Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jan 2, 2019 12:57:29 GMT -8
The man on the floor was decisively unable to fight anymore as both bones and spirit were broken, his fear of the drow in front of him far more prevalent than that of Lord Volypdaktos whom he hadn't even met. The same was the case with the one Vithkun had cut in the leg and seeing as Myra had the front covered Vithkun put his weight through his knee and into the back of the opponent keeping the perpetrator down as he draw the elvish words of 'iron' in the back of the guy laying face down in the floor. A brief moment later his cloak now had the weight and texture of cast iron - something Vithkun anticipated would keep him there for the time being.
"Myra... I'll be your backup and keep and eye on these two and make sure that one doesn't escape." he said firmly and nodded towards the last one as he drew his sword standing with his back covering the door.
The cloaked man that was the last one standing almost hissed seeing his companions defeated that easily - these two elves were definitely no pushovers, that much was clear. He had to be cautious. "Then you leave me no choice, I'll sacrifice you in the name of Lord Volypdaktos." he said and smirked as he drew out what could barely be called a dagger. Completely obsidian the thing had a hilt, cross guard and a blade only the blade was akin to a writhing worm who's pointy - yet eyeless - face constantly wriggled searching for something or someone to dig into.
"You haven't tasted pain and death before you've tasted this dagger my Lord personally forged me!" he said and moved towards Myra keeping just outside striking distance slowly circling her while having half an eye on Vithkun and trying not to turn his back to him - searching for the perfect opportunity to strike. One would be enough - any place would do.
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jan 2, 2019 14:10:06 GMT -8
Vithkun reassuring her that he had the others handled was all she needed to hear. Her trust in him was implicitly placed. Their betrayal would come soon enough when either of them decided that the other was not worth the loss of the jewel. Myra already believed that her losing it would be a matter of choice instead of a matter of lack of skill. Vithkun was effected by her power and with a flick of her white hair out of her face so was she. The man before her was threatening with all his might. A true conman he had the ability to lie almost with impunity.
Sensing his motive now was less about lying and more about true belief the blade was carved in such a way that she feared it to start. Wickedly sharp and twisted the obsidian of the blade was not a normal sight and one she had never seen before. His gesturing and rabbit like behavior and the way that he shifted from one foot to the other with his eyes doing the same in regards to both her and Vith she snarled with her expression one lip raised.
“There is no way you would be able to take us both, you would dishonor your god by taking away his servant, drop your weapon now and I will not harm you.”
Making no promises as to her companion she did not like the idea of one on one combat with a dagger. It was difficult and her weapon required closeness of a sort and getting next to him risked getting stabbed by the dagger itself.
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jan 3, 2019 23:29:36 GMT -8
The cloaked man grinned as Myra spoke about giving up - it was not his intention. "So you do know fear? It is only natural when confronted with one of the initiates of Lord Volypdaktos!" he threatened and bared his teeth. In truth he shared Myra's concern, he would have to get awfully close to the drow and risk suffering the same blunt trauma as his colleague - or worse. In the same way this dagger only struck once per day and thus he would have the wrath of the second elf upon him if he managed to win against her, but as an initiate he was tasked with this and need to figure out a way to succeed.
"You know what?" he said and stopped his circling around for a bit. "Let me leave. My business with the mayor is already concluded and I left him no harm. I am to leave this town immediately anyway. Those two you can do with what you want, and then you won't risk the wrath of Lord Volypdaktos - yet." he said and glanced at Myra with half slitted eyes as the guy Myra had struck looked at the cloaked man in disbelief.
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jan 4, 2019 4:58:35 GMT -8
Fear, the word slipped from his slithering mouth like a worm from the ground in fresh rain, he'd been goaded into believing that it was smart to do the same in return to her after her refusal of his offer. His offer earlier had been refused simply because of the crass nature of his treatment of the mayor. Her instincts were keen enough to judge that Volydaktos was not who he seemed. Calling him lord did not make the word more respectable. Should she have addressed anyone in that manner it would be when they earned respect enough. Vithkun had been called his highness as a nickname that was shameful at first, in the dwarven kingdom it had been come respectful, and now she said it as an endearment without realizing the slight shift in how it was spoken.
Grip tightening around the edge of the leather hilt her knuckles began to turn white through her dark skin. It was a poor sign as was her continued silence as the man gave up his colleagues. Fairly certain that relying now on the testimony of the other two they would lead her to this so called 'Lord' without hesitation. Or with a slight bit of threatening which she could not deny she enjoyed and hated the idea of it. Backing up a step it was strategic in nature as the Mayor, who had been witness to the events thus far, had a main chair and had taken to standing behind it. It suited her needs as she moved her morningstar to her left hand holding it more loosely there.
"I generally do not wish harm on any living creature," once again she sounded almost accepting of his offer her right hand resting upon the edge of the armrest as if she were tired and leaning towards it, "But I think I might be able to make an exception," while she spoke she dropped her morningstar and reached over with her left hand grasping the chair firmly and then chucking it directly at the man. It was with great force and intent that it went flying through the air and she was already reaching back down to scoop up her morningstar.
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jan 6, 2019 23:52:19 GMT -8
He stepped from side to side trying to find that opening and took her words and body language as they were presented. Finally was his chance in plain sight and he took a decisive step forward with a hiss but although he was aware that Myra might try to block he wasn't prepared for what she happened to throw towards him right then and there and as he instinctively raised his arms to block the chair it would hit his arms with no weapon to effectively block the force of the chair. The cloaked man toppled backwards as he dropped his dagger the chair splintering around him.
The cloaked man would quickly try to regain his sense of direction searching for the dagger on the floor. There it was! He saw it laying there only a few feet from him and his hand reached for it as he looked up trying to already decide his next move. But the dagger had been lost in Myra's direction and was laying quite close to her feet and as he looked up she would be right there...
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jan 7, 2019 0:04:28 GMT -8
The chair splintering the throw had been forceful enough to toss down a grown man and it appeared that her aim had been true enough to nestle the chair against his arm and other features as he landed backwards. His scrambling was a rather amusing as it was almost cartoonish the fold of his long cloak barring against any ease in rising but he never tried, he simply searched for that which he thought might assist him even now. Fortunately for both Vith and Myra it landed rather spectacularly before her and should he have regained any sense of propriety he might have never reached for the blasted thing. As it were either his hand would end up beneath her boot or she would cover the hilt before he made it that far. Drawing it back with her heel but keeping her weight on it or crushing his fingers she was scooping up her own weapon with her left hand. She'd bent at the knees and not at the waist in order to keep him in sight her fingers clutching around the leather wrap and bringing it where it rested across her knee.
"The lord you follow must be of poor standard to allow your sniveling to continue like this. Such underhanded tactics are only suitable for a sly fox and yet you possess none of the wisdom of that creature and thus it is a poor comparison to even bundle you together. Perhaps insulting to the fox," back to normal volume she cared not who heard or what they thought for this was truly her feelings and while earlier she had been skipping around the matter now she gave it her full attention admonishing her disgust openly.
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jan 8, 2019 7:32:36 GMT -8
Myra was being particularly hard on this guy Vithkun thought as a smile crept up his cheek. But he liked it and she wasn't herself when she was being overly polite and he almost preferred her scolding him than to being called 'your highness' in that tone.
At the same time the cloaked man reached for the dagger though the boot of Myra had been firmly placed upon its hilt. "You... you dare insult me by comparing me to a creature so far beneath my evolution!" he said and flared up forgetting his predicament completely as he clenched his fist and threw it towards Myra aiming to place it in the middle of her face to shut her up.
Vithkun noticed the anger going right through him and was ready to assist, but he knew also that Myra was ready for most and that this attack was something she'd deal with.
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jan 8, 2019 13:37:17 GMT -8
History had a way of repeating itself in some ways. This man was arrogant, far beyond his right to be, but he was also a heretic which was a far cry from her original memory of Vith. His swing was wide, too much so and obvious his anger rising as had hers. The problem was in his case that hers fueled her ferocity and focus while his only weakened his judgment. Meeting fist with an open palm she would intent on forcing his wrist backwards and placing him on his knees if all went well. If somehow she missed and he made contact her face would turn only slightly at the impact as she had braced for it. He had better to brace himself as she had no care for cowards and fools and her mace would have already been swinging.
“I beg to differ,” she stated with either conclusion, “I’ve decided that I was correct the first time it is more insulting to the fox to compare you to it than the other way around.”
Her opinion was truly poor in regards to the man before her. It did not change in the next few moments. His sniveling was too much to handle and he would be no help in regards to finding his so called master. If he had been lowered to his knees she would use the butt of the mace in order to crack him across the head to crumple him to the floor.
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jan 8, 2019 14:53:42 GMT -8
Indeed the rage that the cloaked man possessed was not that of strengthening his resolve but that of frustration. Thus his fist was stopped short when Myra caught it mid air and he was bend back to his knees. "Aaargh...! You fiend!" he exclaimed through the pain. But before much else could be done the pommel of Myra's mace hit him right in the forehead taking him right out as his body dropped limp to the floor.
"He had that coming." Vith simply stated offering him simply a quick sidelong glance before he focused at the mayor. "You... How did it come to this?" Vithkun asked the mayor with a piercing gaze. In his mind the weakness of the mayor had been a contributing force in placing the city in this predicament.
The mayor took a careful step forwards nervously looking at both Myra and Vithkun. "They... they just came one day and gave me a week signing their contract. They were many... all with twisted faces talking as if every word was a curse. Today is the deadline and these followers of them came..." he said and fell to his knees. "They'll be taking it by force if they find out about this..." he said having seemingly given up on this having any positive outcome and had all but forgotten to ask who the two elves were.
"B-but who are you? And why did you interfere so determinedly?" the mayor asked as it dawned to him.
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jan 8, 2019 15:01:29 GMT -8
He had but taking enjoyment out of silencing the irritating little bug was not appropriate given the situation. Silencing one would not silence the mass of followers who were bound to appear. Still she could not help but give Vith a look of smug satisfaction with the smallest smile that she quickly his behind a hand pretending to wipe something away from her mouth. Though her words could not portray falsehoods she could do so with body language. Poorly trained there on hiding her emotions it did little good as she was often an open boon with no care put into covering her true feelings even if she did keep her trap shut.
“For the same reasons I had already told him. Oppression is a cowards plaything and I will not stand idly by and neither would my companion,” Myra’s opinion of Vithkun had risen highly but it was the opinion of one who judged him by his actions with her. When he had quieted fire with rain before claiming it was nothing she had seen his true self. When he had stood by her when they faced Annonai she knew him to be fair if not demanding, and when he had kissed her she knew that he wanted more than he could express at times. Even if he claimed it to be falsehood and she believed him due to her own confidence in the spark that flew between them being fleeting.
“Now,” glancing to the man she had put on the ground initially she softened, “A sheep can change and not blindly follow. We shall help you if you help us.”
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Dirk Smithson
Established
Confessing
Roleplay posts: 49
Age: 32
Physical Description: Six feet and some change, heavy set, but muscular. Often wears heavy armor and uses a morningstar, but isn't overly attached to any one weapon. His face is often bruised from battle, though he's been able to keep most of his features intact.
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Clothes and Equipment: A heavy suit of armor and no weapons.
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Player's online availability : Frequent
Registered: Nov 16, 2017 20:23:26 GMT -8
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Post by Dirk Smithson on Jan 9, 2019 11:12:12 GMT -8
How long had it been since he'd been here? Well, not here. He didn't think he'd been in this place before. But here, in this situation? An insistent, forlorn gurgle arose from his stomach. It was more complaining, than expecting any fresh meal to grace it. After all, alone with no money or weapons in the middle of the winding forests, it was much more likely that Dirk Smithson would be the one gracing some other creatures stomach. It seemed like ages since he'd left (or more aptly: fled) from home, and what did he have to show for it? Even the old morningstar he'd started with had been taken from him. By the Empress of Isra herself! That was something of an accomplishment...had he not been forced to shovel shit for a few weeks afterwards.
The past didn't mean much to him now, though. It was the present that was most concerning. If he didn't find something to eat, he'd surely starve. Yet, he couldn't help but consider what had happened to him that long year ago now. He'd been on a road quite like this when that starving bandit had ambushed him. Not only that, he himself had taken up the bandit profession. (albeit not with any actual success.) Perhaps he could resort to that now? Shake down a traveler for food? Of course, that had never gone well before. Besides, unless he was willing to use one of the old gnarled branches that littered the path, he had no steel to flash.
Drawing to a stop, the failed mercenary spotted an acceptable stump, deciding upon it for a seat as he settled down onto the partially rotted wood. It was only midmorning, yet he ached insufferably. With each step clouds of minuscule insects rose like a fine mist so far from civilization and, taking his seat he heaved an enormous sigh. He had to do something, he knew that. Maybe his next stroke of luck was right around the corner.
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Thaddeus
New
Roleplay posts: 3
Age: 37
Physical Description: 5'9" caucasian, medium build. Has dark straight hair reaching just above the shoulders, increasingly receding as strands of grey have begun to appear in the past few years, and a rough beard from weeks living rough on the road without shaving. His dark piercing eyes often staring deep in thought below a sharp brow. Deep voiced, yet soft spoken, he is rarely the first to respond having trained for years to observe and listen before speaking.
Clothes and Equipment: Dressed modestly in a simple long shirt and trousers, with a leather coat fastened by a simple belt, he has chosen to leave his habit behind him (though he has retained the separate grey hood worn as a sign of his position in the monastic order). On his feet he has a simple solid pair of leather boots, worn in places from having been forced to repair them himself.
Thaddeus wears a small wooden buckler shield across his back, and carries a large wooden staff that acts both as a walking stick, and as a non-lethal weapon.
He carries few small possessions such as a spare shirt, a simple cutlery set, a flint and steel, and a small leather pouch with a handful of coins, enough to buy a couple of days worth of food, and a night or two in an inn (however he spends most nights sleeping rough). His most valuable possession is his quill, small bottle of ink and bound leather book that contains his writings from time spent in study at the monastery.
Registered: Jan 8, 2019 13:12:00 GMT -8
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Post by Thaddeus on Jan 9, 2019 11:50:39 GMT -8
It was only the third night away from the monastery and already Thaddeus was ready to return. After only a few uncomfortable hours dozing by a tree stump for a night's rest, the confident strides he had began his journey with had quickly turned into aching lurches along a seemingly endless road. He hoped that the path he was on would at least take him closer to a bed, or at least ground not crawling with insects and tree roots digging painfully into his rear. His stomach began to growl. Under normal circumstances, he was used to the sensation of hunger, having taken on various fasts on multiple occasions, however when combined with his other aliments the gnawing felt much more severe. I shall have to eat soon, thought the monk, as he reached into his satchel an felt for the last hunk of bread among his meagre possessions. Brother Matthias had packed him food for at least four days travel, and as a surprise gift, a slice of his favourite cake. Thaddeus patted the paper package that wrapped it, he would save that for last. Scanning the road ahead he searched for any sign that he would soon reach an inn, or perhaps even a farmhouse where he could trade his services for some supplies. The road ahead seemed as empty as the road behind, just another mile of wooded highlands. Suddenly he paused at the flash of sunlight just off the path, something, or someone appeared to be seated on a rotting tree stump a few hundred yards ahead. As he slowly approached he could see that indeed, there was a man in armour resting, his sunken face and aching posture suggested one of great need.
It was the first person he had encountered along his journey so far, and a mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he tried to find the right words to call out to the stranger. "Hello there! Maker be praised, this is a fine meeting."
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Dirk Smithson
Established
Confessing
Roleplay posts: 49
Age: 32
Physical Description: Six feet and some change, heavy set, but muscular. Often wears heavy armor and uses a morningstar, but isn't overly attached to any one weapon. His face is often bruised from battle, though he's been able to keep most of his features intact.
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Clothes and Equipment: A heavy suit of armor and no weapons.
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Player's online availability : Frequent
Registered: Nov 16, 2017 20:23:26 GMT -8
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Post by Dirk Smithson on Jan 9, 2019 12:13:49 GMT -8
With a start, Dirk hauled himself from his seat with less alacrity than he'd hoped. Hunger and heavy armor were the enemies to quick reflexes, after all, and as he turned to face the stranger he realized with relief that the man did not look immediately hostile. In fact, at a glance he would assume him to be one of two things: A pilgrim or some kind of magical wizard. Eying the stout oak staff the man held, Dirk raised a hand in greetings though kept his distance.
"Greetin's," he replied, turning his attention once more to the man. "Maker's 'right nice if he's ta put th'two of us on the same path so far out 'ere." he offered diplomatically. His accent was thick, but not impossible to parse with a little concentration. "You ain't a wizard are ya?" he added, trying not to seem too hostile so soon after meeting. After all, if this man was a wizard and decided that turning him into a duck was preferable to answering stupid questions he at least wanted to be able to put some distance between them. Despite his attempts to seem nonchalant, however, he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, hunger momentarily forgotten.
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Thaddeus
New
Roleplay posts: 3
Age: 37
Physical Description: 5'9" caucasian, medium build. Has dark straight hair reaching just above the shoulders, increasingly receding as strands of grey have begun to appear in the past few years, and a rough beard from weeks living rough on the road without shaving. His dark piercing eyes often staring deep in thought below a sharp brow. Deep voiced, yet soft spoken, he is rarely the first to respond having trained for years to observe and listen before speaking.
Clothes and Equipment: Dressed modestly in a simple long shirt and trousers, with a leather coat fastened by a simple belt, he has chosen to leave his habit behind him (though he has retained the separate grey hood worn as a sign of his position in the monastic order). On his feet he has a simple solid pair of leather boots, worn in places from having been forced to repair them himself.
Thaddeus wears a small wooden buckler shield across his back, and carries a large wooden staff that acts both as a walking stick, and as a non-lethal weapon.
He carries few small possessions such as a spare shirt, a simple cutlery set, a flint and steel, and a small leather pouch with a handful of coins, enough to buy a couple of days worth of food, and a night or two in an inn (however he spends most nights sleeping rough). His most valuable possession is his quill, small bottle of ink and bound leather book that contains his writings from time spent in study at the monastery.
Registered: Jan 8, 2019 13:12:00 GMT -8
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Post by Thaddeus on Jan 9, 2019 12:41:18 GMT -8
Thaddeus watched as the man before him struggled to find his footing, rising to stand awkwardly at a distance that implied the monk was seen as a threat. Great start there Thad, first person you talk to already wants to get away. The man returned the greeting, with a thick unfamiliar accent. Thaddeus caught the question though.
A wizard? He wasn't too familiar with wizards, though he knew of their existence, there was something of a dispute between their pagan practices and dabbling in magic, and what The Order taught and he himself believed. With a slightly relieved sigh, he responded with a shake of his head. "No, no. I'm a monk of The Order of ..." he began to notice the man's obvious discomfort, perhaps this wasn't the time for sermons. "You know, that's not all that important. Are you alright? You don't look it." He reached out his free arm in a gesture intended to set the man at ease. Perhaps the Maker had brought this man to him in an hour of need that he might be able to minister to him?
"I don't have much to offer, but..." he rummaged into his satchel, "you look like you could do with some food at least." He was halfway toward offering out the item he held when he realised he wasn't holding the bread. And I'd been looking forward to that cake too.
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Dirk Smithson
Established
Confessing
Roleplay posts: 49
Age: 32
Physical Description: Six feet and some change, heavy set, but muscular. Often wears heavy armor and uses a morningstar, but isn't overly attached to any one weapon. His face is often bruised from battle, though he's been able to keep most of his features intact.
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Clothes and Equipment: A heavy suit of armor and no weapons.
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Player's online availability : Frequent
Registered: Nov 16, 2017 20:23:26 GMT -8
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Post by Dirk Smithson on Jan 9, 2019 13:06:22 GMT -8
A monk? Well that was a relief. Dirk couldn't say he'd seen many monks himself, but they were like priests right? Holy men, and there was no way a holy man would want to hurt him! Once assured he was not confronted by a witch or wizard Dirk's immediate restless attitude settled down. When asked if he was alright, Dirk reached up, scratching his chin. "Just a bit hungry," he confessed and when this curious monk held out the loaf of bread, Dirk's haggard expression tightened into a grin. Closing the distance between them he cast caution to the wind as he took the sweet cake, unwrapping it and shoveling it into his mouth before he could so much as utter his gratitude. Horking it ravenously he tipped his head back, dumping the crumbs left on the waxy paper into his mouth. With a sigh of contentment he seemed to remember that he was stood in front of the expectant priest.
"Thank ya Father, haven't eaten in days; seems like." he offered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before offering said hand to the man before him. "Name's Dirk Smithson at yer service. What brings a priests way out 'ere?"
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jan 9, 2019 13:27:48 GMT -8
The mayor seemed to have a hard time understanding her reasons, because although reasonable enough courage rarely popped up its head up here and when it did it was often told to go back to sleep. They had survived here a long time by laying low and being of little importance, but it seemed as thought the mayor was ready to accept that this wouldn't do anymore. "You're right... we can't be cowering here any longer!" he said and straightened his back. "Those types and the monsters won't get their march!" he said determined and clenched his fist as the guy Myra had downed gave the mayor an angry gaze - only it vanished as Myra turned towards him. "What... do you mean? You say you'll pardon me if only I help you? What a ludicrous thought, Lord Volypdaktos can't be beaten be the likes of you!" he answered Myra as Vith was working on stripping the downed man of his cloak. "This could be handy in getting closer to that guy..." Vithkun pointed out trying the cloak on. "I'm an underworld elf now..!" he said and spun halfway around showing it off as a grin formed. "Your skin will give them the right idea too!" Vithkun joked. Story continued on: The Crimson Ascend
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Thaddeus
New
Roleplay posts: 3
Age: 37
Physical Description: 5'9" caucasian, medium build. Has dark straight hair reaching just above the shoulders, increasingly receding as strands of grey have begun to appear in the past few years, and a rough beard from weeks living rough on the road without shaving. His dark piercing eyes often staring deep in thought below a sharp brow. Deep voiced, yet soft spoken, he is rarely the first to respond having trained for years to observe and listen before speaking.
Clothes and Equipment: Dressed modestly in a simple long shirt and trousers, with a leather coat fastened by a simple belt, he has chosen to leave his habit behind him (though he has retained the separate grey hood worn as a sign of his position in the monastic order). On his feet he has a simple solid pair of leather boots, worn in places from having been forced to repair them himself.
Thaddeus wears a small wooden buckler shield across his back, and carries a large wooden staff that acts both as a walking stick, and as a non-lethal weapon.
He carries few small possessions such as a spare shirt, a simple cutlery set, a flint and steel, and a small leather pouch with a handful of coins, enough to buy a couple of days worth of food, and a night or two in an inn (however he spends most nights sleeping rough). His most valuable possession is his quill, small bottle of ink and bound leather book that contains his writings from time spent in study at the monastery.
Registered: Jan 8, 2019 13:12:00 GMT -8
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Post by Thaddeus on Jan 9, 2019 13:33:39 GMT -8
A bit hungry was perhaps an understatement, thought Thaddeus as he watched the man before him devour the cake like a starving animal attacking it's prey, turning his head away embarrassed as the crumbs were dumped unceremoniously into the mouth. Poor man must not have eaten in weeks. Thaddeus allowed a smile to creep onto his face, clearly he had done the right thing. His attention returned as the thanks came, from the man now known to be named Dirk. "Brother Thaddeus," taking the outstretched hand in greeting, careful to stress his proper title, "and I'm not a priest. Well not yet." Whether or not he ever would be was still a question he didn't have an answer for, but it was an option the Maker might provide. "That's why I'm here, I'm on a journey to learn what position I am called to." Sensing that food was not the only thing Dirk required, he returned the question. "What besides the will of the Maker has brought you to this place Dirk? I've travelled without sight of another for three days, and you are a long way out to be in such poor condition."
A part of him dreaded the answer to that question, a heavily armoured man struggling by the side of the road was not a good sign that the road ahead was safe. "Tell me, are we much farther from an inn?"
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Lucan Darksbane
Established
"Who stole my pants?!"
Roleplay posts: 32
Age: 23
Physical Description: 6'2'' A lean 213 lbs very athletic
He is broad shouldered and toned.
His hair is silver and unkempt. He has a very handsome face with a scar over his left eye. His eye is a piercing silver.
Clothes and Equipment: His clothes are tattered and dirty but upon closer inspection, it has the look of a nobleman's garbs. The only thing he had kept is a pair of silver signet rings that he wears on his neck. He always has some sort of alcohol on him and stays drunk.
Allegiances: To himself and his partner
Registered: Jan 12, 2019 8:20:02 GMT -8
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Post by Lucan Darksbane on Jan 31, 2019 2:37:39 GMT -8
Ambush. That was Lucan's brilliant and drunken idea. Setting this up with a belly full of rum was another thing. The day before he and stole, clumsily stolen, a woodsman's ax. He fully intended to return it. If he could remember where the guy lived. Having spent the next day cutting down a tree he then dragged it until the road. So there he laid, on top of a chopped log drinking the rest of a bottle of rum and planning to open another.
He laid waiting for a specific caravan of his own families', well at least he hoped. The information wasn't easily pried from a caravan hand, using a large amount of alcohol and a few broken furniture in a tavern to do so. He had been raiding these caravans on uncharted roads on the way between Isra and it's intended destination. It wasn't easy but it was a message to whoever is responsible for the frame job. It was even harder to fence the items that were stolen with a price on his head but he wasn't going to take his exile lightly.
"Ah damn, where is this damn caravan?" He cursed as he threw another empty bottle of rum in the woods. He was now on his fourth bottle in a matter of 6 hours, his face was a cherry red but other than that his body showed no other indication of being intoxicated. ”I swear if I missed it.." He said his words trailing off as he fell asleep, his bowstaff resting against his chest, his arm wrapping around it as if he was spooning it.
His outfit was tattered, but upon close inspection, they were once a nobleman's garb. The shirt was untied slightly exposing part of his chiseled chest, the only thing of value was a necklace holding two silver rings with a strange crest on it. Anyone from Isra would recognize the crest as one of the major trading families, an old merchant family. Tragedy struck the family when the head of the house was murdered and the son was named as the murderer.
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Tashi
Established
Roleplay posts: 26
Age: 20
Physical Description: Though not tall, Tashi has a lean, pear-shaped figure. Her skin has not bronzed like many of those in the steppes, but she is also not startlingly pale, either.
Her black hair is as long as her knees, normally braided or tied in a bun or topknot.
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She has sharp features, and her lips are always turned up gently in a smile.
Clothes and Equipment: Veils, hoods, cowls, and dresses are often part of Tashi's wardrobe. Baggy, but decorative trousers and shirts are worn more often during travel.
Almost permanently on her person are two fans. One is an iron fan, decorated with the pattern of a fierce bull. The other is a razor-edged throwing fan, upon with is a hummingbird.
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Registered: Dec 4, 2018 10:37:49 GMT -8
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Post by Tashi on Feb 8, 2019 16:13:21 GMT -8
Luckily for the young drunk, a collection of horse-drawn carriages had just begun to travel down the popular road. There were roughly four carriages each, two horses each carriage, and roughly four riders alongside them, all armed. It made sense that they had hired protection. Their wares were expensive and bandits were popular along this particular road. Something seemed amiss, however. Only four hired hands to protect the caravan? Well, it seems they were also quite cheap.
One of these riders stood out from the rest. Though most chose armors and clothing more suitable for the brisk weather, one woman was dressed in bright, eye-catching blues that one could pick out even in the dead of night. Though lined with fur at the neck, her dress was sleeveless. Long leather gloves reached her elbows but left her arms exposed. The dress didn't even reach her knees, and beneath it, she wore thin leggings and boots. Nothing about the chilly air seemed to bother her, however: there was a small smile on her face as she rode.
She was pale and had delicate, fine features, and a slight, athletic frame. Attached to a belt around her hips were two fans, highly decorative, made with dyed silk cloth. It was a mystery that someone who looked more like a princess was riding out among the ruffians guarding the caravan.
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Lucan Darksbane
Established
"Who stole my pants?!"
Roleplay posts: 32
Age: 23
Physical Description: 6'2'' A lean 213 lbs very athletic
He is broad shouldered and toned.
His hair is silver and unkempt. He has a very handsome face with a scar over his left eye. His eye is a piercing silver.
Clothes and Equipment: His clothes are tattered and dirty but upon closer inspection, it has the look of a nobleman's garbs. The only thing he had kept is a pair of silver signet rings that he wears on his neck. He always has some sort of alcohol on him and stays drunk.
Allegiances: To himself and his partner
Registered: Jan 12, 2019 8:20:02 GMT -8
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Post by Lucan Darksbane on Feb 8, 2019 23:35:42 GMT -8
Lucan was awoken by the clatter of hoofs and carriages. He sat up in a daze, grabbing his quarterstaff and pulling it close. He sat relaxed on the edge of the fallen tree and grabbed the eight bottle of rum and cracked it open. Watching as the caravan approached the 'ambush' site. He groaned rubbing his head, "Oh it's about damn time!" He shouted at them as he continued to sit and drink. He counted the caravan hands out on his fingers no less. "That should be easy enou-" he cut off his sentence as he saw the woman rider, she was obviously different from the normal hands the family usually hires. She was.. Elegant. Majestic even. It could have been the booze talking but he swore that the sun seemed to shine on her, making her glow.
Lucan even appreciated her smile, soft but he saw it. He even stood up, well after a try or two. He flipped his now staff and approached the caravan stopping about 60 feet from them. "I'm sad is this all my family can muster as guards?" He laughed and now he was looking over the woman " Or are you the one they hired to protect this rabble?" He grinned at her "I hope you will prove more of a challenge than these folks, darling." He winked at her playfully and put the staff over his shoulders, and he began to drunkenly stretch stumbling a little bit as he did so. " Ah dammit." He said turning back to the log glaring at the bottle of rum "Give me a moment will you?" He said stumbling slightly back to the bottle he grabbed it, uncorked it and began drinking his back now turned to the caravan.
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