganized the beads which held the pocket shut.

wc = 489

Ehno Marino · 08-20-2010, 05:27 PM

[html]

Sad Oh no, headaches are never fun. <3 wc:351

“Yesterday?” he repeated, a slight bit of his surprise slipping into his tone. While he had expected that this man would have been relatively new to the area, he certainly hadn’t expected to find that he was that new. It was interesting to hear that the man’s own ship was moored at the beach to the south, not far at all from the place Ehno himself had arrived just about two years prior. The shores near the Crimson Dreams lands seemed to be a bit of a ship magnet. What was perhaps most interesting, though, was that the man had been here but a day, and already he knew of his sister. There was only one conclusion he could draw from that. “I suppose you must have met another one of our members when you arrived?” If he had spent his time since arriving at the beach or upon their lands, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to assume one of the other Dreamers would have bumped into him. Many of them were fond of patrolling the lands or simply enjoying the sights of their home. Certainly the sight of a ship on the beach was bound to catch somebody’s eye.

Ehno’s attention was soon captured by a little contraption the old man pulled out of one of his pockets. Familiarity surrounded the item, and he searched through a fog of memories in order to recall its name. “A… watch, yes? Don’t really see to many of those in working order around here,” he commented. Certainly the city to the east was likely to contain a number of watches in working or repairable order, but Ehno had never taken the time, or really given the thought, to searching one out. He had seen many in Europe, mainly in the larger cities, that utilized such devices, but the Marino himself never bothered with them. True to his roots, he preferred to study the sun and the stars to get a handle on how far the day had progressed. Of course, that didn’t stop him from taking an interest in the object.

[/html]

Marcus Biscay · 08-20-2010, 11:13 PM

[html]

Sorry for all the repeat, I just wanted to get everything straight.

To be surprised at another person's display of surprise is a difficult thing to explain. It is for this reason that Marcus was somewhat... Surprised, at his response to Ehno's... Surprise. It wasn't why Ehno was surprised that felt odd to Marcus. That was easy enough to decipher. It was that Ehno was surprised that bothered Marcus. Had he become so world weary that the danger and mystery of a new place had become completely benign to his emotions? Perhaps. But was this necessarily a bad thing? Marcus felt that the thought was trivial, and so it was dismissed, never to be heard, seen, or felt again.

Marcus continued, "it's good to be back on solid ground. Even better to be speaking to a..." His head turned to the side. What word was he searching for? "Familiar, entity." Marcus chuckled a pathetic chuckle, as if he was surprised at his own stupidity. He reached down to his left side, and explained himself further. "Yes. Indeed I did. I met with a lovely woman by the name Anu." Still talking, he took out his watch, and opened it up. "She told me of this land, and pointed me towards your---" The old man shook his watch. "Sister..." He knocked the fob watch's face, and frowned. "Bloody thing," he said with extreme disdain. "I can never remember which one of these things works." He then tucked the watch back into his left waistcoat pocket, and reorganized the beads which held the pocket shut. Suddenly, a rush of blood shot into the back of his head. “A… watch, yes? Don’t really see to many of those in working order around here,” commented Ehno. Marcus looked up to him with a sort of dazed look. "No, no I don't imagine you do," said Marcus, lost in thought. It had been a while since Marcus remembered The Assassin.

"Ehno, correct me if I'm wrong, but in order to have crossed from Italy to Spain, you would have had to have crossed through Southern France." A small smile cracked the corner of The Musketeer's mouth. "By any chance-- have you ever had the remarkable luck to share a bourbon with Margot Lamarque?" A devilish look shot into Marcus' eyes. He shifted his cane to the right side of his body, and transferred the whole of his body weight onto it's support. It was time to remember a name.

Lamarque... In Paris, a well respected family name, host to three generations of pure, near-royal blood. In Montpellier, the last name you'd ever hear, and the most ironic name for the most prolific killer to grace the stage of Europe. Marcus had remembered the story of Margot 'The Assassin' Lamarque. The story of his broken pocket watch.

500+

Ehno Marino · 09-03-2010, 06:34 PM

[html]

So so sorry for the delay. Should be able to get back on track with everything tho.

So his newly arrived friend had met the Dreamer second-in-command. The pack would certainly be aware of his presence here, and there was no need to make the leadership aware of someone unknown wandering about the territory, however friendly he seemed to be. It wouldn't have surprised Ehno to hear that Anu might have offered the old traveler an invitation to stay with them, even if it were only a temporary stop on his journey. His interest in Savina made sense to him, given what he knew of the man so far. He was out in a far away land, surrounded by a way of life that was uncommon in Europe nowadays. Of course he would want to seek out someone else who had arrived here from across the sea.

There was a slight twitch to the Marino's ear as he was addressed, listening intently. Margot Lamarque, Ehno thought, digging through his memories in search of any familiarity the name might be associated with. The Lamarque name held a vaguely familiar ring, but the Dreamer could only remember it as part of a slew of names he heard tossed around when he had traveled briefly through France. Ehno had departed with a group of merchants on their way west after a lengthy stay in Rome. A number of weeks was spent going from settlement to settlement across the southern French countryside with the business-minded group. He was certain that he had never run into a Margot Lamarque when he was with them. "Can't say that I have. Who is he?" he asked, head tilting just slightly to the side in curiosity.

[/html]

Marcus Biscay · 09-04-2010, 04:11 PM

[html]

Not a problem, not a problem, not a problem! I've just been updating the wiki, anyways :-)

Marcus filled with nostalgia. The times he had spent in France had been great. Mind you, they had not always been good, but great was something which could always be promised. This promise was kept on every occasion the old man could think of, from the Ransack of Versailles, all the way to his stay in Toulon. Even during his departure from Europe in the Bay of Biscay, he couldn't help but gaze at the scenery in awe. It wasn't that it was anything special. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The plainness of France's landscape tickled Marcus' fancy. Eventually, he would end up missing the francophone states even more than his home in England.

Marcus laughed a fondly. It made him chuckle that Margot had been mistaken for a man once more, even without her presence being known. Back in Montpellier, Lamarque would often be mistaken for a man by tourists, and travellers. Even the locals would make the mistake now and again. Margot Lamarque stood at 5"11', and was built like a twig. She was thin shouldered, yet muscular in all the places a woman should not be. She wore a cloak, which hid all of her obvious female tellings, and spoke in the deepest, roughest voice that anyone has ever heard on a woman. Her face was that of a man's, sporting a large chin, and a profound brow. Her hair was always kept short and scruffy, and her scent was always masked by a foul collection of herbs and spices which she would mix up daily. All in all, she was one of the most unladylike figures in all of Europe. And she was proud of it.

"She," Marcus started, sending Ehno a sardonic chuckle, "was a very good friend of mine. I met her in Montpellier. Actually, she met me in Montpellier." Marcus's jowls widened, and he began to laugh to himself. Most of his encounters with Margot had been drunken arguments, which would lead to stumbling sword-fights in the street, which would lead to to a misplaced gunshot into a piece of pottery, which would finally lead to another drunken argument over 'the proper rules of engagement'. But this was not the story, the first time Marcus and Margot met. "And I say Bourbon loosely, of course. She would likely drink anything you gave her. Scotch, Whiskey, Rum, Vodka; you can just about name your game with her." He grew slightly serious in tone, but his smile remained. "She wasn't always like that though. Before, she was the straightest dog I've ever seen." An old finger pointed to a pocket watch, resting in a waistcoat pocket. "This one doesn't work." The finger moved to the opposite pocket. "This one does." And then back again. "Would you care to hear this story?"

500+

Ehno Marino · 09-27-2010, 08:09 PM

[html]

Oh wow, that "Who is he" mistake was totally a typo on my part. XD; We'll just say Ehno had a derp derp moment then, lol.

Ehno hadn’t created many memories for himself during his brief foray through France, so it came as no surprise that he could not recall ever meeting this Margot Lamarque, regardless of how prominent a figure she supposedly was. And of course, the old man was quick to correct Ehno’s flub of referring to Margot as a man, the chuckle that accompanied the correction causing a brief and embarrassed grin to flash upon the Italian’s features. He didn’t often make mistakes like that, but he supposed the silly mistake was forgiven as his companion continued on to explain who she was.

Margot was apparently a friend of the old traveler, one who had quite the love for a good drink, if the old man’s words were anything to go by. Amber eyes flashed briefly to the watch and the coat pocket as they were addressed before returning their attention to the old man’s features as he asked if Ehno would care to hear the story. A lover of adventure and teller of tales himself, Ehno was quite eager to hear the story of Margot Lamarque and the broken pocket watch. Judging from what he was beginning to learn about his new pack mate and the brief description he’d offered of his friend Margot, he was certain this story would be an interesting one. He nodded, lips forming into an eager smile. “I’d love to hear it, if you’re willing to share.”

[/html]

Login




Remember me Lost Password?