Serpentis Family/Erik Eyolf/Commoner's Compendium - Part V

The Tale of Naismith Willarc

Roleplay from Naismith Willarc

"PHEWOOOEY! Harhar! Your just a commoner, a worthless piece of dung!" The burly sailor called out to a man hastily carrying scrolls and an armful of vital regional documents.

"Yar, me seafaring mates, lets go pound that man yonder to pulp just for the fun of it! After all, us sailors are right up next in line to nobility!" The man drawled, obviously a bit drunk from too many tankards of ale.

"Yarrr! Hur hur!" His mates called out in return, just as drunk.

"Yiiipes! Don't! Stop! Ahhhh! Don't hurt me! Mercy, mercy!" The man whom had become the painted target shouted out, waving his arms whilst miraculously keeping hold of all the swaying parchments and scrolls.

"Huuuurrrrr! Yer nothing but dirt you are, so shut up and let us treat you like the good-for-nothing ant whelp you are! We are sailors, and we can do as we please! Harrrrrrhurrrrrrrduurrrrrrrrrrr!" Was the response.

The man slammed against a wall and had to fight hard to keep his balance -- and grip upon the scrolls and documents he was carrying. By then, the first punch came raining down on his shoulder. A kick in the back of his left leg sent him crying aloud momentarily in pain, yet with fighting determination he held fast to the scrolls.

Another one of the sailors had caught up, and with ale heavy in his breath, he began to reach around to the man's tunic to hoist him upwards for a little more intimidation and humiliation.

...Except, the sailor, instead of doing as he had intended, crumpled to the ground clutching painfully at his back, howling curses into the cobbled stone. His mates looked first at their howling comrade, then upwards and around the nearby area for standing threats.

There were many passing townsfolk on the street, and most of them had generally moved a good distance away from the scuffle, clearly acknowledging the fact bullies and mistreatment could happen to any one of them should fate had decided so. Yet, amidst the people about, there was one crouched figure less than a few paces away with his back turned towards the fighting -- a position that suggested he was nothing more than a passing stranger stopping to check his boots for comfort.

As the two conscious sailors turned to look at chest level about the street and people around them, the crouched figure swiveled around with astonishing speed towards the duo, and with the turnabout came the whizzing SNAP of a bow smacking the sailor's foreheads with almost simultaneous event. Both men keeled over to begin howling and cursing on the cobbled street themselves, drunken insults being hurled this way and that at their unknown attacker.

The man carrying the scrolls and parchments looked up fearfully as the bow, and it's owner, drew closer to him with a swift pace. He stood up with shaken feelings and slowly backed away as the opposing man drew near.

Suddenly, the man twirled upon the three men moaning on the ground, and with a flick of his body and limbs quickly had all three men up against a nearby stone wall with their necks being slowly crushed to the weight of a pressing bow staff.

The man holding the bow staff growled in a slow, and threatening voice, one that nearby onlooker could hear, and the three men before him would never forget.

"My name is Naismith Willarc. Noble to the realm of Sirion, and Courtier On-Duty for this district of Skezard. I care not how others think of me stooping to touch what is called 'the stench of commoners and peasants', for you have done a grave error -- you have attacked one whom serves under my department for the Sirion Regional Management, and in doing so you have disrupted my progress, and efforts."

A more menacing growl echoed from deep inside the Naismith's throat, barely audible this time except to the three drunk sailors before him.

"I am Naismith Willarc. You treat innocents this way again, then you watch your life. You dare to take the life of a fellow Sirionite citizen, you forfeit your own. There are infiltrators here in Sirion that would be more than happy to pick up a hefty bounty for three sailors with a lack of respect."

Barely able to gasp hoarsely to show their immediate compliance and frantic understanding, the three men gulped a deep breath of air as the bow staff was released from their throats. Even as the local watch, signaled by the noble, came to take the drunks away and to deal with drunks as was appropriate, the three sailors were still focused on the miraculous gift of being able to breath once again, their minds not even daring to go back on the acts of the previous few minutes with the man and the scrolls.

Indeed, any man with scrolls in hand would never be looked at the same way again by the three sailors. They would later take a vow to encourage their ship captain to make hospitality for scholars, clerks, and scribes aboard their seafaring ship as comfortable as possible.

Naismith Willarc (Knight of Sermbar)

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