Deleted
Roleplay posts: 0
Registered: Nov 21, 2024 20:40:49 GMT -8
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Post by Deleted on Nov 8, 2016 18:17:58 GMT -8
It keels over with a screech, before twitching and then going still. It was dead.
(If you gonna just keep pulling forces out of your ass by the second, then we're done. Congrats.)
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Grubb Corntwigs
Established
Roleplay posts: 19 
Physical Description: A small pixie, and like other pixies only a few inches tall. He has brown bug-like wings he typically prefers to keep folded behind him unless he is actively in flight. It is very common to see him with a bit of dirt on his face as he is an earth pixie.
Clothes and Equipment: He prefers the colors of the earth for clothing; browns, reds, greens, and yellows. He also tends to carry a tiny satchel with him, which he keeps slung around to his back under his wings.
Registered: May 16, 2017 7:55:54 GMT -8
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Post by Grubb Corntwigs on May 28, 2017 7:55:34 GMT -8
Grubb found traveling north across the southern savanna to be rather uncomfortable, and slow in going. The weather was hot, and the little pixie was perhaps under equipped for a journey of this magnitude. Similarly equipped 'big-folk' might have made the trip with much less trouble mounted on one of their great beasts, and even if they weren't, Grubb had to take six or ten steps to their one to cover the same ground. He did, however, have the benefit of wings. The pixie would fly until his wings were tired, then walk until his legs were tired, and then find a tiny bit of shade amongst the scrub to rest until he could repeat the process.
More than ready for a rest, Grubb plopped himself down under a rather odd-looking plant for shade. He was thirsty, and hungry as the few supplies he'd packed in his tiny brown satchel were now entirely gone. He pulled the shoulder-slung bag around from his back to his lap to look again for some tiny seed or bit of corn he might have missed, but of course there was nothing; there hadn't been the last half-dozen times he'd looked either. Grubb looked up at the short plant above him. He'd never seen a - whatever this was - before. He wiped a bit of sweat from his brow as he reached to the ground, and brought a small handful of dirt to his nose. The fairy sniffed the dirt, and gently let it run through his fingers. He looked up at the plant again. This plant would do him no good.
Tired, and with an empty belly, no one would have blamed Grubb for feeling disheartened, or even unsure of his decision to make the journey, but surprisingly he wasn't. The barren dust that was the savanna behind him was very slowly giving way to bits of green and a more healthy brown color of the soil as he headed north; he was getting closer. Closer to what? He wasn't exactly sure, but the mountains ahead were a sure marker of (quite literally) greener pastures.
The diminutive pixie was rarely so determined. One might be given to wonder what had gotten into the little fairy's head. |
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Cairn Ó Fathaigh
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Age: 47
Physical Description: ==========
At a towering nearly ten feet, Cairn stands a few heads above average folk. With a powerful frame and bulging musculature, his stature alone presents an intimidating figure. His body, while nearly always covered by the black steel of the Dread Knights, is covered with the evidence of decades of battle. Time has not been kind to his face, either, as deep wounds scar his right cheek and forehead, blinding his right eye, speaking to a battle hard won. The grim fire behind his remaining expressive red-orange eye, however, belies a greater strength of will than one might expect of such a brutish figure, and he carries himself with an air of authority and power. A combed dusting of black hair rests upon his head, the sides cropped and cut close to the flesh, and a thick beard wraps about his chin, accentuating his powerful jawline.
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Clothes and Equipment: The armour that Cairn dons is different than the uniform black steel of the Dread Knights he commands, instead a custom-built suit of plate armour, its steel jagged and flanged so as to better turn blunted weaponry. His greathelm is built to strike terror into the hearts of his enemies; a grimacing ghoulish mask covers his face, while a pair of twisted bull-like horns reach outwards toward his enemies, threatening to gore any that come within reach. His massive flanged warmaul "Adjudicator" crackles with primal electrical energy as it's swung through the air, the huge head of the weapon as large as the average man's torso. It's wielded with a deftness and speed impossible of a man of lesser stature, a single strike often strong enough to send Cairn's enemies soaring through the air with an assortment of crushed bones.
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Allegiances: The Black Vale
Registered: Oct 26, 2018 19:09:52 GMT -8
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Post by Cairn Ó Fathaigh on Oct 27, 2018 17:17:39 GMT -8
The giant, black armour-clad man from the Black Vale arrives in short measure after being dispatched, wearing about his shoulders a white cloak with the black raven insignia of the Vale upon it, signifying his allegiance. His good red eye scans the border slowly, on edge as he quiets his breathing and heightens his senses to any nearby threats. While he is unfamiliar with these lands, he has heard some mention of the elite archers of the Acacia clan, and he doesn't plan to die via ambush by some cowardly hunter. He doesn't make the smallest target either, to be sure.
He calls out to the nearest watchtower, announcing his presence.
"I am Cairn, of the Black Vale," he bellows, "and I wish to speak to the Acacia Tribe!"
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Post by Land Tillers' State on Nov 6, 2018 17:47:50 GMT -8
*Squick*
Cain's first introduction to the Acacia clan would be a tomato impacting his plate armor.
Just behind the watchtower, a little boy's head peeked out. He had earthy skin, black eyes, and a solid black bowl cut. The very tip of a short bow would peek out just beneath his head at an angle.
As the tomato fell to the dusty earth below, Cairn would find a small arrow poking out of the fruit.
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Cairn Ó Fathaigh
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Age: 47
Physical Description: ==========
At a towering nearly ten feet, Cairn stands a few heads above average folk. With a powerful frame and bulging musculature, his stature alone presents an intimidating figure. His body, while nearly always covered by the black steel of the Dread Knights, is covered with the evidence of decades of battle. Time has not been kind to his face, either, as deep wounds scar his right cheek and forehead, blinding his right eye, speaking to a battle hard won. The grim fire behind his remaining expressive red-orange eye, however, belies a greater strength of will than one might expect of such a brutish figure, and he carries himself with an air of authority and power. A combed dusting of black hair rests upon his head, the sides cropped and cut close to the flesh, and a thick beard wraps about his chin, accentuating his powerful jawline.
==========
Clothes and Equipment: The armour that Cairn dons is different than the uniform black steel of the Dread Knights he commands, instead a custom-built suit of plate armour, its steel jagged and flanged so as to better turn blunted weaponry. His greathelm is built to strike terror into the hearts of his enemies; a grimacing ghoulish mask covers his face, while a pair of twisted bull-like horns reach outwards toward his enemies, threatening to gore any that come within reach. His massive flanged warmaul "Adjudicator" crackles with primal electrical energy as it's swung through the air, the huge head of the weapon as large as the average man's torso. It's wielded with a deftness and speed impossible of a man of lesser stature, a single strike often strong enough to send Cairn's enemies soaring through the air with an assortment of crushed bones.
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Allegiances: The Black Vale
Registered: Oct 26, 2018 19:09:52 GMT -8
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Post by Cairn Ó Fathaigh on Nov 6, 2018 20:52:05 GMT -8
Cairn glances downward at the crushed tomato as the arrow bounces harmlessly off the thick armour. He places a hand over the stain it made upon his chestplate and incinerates the remaining juices and particles with a short blast of unearthly green flame, before his eyes return to the nearby watchtower, his expression unchanged, not the slightest twinge of annoyance on his stoic lips.
"Are you a representative of the Acacia Tribe?" he calls up, as calmly as if he's just met the boy on the street without being pelted by a tomato. Still, his body tenses as he prepares to deflect any arrow that may come for his exposed face, a much more deadly place for an arrow-filled tomato to connect.
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Post by Land Tillers' State on Nov 6, 2018 21:04:53 GMT -8
The little boy peeks his head out further. His expression was rather frank, as if he had done nothing wrong. His eyes went up and down Cairn, and then settled on the tomato. He nodded, as if to answer his question. But oddly he did not take his eyes off the fruit.
"Aww, it didn't work."
Finally, he came out, revealing a beige, stained, overflowing cotton robe. The boy, who couldn't have been more than six years old, trotted over to the tomato. He picked it up and dusted it off. "I wanted it to look like an explosion of blood, like when the arrow hit your armor I wanted the- the tomato to hit really hard and go BAWOOOSH!"
He flailed his hands out to explain the approximate size, shape, and expansion velocity of the BAWOOOSH that he had envisioned.
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Cairn Ó Fathaigh
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Age: 47
Physical Description: ==========
At a towering nearly ten feet, Cairn stands a few heads above average folk. With a powerful frame and bulging musculature, his stature alone presents an intimidating figure. His body, while nearly always covered by the black steel of the Dread Knights, is covered with the evidence of decades of battle. Time has not been kind to his face, either, as deep wounds scar his right cheek and forehead, blinding his right eye, speaking to a battle hard won. The grim fire behind his remaining expressive red-orange eye, however, belies a greater strength of will than one might expect of such a brutish figure, and he carries himself with an air of authority and power. A combed dusting of black hair rests upon his head, the sides cropped and cut close to the flesh, and a thick beard wraps about his chin, accentuating his powerful jawline.
==========
Clothes and Equipment: The armour that Cairn dons is different than the uniform black steel of the Dread Knights he commands, instead a custom-built suit of plate armour, its steel jagged and flanged so as to better turn blunted weaponry. His greathelm is built to strike terror into the hearts of his enemies; a grimacing ghoulish mask covers his face, while a pair of twisted bull-like horns reach outwards toward his enemies, threatening to gore any that come within reach. His massive flanged warmaul "Adjudicator" crackles with primal electrical energy as it's swung through the air, the huge head of the weapon as large as the average man's torso. It's wielded with a deftness and speed impossible of a man of lesser stature, a single strike often strong enough to send Cairn's enemies soaring through the air with an assortment of crushed bones.
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Allegiances: The Black Vale
Registered: Oct 26, 2018 19:09:52 GMT -8
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Post by Cairn Ó Fathaigh on Nov 6, 2018 21:14:05 GMT -8
Cairn's normally straight-lipped expression turns up in a bit of a smirk as he laughs a deep baritone chuckle at the kid's wild gestures, kneeling down to get a touch closer to eye-level with the child, though no amount of prostrating could ever truly make the size difference less dramatic. The tale of Daviad and the Goliathan has nothing on this pairing. His features soften more as he observes the genuine innocence of the child. Then, he has an idea.
"Shoot me again," he urges in his gruff baritone, "maybe it'll work the second time."
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Post by Land Tillers' State on Nov 6, 2018 21:24:09 GMT -8
It seemed only now did the boy process how massive Cairn was. His eyes widened and he took a single step back as the man kneeled down to eye level. But there was a definite sense of relief when the giant told him to shoot him again.
The boy grins. "Ok!"
He readjusts the tomato as he excited trots away from Cairn and towards a patch of tall grass near the base of the tower. Once again he places the arrow in his thumb and forefinger and draws the bow. If Cairn knew anything about archery, he would notice that the boy's form was surprisingly good for his age. He drew with his back muscles, his body was straight, and although his feet were hidden by the tall grass, his positioning at least suggested that they were planted in just the right way.
The bow itself was child-sized, of course. But it was a perfectly functional weapon, even if it was ill-suited to kill anything bigger than a rabbit.
With laser focus, he releases the arrow.
The tomato would strike the exact same spot as before.
*Squick?*
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Cairn Ó Fathaigh
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Age: 47
Physical Description: ==========
At a towering nearly ten feet, Cairn stands a few heads above average folk. With a powerful frame and bulging musculature, his stature alone presents an intimidating figure. His body, while nearly always covered by the black steel of the Dread Knights, is covered with the evidence of decades of battle. Time has not been kind to his face, either, as deep wounds scar his right cheek and forehead, blinding his right eye, speaking to a battle hard won. The grim fire behind his remaining expressive red-orange eye, however, belies a greater strength of will than one might expect of such a brutish figure, and he carries himself with an air of authority and power. A combed dusting of black hair rests upon his head, the sides cropped and cut close to the flesh, and a thick beard wraps about his chin, accentuating his powerful jawline.
==========
Clothes and Equipment: The armour that Cairn dons is different than the uniform black steel of the Dread Knights he commands, instead a custom-built suit of plate armour, its steel jagged and flanged so as to better turn blunted weaponry. His greathelm is built to strike terror into the hearts of his enemies; a grimacing ghoulish mask covers his face, while a pair of twisted bull-like horns reach outwards toward his enemies, threatening to gore any that come within reach. His massive flanged warmaul "Adjudicator" crackles with primal electrical energy as it's swung through the air, the huge head of the weapon as large as the average man's torso. It's wielded with a deftness and speed impossible of a man of lesser stature, a single strike often strong enough to send Cairn's enemies soaring through the air with an assortment of crushed bones.
=========
Allegiances: The Black Vale
Registered: Oct 26, 2018 19:09:52 GMT -8
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Post by Cairn Ó Fathaigh on Nov 6, 2018 21:36:25 GMT -8
As the boy runs off, Cairn readies a spell, muttering an incantation to himself and drawing from the power of the heavens as electricity crackles between his fingertips. A few clouds overhead begin to move more quickly than before, swirling above Cairn's kneeling form, but given the small scale of the spell the movement of the few wispy clouds is hardly noticeable unless one is looking for it. Cairn stands as the boy readjusts his aim and braces himself. He's never attempted the sort of transfer of energy that he is about to, even on a small scale.
The arrow flies with pinpoint precision, and although Cairn knows little of archery -- his people simply chase their prey down and snap its neck, large as they are -- he can appreciate the accuracy with which the small child looses his ammunition. Right before the arrow hits, however, electricity arcs over his armour, almost too fast for the eye to see, and the steel tip of the arrow conducts the charge, transfering a high-voltage and high-amperage blast to the tomato around it. As the tomato hits his chest, it erupts in a relatively massive explosion, its guts spraying all about and coating half the giant's chestplate even as the arrow itself deflects harmlessly, snapped almost perfectly in half. Cairn falls heavily to one knee, placing his hand over the center and breathing a feigned death rattle before collapsing over.
"I've been slain!" he calls, melodramatically.
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Post by Land Tillers' State on Nov 6, 2018 21:59:37 GMT -8
"Woah! Coooool." The boy exclaims. He chuckles gleefully.
He then runs up until he is half-way between the patch of grass and the "slain" giant. "Rooaaaar! I am a giant slayer!" He stomps around, kicking up dust and tomato mud.
...
"I'm glad you're good with kids." A third voice suddenly sounds from somewhere above Cairn's head.
"If any harm had come to him I probably could have done it for real." It sounds like an older woman.
"And yes, he's from the Acacia clan. A good judge of character, that one."
It was coming from the top of the Watchtower. If he looked up, he'd see the top of a more adult-looking recurve bow disappear behind a battlement. A second later, there would be a loud thump as someone's feet hit the ground on the other side. Then from the other side of the watchtower, a leathery skinned woman with greying black hair would casually stroll into view. She was wearing cloth armor of thick, woven layers of orange silk. She had a large recurve bow, upon which were etched gently pulsing cyan runes. In her opposite hand was a long wooden arrow that she was now putting away, into a wooden quiver tied around her belt.
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Cairn Ó Fathaigh
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Age: 47
Physical Description: ==========
At a towering nearly ten feet, Cairn stands a few heads above average folk. With a powerful frame and bulging musculature, his stature alone presents an intimidating figure. His body, while nearly always covered by the black steel of the Dread Knights, is covered with the evidence of decades of battle. Time has not been kind to his face, either, as deep wounds scar his right cheek and forehead, blinding his right eye, speaking to a battle hard won. The grim fire behind his remaining expressive red-orange eye, however, belies a greater strength of will than one might expect of such a brutish figure, and he carries himself with an air of authority and power. A combed dusting of black hair rests upon his head, the sides cropped and cut close to the flesh, and a thick beard wraps about his chin, accentuating his powerful jawline.
==========
Clothes and Equipment: The armour that Cairn dons is different than the uniform black steel of the Dread Knights he commands, instead a custom-built suit of plate armour, its steel jagged and flanged so as to better turn blunted weaponry. His greathelm is built to strike terror into the hearts of his enemies; a grimacing ghoulish mask covers his face, while a pair of twisted bull-like horns reach outwards toward his enemies, threatening to gore any that come within reach. His massive flanged warmaul "Adjudicator" crackles with primal electrical energy as it's swung through the air, the huge head of the weapon as large as the average man's torso. It's wielded with a deftness and speed impossible of a man of lesser stature, a single strike often strong enough to send Cairn's enemies soaring through the air with an assortment of crushed bones.
=========
Allegiances: The Black Vale
Registered: Oct 26, 2018 19:09:52 GMT -8
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Post by Cairn Ó Fathaigh on Nov 6, 2018 22:20:03 GMT -8
The half-giant lets out a deep, rumbling laugh as the kid kicks up dust in excitement, rising to a sitting position with the ghost of a grin upon his otherwise stoic features. As the third voice rings out and he catches sight of the glint of the sun upon an arrowhead, however, he springs into action, sitting up into a crouching position and pulling the massive flanged warmaul from beneath his cloak in one fluid motion. He uses the head of the maul to push himself up to a standing position, brandishing the weapon at whatever threat might present itself next, its head crackling and sparking with a stormy aura. Then, the bow lowers, and so too does his weapon, though it is slow and apprehensive. He eyes the greying woman as she slithers out from her hiding spot and that titanic jagged steel head comes down to earth, noticeably shaking the ground as it crashes into place, fully lowered but still readied in a tight clutch should the woman try anything.
"And what of you?" he replies in his rumbling, stormy baritone after listening intently to her words.
"Are you of the Acacia Clan? I seek your leader."
He is noticeably more tense in the presence of the more seasoned warrior, his red-orange eye examining her scrupulously, taking in every detail of her form and figure, extrapolating internally what she might do next. It was, perhaps, foolish of him to let his guard down around those who he should not trust, and he curses himself internally for being played so easily.
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Ying-Na of the Acacia
Committed
Roleplay posts: 73 
Age: 45
Physical Description: 5'7", athletic, darker skinned, more prominent epicanthic fold than Jun, straight, jet black hair with strands grey, warm cunning smile and deep brown eyes.
Clothes and Equipment: A rare, blue/black wildebeest hybrid in perfect health with no deformities, dubbed Indigo by Ying-Na
An enchanted black recurve composite bow with a slight blue glow; both it and any arrows fired from it are highly resistant to damage (the arrows lose this effect after a few minutes without exposure).
A Katashiman longbow which can shoot elemental arrows.
A quiver with dozens of handmade-arrows, along with an arrow-making kit
Lamellar hardwood armor on top of a high density silk gambeson.
two karambit hidden in her belt
Registered: Apr 21, 2015 21:13:33 GMT -8
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Post by Ying-Na of the Acacia on Nov 6, 2018 22:42:43 GMT -8
The woman's form is hardly imposing, a sparse 5'7", just over half the size of the behemoth. Most of her body is hidden by the cloth armor, but the smoothness of her movement suggest that she is largely unhindered by its weight. Her hands are calloused and sculpted, and her shoulders seem high and taut. The fact that she jumped down from the tower so casually to meet the giant strongly implies both a high level of physical prowess and courage and audacity that are borderline pathological.
Cairn would know that this woman was either unafraid to challenge him, or unafraid to die. But either way, she wouldn't be doing either of those things.
Instead, she craned her neck over to the left, then to the right, then behind her. Then she peeked back behind the tower and then searched under her armpits. Obviously, her search was in jest. She finally clicked her tongue and, for the first time, smiled. Her smile was just as audacious as her attitude, and just a little bit fake. "Guess that would have to be me." She batted her eyelashes. "My name is Ying-Na. I'm leading the Mounted Archer Corps against the Wyld. I'm also acting as a temporary elder."
The boy had rolled out of the way when Cairn drew his oversized war maul. Now he was standing off to the side between their gazes.
"Auntie, Giant Man, please don't fight."
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Cairn Ó Fathaigh
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Age: 47
Physical Description: ==========
At a towering nearly ten feet, Cairn stands a few heads above average folk. With a powerful frame and bulging musculature, his stature alone presents an intimidating figure. His body, while nearly always covered by the black steel of the Dread Knights, is covered with the evidence of decades of battle. Time has not been kind to his face, either, as deep wounds scar his right cheek and forehead, blinding his right eye, speaking to a battle hard won. The grim fire behind his remaining expressive red-orange eye, however, belies a greater strength of will than one might expect of such a brutish figure, and he carries himself with an air of authority and power. A combed dusting of black hair rests upon his head, the sides cropped and cut close to the flesh, and a thick beard wraps about his chin, accentuating his powerful jawline.
==========
Clothes and Equipment: The armour that Cairn dons is different than the uniform black steel of the Dread Knights he commands, instead a custom-built suit of plate armour, its steel jagged and flanged so as to better turn blunted weaponry. His greathelm is built to strike terror into the hearts of his enemies; a grimacing ghoulish mask covers his face, while a pair of twisted bull-like horns reach outwards toward his enemies, threatening to gore any that come within reach. His massive flanged warmaul "Adjudicator" crackles with primal electrical energy as it's swung through the air, the huge head of the weapon as large as the average man's torso. It's wielded with a deftness and speed impossible of a man of lesser stature, a single strike often strong enough to send Cairn's enemies soaring through the air with an assortment of crushed bones.
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Allegiances: The Black Vale
Registered: Oct 26, 2018 19:09:52 GMT -8
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Post by Cairn Ó Fathaigh on Nov 6, 2018 23:02:10 GMT -8
Cairn's clear surprise as she introduces herself as the leader is perhaps more insulting than his distrust of her a moment earlier, but almost as quickly as his astounded expression comes it vanishes, and in a casual demonstration of his monstrous strength he lifts his maul with one hand to stand head-up beside him and falls to one knee, bowing his head respectfully.
"In that case, sincerest greetings and good health to you on behalf of Ulfang Von Haren of the Black Vale. I am Captain Ó Fathaigh of the Dread Knights, the Vale's elite battalion," he rumbles, his unoccupied hand clattering to his chest over his heart in salute. He stands back to his full height and levels his eyes with Ying-Na's.
"I am...not excellent at mincing words, and so I will state it frankly. I have been tasked with remedying our immediately dismal relations. I have been briefed on the contents of the letter sent to the King, and my job is to go about building trust between the Black Vale and your Clan," he intones.
"I bear gifts. Vale Wyvern pelts from the mountains, bows crafted of the finest Darkwood, and enchanted arrows."
He pulls from beneath his cloak a very large storage roll, unraveling it before Ying-Na to reveal a veritable armory of extremely well-crafted bows whose wood is a deep black hue, and though they appear to be completely natural, the wood is unlike anything that could be acquired locally. Beside the rack of bows, gleaming golen scales shimmer and shift in the sunlight, coating the wrapped pelts mentioned before. And lastly, below the bows great bundles of arrows, each shimmering with a slightly different enchantment, lie dormant, small foreign runes carved into the broad steel tips pulsating a glowing cyan.
And now comes the part Cairn is not at all pleased about.
"It is not...customary, and it is beyond me to question my Lord's wisdom, but I have also been instructed to...stay with your clan, as a ward of sorts, until this conflict has resolved. My services as a warrior are to be offered to you to use as you please," he growls, unable to hide the distaste at the idea from his voice.
"My martial talents are at your command."
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Ying-Na of the Acacia
Committed
Roleplay posts: 73
Age: 45
Physical Description: 5'7", athletic, darker skinned, more prominent epicanthic fold than Jun, straight, jet black hair with strands grey, warm cunning smile and deep brown eyes.
Clothes and Equipment: A rare, blue/black wildebeest hybrid in perfect health with no deformities, dubbed Indigo by Ying-Na
An enchanted black recurve composite bow with a slight blue glow; both it and any arrows fired from it are highly resistant to damage (the arrows lose this effect after a few minutes without exposure).
A Katashiman longbow which can shoot elemental arrows.
A quiver with dozens of handmade-arrows, along with an arrow-making kit
Lamellar hardwood armor on top of a high density silk gambeson.
two karambit hidden in her belt
Registered: Apr 21, 2015 21:13:33 GMT -8
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Post by Ying-Na of the Acacia on Nov 6, 2018 23:33:36 GMT -8
Ying-Na listened carefully to the giant's entreaty, her face becoming stoic and stone-like, which at the very least was honest.
She glances down at the gifts, and only appears mildly impressed.
The only time she finally seems to soften is when Cairn admits he is there to act as a ward.
"I see, so you're the walking apology. I'm sorry to hear that." She gestures for the boy to come to her side, which he does obediently. "His name is Arban, and your first duty as the walking apology is to commit it to memory." She leans down and starts dusting off some of the dirt and debris that the boy had accumulated during his adventures for that day. The boy is still, transfixed like a statue, clearly not willing to waver from her will. He does crack a smile when she says to him, "There, see? I made room for you to get dirty again."
She rose up to address the giant. "So let me make something clear. I'm sure you're aware of our... languished relationship with necromancy. No matter what you offer, no matter what you do, and no matter what you say, your master's army will still smell. You yourself, on the other hand, seem like a decent person. And I've found children to be remarkable judges of character these last few weeks. So, I will humbly accept your services, and your gifts, with gratitude." She bowed slowly and politely.
"But, I reserve the right to tease you by calling you the walking apology. Now then, what are you good at besides, I presume, killing things?"
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Cairn Ó Fathaigh
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Age: 47
Physical Description: ==========
At a towering nearly ten feet, Cairn stands a few heads above average folk. With a powerful frame and bulging musculature, his stature alone presents an intimidating figure. His body, while nearly always covered by the black steel of the Dread Knights, is covered with the evidence of decades of battle. Time has not been kind to his face, either, as deep wounds scar his right cheek and forehead, blinding his right eye, speaking to a battle hard won. The grim fire behind his remaining expressive red-orange eye, however, belies a greater strength of will than one might expect of such a brutish figure, and he carries himself with an air of authority and power. A combed dusting of black hair rests upon his head, the sides cropped and cut close to the flesh, and a thick beard wraps about his chin, accentuating his powerful jawline.
==========
Clothes and Equipment: The armour that Cairn dons is different than the uniform black steel of the Dread Knights he commands, instead a custom-built suit of plate armour, its steel jagged and flanged so as to better turn blunted weaponry. His greathelm is built to strike terror into the hearts of his enemies; a grimacing ghoulish mask covers his face, while a pair of twisted bull-like horns reach outwards toward his enemies, threatening to gore any that come within reach. His massive flanged warmaul "Adjudicator" crackles with primal electrical energy as it's swung through the air, the huge head of the weapon as large as the average man's torso. It's wielded with a deftness and speed impossible of a man of lesser stature, a single strike often strong enough to send Cairn's enemies soaring through the air with an assortment of crushed bones.
=========
Allegiances: The Black Vale
Registered: Oct 26, 2018 19:09:52 GMT -8
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Post by Cairn Ó Fathaigh on Nov 7, 2018 22:17:50 GMT -8
Cairn's lip twitches in irritation at the teasing nickname she's given him, but he remains otherwise stone-faced, mimicking to a degree the expression that Ying-Na herself wore moments earlier. He slowly rolls the gifts back up as she speaks and slides the roll onto his back, bowing his head in response to Ying-Na's first task.
"Arban. It is a good name," he rumbles, and nods to the boy, before his eyes return to Ying-Na's.
"Necromancy is a tool," he disagrees, "and my King wields it with benevolence and grace. Those who are already dead fall before steel touches the flesh of the living, and so since my step-fath--" he catches himself mid-word, "--...rather, the King's ascension to the throne we have not lost a single Dread Knight. Certainly not all necromancers wield this power with responsibility or good intent, but as Chlann Rádala Stoirm taught me over a decade ago, no magic is evil, for all magic is a product of the natural world."
"As far as my proficiencies," he continues, "I have giant's blood, and this means that I am very strong. I can throw one tonne over one hundred meters, and you will find no greater grappler. Adjudicator--" he gestures to the crackling warmaul, "--was gifted to me by Rádala Stoirm, and their greatest shamans spent one hundred days and nights communing with the heavens before it was granted to them, and then passed to me. It is a powerful relic, and its strength and power is greater than even I could ever truly comprehend. Still, you will find no better hands with which to wield it. As all Dread Knights, I have made a blood pact with the Von Haren bloodline, and my blood runs in tandem with theirs. It grants me the ability to weave basic blood magics at a fraction of the King's power."
He hesitates for a moment, weighing duty with personal interest. Eventually, duty wins out.
"Finally, while I have told no living soul this, I am the Amhránaí Stoirm -- Chlann Rádala Stoirm's hero of prophecy. I have mastery over the heavens, and I may call upon them for aid in all manner of ways, from summoning storms to clearing the skies, turning the firmament red with anger or driving fog back into the place whence it came. I have used this ability in secret to end droughts in the Black Vale and I often call storms when I wish to be left in peace, but the King does not know about this, and I would prefer to keep it from him. Shaman Ashling divined that only in the Vale's time of greatest need should the Dreaded Benefactor -- who I assume is King Von Haren -- know what I am. Please, use this knowledge sparingly."
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Senior Wingman Dasyra Ushael
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 127
Age: 29
Physical Description: Tall and sturdy, Dasyra is a lightly muscled and curvaceous woman. Light-skinned and with strong, striking facial features, she stands out in a crowd not only for her height - taller than the average Esdaran woman at 5'9" - but for her strikingly violet hair. Said hair usually worn tamed back into a long braid that falls nearly to her knees. She has pale blue eyes that are piercing, and often filled with mirth - or determination.
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Clothes and Equipment: It's very rare to see Dasyra outside of her armor/uniform - which consists of lots of silver-edged greyish-white plate and blue fabric - but on the rare occasions it happens, she tends toward comfortable clothing in shades of blue and grey, with sturdy brown boots and fingerless blue gloves. When on duty, she carries a long halberd, and it never leaves her side while she's in her armor. She has little in the way of personal effects, and wears no jewelry. When off duty, she tends to carry a small sword and a set of daggers.
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Player's online availability : Variable; usually afternoons and evenings. (PST)
Registered: Apr 11, 2016 12:59:25 GMT -8
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Post by Senior Wingman Dasyra Ushael on Feb 16, 2019 19:34:29 GMT -8
Years earlier, the hovering island to the southeast of the Land-Tiller's Expanse had abruptly disappeared without warning, leaving an eerily empty expanse in the skies. And now, years later, it suddenly reappeared. Even at a distance, the sounds of conflict were audible for a number of hours, voices crying out, explosions, the clash of metal. Until it ceased just as abruptly as the island had materialized.
Anyone watching from the savannah bordering the Expanse's southern edge would soon see nearly two dozen winged shapes flying their direction, growing steadily larger, and eventually revealing themselves to be the winged troops of the Esdaran nation -- the infamous Zanora Riders. The armored figures on their giant eagle mounts landed just within the grassy region, many of them wounded and all looking strained in the wake of battle. Their apparent leader was a tall woman with vivid violet hair, who slid down off the large raptor's back and looked around, before turning to her companions.
"Rest, tend to your zanora. I'm going to try and find someone, put out a call for aid. Keep an eye for any hostile approach and assist the horsemen from the Valley when they arrive."
Once her commands were being visibly followed, Dasyra reluctantly parted from her own winged companion and began to move further into the Expanse's territory, hoping to come across one of the Land-Tiller's. They and her people had forged a close, strong bond during the initial discovery of Esdara, and she was hoping that bond persisted. Tension and anxiety painted her voice as she called out, still walking.
"Hail, any Tillers who may be out there! I am Senior Wingman Dasyra Ushael of Esdara! My home is in need of aid and I would ask a favor of you, to please send out word to the heroes of this land that they may come to free it. Darkness claims the flying isle, and we need the light of this world to drive it away. I beg of you, send this message out across the world."
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Fenrir Skargard
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 196
Age: 29
Physical Description: Fenrir is a large Arctic Werewolf, with fur as white as the snow that plagues his habitat. His paws and muzzle are stained a slight pinkish color from the bloody nature of his food, primarily Caribou and Mountain Seal. His yellow eyes are predatory, and would be terrifying to see in the darkness of a cave or blizzard. He stands roughly 7ft tall, and weighs nearly 300lbs. His fur, claws, and teeth are immaculately well-maintained, as the Wolf believes that keeping oneself clean is foremost in respecting another, for if you do not respect yourself, you cannot respect others.
Clothes and Equipment: He wields the mighty sword White Fang, a Frost-Enchanted Sword he took from the lifeless corpse of a White Witch whom had promised him the sword, then tried to kill him with. The sword, imbued with the blood of the witch, gives him abilities similar to hers, mainly focusing on cold and frost related abilities. His legs are covered by plate armor, and his left arm is covered in a gauntlet with fingers ending in wicked looking claws. The gauntlet is inscribed with more Frost Runes, giving it similar, albeit less powerful, abilities to White Fang.
Registered: May 30, 2016 8:38:38 GMT -8
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Post by Fenrir Skargard on Feb 16, 2019 20:48:32 GMT -8
Fenrir was already close by when the hovering island reappeared, taking a well-earned break. He had been hunting down a group of bandits that had plagued a nearby hamlet, and the successful conclusion to this mission meant that he was digging through their chests and bags to see if they had anything worth keeping. The arrival of a colossal island drew his attention, a very faint tint of blood in the air quickly reaching his nose. He stood eagerly and ran off in the direction of the commotion, the sounds of battle reaching his ears not long after.
As he reached the lines of the Esdarans, he came to a halt and sheathed his blade to indicate he meant no harm. "I am no Tiller, but am willing to aid in the fight."
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Feanor Vala
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 132
Age: 79
Physical Description: He is a tall, sturdily built elf, with long blonde hair and hazel eyes. He is a bit taller than most Esdaran males, at a height between 6'2" and 6'3". His typical elfin figure is a lot stronger than it appears, and is clearly battle-scarred from years in the service.
Clothes and Equipment: His equipment is the basic gray-silver-whitish armor of the Esdaran army. A longbow with an accompanying arrow quiver is always slung across his back when not in use, and a battleaxe is always found at his hip or in his hand. Daggers are hidden in his boots and one inside of his belt, in addition to additional straps across his armor that can be used to stow and/or hide additional equipment as necessary.
Registered: Jun 25, 2016 16:11:26 GMT -8
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Post by Feanor Vala on Feb 16, 2019 21:07:15 GMT -8
The mages in Mithlonde were quick to respond to the reappearance of Esdara, the Island's plight visible to their scrying eyes. Feanor mustered the forces he could quickly find, and a large portal appeared near where the Esdarans were mustering.
The Prince stepped out first, having ditched his normal ranger garb for elegant armor of purple and orange. Behind him marched a small force of his people: a couple dozen cavalry mounted on horses, a hundred or so armored warriors with shields and spears, and a small group of the Elvish Rangers.
"The Elves of Mithlonde will not allow our long-lost cousins of Esdara to fight this alone."
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Hansel von Dietzhoff
Dedicated
𝕯𝖆 𝕻𝖆𝖈𝖊𝖒 𝕯𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖊
Roleplay posts: 400
Age: 17
Physical Description: Quite tall at 6'1, Hansel has a pale complexion coupled with nearly white blonde hair and a set of heterochromatic eyes. His boyish features are well defined but covered in many small scars. The young man's frame is best described as sinewy with significant muscle placed upon a relatively thin body. Across his body one would find many cosmetics scars, brands and a few tattoos be it of scripture or strange tribal symbolism. However most noticeable are the two large wings on either shoulder blade, and the cross on his chest and back crossing his breast from stomach to neck.
Clothes and Equipment: Typically Hans will wear a bodyglove of buunvar leather, over which is blessed chainmail and plate. His preferred weapon is a moderately sized Executioner's sword of Hagbane silver with the end rounded and sharpened to at least pierce flesh. However for sidearms he carries a powerful longbow and an ensemble of Holy falchion and dagger.
The lad also will usually possess a mount; either a blessed horse, pegasus or hyppogryph. The beast will always carry heavy barding and bears a lance and kite shield for its rider.
Registered: Aug 30, 2016 13:29:47 GMT -8
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Post by Hansel von Dietzhoff on Feb 17, 2019 15:52:40 GMT -8
News of the riders appearing spread quite fast, and one ear that it reached was Hansel von Dietzhoff. He was at the time in a camp with his Brothers. The lad did his best to get their attention to come aid him for... reasons, but it was largely for naught. Most arguments he brought forth were discounted. Many stated that this was not their business, it was of whatever elves and other folk lived there. They were here precisely because they did not want to involve themselves in internal affairs, and this was a prime example of internal affairs. Brother Zahariel firmly supported the first part of the point, stating that there weren't any proper humans in this far off land whereas Brother Klaus simply stated that they most likely wouldn't be welcome what with one thing and another, it was better to let the people there settle things for themselves. Not one supporter in the small warband could be found, until Hans turned to Brother Alaric. The two didn't quite have friendship, but there was something of an understanding.
"It's for her." He told the older Knight, which only made Alaric sigh. Brother Alaric Marcellius was kind enough to let himself by humoured by the youth but was still extremely skeptical of what the youth was suggesting. To him it seemed like something silly, they were to risk their lives and take their attentions away for some knife ear civilization they never heard of? It's not like you're doing anything better. That earned Hans a bloody nose but also a concession he was right.
Thus came the small troupe of Knights, four with Hansel upon massive barded steeds and four to go with Alaric on Hyppogryphs. It was ten men, but words like only, just, or merely would certainly not appear in one's head. Only a few of them below seven feet in height, they were clad from head to toe in plate chainmail and gambesons, all glowing ever so faintly by virtue of their blessings. Lances were held high, alongside a proud flag bearing the black cross — Knights of the Order on a warpath once more.
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Post by Land Tillers' State on Feb 17, 2019 17:32:48 GMT -8
Indeed, word rang out quickly. Several heroes and knights had already assembled to heed the call, but more would be coming.
The Land-Tiller's state had seen better days, for it was still recovering from the ravages of the entity known as the Wyld. However, what guards remained sent a signal to the Guardian and Black Towers, and thus Isra, and soon the known world at large would be alerted to the plight of the Esdarans.
What ragged and beaten guards remained would be willing to offer whatever first aid they could to Dasyra and her raptor. However, they were quick to inform her of the tragedy of the Wyld and that, while legions would arrive to aid her cause soon, it was not likely that the majority would come from their Land-Tiller allies.
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