Iruka Naudir
New
Zealot of the Etheral
Roleplay posts: 9 
Clothes and Equipment: ceremonial dagger
Allegiances: Ethereal Realm
Registered: Sept 13, 2016 17:05:05 GMT -8
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Post by Iruka Naudir on Feb 26, 2017 16:23:03 GMT -8
During the funeral, Iruka unsheathed his ceremonial dagger spoke to the souls of the fallen. He whispered to them that if any felt they were not ready to pass on, that he could offer them another chance in the future to fight. He held the blade flat in his hands close to his ear and listened to it start to hum with the responses of the spirits. He nodded with his eyes closed and sheathed the dagger, a task of his now would be to look into finding new houses for the souls that chose to stay around. He had not used any magic, this was merely conversation through the relic he held.
Once the funeral was done he looked around before being summoned to the abode of Argimos. He was curious what he might be asked to do.
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Rúnar Pørbrandr
New
Roleplay posts: 1
Age: Hundreds of years, before the age of Viking and Saga.
Physical Description: As an aptrgangr, Rúnar is a husk of his former self; his skin is pale and veiny, his body is parse and hollow. Muscles do not seem apparent in his body, and if a Viking of today were to look at him in life, well, that Viking would laugh at his puny arms and thin torso.
Except, any Viking with his salt would be terrified of his light blue eyes in death. Those hungry, piercing eyes whose whites are black, and whose pupils are so large that the irises were more rings than irises are more than enough reason to steer clear, never mind the gnashing, beast-like teeth that reside within his mouth.
Rúnar's taller than most of his time, being 5'10". His brown hair his long and uncut, and most features of his face are sharp.
Clothes and Equipment: The Pørbrandr runes embody themselves on his ancient robe; it is a complex garb, with white blocky lines that weave a symmetric pattern down the front and back of the garment. It is similar to a poncho in the fact that it has no sleeves, and that it does not close at the sides of the torso. This robe is imbued with anti-magic runes, and naturally, the wearer would be protected from any kind of magical attacks. This includes physical fireballs to imaginary illusions; nothing magical can affect its wearer.
Under the Pørbrandr garb is a primitive armor that uses overlapping layers of leather strips and rustic mail that is hidden below a layer of threaded cloth. This piece takes the role of a long sleeved shirt modern day standards. His trousers are more or less the same.
His boots are nothing special.
Most of the time, Rúnar has his right hand placed upon the hilt of his sword, an ancient blade that bears no name. It is as black as the sharps and flats on a piano; it is a cursed weapon, a weapon so filled with evil that it radiates a black mist that is toxic to those who breath it in.
Player's online availability : -08 UTC
Registered: Feb 21, 2017 21:22:43 GMT -8
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Post by Rúnar Pørbrandr on Feb 27, 2017 13:37:45 GMT -8
"I knew there was someone here. I am glad that they have now quieted," Iruka, and only Iruka discerned from his dagger, far after he had sheathed it and arrived in Argimos' home. The voice held to itself a ghastly, airy voice, and its words were slurred in a manner which broke the rules of his native language. It was obviously something that either derived from Norse, or Norse derived from, but there were words that were foreign.
"The dead cannot be brought back in the way that they once were, Medium. Do not offer them the chance of life on earth so freely. You will understand tomorrow morning."
The message would not respond to any of Iruka's words, gestures, or thoughts. Any attempts to talk back to the entity would be fruitless, as talking to a cold knife cuts no fruit.
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Ulrik Larsson
New
Pa Wikingtogkt
Roleplay posts: 2
Age: 25
Physical Description: More or less average amongst his kin in height, he also has their well known blond hair though it is matched with green eyes. His hair is usually short though if grown then it is larger on one side and matted over to the other. He has strong cheeks but more or less standard features elsewhere.
Clothes and Equipment: Thick fur coating conceals full chainmail, under which is chainmail that hides a nasty surprise for magic users or anything supernatural for that matter. He will always carry a shield to protect himself from arrows, and will always take an axe. He will sometimes bring along a sword, Spear or something to throw. He has a helmet decorated with all sorts of things both for ornamentation and to catch blades.
Registered: Feb 15, 2017 16:07:49 GMT -8
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Post by Ulrik Larsson on Feb 28, 2017 14:43:23 GMT -8
(Will mention recent events along with the present)
Lars awoke amongst the wreckage hot, dizzy and seeing double - nay triple! Already carrion birds and such were hovering about, proverbially drooling. He stood, gyrating on the spot from pain and weariness. Believing his comrades to be dead he ran off into the depths of the jungle.
There he did not shed his furs, mail, leather or helmet for while extremely hot and heavy they kept the massive bugs away. He eventually collapsed into a delirium, his back against a tall tree. They seemed to be like the walls back home, tall and of an aged brown colour.
He breathed heavily before falling to a dream of the Valhol, but awakened soon realizing if he didn't move he would be seeing it too soon. The man staggered off, looking for fruits and such to keep him alive a little longer. He even stuck leaves and such into his mouth, just to stave the beast of hunger away. He made a fire for himself and camped I'm horrid solitude, slicing off hairs across his body to keep the heat away and provide some measure of cleanliness.
It was a day or two later before he heard the voices, shouting cheering and chanting of his kinsmen. Rejoiced he stood up, not minding the pain of undressed and by now pus filled wound. "Praise Odin!" He shouted, arms stretched as he saw vaguely familiar faces, running to them with a cry and tears.
He walked to the settlement they had made for themselves, and collapsed happily near a fire, a delirious giggle coming from him. "I do not die alone, haha! Call me for the ale or raid." He said, going back to the tearful giggling.
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Argimos "One Horn" Sikdeutch
Established
Roleplay posts: 10
Physical Description: Name: Argimos 'One Horn' Sikdeutch
Class: Viking Raider - Jarl
Nationality: Norse Hjem
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Size: 2.1 Meters (Six feet, three inches)
Main Weapon: Fornharnarr - 'Ancient Hammer' - An ancient hammer crafted from an ore from a meteorite they called 'Magic', creating an explosive force against anything magically enabled that it hits. The harder he hits, the bigger the bang. Against an armored non-magic user, it is a strong war hammer with no special abilities.
Side Weapon(s): Short handled battle axes
History/Biography: Argimos started as a farmhand on his father's farm. His father was a jarl based on his raiding abilities and originally used Fornharnarr, the 'ancient hammer' passed down from father to son when the father dies and the son becomes the next jarl over the Sikdeutch House. The hammer found the hands of Argimos on his twentieth birthday. For some time the Sikdeutch House was in shambles when they found out one of their own was a traitor. From that day forward, Argimos was a raider of a different breed than his father; as in he didn't rush in blindly on his enemies.
Argimos was given the nickname 'One Horn' not because one of his helms horns was broken, but because the one full horn he has left was ripped from the head of a Manticore sent by foreign enemies. This statement made Argimos one of the most notable Jarls in his recent ancestory. When Argimos isn't raiding, he can be found working his land or exploring unknown lands. Beneath his rough exterior is curious child.
Despite the cruel facts that forced him to leave his homeland, he was eager to leave an explorer the unknown world beyond the miseries of his homeland and the cruel memories of his past.
Registered: Feb 10, 2017 13:46:57 GMT -8
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Post by Argimos "One Horn" Sikdeutch on Mar 3, 2017 19:41:51 GMT -8
All those that were called to the makeshift abode of Argimos would come. Of the masses, forty gathered outside while a handful were inside. The forty who gathered outside stood around two pits that had hogs smoking inside them. Inside, the handful gathered around a pit inside that had a bull roasting. Hanging on a rope behind the Jarls seat was a blue hide and a bull skull that had black horns with red tips. People scurried about, still building around those at the pits, and sliding in without being seen were the Goths(we'll just call them this for now because it's a cool name for religious stuff.).
Three Goths appeared around the pit. Their faces were mangled messes that looked swollen. Their skin was an ashy gray and each one had a black mark over their left eye. Their bodies were mainly hidden by black gowns with white bear fur collars and shoulders. One leaned to Argimos and whispered before they all took a seat behind Argimos.
Cutting in on any small chatter that went on, Argimos stood up and cleared his throat. The fire in the pit reflected off the might vikings face and armor as he took a step closer to it placed Fornharnarr in the center of the pit. The jarl then took a step back and looked to his guests.
"The Goths have brought us good news on this night. Tonight we have found honor pride in a way no Viking before has ever been capable of..." Argimos boasted to those inside while the Goths started moving person to person, examining them closely, "The Goths have found new gods. Gods that are more powerful with one hand than Odin dreams. The storm that swallowed our systkin were the gods lashing out on us for trying to leave their domain. They were to show no mercy on us and deny us Valhalla, but the Goths were found by the savior of this land; Fadir and Modir. If the Goths had not given their faith, we would all be scum on the seafloor for the gods to piss on. And here we stand; strong and proud, with homes and a new world to raid. Odin's mark has not cursed me on this day," Argimos raised his hands to look at his palms, "I burned my entire life for the fault of my mother, but today I feel the wind and waters; I feel alive."
Fornharnarr was starting to cover in black from the fire, and Argimos looked at it for a minute before speaking, "The gods of old must pay for the warriors they betrayed. Fadir and Modir have welcomed into their homes so that our systkin do not lose their souls to the tyrants we once praised. The gods will pay, and today is proof that even unknown gods seek us to be their warriors. In the name of Fadir and Modir, we will bring Ragnarok to the heavens and this planet...", Argimos reached into the fire and grasped the piping hot handle of Fornharnarr, letting it seer his skin as he pulled the handle out and raised the hammer head above him. As he did this, bolts of golden lightning crashed down around the camp, creating a dome over it for a second.
"Let us enjoy the first blessings of Fadir and Modir. Tomorrow we will hunt and scout for raiding locations. We will not survive if we do not have supplies."
Finishing his short spill on the new gods, he sat down and spoke to two raiders. The two went off into the tribe while the smokemaster okayed the food was ready to eat. Some might feel guilty for eating while others didn't, but if the hunters were hungry, they would be of no use.
Argimos spoke up to encourage conversation, "Everyone, tell me your names and what you expect of this new world. The Goths wait for our words to carry them to Fadir and Modir." |
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Kölla Jalsefni
New
Roleplay posts: 5 
Age: 26
Physical Description: When Kölla joins the fireplace, enters a room, or something akin to such a thing, she has a sort of ability to halt conversations; her steadfast face, the way she holds herself, it imitates some manner of predator. Those eyes of hers penetrate those that fall under their glance; just like a draugr of legend.
A scar permeates one of her eyes, which looks to be a severe burn. Its visibility is made possible because the straw-like blonde hair of hers is held back by a green headband.
The way she stands suggests a sense of immediate reaction; it is perfectly tuned to her body type, which is short and hardy and quick. A confident, standing up straight Kölla is about 5'6" tall.
Clothes and Equipment: Kölla is a crossbowman. As such, she owns a modified crossbow, made to load via a crank system. To help her survive the battlefield, she wears chainmail that covers her chest and a bit off her thighs and neck, and under that, a thinner than usual gambeson that has about two inches of padding.
She wears multiple layers of furs and skins, which she has crafted into a pair of pants. It shields her from the cold and acts as some sort of armor- to an extent.
To cover her feet, there are warm, black socks and fur boots, that under her pants, reach up halfway to her knees.
On her back is strapped a large green and brown round shield. It looks like it has seen combat quite a few times, and it has definitely been repainted more than twice. It's obviously made of wood, but it has a weird, thicker looking perimeter.
Also on her back is a pouch made from a bear's skin. It carries the things that she loots, spare wood and metal pieces, and other various things, like foodstuffs. On the outside of her backpack is her water flask and her crossbow bolt holder. There is a strap for her crossbow if she wants to do something with her hands.
Straddled to her left hip is an arming sword, which has a blade length around three feet, leaning on the shorter side, around two feet, eleven inches. The hilt rests at a 45 degree angle done the handle, just like a normal old sword.
Oh, and also next to her sword, is a long dagger. It has no hilt, and the blade rather thin; its point is much more than menacing than the not sharp blade. It is a glorified ice pick, if one wants to be cocky.
Player's online availability : -08 UTC
Registered: Feb 11, 2017 17:47:32 GMT -8
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Post by Kölla Jalsefni on Mar 4, 2017 22:38:42 GMT -8
The speech was... unsettling. New gods? It sounded like something those Christian missionaries who were so easy to steal from would say. The Modir and Fadir were probably just something to keep the men's morale high, right?
There was no rightful reason for Kölla to be at the Argimos' longtable. Most just let her sit because of her stern demeanor and burn across her eye. Nobody knew her name, nobody had a grudge towards her, so she had a plate of food. Nonetheless, the moment that Argimos stopped mumbling on about this new set of gods that she was supposed to love now, she began her feast. There were a few who pronounced their names and their desires, some more passionate than others. Kölla ignored them, thinking only about what she was going to say. Only when her plate was clean did she stand and speak.
"My name is Kölla Jalsefni, and I want... I want to make life easier. This new world may have different ways than home. Maybe there are ways to eat and thrive without killing and pillaging. My words may seem unorthodox, but so were the gothis' words when they decided to say that our old gods are bad and that these new gods are somehow different. So these are my words for you goths to carry to the new gods. Fadir and Modir, are you any different? Show me your benevolent ways. Otherwise, I will continue down the path that Thor and Odin taught me."
Most were silent when Kölla sat down, yet there were those who agreed. A few men nodded slightly. Her hundred yard stare interlocked with Argimos' eyes, and without a smile returned to her thoughts. She had no allegiance to Thor or Odin, but she did have an allegiance to their ways. This allegiance, she came here to break it. The desire to annul her treaty she had with violence burned within her heart, but something held that desire under a locked key; it was hidden within a vault beneath the bank, where millions of transactions occurred a day.
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Ulrik Larsson
New
Pa Wikingtogkt
Roleplay posts: 2
Age: 25
Physical Description: More or less average amongst his kin in height, he also has their well known blond hair though it is matched with green eyes. His hair is usually short though if grown then it is larger on one side and matted over to the other. He has strong cheeks but more or less standard features elsewhere.
Clothes and Equipment: Thick fur coating conceals full chainmail, under which is chainmail that hides a nasty surprise for magic users or anything supernatural for that matter. He will always carry a shield to protect himself from arrows, and will always take an axe. He will sometimes bring along a sword, Spear or something to throw. He has a helmet decorated with all sorts of things both for ornamentation and to catch blades.
Registered: Feb 15, 2017 16:07:49 GMT -8
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Post by Ulrik Larsson on Mar 5, 2017 12:24:09 GMT -8
Ulrik overheard the speech, and could not help but growl a little under his breath. He sat quietly, cupping a hand under his leather and mail covered chin. He was about to stand up and speak despite the many pains he was still suffering, though it seemed someone already took the proverbial spotlight. He waited for Kölla to finish before he stood. He patted the dust off of himself and jumped on an unoccupied table with both of his arms outstretched. He breathed in heavily, for he had to speak powerfully if he was too convey the respect for the old gods over. "I am Ulrik Sveinald, son of Lars. Hear me sons and daughters of war! The old gods gave us life, they gave us power! Wotan's strength courses through all of our veins, whilst the love of Freyja makes all of our hearts warm! What happened at sea, it was punishment! Punishment for weakness as a father scolds a son. We have not shown the devotion to Wotan and his family that they deserve, we have shamed them. See you the skies endless? That is the work of the Old Gods, not the new madness the Goths preach. They're drunk be it with bad ale or power but the truth remains that they speak of naught. The Old Gods watch over us, and they see these atrocities you do, your forgetfulness of your roots. They see you abandoning your makers, and they will bring punishment even greater! Avoid calamity, avoid our people dying. Wotan be praised! Down with the false gods!" He stopped his roaring for a moment to catch his breath. From fury his eyes were red, and from the burn sun the skin around it making the man appear as a faceless daemon of some sort, aided by his armour and helmet's visor being decorated with all sorts of cryptic trinkets and items; even the shield on his back was still bloody from a face caved in. He looked around, and then continued. We must go, seek out new lands to go on Viking Raids, we must bring New Glory to the Old Gods! With that, he was done and jumped off the table to once more be part of "the people" though he kept his held up high should someone want to argue with him.
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Iruka Naudir
New
Zealot of the Etheral
Roleplay posts: 9
Clothes and Equipment: ceremonial dagger
Allegiances: Ethereal Realm
Registered: Sept 13, 2016 17:05:05 GMT -8
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Post by Iruka Naudir on Mar 5, 2017 15:51:37 GMT -8
"I am Iruka Naudir, son of Hendrix. My personal quest is one for knowledge, knowledge of mysticism and the spirits. My father died from clumsily contracting a magical sickness. I want to use my knowledge to combat harmful magicks and to help my fellows to not die like my father did. To use what I know to destroy wicked sorcerers and protect the good, and honor the spirits of those who have passed."
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Holgzant
New
Roleplay posts: 3
Player's online availability : Often
Registered: Feb 16, 2017 17:53:35 GMT -8
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Post by Holgzant on Mar 7, 2017 15:20:20 GMT -8
Much had occurred in a day, but in the end Hølgzant had accomplished all that he had hoped to, he had gotten word of a suitable place for camp. It was a magnificent and quite large cave large enough to fit all of the giants within, but more importantly it housed more than enough water, fresh and succulent water to benefit all of the survivors. It was truly a treasure and it was one the White Wolf would share in order to bring a greater strength to the people, but yet another treasure were the femurs of all the fallen Giants. These bones were might and were the continuation of the power that could be unleashed upon the battlefield with the help of those fallen. It was a custom that the Great One had instilled, fight with the remnants of the fallen so even in death may they get more glory. It was a great thing, unfortunately he had very little time to savor their new home for long when he received the call.
"It seems we have been called upon, let us go."
At his command the remainder of all the Giants set out to the abode of one horn, step after step until the hut was in sight, but the sight he saw was a crowd to be parted. Parted they were, step after step the towering giant pushed aside those so much smaller and meeker than he. All of them would be cast aside as he made his way into the hut to hear the words of the goths and Argimos. New gods? Ragnarok? What a beautiful thing to hear, such greatness, he would be able to fulfill his role as Fenrir in human form. He would take Loki's son into battle, he would ride atop the great mount and he would hold Odin's throat between his teeth. My . . . What a fantasy it was . . . He was caught in a dream when two phrases snapped him to reality, his eyes narrowed and his fang like teeth were exposed as his lips retracted,
'State your name and wish.'
'We should honor the old gods .'
"Hølgzant, my expectation is this world is that it will lead destruction of the old gods and those who follow them. And it seems part of my expectation may come to pass at this very moment."
He would point the tip of his Goliath ax in the direction of the man who had spoke before again speaking again,
"Shed your poultry ways, or battle me in the name of your gods and I shall send you to Valhalla myself."
He was seething with anger, but even more so than that he was filled with a pernicious hunger for the blood of he who would still through himself upon the feet of those who slaughtered his brethren.
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Systkin Ragnarok
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Registered: Feb 18, 2017 22:39:09 GMT -8
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Post by Systkin Ragnarok on Mar 13, 2017 18:13:28 GMT -8
By the end of the night, decisions had been made that all pointed towards bringing their people up from the brim of Hell and to the fields beyond Valhalla. With promises of glory and honor, persuasion was easy among the tired people. With food in their empty bellies and water that quenched the thirst provided by the sun and the salt of the sea. When every eye closed, there was a smile and there was hope.
The next day would come around and their drive to push forward was ever so visible with their bellies full and a sound night of sleep. Those involved with the hunting would be gathered at the gate to their makeshift wall that would be worked on while they were hunting.
Day 1 Complete - View Quest thread for rewards. |
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Systkin Ragnarok
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Registered: Feb 18, 2017 22:39:09 GMT -8
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Post by Systkin Ragnarok on Mar 13, 2017 18:45:46 GMT -8
Garden of Valhalla
The Garden of Valhalla will be given its name later on, but for story purposes, it will be named. The dirt's is filled with stone and root, making most farming impossible here. Blue oxen grazed in the fields while golden boar roam the forests for berries and smaller prey. Bears passed through either, searching for meat or plant so that it could be ready for the soon to be winter. Birds of many kinds found refuge in the fields and forests, feasting on the Mass amounts of honeybees that buzzed across the land.
Abandoned villages dotted the landscape, but not a soul around to call it home. Everything was left as it was, but filled with skeletons. It is unknown what awaits the hunters who stumble across these ghost towns.
The Garden of Valhalla is two kilometers north of the camp and covered the entire expanse till running into a swamp filled with tar.
The hunting parties now stand on a ridge overlooking all this, their first step is to get down to this paradise.
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Argimos "One Horn" Sikdeutch
Established
Roleplay posts: 10
Physical Description: Name: Argimos 'One Horn' Sikdeutch
Class: Viking Raider - Jarl
Nationality: Norse Hjem
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Size: 2.1 Meters (Six feet, three inches)
Main Weapon: Fornharnarr - 'Ancient Hammer' - An ancient hammer crafted from an ore from a meteorite they called 'Magic', creating an explosive force against anything magically enabled that it hits. The harder he hits, the bigger the bang. Against an armored non-magic user, it is a strong war hammer with no special abilities.
Side Weapon(s): Short handled battle axes
History/Biography: Argimos started as a farmhand on his father's farm. His father was a jarl based on his raiding abilities and originally used Fornharnarr, the 'ancient hammer' passed down from father to son when the father dies and the son becomes the next jarl over the Sikdeutch House. The hammer found the hands of Argimos on his twentieth birthday. For some time the Sikdeutch House was in shambles when they found out one of their own was a traitor. From that day forward, Argimos was a raider of a different breed than his father; as in he didn't rush in blindly on his enemies.
Argimos was given the nickname 'One Horn' not because one of his helms horns was broken, but because the one full horn he has left was ripped from the head of a Manticore sent by foreign enemies. This statement made Argimos one of the most notable Jarls in his recent ancestory. When Argimos isn't raiding, he can be found working his land or exploring unknown lands. Beneath his rough exterior is curious child.
Despite the cruel facts that forced him to leave his homeland, he was eager to leave an explorer the unknown world beyond the miseries of his homeland and the cruel memories of his past.
Registered: Feb 10, 2017 13:46:57 GMT -8
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Post by Argimos "One Horn" Sikdeutch on Mar 15, 2017 18:21:50 GMT -8
Argimos stood still on the edge, overlooking the massive crater filled with life. His hands tightened around his battle axe handles and a grin formed beneath his beard. In his mind he saw a cross that was opposite of the Holy Cross, and down the center of the cross blood dripped. He saw this blood on his hands and understood what had to be done.
The vision vanished and Argimos looked down to see his toes hanging over the edge. He'd take a few steps back and lean against a tree while waiting for the other hunters to arrive.
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