Gram Tyrfing
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Age: 284
Physical Description: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Elves are slender folk, graceful in their movements with sinuous bodies of a gymnast and the endless youth of their long-lived race. Pale, fair, ethereal.
Gram and his family are cut from a different cloth.
Though the Clan harkens its bloodlines to the fiery haired elves, ready for battle and their hearts full of fire and fury, the Tyrfing elves are stouter and darker. They say the Tyrfings once had hair of spun gold wet with the blood of the setting sun but countless ages locked away in their forges have ruddied their pale flesh, stained their hair with ash and soot and given them a taste for steel and fire.
He is of a middling height, more than a handful of inches below six feet though his shoulders are firm and arms strong. Inked upon his flesh, particularly his arms, are runes earned for his mastery of his craft and denoting his family's great works and deeds.
He reeks of molten steel, his face oft marred with ash or the filth from the forge as clean a shop he runs. The price of doing business, he says with a smile.
Clothes and Equipment: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Gram is neevr seen without his stained leather apron when in the shop, favoring utility over style where his attire is concerned. There are but few things of value he carries upon his person, and though he is a smith of metal and steel, his Clan have always been ready and able to fight and he has been no exception.
'Dáinsleif' was the blade forged by his father that bore the same name and was passed on to Gram when his father passed beyond the final gate and into the underworld. It has never been seen to rust, though that may be attributed to the nearly religious manner Gram tends to the blade. The blade has room for two runes to be placed upon it, stored safely until needed. But the blade has a price whenever drawn and must draw blood, lest the runes vanish and the blade grow heavy. Until blood is drawn and the blade laid to rest in the fires of the forge for one day, it shall remain unwieldy.
Two bracers are of his own making, one bearing the Sol rune and the other the Uruz rune.
When coaxing to life the Sol rune, it kindles to life and burns with the strength of a strong bonfire and could provide the same heat if nead be for some time. However, those fires must be stoked and they draw from the bearers own body to carry on. Prolonged use of it could leave the bearer weak, famished and dehydrated if used for too long. A burst of magic from the Sol rune can leave it burned out for a day but it can severely diminish or repel the effects of a flame spell directed at the bearer of the vambrace.
When bringing to life the Uruz rune, it knits together injuries, dulls pain or can expedite the recovery from sickness or bumps and bruises. Much like its sibling, this vambrace must draw upon something in order to work. Often times, this leaves Gram working in the shop or meandering about town with a slight cold, or bearing the burden of bruises and bumps that should be healing but remain as they are while he wears the vambrace, storing his body's ability to heal for greater purpose.
Registered: Sept 5, 2017 6:43:06 GMT -8
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Post by Gram Tyrfing on Sept 7, 2017 10:12:17 GMT -8
Maybe there was an inkling of the woodblooded elves remaining somewhere in Gram's veins as he too shuddered at the thought of an elderwood growing this size in a matter of weeks, shaking his head.
"Simple life does not mean a dull one. Nor a wretched one. What say you to this; your skill as a guide when I come travelling by, your blessing for my salvage and I'll see that your steel is mended. Pots, pans, new fish hooks. Never made a cast iron tea pot before, but there is a first time for everything. What say you?" the elf offered, downing the rest of the mug before looking at the empty cup as though to find answers in the tea leaves at the bottom.
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Post by Strangers and Travelers on Sept 7, 2017 17:29:45 GMT -8
Cheesecake managed to hear the falling food and turned around. At first she was going to dive for it again but when she went to give a squeak of excitement before realizing her mouth was sealed shut. She tried harder to chew the food and swallow but found she was unable to. Eventually she began to panic and floated down in front of Riley, pointing to her mouth and desperately trying to say something. Riley looked at her confused. "What? Cheese, you okay?" The fairy shook her head vigorously. Eventually Riley realized what was going on. He sighed and held his head with two fingers by the bridge of his nose. "The candy's cursed, isn't it?" Cheesecake slowly nodded sheepishly. "Well, shit. Looks like we need to find our way back to town. C'mon, let's head back the way we came...." Riley replied as he grabbed Cheesecake from the air and stuffed her into his armor for safekeeping. He had hoped the healing properties of the armor would help her predicament but he figured life wouldn't be that easy. Riley attempted to trace his steps back the way he came in hopes of leaving the forest and finding civilization. As Riley navigated his way back, he'd find that all the trees pretty much looked the same. Had they turned right, or left? Didn't they pass that rock already? Was this really the right way, or were they actually just getting lost? It was hard to tell, as the mist prevented them from seeing far. Meanwhile, Cheesecake would notice a rather distressing development: she had begun to turn red, and was becoming distressingly round. However, her jaw was stick stuck tight. As they walked, Riley would hear the same giggling as before from up above. Looking up, he would see a pair of glowing blue eyes staring back at him, and not much else.
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Riley Fletcher and Cheesecake
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 121
Age: 25
Physical Description: Riley Fletcher is a red-haired human standing 6 feet in height, with the body of a trained soldier. His hair has been described as "red and floppy" and his clothes always seem to be their cleanest. Cheesecake is a fairy standing 6 inches in height, wearing a pink skirt. She has short blonde hair with a tiny cowlick that never seems to go away no matter what.
Clothes and Equipment: Riley's normal attire includes his red armor and green-tinted plate pieces and his green scythe with an amber blade. The scythe was a gift from the archfey themselves. Riley will be the first to admit a scythe isn't actually a viable weapon but the archfey, living in another plane of existence and having no idea what humans consider weapons, gifted him one thinking that because "it's super awesome-looking" it must be a proper weapon.
He keeps a longsword and shield as a backup for when the archfey are proven wrong. Along with his weapon, Riley carries with him standard adventuring gear as well as healing potions for when they're traveling. Cheesecake's small size means she's not able to carry much more than her rapier (essentially a metal toothpick).
Registered: Aug 23, 2017 9:00:03 GMT -8
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Post by Riley Fletcher and Cheesecake on Sept 7, 2017 17:43:56 GMT -8
Cheesecake managed to hear the falling food and turned around. At first she was going to dive for it again but when she went to give a squeak of excitement before realizing her mouth was sealed shut. She tried harder to chew the food and swallow but found she was unable to. Eventually she began to panic and floated down in front of Riley, pointing to her mouth and desperately trying to say something. Riley looked at her confused. "What? Cheese, you okay?" The fairy shook her head vigorously. Eventually Riley realized what was going on. He sighed and held his head with two fingers by the bridge of his nose. "The candy's cursed, isn't it?" Cheesecake slowly nodded sheepishly. "Well, shit. Looks like we need to find our way back to town. C'mon, let's head back the way we came...." Riley replied as he grabbed Cheesecake from the air and stuffed her into his armor for safekeeping. He had hoped the healing properties of the armor would help her predicament but he figured life wouldn't be that easy. Riley attempted to trace his steps back the way he came in hopes of leaving the forest and finding civilization. As Riley navigated his way back, he'd find that all the trees pretty much looked the same. Had they turned right, or left? Didn't they pass that rock already? Was this really the right way, or were they actually just getting lost? It was hard to tell, as the mist prevented them from seeing far. Meanwhile, Cheesecake would notice a rather distressing development: she had begun to turn red, and was becoming distressingly round. However, her jaw was stick stuck tight. As they walked, Riley would hear the same giggling as before from up above. Looking up, he would see a pair of glowing blue eyes staring back at him, and not much else. Riley looked up to the eyes but remained silent for a moment. He pulled Cheesecake out to see she was slowly turning into a giant cherry. He looked back to the eyes, narrowing his own. "How do we fix this?" He asked with determination in his voice. It was clear he wasn't in the mood for pranks, but that he had experienced this before.
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Post by Strangers and Travelers on Sept 8, 2017 5:32:30 GMT -8
Maybe there was an inkling of the woodblooded elves remaining somewhere in Gram's veins as he too shuddered at the thought of an elderwood growing this size in a matter of weeks, shaking his head. "Simple life does not mean a dull one. Nor a wretched one. What say you to this; your skill as a guide when I come travelling by, your blessing for my salvage and I'll see that your steel is mended. Pots, pans, new fish hooks. Never made a cast iron tea pot before, but there is a first time for everything. What say you?" the elf offered, downing the rest of the mug before looking at the empty cup as though to find answers in the tea leaves at the bottom. Lauri considered Gram's offer carefully, before nodding. "That sounds excellent, Gram. I'd be happy to guide you through the forest whenever you venture through here. It would be nice to get some of my things fixed up, as well. My frying pan needs a new handle, and I sure would like a new set of paring knives. Thank you, I hope you're able to make something nice out of the branches you find." He sat down on one of the roots in the ground, a motion that didn't make him significantly taller or shorter. The strong Elderwood didn't even creak under his rotund body, and he seemed to find the root fairly comfortable. "Life out here is rather comfortable, but I'll be the first to admit that I don't really get much news from the outside. Tell me, Gram. Where are you from? What brings you all the way here, to the Elderwood grove? It's not exactly well-known, and we're rather out-of-the-way."
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Gram Tyrfing
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Age: 284
Physical Description: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Elves are slender folk, graceful in their movements with sinuous bodies of a gymnast and the endless youth of their long-lived race. Pale, fair, ethereal.
Gram and his family are cut from a different cloth.
Though the Clan harkens its bloodlines to the fiery haired elves, ready for battle and their hearts full of fire and fury, the Tyrfing elves are stouter and darker. They say the Tyrfings once had hair of spun gold wet with the blood of the setting sun but countless ages locked away in their forges have ruddied their pale flesh, stained their hair with ash and soot and given them a taste for steel and fire.
He is of a middling height, more than a handful of inches below six feet though his shoulders are firm and arms strong. Inked upon his flesh, particularly his arms, are runes earned for his mastery of his craft and denoting his family's great works and deeds.
He reeks of molten steel, his face oft marred with ash or the filth from the forge as clean a shop he runs. The price of doing business, he says with a smile.
Clothes and Equipment: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Gram is neevr seen without his stained leather apron when in the shop, favoring utility over style where his attire is concerned. There are but few things of value he carries upon his person, and though he is a smith of metal and steel, his Clan have always been ready and able to fight and he has been no exception.
'Dáinsleif' was the blade forged by his father that bore the same name and was passed on to Gram when his father passed beyond the final gate and into the underworld. It has never been seen to rust, though that may be attributed to the nearly religious manner Gram tends to the blade. The blade has room for two runes to be placed upon it, stored safely until needed. But the blade has a price whenever drawn and must draw blood, lest the runes vanish and the blade grow heavy. Until blood is drawn and the blade laid to rest in the fires of the forge for one day, it shall remain unwieldy.
Two bracers are of his own making, one bearing the Sol rune and the other the Uruz rune.
When coaxing to life the Sol rune, it kindles to life and burns with the strength of a strong bonfire and could provide the same heat if nead be for some time. However, those fires must be stoked and they draw from the bearers own body to carry on. Prolonged use of it could leave the bearer weak, famished and dehydrated if used for too long. A burst of magic from the Sol rune can leave it burned out for a day but it can severely diminish or repel the effects of a flame spell directed at the bearer of the vambrace.
When bringing to life the Uruz rune, it knits together injuries, dulls pain or can expedite the recovery from sickness or bumps and bruises. Much like its sibling, this vambrace must draw upon something in order to work. Often times, this leaves Gram working in the shop or meandering about town with a slight cold, or bearing the burden of bruises and bumps that should be healing but remain as they are while he wears the vambrace, storing his body's ability to heal for greater purpose.
Registered: Sept 5, 2017 6:43:06 GMT -8
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Post by Gram Tyrfing on Sept 8, 2017 6:23:14 GMT -8
Gram bowed his head, the manner severe and dreadfully serious.
"So this bargain is made, so it shall be, Master Lauri," the elf intoned before watching the short drinking companion settle upon a deceptively supportive root, unbowed in Lauri's presence.
"Venland, though in recent times, the isle of Ulvrive now claimed by my Clanfolk. I ventured forth to this place as I have but a handful of other times in my many decades as a smith, like my father before me and his father before him. It is from them I heard tales of the Elderwood, thanks to them I have seen it worked into wonders. Out of the way it may be, but well worth the trip. And the dangers. I am certain you understand their value," he replied ploddingly with a knowing, small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He still seemed somewhat haughty, almost condescending but maybe the tea was warming him up to his drinking companion.
"And what is your tale to tell, then, Lauri of the Eldertongue?"
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Post by Strangers and Travelers on Sept 9, 2017 8:35:52 GMT -8
Lauri nodded, listening with interest as Gram Tyrfing recounted his tale. He had always enjoyed hearing people's stories from afar, as it gave him some idea of what was going on in the outside world. After all, he'd never wandered further than the Elderwood forest. "My own? Well, it's not much of a tale, I'm afraid. I really don't get out much. I was born and raised on the Elderwood farm, and have lived around here my entire life. This forest is really the only place I go, I'm too busy to do much else. Raising Elderwood trees is a lot of work, you know. You have to-" He paused, glancing around. His tiny ears perked up, as though he were listening for something. "Somebody's here. Someone who shouldn't be. Simple wanderers don't sneak about, after all."
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Post by Strangers and Travelers on Sept 9, 2017 8:38:38 GMT -8
As Riley Fletcher and Cheesecake watched, a smile would appear beneath the eyes, wide and pointy. A huge, pointed black hat materialized above them, flopping back and forth as the face moved. "Why, why would you ever want to reverse such a thing? Fairies are so troublesome, you know. Always disobeying your orders, eating everything, getting cursed...isn't it better to have a nice, juicy cherry? They're awfully sweet, and I've never seen one that size before. I'll bet she'll taste good." Meanwhile, Cheesecake would be distressed to find a stem growing from her head.
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Gram Tyrfing
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Age: 284
Physical Description: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Elves are slender folk, graceful in their movements with sinuous bodies of a gymnast and the endless youth of their long-lived race. Pale, fair, ethereal.
Gram and his family are cut from a different cloth.
Though the Clan harkens its bloodlines to the fiery haired elves, ready for battle and their hearts full of fire and fury, the Tyrfing elves are stouter and darker. They say the Tyrfings once had hair of spun gold wet with the blood of the setting sun but countless ages locked away in their forges have ruddied their pale flesh, stained their hair with ash and soot and given them a taste for steel and fire.
He is of a middling height, more than a handful of inches below six feet though his shoulders are firm and arms strong. Inked upon his flesh, particularly his arms, are runes earned for his mastery of his craft and denoting his family's great works and deeds.
He reeks of molten steel, his face oft marred with ash or the filth from the forge as clean a shop he runs. The price of doing business, he says with a smile.
Clothes and Equipment: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Gram is neevr seen without his stained leather apron when in the shop, favoring utility over style where his attire is concerned. There are but few things of value he carries upon his person, and though he is a smith of metal and steel, his Clan have always been ready and able to fight and he has been no exception.
'Dáinsleif' was the blade forged by his father that bore the same name and was passed on to Gram when his father passed beyond the final gate and into the underworld. It has never been seen to rust, though that may be attributed to the nearly religious manner Gram tends to the blade. The blade has room for two runes to be placed upon it, stored safely until needed. But the blade has a price whenever drawn and must draw blood, lest the runes vanish and the blade grow heavy. Until blood is drawn and the blade laid to rest in the fires of the forge for one day, it shall remain unwieldy.
Two bracers are of his own making, one bearing the Sol rune and the other the Uruz rune.
When coaxing to life the Sol rune, it kindles to life and burns with the strength of a strong bonfire and could provide the same heat if nead be for some time. However, those fires must be stoked and they draw from the bearers own body to carry on. Prolonged use of it could leave the bearer weak, famished and dehydrated if used for too long. A burst of magic from the Sol rune can leave it burned out for a day but it can severely diminish or repel the effects of a flame spell directed at the bearer of the vambrace.
When bringing to life the Uruz rune, it knits together injuries, dulls pain or can expedite the recovery from sickness or bumps and bruises. Much like its sibling, this vambrace must draw upon something in order to work. Often times, this leaves Gram working in the shop or meandering about town with a slight cold, or bearing the burden of bruises and bumps that should be healing but remain as they are while he wears the vambrace, storing his body's ability to heal for greater purpose.
Registered: Sept 5, 2017 6:43:06 GMT -8
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Post by Gram Tyrfing on Sept 9, 2017 8:52:23 GMT -8
Whatever words were to come from Gram's mouth died in his throat as Lauri's own words were cut off. The elf watched his host's ears flicker, glancing about as though sensing trouble. And sense it he did.
"A good thing we are not simple travelers ourselves. Guide me through the fog. And if this trespasser seeks trouble, then I'll test their mettle," the smith joked with a dry edge to his words. He rubbed his hands together before reaching down for the axe, plucking it from the earth and wiping the edge clean with the end of his heavy scarf. "Lead us through the fog, then. Lest you'd rather stay here, safe."
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Post by Strangers and Travelers on Sept 9, 2017 9:26:18 GMT -8
Lauri cast a nervous glance towards the axe, but nodded. He clutched his walking stick tight, ready to swing at anyone who jumped out of the mist. After a moment's hesitation, he headed off into the forest, guiding Gram on some unseen path through the woods. As he walked, he glanced back and forth, watching for any sign of anything moving in the fog. After a few tense moments, he stopped at the base of an Elderwood tree.
"They were here...I heard them. I'm not sure where they are now, though...it's awfully hard to tell where anything is around here. They could be anywhere..."
All of a sudden, a lasso of rope dropped from above, looping neatly over Lauri. Before he had a chance to react, he was hoisted high into the air, rising quickly into the tree's canopy.
"Help! They've got me!"
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Gram Tyrfing
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Age: 284
Physical Description: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Elves are slender folk, graceful in their movements with sinuous bodies of a gymnast and the endless youth of their long-lived race. Pale, fair, ethereal.
Gram and his family are cut from a different cloth.
Though the Clan harkens its bloodlines to the fiery haired elves, ready for battle and their hearts full of fire and fury, the Tyrfing elves are stouter and darker. They say the Tyrfings once had hair of spun gold wet with the blood of the setting sun but countless ages locked away in their forges have ruddied their pale flesh, stained their hair with ash and soot and given them a taste for steel and fire.
He is of a middling height, more than a handful of inches below six feet though his shoulders are firm and arms strong. Inked upon his flesh, particularly his arms, are runes earned for his mastery of his craft and denoting his family's great works and deeds.
He reeks of molten steel, his face oft marred with ash or the filth from the forge as clean a shop he runs. The price of doing business, he says with a smile.
Clothes and Equipment: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Gram is neevr seen without his stained leather apron when in the shop, favoring utility over style where his attire is concerned. There are but few things of value he carries upon his person, and though he is a smith of metal and steel, his Clan have always been ready and able to fight and he has been no exception.
'Dáinsleif' was the blade forged by his father that bore the same name and was passed on to Gram when his father passed beyond the final gate and into the underworld. It has never been seen to rust, though that may be attributed to the nearly religious manner Gram tends to the blade. The blade has room for two runes to be placed upon it, stored safely until needed. But the blade has a price whenever drawn and must draw blood, lest the runes vanish and the blade grow heavy. Until blood is drawn and the blade laid to rest in the fires of the forge for one day, it shall remain unwieldy.
Two bracers are of his own making, one bearing the Sol rune and the other the Uruz rune.
When coaxing to life the Sol rune, it kindles to life and burns with the strength of a strong bonfire and could provide the same heat if nead be for some time. However, those fires must be stoked and they draw from the bearers own body to carry on. Prolonged use of it could leave the bearer weak, famished and dehydrated if used for too long. A burst of magic from the Sol rune can leave it burned out for a day but it can severely diminish or repel the effects of a flame spell directed at the bearer of the vambrace.
When bringing to life the Uruz rune, it knits together injuries, dulls pain or can expedite the recovery from sickness or bumps and bruises. Much like its sibling, this vambrace must draw upon something in order to work. Often times, this leaves Gram working in the shop or meandering about town with a slight cold, or bearing the burden of bruises and bumps that should be healing but remain as they are while he wears the vambrace, storing his body's ability to heal for greater purpose.
Registered: Sept 5, 2017 6:43:06 GMT -8
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Post by Gram Tyrfing on Sept 9, 2017 9:36:14 GMT -8
Gram followed Lauri, ushering more of that power into the rune on his bracer, the light beginning to crackle and grow like flames from a bonfire. It was when they paused, Lauri trying to gauge his whereabouts and those of the strangers that Gram closed his eyes to breathe more power into the rune on the bracer. Of course, that's when the foe unseen struck, looping the rope around the elf's companion and yanked him into the air.
Gram had but a moment to react, seeing Lauri hoisted into the air. It came as a surprise, too quickly for him to react other than bringing his arms back with the axe in his hands to swing for the rop - but the image of missing and striking a blow to Lauri danced in his head.
He hesitated. And with that, the rotund guide was whisked away, far above. With a vicious cursing, he cast aside the axe and moved towards the tree that Lauri had disappeared up into, grasping at the branches to climb as quickly as he could.
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Post by Strangers and Travelers on Sept 9, 2017 9:53:24 GMT -8
As Gram climbed, he'd begin to realize exactly how tall Elderwood trees were. They towered above the forest floor, the imposing trunks vanishing into the mist high above. Still, although Gram couldn't see the mysterious kidnappers, it seemed that they knew that he was coming. A voice shouted from above, gruff and demanding.
"Go back, newcomer! This doesn't concern you. If you climb any further, we'll drop the rodent. It's an awfully long way down, and I don't think either of you would enjoy that very much. We're just here for the seeds, that's all. Give them to us and nobody gets hurt."
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Gram Tyrfing
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Age: 284
Physical Description: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Elves are slender folk, graceful in their movements with sinuous bodies of a gymnast and the endless youth of their long-lived race. Pale, fair, ethereal.
Gram and his family are cut from a different cloth.
Though the Clan harkens its bloodlines to the fiery haired elves, ready for battle and their hearts full of fire and fury, the Tyrfing elves are stouter and darker. They say the Tyrfings once had hair of spun gold wet with the blood of the setting sun but countless ages locked away in their forges have ruddied their pale flesh, stained their hair with ash and soot and given them a taste for steel and fire.
He is of a middling height, more than a handful of inches below six feet though his shoulders are firm and arms strong. Inked upon his flesh, particularly his arms, are runes earned for his mastery of his craft and denoting his family's great works and deeds.
He reeks of molten steel, his face oft marred with ash or the filth from the forge as clean a shop he runs. The price of doing business, he says with a smile.
Clothes and Equipment: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Gram is neevr seen without his stained leather apron when in the shop, favoring utility over style where his attire is concerned. There are but few things of value he carries upon his person, and though he is a smith of metal and steel, his Clan have always been ready and able to fight and he has been no exception.
'Dáinsleif' was the blade forged by his father that bore the same name and was passed on to Gram when his father passed beyond the final gate and into the underworld. It has never been seen to rust, though that may be attributed to the nearly religious manner Gram tends to the blade. The blade has room for two runes to be placed upon it, stored safely until needed. But the blade has a price whenever drawn and must draw blood, lest the runes vanish and the blade grow heavy. Until blood is drawn and the blade laid to rest in the fires of the forge for one day, it shall remain unwieldy.
Two bracers are of his own making, one bearing the Sol rune and the other the Uruz rune.
When coaxing to life the Sol rune, it kindles to life and burns with the strength of a strong bonfire and could provide the same heat if nead be for some time. However, those fires must be stoked and they draw from the bearers own body to carry on. Prolonged use of it could leave the bearer weak, famished and dehydrated if used for too long. A burst of magic from the Sol rune can leave it burned out for a day but it can severely diminish or repel the effects of a flame spell directed at the bearer of the vambrace.
When bringing to life the Uruz rune, it knits together injuries, dulls pain or can expedite the recovery from sickness or bumps and bruises. Much like its sibling, this vambrace must draw upon something in order to work. Often times, this leaves Gram working in the shop or meandering about town with a slight cold, or bearing the burden of bruises and bumps that should be healing but remain as they are while he wears the vambrace, storing his body's ability to heal for greater purpose.
Registered: Sept 5, 2017 6:43:06 GMT -8
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Post by Gram Tyrfing on Sept 9, 2017 10:06:55 GMT -8
Gram ceased his climbing when he heard the voice, finding a particularly more comfortable place to rest while doing his best to avoid looking down. Or thinking about the height. Or what would happen if he fell. Sweat began to form on his scalp, the bottom of his stomach sinking into his feet, his tongue going dry. Heights, it appeared, were not his friend.
"This does concern me. You have my business partner. Drop him, and you'll have nothing but trouble. You want seeds? He has some in his pocket. That's all he has on him. You don't let him go? I'll leave. Fine. I'll just go grab his hoard at his home and leave you with nothing, then," he called out, bluffing. Slowly, carefully, he began to climb down, hoping that they would either believe his lie or try to bargain with him.
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Post by Strangers and Travelers on Sept 9, 2017 10:30:10 GMT -8
There was a brief pause as the kidnappers considered, as well as the sound of rapid rummaging. Lauri let out a series of indignant squeaks, before the thieves apparently found the seeds.
"Give those back! You can't just-woaaaaaAAAAAH!"
The sound of a rope snapping taut rang out, and Lauri suddenly appeared out of the mist. Just as quickly as he'd appeared, he vanished again, rising out of sight just as quickly.
"You be quiet, or the next time we'll let you fall the whole way. You hear me? And to you, down there, don't worry about his hoard at his home! We've already gone through there, there aren't any seeds there! We've got what we want, now leave and we'll let this fat fellow free. Keep climbing, and we'll set him free...quickly."
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Gram Tyrfing
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Age: 284
Physical Description: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Elves are slender folk, graceful in their movements with sinuous bodies of a gymnast and the endless youth of their long-lived race. Pale, fair, ethereal.
Gram and his family are cut from a different cloth.
Though the Clan harkens its bloodlines to the fiery haired elves, ready for battle and their hearts full of fire and fury, the Tyrfing elves are stouter and darker. They say the Tyrfings once had hair of spun gold wet with the blood of the setting sun but countless ages locked away in their forges have ruddied their pale flesh, stained their hair with ash and soot and given them a taste for steel and fire.
He is of a middling height, more than a handful of inches below six feet though his shoulders are firm and arms strong. Inked upon his flesh, particularly his arms, are runes earned for his mastery of his craft and denoting his family's great works and deeds.
He reeks of molten steel, his face oft marred with ash or the filth from the forge as clean a shop he runs. The price of doing business, he says with a smile.
Clothes and Equipment: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Gram is neevr seen without his stained leather apron when in the shop, favoring utility over style where his attire is concerned. There are but few things of value he carries upon his person, and though he is a smith of metal and steel, his Clan have always been ready and able to fight and he has been no exception.
'Dáinsleif' was the blade forged by his father that bore the same name and was passed on to Gram when his father passed beyond the final gate and into the underworld. It has never been seen to rust, though that may be attributed to the nearly religious manner Gram tends to the blade. The blade has room for two runes to be placed upon it, stored safely until needed. But the blade has a price whenever drawn and must draw blood, lest the runes vanish and the blade grow heavy. Until blood is drawn and the blade laid to rest in the fires of the forge for one day, it shall remain unwieldy.
Two bracers are of his own making, one bearing the Sol rune and the other the Uruz rune.
When coaxing to life the Sol rune, it kindles to life and burns with the strength of a strong bonfire and could provide the same heat if nead be for some time. However, those fires must be stoked and they draw from the bearers own body to carry on. Prolonged use of it could leave the bearer weak, famished and dehydrated if used for too long. A burst of magic from the Sol rune can leave it burned out for a day but it can severely diminish or repel the effects of a flame spell directed at the bearer of the vambrace.
When bringing to life the Uruz rune, it knits together injuries, dulls pain or can expedite the recovery from sickness or bumps and bruises. Much like its sibling, this vambrace must draw upon something in order to work. Often times, this leaves Gram working in the shop or meandering about town with a slight cold, or bearing the burden of bruises and bumps that should be healing but remain as they are while he wears the vambrace, storing his body's ability to heal for greater purpose.
Registered: Sept 5, 2017 6:43:06 GMT -8
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Post by Gram Tyrfing on Sept 9, 2017 10:53:56 GMT -8
Gram stopped, not liking where this was going. What was he going to do? He had little choice, didn't he? He couldn't abandon Lauri. But what leverage did he have? He couldn't even see the folk that had taken Lauri. Gritting his teeth and gripping hold of his ire, he climbed down. Slowly, bitterly, fuming with impotence. More so with the anger at his sudden acknowledgement of his fear of heights.
But an eternity later, he reached the ground with shaking knees and sweating palms, his tunic clinging to his shoulders. Once down, he took a moment to catch his breath and steel his spine, happy to be back on firm ground. He grabbed the axe nearby and began a slow retreat in full view.
"There!" he shouted back to them. "Now put him back down, nice and slowly!"
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Riley Fletcher and Cheesecake
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 121
Age: 25
Physical Description: Riley Fletcher is a red-haired human standing 6 feet in height, with the body of a trained soldier. His hair has been described as "red and floppy" and his clothes always seem to be their cleanest. Cheesecake is a fairy standing 6 inches in height, wearing a pink skirt. She has short blonde hair with a tiny cowlick that never seems to go away no matter what.
Clothes and Equipment: Riley's normal attire includes his red armor and green-tinted plate pieces and his green scythe with an amber blade. The scythe was a gift from the archfey themselves. Riley will be the first to admit a scythe isn't actually a viable weapon but the archfey, living in another plane of existence and having no idea what humans consider weapons, gifted him one thinking that because "it's super awesome-looking" it must be a proper weapon.
He keeps a longsword and shield as a backup for when the archfey are proven wrong. Along with his weapon, Riley carries with him standard adventuring gear as well as healing potions for when they're traveling. Cheesecake's small size means she's not able to carry much more than her rapier (essentially a metal toothpick).
Registered: Aug 23, 2017 9:00:03 GMT -8
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Post by Riley Fletcher and Cheesecake on Sept 9, 2017 10:57:26 GMT -8
As Riley Fletcher and Cheesecake watched, a smile would appear beneath the eyes, wide and pointy. A huge, pointed black hat materialized above them, flopping back and forth as the face moved. "Why, why would you ever want to reverse such a thing? Fairies are so troublesome, you know. Always disobeying your orders, eating everything, getting cursed...isn't it better to have a nice, juicy cherry? They're awfully sweet, and I've never seen one that size before. I'll bet she'll taste good." Meanwhile, Cheesecake would be distressed to find a stem growing from her head. Riley narrowed his eyes. It was clear he was holding back his rage, and that he had had enough with these kinds of creatures. "You've placed a curse on my best friend, someone who's been with me for a long time now." Riley said cooly. He pulled his scythe clear from his back and stomped over to one of the trees. The amber blade glistened a little as Riley raised it over his head and his left shoulder, ready to reap the tree. Yet he was still a few feet from the tree itself, he would only slash air. "This scythe was given to me as a pact between the fey and humanity. I represent them in all but body." With a grunt, Riley sliced the scythe through the air in front of the tree and let the blade land next to him. A moment passed. "So by slighting me, you're slighting the fey." Dust formed in a diagonal line across the tree's bark as the top half of the tree made a rumbling sound and slid down the other half. "And if you don't remove this curse I'll show you how troublesome fey can really be." The top half of the tree, cleanly cut by something capable of slicing through steel, crashed to the ground with a massive boom. Water and soil clouded the area around its landing site before coming to a rest. Riley pulled the scythe back up and into his hands, turning to face the floating hat and face, ready to swipe again in its direction.
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Post by Strangers and Travelers on Sept 10, 2017 12:18:29 GMT -8
Gram stopped, not liking where this was going. What was he going to do? He had little choice, didn't he? He couldn't abandon Lauri. But what leverage did he have? He couldn't even see the folk that had taken Lauri. Gritting his teeth and gripping hold of his ire, he climbed down. Slowly, bitterly, fuming with impotence. More so with the anger at his sudden acknowledgement of his fear of heights. But an eternity later, he reached the ground with shaking knees and sweating palms, his tunic clinging to his shoulders. Once down, he took a moment to catch his breath and steel his spine, happy to be back on firm ground. He grabbed the axe nearby and began a slow retreat in full view. "There!" he shouted back to them. "Now put him back down, nice and slowly!" Once Gram climbed down to the ground and backed up, Lauri was lowered down. He appeared up above, coming through the mist on his tether like a rather fat spider. He gripped the rope tightly, eyes squeezed shut. It seemed that he didn't much like the heights either. Once his feet were on flat ground, the rope went slack and fell beside him. He hurried over to Gram, glancing worriedly over his shoulder. "Quick, we've got to catch them! They'll do something awful with those seeds, do you know how you grow an Elderwood tree qui-" He was cut off by what sounded like huge wings beating, high above their heads. Glancing up, the pair would see huge shapes gliding through the mist, just barely out of sight.
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Gram Tyrfing
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Age: 284
Physical Description: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Elves are slender folk, graceful in their movements with sinuous bodies of a gymnast and the endless youth of their long-lived race. Pale, fair, ethereal.
Gram and his family are cut from a different cloth.
Though the Clan harkens its bloodlines to the fiery haired elves, ready for battle and their hearts full of fire and fury, the Tyrfing elves are stouter and darker. They say the Tyrfings once had hair of spun gold wet with the blood of the setting sun but countless ages locked away in their forges have ruddied their pale flesh, stained their hair with ash and soot and given them a taste for steel and fire.
He is of a middling height, more than a handful of inches below six feet though his shoulders are firm and arms strong. Inked upon his flesh, particularly his arms, are runes earned for his mastery of his craft and denoting his family's great works and deeds.
He reeks of molten steel, his face oft marred with ash or the filth from the forge as clean a shop he runs. The price of doing business, he says with a smile.
Clothes and Equipment: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Gram is neevr seen without his stained leather apron when in the shop, favoring utility over style where his attire is concerned. There are but few things of value he carries upon his person, and though he is a smith of metal and steel, his Clan have always been ready and able to fight and he has been no exception.
'Dáinsleif' was the blade forged by his father that bore the same name and was passed on to Gram when his father passed beyond the final gate and into the underworld. It has never been seen to rust, though that may be attributed to the nearly religious manner Gram tends to the blade. The blade has room for two runes to be placed upon it, stored safely until needed. But the blade has a price whenever drawn and must draw blood, lest the runes vanish and the blade grow heavy. Until blood is drawn and the blade laid to rest in the fires of the forge for one day, it shall remain unwieldy.
Two bracers are of his own making, one bearing the Sol rune and the other the Uruz rune.
When coaxing to life the Sol rune, it kindles to life and burns with the strength of a strong bonfire and could provide the same heat if nead be for some time. However, those fires must be stoked and they draw from the bearers own body to carry on. Prolonged use of it could leave the bearer weak, famished and dehydrated if used for too long. A burst of magic from the Sol rune can leave it burned out for a day but it can severely diminish or repel the effects of a flame spell directed at the bearer of the vambrace.
When bringing to life the Uruz rune, it knits together injuries, dulls pain or can expedite the recovery from sickness or bumps and bruises. Much like its sibling, this vambrace must draw upon something in order to work. Often times, this leaves Gram working in the shop or meandering about town with a slight cold, or bearing the burden of bruises and bumps that should be healing but remain as they are while he wears the vambrace, storing his body's ability to heal for greater purpose.
Registered: Sept 5, 2017 6:43:06 GMT -8
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Post by Gram Tyrfing on Sept 10, 2017 12:57:11 GMT -8
Once Lauri was lowered to a safe height, Gram was already headed his way, keeping an eye overhead for any unpleasant surprises. A rushing of wind and wings, a clashing sound of rattling branches and leaves as something took flight overhead. Gram was already snatching the rope and tossing it to Lauri to hold onto before he spat out a curse.
"Unless you can damn well fly, less talking more running!" Gram barked harshly, taking off at a sprint, looking above to the canopy where the dark figure would be rushing among the branches and the trees, the beating sound of wings alerting him to their presence. But he wasn't a fool; he might as well be trying to run after a bloody horse.
But nothing ventured, nothing gained. and he'd been made to look a damn fool. And he hated that. So, he let that teeth-gritting anger and fear from the climb push him forward, heedless of the dangers of what could happen if he very well caught up.
"Come on, Lauri!"
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Post by Strangers and Travelers on Sept 11, 2017 13:33:11 GMT -8
Unfortunately, Riley's attack would be far less impressive than he'd hoped. His swing, not even hitting the tree, barely scratched its harder-than-granite bark. The face floating up above giggled at him, and a shower of lollipops and hard candies rained down out of nowhere onto his head. The face drifted down to about thirty feet over his head, the body slowly materializing to reveal the form of a young witch sitting on a broomstick. She reached into the pocket of her long black robe and tossed out another handful of candy, cackling all the while. "Fairies are just the worst, though. Absolutely horrible, so troublesome. They don't listen, they eat everything, they knock things over...they're like cats, but not as cute! I've never been fond of them. Cats, on the other hand..." She pulled out a pair of knitting needles and a ball of yard, and began knitting at a furious rate. The flurry of needles ceased just moments later, and the witch was left with a tiny stuffed cat. She smiled, kissing the top of its knitted head before tossing it to the ground. It bounced on the dirt, then got up and meowed. "See? Isn't it precious? So much better than your nasty little fairies."
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Post by Strangers and Travelers on Sept 11, 2017 14:04:51 GMT -8
Once Lauri was lowered to a safe height, Gram was already headed his way, keeping an eye overhead for any unpleasant surprises. A rushing of wind and wings, a clashing sound of rattling branches and leaves as something took flight overhead. Gram was already snatching the rope and tossing it to Lauri to hold onto before he spat out a curse. "Unless you can damn well fly, less talking more running!" Gram barked harshly, taking off at a sprint, looking above to the canopy where the dark figure would be rushing among the branches and the trees, the beating sound of wings alerting him to their presence. But he wasn't a fool; he might as well be trying to run after a bloody horse. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. and he'd been made to look a damn fool. And he hated that. So, he let that teeth-gritting anger and fear from the climb push him forward, heedless of the dangers of what could happen if he very well caught up. "Come on, Lauri!" Lauri took off running after Gram, showing surprising speed for such a short and portly figure. Still, as quick on his feet as he was, he wasn't quite able to keep up with the athletic elf. The flying thieves swooped and dove through the forest, deftly avoiding trees and branches. All of a sudden, they stopped. Three figures dropped out of the sky onto high branches, the massive wings folding and turning into long black cloaks. All three wore elaborate masks, hiding their faces. The enchanted cloaks billowed in the breeze, ready to unfold again if the thieves chose to take flight. The masks, combined with the distance, made it difficult to tell which one was speaking. "This doesn't concern you, newcomer. You're not one of the forest, and you don't have any stake in these seeds. Let us go, walk home. You'll never hear of any of this again, and you won't have to worry. Resist, however, and you might find yourself helping us grow these seeds." Reaching into an inside pocket, the tallest thief retrieved a blue glass bottle. He uncorked it and upended it, spilling its contents down towards where Lauri and Gram stood. As the liquid fell, it ignited, raining down in a stream of greenish-red flames.
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Gram Tyrfing
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Age: 284
Physical Description: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Elves are slender folk, graceful in their movements with sinuous bodies of a gymnast and the endless youth of their long-lived race. Pale, fair, ethereal.
Gram and his family are cut from a different cloth.
Though the Clan harkens its bloodlines to the fiery haired elves, ready for battle and their hearts full of fire and fury, the Tyrfing elves are stouter and darker. They say the Tyrfings once had hair of spun gold wet with the blood of the setting sun but countless ages locked away in their forges have ruddied their pale flesh, stained their hair with ash and soot and given them a taste for steel and fire.
He is of a middling height, more than a handful of inches below six feet though his shoulders are firm and arms strong. Inked upon his flesh, particularly his arms, are runes earned for his mastery of his craft and denoting his family's great works and deeds.
He reeks of molten steel, his face oft marred with ash or the filth from the forge as clean a shop he runs. The price of doing business, he says with a smile.
Clothes and Equipment: [==|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Gram is neevr seen without his stained leather apron when in the shop, favoring utility over style where his attire is concerned. There are but few things of value he carries upon his person, and though he is a smith of metal and steel, his Clan have always been ready and able to fight and he has been no exception.
'Dáinsleif' was the blade forged by his father that bore the same name and was passed on to Gram when his father passed beyond the final gate and into the underworld. It has never been seen to rust, though that may be attributed to the nearly religious manner Gram tends to the blade. The blade has room for two runes to be placed upon it, stored safely until needed. But the blade has a price whenever drawn and must draw blood, lest the runes vanish and the blade grow heavy. Until blood is drawn and the blade laid to rest in the fires of the forge for one day, it shall remain unwieldy.
Two bracers are of his own making, one bearing the Sol rune and the other the Uruz rune.
When coaxing to life the Sol rune, it kindles to life and burns with the strength of a strong bonfire and could provide the same heat if nead be for some time. However, those fires must be stoked and they draw from the bearers own body to carry on. Prolonged use of it could leave the bearer weak, famished and dehydrated if used for too long. A burst of magic from the Sol rune can leave it burned out for a day but it can severely diminish or repel the effects of a flame spell directed at the bearer of the vambrace.
When bringing to life the Uruz rune, it knits together injuries, dulls pain or can expedite the recovery from sickness or bumps and bruises. Much like its sibling, this vambrace must draw upon something in order to work. Often times, this leaves Gram working in the shop or meandering about town with a slight cold, or bearing the burden of bruises and bumps that should be healing but remain as they are while he wears the vambrace, storing his body's ability to heal for greater purpose.
Registered: Sept 5, 2017 6:43:06 GMT -8
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Post by Gram Tyrfing on Sept 11, 2017 14:34:24 GMT -8
Feet pounding, heart beating in his throat, he continued his run towards the figures that leapt about so nimbly above him, clutching the axe in both hands as he sprinted. In truth, he was surprised by Lauri's sudden speed and deceptive grace, finding himself trying to keep up with him instead. He screeched to a halt, however, as the trio of figures descended from their cover in the treeline, imposing and unearthly in their masks and cloaks, the sweat running down his spine having nothing to do with heat.
He did not respond to them however. Instead, as the sickly greenish-red flames trickled down their way, he dragged the axe across the dirt, willing his magic into being. "Lauri, what happens when they try to make the seeds grow faster?"
The axe dragged across the earth in a particular manner, Gram taking a swing to embed the axe into the earth to finish the last part of the rune. The pattern on the ground glowed with the same flickering light, like a bed of coals as he willed his magic through the axe, into the earth and the rune.
[Channeling for a protection rune into the earth to protect against harm, magical or otherwise while keeping their distance]
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