H130, Day 221, 6 B.P [Quicksilver, Open]

[Uathach Blackmantle]

the Armory. It was an impressive and daunting structure, dominating Sigil's grey skyline, where the pristine paved avenues of the Lady's Ward merged with the soot and ash of the Lower Ward. The ideal place for a case that espoused Entropy.

Early morning light had only just penetrated the rank haze of fog and drizzle, by the time Quicksilver approached the great steps, and stood there, gaing up at the building. The clocktowers chimed out the hour - long and low - lending the walls and the razorvine an even more sinister quality.

The razorvine's jest like me barbs. Heh, maybe I should pick some... She mused idly to herself, plucking restlessly at a matted strand of pink hair. A chill wind swept across the street then, tugging at the folds of her baladrana. She drew the dark baggy garment closer about her body, warding off the cold.

A steady influx of traffic, even for this hour, passed through the only entrance, jammed between two towers - curiously devoid of the virulent spiky weed - and were rigorously searched by the security guards. Still more bashers exited via the same doors, some proudly bearing their most recent purchases.

The Armory was, purportedly, the best place for buying and selling weapons in the Cage.

Wot coul' be better 'an givin all a tha chivs ta these berks? Quicksilver snickered at the thought, and flicked her fringe back with an irritated grunt. Goes to show how smart those sodding Hardheads were.

Silver contemplated her own weapons then; nasty spiked gauntlets of overlapping sheet metal, hard leather, and sharp spiked, bound with a rusty, bloodspattered length of barbed wire. Both looked like they hadn't been cleaned in months, and that couldn't be further from the truth. Freshly dried blood still speckled her leathers and gauntlets after her recent jaunt at the Blood Pit. She figured leaving herself in this state would help to make a good impression here.

"Now if I can find tha berk in charge 'round 'ere, maybe I can find out how ta join. I like wot I've been hearin' bout them, an I want in."

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Seeing that there weren't anyone nearby to point her in the right direction - heck, why was she even thinking that? It was her job to know where to guide the gullible and clueless! - she strode toward the entrace, and mounted the steps.

Flipping her cloak over one shoulder, revealing a taut athletic body sheathed in a second skin of black leather, she approaches the security guards.

"Oiy, bashers, woul' any of ye be knowin who I speak to fer membership? I like yer way o' lookin' at things. Now, I coul' be tryin to wow ye wit some fancy-pants shiny speach an' all, but I'm sure ye've 'eard it all afore. I lead by example, not me words." She says with a lopsided smile, and a deadly gleam in her flinty eyes; casually hooking her thumbs in her sword-belt, where her vicious gauntlets are prominently displayed, rather than hidden beneath her baladrana.

[Stix]

A bored-looking days-unshaven human in studded leather regards Silver with a glance and nod. He loosens and tightens his grip on the hilt of his bastard sword as a restless fidget.

"We don't get a lotta bashers on our doorstep knockin' for entry. Usually, new namers come in with a sponsor who's led 'em through initiation.

"Ya could look for Roenthad, he's always glad to see new people. About the biggest bariaur ya ever seen, horns wrapped in wire like ya got there," he says, gesturing to one gauntlet. "Jus' saw him a few minutes ago, he's like as not still on the sellin' floor." He gestures with one thumb over his shoulder, clearing her to enter if she so chooses.

[Uathach Blackmantle]

"Roenthad, aye?" Silver echoes, still grinning at the bored guard. She stretches her fingers and cracks her knuckles, without even being aware of the action. It's become a restless habit of hers, second nature almost... like changing her hairstyle as fashion or whim dictated, or refusing to clean her gauntlets. Keeps things interesting that way, and certainly never dull.

"Thanks basher. I'll be seein' ye 'round, maybe, if'n ye're the sort ta band 'round the Blood Pit." She nods, and struts through the doors.

What made her stop and stare was the sheer size of the place. Never before had she seen so many weapons of such variety and style, some commonplace others so exotic she would've never dreamed they'd exist, all displayed under the one roof. As a monument, museum and warehouse of the art of warfare, it was truly a frightful and awe inspiring sight.

Her footsteps rang out on the floor of the exhibition all, and were quickly muffled by the sounds all around her; footsteps, a distant clanging and the roar of a forgefire, muted voices, muffled fighting... all of it came together as a dissonance that was strangely beautiful.

It was like coming home again; of a sort anyway, for this capricious vagabond at heart.

Quickly she crossed the floor to a desk jammed against the wall. "Basher, I'm lookin fer the sellin' floor..." The words had scarcely passed her lips before the reed-thin man pointed to a door on the right, and smirked at her.

Turning that way, she strode inside, and glanced about the busy room; trying to catch a glimpse of the one the guard called "Roenthad."

[Stix]

"So 'e says t'me, 'Oy, berk, I'll nick ye fer that!' An' 'e did," a basso voice rumbles throughout the Armory antechamber.

Roenthad, an enormous bariaur with the Doomguard symbol dyed into his gray-white pelt, points out a long, fresh scar that starts at his withers and runs halfway to his flank. "B'fore I even had my chivs, the cross-trader jagged to my left an' scored me deep. 'Course, that piked me off, and the best of him ended up strung across m' horns!" His booming laughter drowns out that of the salesman; it sounds surprisingly good-natured for such grisly subject matter.

He draws one scimitar from its sheath at his hip, revealing the battered blade for anyone to see before setting it down heavily on the table. "An' that's the way it all happened. So I'll be needin' a new one o' these. Again." He shares a chuckle with the sales clerk, beginning to count out gold and silver from a belt pouch.

He glances sidelong to Quicksilver to let her know that she's been noticed, but doesn't go out of his way to start up a conversation.

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Quicksilver nods at Roenthad, and strides through the crowd to stand alongside the hulking Sinker. "Greetins, cutter. I've heard ye're the one who takes on new recruits; shows 'em the ropes of how things're done 'round 'ere." She flicks her fringe off her face, and absently trails a finger along the freshest scar adorning her cheek in the same idle gesture.

"The name's Silver - Quicksilver. I've been makin' a name fer meself 'round the Blood Pit since me arrival 'ere. I like yer philosophy, cutter; sits well wit tha way I think, an' I'm interested in joinin." She flexes her fingers and cracks her knuckles, slowly; one by one, easing the tension from the joints, and runs a finger around her own coiled length of barbed wire.

[Stix]

"It's a late night f'r me -- probably already light outside. Meet me here tonight, antipeak," the bariaur says plainly. "If you're a blood enough survive initiation, you're in."

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Apr 16, 2008 10:20:44 GMT -5 Stix said:

"It's a late night f'r me -- probably already light outside. Meet me here tonight, antipeak," the bariaur says plainly. "If you're a blood enough survive initiation, you're in."

Quicksilver nods. "I'll be 'ere, cutter." She says with a pleased smile. "I'll see ya then." Taking her leave of the hulking bariaur, she struts away; pulling the hood of her baladrana over her head again as she steps outside into the rain.

[Shall I start a new thread with a different time stamp, Stix?]

[Stix]

(Sorry I didn't get back to this thread sooner. Please do.)