Once Karstone's eyes dropped upon the old sea captain, who had been focusing intently upon their entourage from a slouched position on an ancient armchair in the corner of the ogrin hall, and widened in awe, Ryle picked himself up and quaffed the remainder of his drink. It was a dark blue cider or wine, produced by the beasts upon his request, as the old armchair had been from the loot of pillaged human homes; when the drink was done, he emptied his phlegm into the crude vessel.
He strode directly over to Karstone, his own wild, green eyes lighting up child-like with excitement. In them swam the promises of adventure, killing, conquest, new openings, new things. Everything for which Ryle still took breath (whether he truly did or not).
For a few moments, he stood before Karstone, seemingly oblivious of, or ignoring pointedly, the rest of the inhabitants of the room, even the Big Fat that straddled the hideous green pool in the centre of the dark chamber.
Then he thrust out his hand for the old man to shake. His strained, toothy smirk melded into a cordial grin.
"'Ello me ole messmate!" The corsair boomed. "Wot a pleasure, ey? The 'ole gang a-united if yer please, harharrharr. Lemme tell yer, eh. I got eyes on it." He blinked like an owl for effect. "Harr. Yer know me, eh? Ryle Emeraldyun. At yore service, 'earty."
He stepped back, flourishing his hands. "Pardon me digressin', yore majesty," he addressed the Big Fat. "I ain't wun fer ... lissenin' really. The ole age yer unnerstand. But we know our business I believe."
He bade for Karstone or whoever else to continue their conversation; comfortable that he and the Big Fat had previously resolved any issues that might have arisen from new relations amongst the ogrin peoples for the slave trade. Not many, it was apparent. But whilst he sought more of the toxic wine from an ogress beast, he held an ear open, in case it turned out that anything else would.
'Oo are ya
17-Jun-2016 17:06:55