Ward
New
Roleplay posts: 8 
Age: Unknown
Physical Description: Ward is an intimidating figure to behold, standing almost seven feet tall, with shoulders as broad as a full-grown Orc's back. He has a proud stance, spear-straight, and would look every bit the soldier even without the ornate full-plate armour which he never seems to remove. Although the fine silk crimson robes and hood which cover parts of his armour are tattered and frayed, as though decayed by age and the hardships of the road, he has the unmistakable look of warrior in service to the mighty. Only a great king – or perhaps a wealthy priest or mage – could afford to outfit a soldier in such finery.
Clothes and Equipment: Ward always wears a dull-grey metal suit of full-plate armour of the most ornate – but functional – design, beneath patterned robes of crimson silk which have become sadly worn and tattered. Strange golden fetishes hang from his armour here and there, and the clanking golden belt about his waist looks to be worth a king's ransom. His fully enclosed helm – for which there seems to be no clasp or opening, on close inspection – shows absolutely nothing of the features beneath, only a faintly flickering light, like a guttering candle.
Ward carries with him a mighty halberd which, in his hands at least, is wielded with the ease of a feather; most ordinary folk would not even be able to lift the weapon. Those who have seen Ward fight with this weapon know that is a truly merciless thing, bursting into hellish flames when its wielder seems to be pressed by some especially challenging foe.
Strangely, for a traveller, Ward seems to carry no other equipment. Not even a waterskin.
Player's online availability : Daily (Usually)
Registered: Nov 5, 2017 14:55:58 GMT -8
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Post by Ward on Nov 13, 2017 3:46:05 GMT -8
Ward ignored the Sumer-Ilat, having no understanding of their pride; he only understood the ruthless logic which made his words true. Although he had not consciously considered fighting with the men, deep within his mind his instincts had assessed them – and their mistress – and although a caster would always be an unknown quantity until engaged, from this range Ward was confident that they posed no threat to him whatsoever.
He remembered few of the countless battles he had fought, but that he still stood was evidence enough that he had won. What snatches of past conflicts he could remember were gruesome indeed, and Ward knew that he was dangerous. But, although true that he could feel nothing for those he’d killed, he had no desire to kill. There seemed to purpose to it.
When the young man began fumbling with his belonging, Ward realised that he could not be understood. The boy must be from some distant land. When he produced a notebook and began to write, Ward showed great interest… for some reason writing was strangely novel and comforting all at once… but the automaton could not read it himself. Who would bother teaching a magical killing machine to read?
Thinking the young man unable to understand his words, and being unable to express his own feelings for lack of features, Ward took the butt of his towering halberd and etched a shape in the ground. Ward had no notion of the meaning of smiling, but understood that it was intended as a friendly gesture, which is what his crude drawing intended to express.
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Keph
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 227
Age: 18
Physical Description: Standing at 5'2 feet and sporting amazing snow white hair is the one, the only self-proclaimed Master Adventurer: Keph d'Avon. Many question how he'd get such an odd hair color and he isn't quite sure himself. No doubt some oddity related to all the magic in the world, as it surely isn't dyed. While Keph is no doubt a young lad, he looks young even for his age; maybe it's the lack of a beard or that soft, innocent look of his? His demeanor certainly does him no favors in people giving him less years than he's worth.
While Keph has a mostly innocent look that appears to be constantly surprised an enamored with much of what happens around him, it's clear that he's seen some battle. The back of his right hand has a scar that any keen observer would notice to most likely have been made by the swift slice of a blade, the fact that his skin is mostly soft and untarnished makes it only easier to spot this out of the blue. Surprisingly, as innocent and soft as Keph appears he is actually quite athletic and his small size no doubt betrays these physical abilities!
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Clothes and Equipment: A dark brown cloak covers his shoulder, made out of a Platiusm he hunted himself and had an Isran tailor make out of its pelt. The cloak's hood was lined with a variety feathers.
A few spines are still leftover from the prey’s hide, and stick out from his shoulders, the spines, on one side, stab through a glorious shoulder pad made out of an assortment of colourful feathers, stuck onto a thin layer of leather, keeping it all in place. On the other, you have a carved, wooden mask, made by the young man. It has a few more holes than one would expect a mask meant for a human to have, a result of the thin spines having stabbed through it to keep it from ungracefully falling off his shoulder.
Under his cloak, he wears a padded, blue cloth coat, recently extensively repaired, as he refuses to replace this trusty piece of equipment. Not only warm, but fashionable, and provides protection against some cuts. If it's too hot? A white, thin linen shirt is found beneath the coat.
The coat, as nice as it was, was partly hidden under a variety of knick-knacks, bags, and other useful travel equipment:
-A satchel, which hangs from his shoulder and crosses his torso, on the outside of it a few trinkets such as a necklace with a variety of beast teeth and also a bottle of ink, with a quill sticking from its cork;
-The satchel’s belt had been made to function as a bandolier, a set of inky, black… eggs hung from it;
-On top of it all, a finely crafted hunting bow found within a bow holster and a quiver, both crossed in the opposite direction as his satchel, doing its part to conceal his nice clothes beneath his disorganisation.
His legs are kept concealed and warm with a pair of beige linen pants which are kept up by a sturdy leather belt, on them one finds an even larger variety of knick-knacks and tools than his overused satchel - a sword, a dagger, pouches, more trinkets, a small hide pack hanging from the side, and more eggs.
One could only wonder why he needed half of what he kept.
Registered: Mar 7, 2016 20:07:42 GMT -8
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Post by Keph on Nov 13, 2017 22:41:01 GMT -8
Keph kept the notebook held up to Ward even as the giant produced what appeared to be an odd 'smiley face' on the dirt ground with the base of his halberd; it clearly didn't help with Keph's confusion. He frowned in dissatisfaction, not that Ward would know this as the lower half of his face was concealed due to manner how the young man held up his notebook. Keph looked up and down, between the man's helm and the smiley he had just drawn, trying to get the message he was attempting to get across. For a clearly wealthy warrior, Keph was surprised by the fact that he was unable to read common.
Now, at this point, Keph considered trying sign language. But why would he not know how to read yet know sign language? Well, there were certainly some people that might know sign language but not know how to read, but he'd gamble that they weren't many. Deciding to skip what he felt was an unnecessary step, Keph decided to pick up a lone stick on the side of the road and produce his own drawing!
It was of course of masterful quality!
Or so he might say, the drawing was honestly a bit difficult to interpret - sadly his artistic skills were no where nearly as good as his calligraphy. Yet, if one were to squint their eyes a bit it sort of looked like a featureless face with a speech bubble next to it, on top of the speech bubble was a big 'X'. Granted, to even begin to understand what Keph was trying to communicate would require Ward to understand the concept of a 'speech bubble' which wasn't likely - not that Keph would know this of course.
Even after his masterful creation Keph was feeling a tad discouraged... communicating with this man... it was going to be difficult. Never the less, Keph put on a smile, a forced smile but a smile nonetheless.
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Ward
New
Roleplay posts: 8
Age: Unknown
Physical Description: Ward is an intimidating figure to behold, standing almost seven feet tall, with shoulders as broad as a full-grown Orc's back. He has a proud stance, spear-straight, and would look every bit the soldier even without the ornate full-plate armour which he never seems to remove. Although the fine silk crimson robes and hood which cover parts of his armour are tattered and frayed, as though decayed by age and the hardships of the road, he has the unmistakable look of warrior in service to the mighty. Only a great king – or perhaps a wealthy priest or mage – could afford to outfit a soldier in such finery.
Clothes and Equipment: Ward always wears a dull-grey metal suit of full-plate armour of the most ornate – but functional – design, beneath patterned robes of crimson silk which have become sadly worn and tattered. Strange golden fetishes hang from his armour here and there, and the clanking golden belt about his waist looks to be worth a king's ransom. His fully enclosed helm – for which there seems to be no clasp or opening, on close inspection – shows absolutely nothing of the features beneath, only a faintly flickering light, like a guttering candle.
Ward carries with him a mighty halberd which, in his hands at least, is wielded with the ease of a feather; most ordinary folk would not even be able to lift the weapon. Those who have seen Ward fight with this weapon know that is a truly merciless thing, bursting into hellish flames when its wielder seems to be pressed by some especially challenging foe.
Strangely, for a traveller, Ward seems to carry no other equipment. Not even a waterskin.
Player's online availability : Daily (Usually)
Registered: Nov 5, 2017 14:55:58 GMT -8
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Post by Ward on Nov 15, 2017 14:04:27 GMT -8
Ward watched the young man work with keen interest. He was not exactly happy that they had established communication – that sort of complex emotional reaction was beyond him – but there was satisfaction as he realised that they were talking in some capacity. Time moved differently when he was with others, seeming to adjust to their pace, and it was comforting to see its passing under control.
Once the young man's drawing was complete, Ward nodded in understanding. After delivering a greeting, it was only proper to share your name. He wasn't entire sure what this drawing meant linguistically, but he was certain that making a good effort in interpreting it would be sufficient.
“X... Circle... um... Cross Sphere?” Ward tried. Cross Sphere seemed like a strong name to him, for some reason, and so he decided that this must be approximately right.
“Ward.” Ward said, indicating himself.
Thinking that Cross Sphere might not understand him, Ward took up his halberd and confidently drew something on the ground. He did not know exactly why he drew a shield, but it seemed an entirely appropriate representation of his name.
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Keph
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 227
Age: 18
Physical Description: Standing at 5'2 feet and sporting amazing snow white hair is the one, the only self-proclaimed Master Adventurer: Keph d'Avon. Many question how he'd get such an odd hair color and he isn't quite sure himself. No doubt some oddity related to all the magic in the world, as it surely isn't dyed. While Keph is no doubt a young lad, he looks young even for his age; maybe it's the lack of a beard or that soft, innocent look of his? His demeanor certainly does him no favors in people giving him less years than he's worth.
While Keph has a mostly innocent look that appears to be constantly surprised an enamored with much of what happens around him, it's clear that he's seen some battle. The back of his right hand has a scar that any keen observer would notice to most likely have been made by the swift slice of a blade, the fact that his skin is mostly soft and untarnished makes it only easier to spot this out of the blue. Surprisingly, as innocent and soft as Keph appears he is actually quite athletic and his small size no doubt betrays these physical abilities!
_________________________________________________________
Clothes and Equipment: A dark brown cloak covers his shoulder, made out of a Platiusm he hunted himself and had an Isran tailor make out of its pelt. The cloak's hood was lined with a variety feathers.
A few spines are still leftover from the prey’s hide, and stick out from his shoulders, the spines, on one side, stab through a glorious shoulder pad made out of an assortment of colourful feathers, stuck onto a thin layer of leather, keeping it all in place. On the other, you have a carved, wooden mask, made by the young man. It has a few more holes than one would expect a mask meant for a human to have, a result of the thin spines having stabbed through it to keep it from ungracefully falling off his shoulder.
Under his cloak, he wears a padded, blue cloth coat, recently extensively repaired, as he refuses to replace this trusty piece of equipment. Not only warm, but fashionable, and provides protection against some cuts. If it's too hot? A white, thin linen shirt is found beneath the coat.
The coat, as nice as it was, was partly hidden under a variety of knick-knacks, bags, and other useful travel equipment:
-A satchel, which hangs from his shoulder and crosses his torso, on the outside of it a few trinkets such as a necklace with a variety of beast teeth and also a bottle of ink, with a quill sticking from its cork;
-The satchel’s belt had been made to function as a bandolier, a set of inky, black… eggs hung from it;
-On top of it all, a finely crafted hunting bow found within a bow holster and a quiver, both crossed in the opposite direction as his satchel, doing its part to conceal his nice clothes beneath his disorganisation.
His legs are kept concealed and warm with a pair of beige linen pants which are kept up by a sturdy leather belt, on them one finds an even larger variety of knick-knacks and tools than his overused satchel - a sword, a dagger, pouches, more trinkets, a small hide pack hanging from the side, and more eggs.
One could only wonder why he needed half of what he kept.
Registered: Mar 7, 2016 20:07:42 GMT -8
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Post by Keph on Nov 15, 2017 15:31:08 GMT -8
Keph smile was like an intense beam of sunshine as he noticed Ward looking downwards towards his dirt drawing - there was no doubt in his mind that this would convey Keph's words clearly! Of course, we know this isn't at all what happened and when Ward began to speak Keph's smile slouched into a disappointed frown. The young man crossed his arms, slid his hand (the one holding the pencil) down his face, and then sighed deeply.
Keph firmly shook his head once... twice... three times hoping Ward would at least understand what that meant! He pointed at himself for a moment while giving Ward an intense stare hoping he was paying attention. After such, he flipped onto a new page in his notebook writing 'KEPH' in big bold letters; his handwriting was far less embellished than last time, likely to try and make the strange symbols (which Keph called 'letters') clearer to Ward. While he was aware Ward couldn't read the writing, he was at least hoping this would somehow convey that his name wasn't Cross Sphere.
After such, his finger would point at Ward and Keph would repeat the process, the only difference is this time the text would read 'WARD'. He held it up to the large individual hoping he'd at least get the idea that he could in fact understand common and more importantly - that his freaking name was 'Cross Sphere'. That more than clearly peeved Keph, for whatever reason.
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Dirk Smithson
Established
Confessing
Roleplay posts: 49
Age: 32
Physical Description: Six feet and some change, heavy set, but muscular. Often wears heavy armor and uses a morningstar, but isn't overly attached to any one weapon. His face is often bruised from battle, though he's been able to keep most of his features intact.
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Clothes and Equipment: A heavy suit of armor and no weapons.
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Player's online availability : Frequent
Registered: Nov 16, 2017 20:23:26 GMT -8
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Post by Dirk Smithson on Nov 16, 2017 21:11:28 GMT -8
Striding along the path, leaves crushed underfoot as the droning of insects lulled Dirk Smithson into a daze. A mercenary of about...oh...two weeks, he hardly displayed the keen instinct or edginess that came with time to an adventurer. In fact, he hardly displayed much more than a sour expression as hunger gnawed at his gut. So apparently travelling with food was important, something he'd be sure to note next time he arrived at civilization. (If he ever even made it.) It hadn't been long since his departure from his home, a decent little place in his home city before he'd been rudely chased off. So now there wasn't much else to do but...wander.
Of course it was easy to slip into the so-called mercenary trade when fighting was basically all you really knew. The only issue was...well, he wasn't particularly great at that either. I mean, sure, he's held his own in bar fights, dodged a few knives in back allies, even faced a couple of bandits on his own but when it came to things like dragons and wizards he wasn't exactly an imposing figure. Scratching a rough cheek marred in stubble he gave a sigh, stopping in his tracks on the trail. It was time to make an actual plan...and see if maybe there was something in his pack he could at least fool himself into thinking was food until he got to a town or inn or...or anything.
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Asger
Committed
Roleplay posts: 92
Clothes and Equipment: Full armor
Spear
Shield
Registered: Feb 6, 2017 22:06:38 GMT -8
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Post by Asger on Nov 17, 2017 11:03:50 GMT -8
Striding along the path, leaves crushed underfoot as the droning of insects lulled Dirk Smithson into a daze. A mercenary of about...oh...two weeks, he hardly displayed the keen instinct or edginess that came with time to an adventurer. In fact, he hardly displayed much more than a sour expression as hunger gnawed at his gut. So apparently travelling with food was important, something he'd be sure to note next time he arrived at civilization. (If he ever even made it.) It hadn't been long since his departure from his home, a decent little place in his home city before he'd been rudely chased off. So now there wasn't much else to do but...wander. Of course it was easy to slip into the so-called mercenary trade when fighting was basically all you really knew. The only issue was...well, he wasn't particularly great at that either. I mean, sure, he's held his own in bar fights, dodged a few knives in back allies, even faced a couple of bandits on his own but when it came to things like dragons and wizards he wasn't exactly an imposing figure. Scratching a rough cheek marred in stubble he gave a sigh, stopping in his tracks on the trail. It was time to make an actual plan...and see if maybe there was something in his pack he could at least fool himself into thinking was food until he got to a town or inn or...or anything. Asger was in a foul mood. None of his plans had been met with a hit of success. Now he was short on coin and food. To top it off he had little idea of what to do next. The aspirations he held when coming to these lands were in ruin. He could not even find word of his cousin, Alfher, who had accompanied him to this land. The sound of an approaching traveler alerted him. The soon to be bandit stood in the middle of the road, sheathless spear pointed to the ground, shield strapped to the other arm. "Don't reach for your weapon just yet." Asger said in a stern voice. A hot anger burned in his eyes. He didn't have much energy for a fight, but such was the position he had fallen to. "Just put any food, coin, and belongings you have down on the ground and turn back the other way." A loud rumbling of his stomach somewhat lessened the threatening tone. |
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Dirk Smithson
Established
Confessing
Roleplay posts: 49
Age: 32
Physical Description: Six feet and some change, heavy set, but muscular. Often wears heavy armor and uses a morningstar, but isn't overly attached to any one weapon. His face is often bruised from battle, though he's been able to keep most of his features intact.
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Clothes and Equipment: A heavy suit of armor and no weapons.
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Player's online availability : Frequent
Registered: Nov 16, 2017 20:23:26 GMT -8
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Post by Dirk Smithson on Nov 17, 2017 16:45:30 GMT -8
/Don't reach for your weapon just yet./ Oh, you had to be kidding. Now of all times? At the bandit's demand, Dirk pulled to an abrupt stop, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Easy now, easy." he mumbled, as if attempting to soothe a fierce predator. This guy had the jump on him, but there was still enough distance to pull his morningstar. He eyed the man's spear with some trepidation, however. With the stranger's reach and the distance he had the advantage until Dirk could close the gap between them. Something he wasn't confident he could manage with the armor dragging him down. The man had a clear advantage, and he knew it.
"Look, I ain't got no food." he informed the man carefully. "And I sure as 'ell ain't got no coin. All I gots is my weapon, and I can't do much without ya letting me reach fer it." He barely shifted his feet as he spoke, prepared to run if worse came to worse, until he really took in the person hefting that spear in his general direction, hearing the loud growl of his stomach. "Yer from Medan, ain't ya? One of them mountain men that come down every so often? Thought you lot were all 'bout honor. This don't seem to honorable to me." he paused as his stomach echoed his own, offering its own loud rumble as if it had been challenged.
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Asger
Committed
Roleplay posts: 92
Clothes and Equipment: Full armor
Spear
Shield
Registered: Feb 6, 2017 22:06:38 GMT -8
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Post by Asger on Nov 18, 2017 0:55:53 GMT -8
Dirk Smithson“HA!” Barked the bandit, “Hahaha, well fuck me then, and fuck you too.” The hungry man threw down his shield and kicked it. Asger was full of all sorts of emotions: anger, amusement, excitement at meeting another person, but hunger was dominant. “Honor and chivalry eh? You can believe that if you want. I got no friends, no allies, hell I don’t even think I got any enemies, I got nothin’! So what’s to stop me from taking what I can when I need it?” Asger moved from the road and his discarded shield to retrieve a pack he had left on the side. “I’ll tell you what I do have though. Half a skin of wine. I may not be the most amiable, but I wouldn’t mind sharin’ if it made the road shorter.” He proffered the skin, which was surely better than the spear.
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Dirk Smithson
Established
Confessing
Roleplay posts: 49
Age: 32
Physical Description: Six feet and some change, heavy set, but muscular. Often wears heavy armor and uses a morningstar, but isn't overly attached to any one weapon. His face is often bruised from battle, though he's been able to keep most of his features intact.
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Clothes and Equipment: A heavy suit of armor and no weapons.
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Player's online availability : Frequent
Registered: Nov 16, 2017 20:23:26 GMT -8
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Post by Dirk Smithson on Nov 18, 2017 1:31:40 GMT -8
When the shield clattered to the ground, Dirk nearly bolted. Still, his would-be robber was talking now at least and that was certainly a step up from attacking. "That's one of them rhet- rheto- that's one of them questions I'm not s'posed to answer, right?" he asked, lowering his hands once it seemed that he wouldn't be fighting for his life. After all, he was hardly the chivalrous sort, but if it kept him from getting skewered here in the middle of nowhere it couldn't be too bad. Initially he thought the bandit was going to leave, that was until he retrieved a bag. When he offered the wine skin, Dirk was understandably cautious.
""Ell, guess if I'm going to starve out here might as well have somethin' in my belly." he agreed, approaching Asger and taking the skin. Pulling the stopper he tilted his head back, taking a few solid gulps before giving a satisfied exhale. "Feel that burn." he returned the skin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, as if realizing something vital, he wiped said grimy hand on what fabric was exposed on his armor, making it grimier still against all odds before offering it for a handshake, "The name's Dirk Smithson."
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Asger
Committed
Roleplay posts: 92
Clothes and Equipment: Full armor
Spear
Shield
Registered: Feb 6, 2017 22:06:38 GMT -8
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Post by Asger on Nov 18, 2017 9:23:27 GMT -8
"Asger." The bandit grasped Dirk by the forearm. "Hopefully, a couple of hungry men can help each other out. It will be easier to, er, nevermind."
Asger strapped his shield to the pack and shouldered it. The spear however, stayed in his hand. Point up it was used primarily as a walking stick. Closer inspection would show the head to be slightly rusted and the butt road worn. The bandit wore leather armor that appeared to be in good condition. Though Asger had come to these lands to fight, he had found little in the way of actual combat.
"I s'pose well run into a settlement sooner or later. Are you looking for civilization or running from it, Dirk?" Asger queried while glancing at the wine skin.
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Dirk Smithson
Established
Confessing
Roleplay posts: 49
Age: 32
Physical Description: Six feet and some change, heavy set, but muscular. Often wears heavy armor and uses a morningstar, but isn't overly attached to any one weapon. His face is often bruised from battle, though he's been able to keep most of his features intact.
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Clothes and Equipment: A heavy suit of armor and no weapons.
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Player's online availability : Frequent
Registered: Nov 16, 2017 20:23:26 GMT -8
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Post by Dirk Smithson on Nov 18, 2017 9:51:51 GMT -8
At the thought of joining forces with his would-be attacker, Dirk remain skeptic. Even so, the situation had certainly improved, and if he got attacked a second time it would be good to have someone on his side. "Well, I'm hopin' to find it. Not welcome where I used to live, so I've started some mercenary work." he explained. When this "Asger" didn't take the wine skin he gave a shrug, tying the leather thong around his belt to keep it secure. "Unfortunately I can't find much of anythin', couldn't afford a map. So I figured I'd find somethin' sooner or later." Despite his apparent travelling mercenary story, however, it was clear he'd left wherever he's come from in a hurry. He had no pack or provisions, not even a pouch for money.
"I've been on this road for a couple days now, so I'm guessin' if we just head straight we'll find somethin', right? An inn or a village, food's basically the short of it." Slowly he began to head down the road, letting his new travelling companion choose whether or not to follow. "Either way I'm not much a' hunter, so we'll need ta go quick."
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Asger
Committed
Roleplay posts: 92
Clothes and Equipment: Full armor
Spear
Shield
Registered: Feb 6, 2017 22:06:38 GMT -8
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Post by Asger on Nov 18, 2017 11:57:18 GMT -8
Presently, the pair of ruffians would come across a small farm house off the road. In a field a farmer and his son could be seen working a draft horse. At a gesture and unheard word from his father the boy ran towards the house. The farmer let drop the horse's reins and lifted a weary hand to the travelers. “I don't want no trouble now, hear me?” Asger suppressed a chuckle and spoke to Dirk Smithson under his breath. “You do the talking. I'm not patient enough to be suave right now.” |
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Dirk Smithson
Established
Confessing
Roleplay posts: 49
Age: 32
Physical Description: Six feet and some change, heavy set, but muscular. Often wears heavy armor and uses a morningstar, but isn't overly attached to any one weapon. His face is often bruised from battle, though he's been able to keep most of his features intact.
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Clothes and Equipment: A heavy suit of armor and no weapons.
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Player's online availability : Frequent
Registered: Nov 16, 2017 20:23:26 GMT -8
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Post by Dirk Smithson on Nov 18, 2017 12:27:18 GMT -8
Glancing at Asger he gave a nod before striding towards the farmer, thumbs hooked in his belt. There was no need for things to get violent after all, he wasn't a bad man just a desperate one. At least that's what he told himself as he gave the farmer a harmless grin revealing a few lost teeth. "Greetin's from Aozora! We're, uh, travellin' knights on the track of a...of a...skeleton...necrodancer- mancer! Necromancer. Skeleton necromancer, and we were wonderin' if you could spare some food for us noble folk so that we may, uh, protect your land from the, uh, the ravages of the undead." It was hardly a performance worthy of the king's court, but surely this farmer would buy it! ...Right? Glancing around he took in the sight of the farm, seeing if there were anything they could nick if worse came to worse. |
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Asger
Committed
Roleplay posts: 92
Clothes and Equipment: Full armor
Spear
Shield
Registered: Feb 6, 2017 22:06:38 GMT -8
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Post by Asger on Nov 18, 2017 14:17:06 GMT -8
“I don't know about no skeletors.” Said the farmer, not entirely buying the story but visually relaxing. “If you pair don't mind chopping a little wood I'll give you what I can spare.”
The farmer beckoned the “knights” towards his house. The little cabin had only one room, which was empty. “The wood pile is through the back.” said the old man as he went to the cupboard.
Asger spoke in a low tone to his companion, “Why don't you checkout that wood pile...I’ll finish things up in here.” The knuckles that clutched the bandits spear were white and his face was hard. “Oh, and watch out for that kid.”
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Dirk Smithson
Established
Confessing
Roleplay posts: 49
Age: 32
Physical Description: Six feet and some change, heavy set, but muscular. Often wears heavy armor and uses a morningstar, but isn't overly attached to any one weapon. His face is often bruised from battle, though he's been able to keep most of his features intact.
-----------------------
Clothes and Equipment: A heavy suit of armor and no weapons.
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Player's online availability : Frequent
Registered: Nov 16, 2017 20:23:26 GMT -8
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Post by Dirk Smithson on Nov 18, 2017 17:08:56 GMT -8
"Woah, woah," Dirk protested in an equally low tone, glancing at the old man as he rummaged through the cabinets. "Why not just, ya know, chop wood? It sounds like a good deal ta me. Robbin' the place would only put a big target on our back. We should just do it and move on." he reasoned, less out of compassion and more out of the idea of actual knights or paladins or whatever they used to protect these places wandering about.
"Last thing we need are mercenary-hunting mercenaries chasing us around." he gave a final shrug, turning back to the old man with his phony smile. He wasn't sure when he headed out with this bandit, but if they could manage to keep at least most of the people on the way alive, maybe his past would have a harder time catching up with him.
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Asger
Committed
Roleplay posts: 92
Clothes and Equipment: Full armor
Spear
Shield
Registered: Feb 6, 2017 22:06:38 GMT -8
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Post by Asger on Nov 19, 2017 22:11:15 GMT -8
“You probably have the right of it. There's work to be found in Isra or one of the island nations.” Asger went out back and took out some frustration on the wood pile. Presently, the old man showed up with a bag of food. There were 4 carrots, two baked potatoes, and two heels of bread. “ Ya’ll best be leaving now. That's quite enough wood.” Asger grabbed the bag and left without saying word. He would divide the food with Dirk Smithson on the road. “Son of a bitch barely gave us anything.” Asger bit into a carrot. To be fair it was quite a fat one. And the potatoes were hot and contained a bit of lard and salt. “Where do you want to go Dirk? There's only one island that I might be wanted in. I hear there a big opportunities to be had in Isra.” |
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Dirk Smithson
Established
Confessing
Roleplay posts: 49
Age: 32
Physical Description: Six feet and some change, heavy set, but muscular. Often wears heavy armor and uses a morningstar, but isn't overly attached to any one weapon. His face is often bruised from battle, though he's been able to keep most of his features intact.
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Clothes and Equipment: A heavy suit of armor and no weapons.
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Player's online availability : Frequent
Registered: Nov 16, 2017 20:23:26 GMT -8
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Post by Dirk Smithson on Nov 20, 2017 11:12:00 GMT -8
Dirk gave the old man a nod. "We knights thank ya," he said, still not giving up on his obviously phony story as he headed with Asger out the door. Picking out one of the potatoes, he bit into it much like an apples as they walked. "No meat? Maybe it's you who had the right o' it." he complained, thought his stomach gave a growl on contentment. Thinking about it as they walked, he had to admit he hadn't given his destination much thought. He'd more-or-less assumed that where he was going would eventually have work, but that sounded like a great way to end up as a bandit.
"Isra doesn't sound too bad." Dirk agreed, scratching his cheek. "Couldn't hurt to see what they have to offer I guess." In actuality, the idea of going so far was unnerving. For now he'd mostly been drifting around, playing with the idea of being a mercenary but certainly chopping more wood than bandits. The idea of really committing was slightly daunting. Even so, even his lack of motivation wasn't enough to keep him down. After all, it had been weeks since he'd had a proper meal sat down and such. "Yeah, let's do it. Issies won't know what hit 'em."
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Ralf Valgard, the White Wolf
Dedicated
Varan Adventurer
Roleplay posts: 299
Age: 25
Physical Description: An athletically-built man weighing 160 lbs and standing 6 feet high. He has fierce blue eyes set into a wolfish face. His dark brown hair is usually pulled back into a braid on the back of his head. Well-groomed facial hair, for which he is proud of, covers the bottom half of his face.
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Clothes and Equipment: Ralf's primary possessions include his Hirhanic Shield, Mariah's Dagger, his Ancestral Sword, and his Ki'Gar.
The Hirhanic Shield is able to absorb various forms of energy: physical, magical, or otherwise. He can release this energy in the form of shockwaves on command. This item was a gift from his friend Hirhan.
Mariah's Dagger was looted from Mariah's corpse in Aozora. The dagger is able to absorb magical energy from its victims.
Ralf's ancestral sword is of exquisite make; it is an ancient weapon forged in a forgotten age using a rare material. It has the potential to channel 'the Power of the Old Gods', but Ralf is oblivious to this and the weapon is never used.
Ralf's ki'gar, or 'kin garb', is blue with white borders. A white wolf's head is emblazoned in the center, with the family name "VALGARD" written across the bottom. He usually wears the garment as a scarf or cowl.
Currently Ralf carries a a two-handed battle-axe.
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Allegiances: His Family, Himself, His People - in that order
Registered: Jul 21, 2015 14:42:16 GMT -8
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Post by Ralf Valgard, the White Wolf on Nov 28, 2017 16:55:15 GMT -8
Ralf approached an old tree and ran his fingers across its scarred trunk. The scrapes indicated that this forest trail had been used by a buck, having rubbed the velvet from his antlers upon the old oak. A small creek trickled by just a few feet away: a source of water for his prey. Determining that this was a suitable spot to hunt the Varan adventurer retreated downwind and began constructing a make-shift blind with pine and oak limbs. He nestled himself into a comfortable spot and patiently awaited his target. Fortunately he had acquired some deer urine and applied it to his boots, masking the scent of his human smell.
It was nearly an hour when Ralf observed the rustling of leaves. He turned his head until he spotted the 8-point buck just a few yards away. It came down the path that Ralf had visualized, passing by the scarred oak, and ultimately finding itself down by the stream. Once the creature assured itself that the location was safe it lowered its head to sip from the creek.
Ralf quietly pulled the bowstring from its position and, bending the upper limb of his hunting bow, strung it. He picked up the arrow from its resting spot and knocked it, pulling it back to his chin and aiming at the buck's heart. The ragged fletching at the end of the shaft may affect his aim, but it was all he had. He let loose and the arrow found its mark, piercing the hide and puncturing the heart of the creature. The bowstring itself rubbed more fiber from his armguard and threatened to sheer it off completely.
The buck staggered, fell to its knees, and with a whimper collapsed on the ground. Satisfied, Ralf left his hiding spot and acquired his trophy.
It was an hour later when Ralf found himself roasting the deer meat over his campfire. He kept the hide of the buck, as well as its antlers, and disposed of the rest. He'd savor the venison for the night, slowly drifting into a light sleep as the day faded into night.
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Deleted
Roleplay posts: 0
Registered: Nov 22, 2024 15:16:19 GMT -8
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Post by Deleted on Nov 29, 2017 20:09:01 GMT -8
Pain. Ragged breathing. Stagger, open eyes, rest, close eyes. Breathe.
Blood dripped into the dirt following the prints of some canine. At the end of the prints, however, there was no such beast: a woman that was barely more than a ghost in her shape struggled to push forward. She was hunched over, hands wrapped around the shaft of an arrow sticking out of her ribs. Though her shirt was white before, a good portion of it had turned red now, soaking up any blood was spilling forth from the wound. Her thin frame tremored as waves of pain thrummed through her body. Spit flew from her mouth with every attempt to take in air, the pain too severe on her torn muscles and tissue to expand and fill her lungs.
Eventually, after a moment of gathering what little strength she had left, her bleary eyes caught sight of the flicker of a fire. Something like hope fluttered in her chest, though it could have been the internal bleeding.
Sucking in another agonizing breath, the woman's entire being shuddered and brought her to her feet, pushing her forward until she was in the line of sight of the man at the fire. She fell to her knees, then, knocking on death's door.
Through blood-speckled teeth she choked, "Help... me."
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Ralf Valgard, the White Wolf
Dedicated
Varan Adventurer
Roleplay posts: 299
Age: 25
Physical Description: An athletically-built man weighing 160 lbs and standing 6 feet high. He has fierce blue eyes set into a wolfish face. His dark brown hair is usually pulled back into a braid on the back of his head. Well-groomed facial hair, for which he is proud of, covers the bottom half of his face.
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Clothes and Equipment: Ralf's primary possessions include his Hirhanic Shield, Mariah's Dagger, his Ancestral Sword, and his Ki'Gar.
The Hirhanic Shield is able to absorb various forms of energy: physical, magical, or otherwise. He can release this energy in the form of shockwaves on command. This item was a gift from his friend Hirhan.
Mariah's Dagger was looted from Mariah's corpse in Aozora. The dagger is able to absorb magical energy from its victims.
Ralf's ancestral sword is of exquisite make; it is an ancient weapon forged in a forgotten age using a rare material. It has the potential to channel 'the Power of the Old Gods', but Ralf is oblivious to this and the weapon is never used.
Ralf's ki'gar, or 'kin garb', is blue with white borders. A white wolf's head is emblazoned in the center, with the family name "VALGARD" written across the bottom. He usually wears the garment as a scarf or cowl.
Currently Ralf carries a a two-handed battle-axe.
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Allegiances: His Family, Himself, His People - in that order
Registered: Jul 21, 2015 14:42:16 GMT -8
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Post by Ralf Valgard, the White Wolf on Nov 30, 2017 13:43:05 GMT -8
As the day drew to a close and night approached Ralf fell into a light slumber. The fire began to die down without proper maintenance, crackling and sizzling as it cast dancing shadows against the surrounding oaks and pines. What was left of the venison remained over the fire, warm but overcooked. If one could observe the clouds overhead they might forecast a chance of rain, or given the chilly temperature: snow.
"Help... me."
It was just barely a whisper to him, but enough to startle, thanks to his heightened hearing. His reflexes in grabbing his sword and shield, which lay nearby, was almost superhuman. Within seconds of hearing the approaching figure Ralf was up on his feet and ready for combat.
But there would be no fight. The White Wolf observed the sight of an injured lady, covered in blood and struggling to stay up. He rushed over to her, dropping his shield and sheathing his sword. She cradled the woman in his arms and quickly brought her over to the fire. He observed the nasty arrow wound, its shaft protruding from her ribs.
Ralf would first ensure the fire had proper fuel, tossing additional sticks and logs around the central flames. He turned his attention back tot he mysterious woman, laying her on her back and observing the wound. He'd have to rip the lady's shirt so he could get a better look, but would certainly cover her up when finished.
He twirled the shaft of the arrow slightly to ensure it was not lodged in any bones, which it was not. Next he began to slide the arrow from its spot; this was a precarious moment, as the blood often softened up the gut that held the arrowhead on the shaft, and one had to be careful not to yank the shaft off the arrowhead while it remained in the body. Once removed he poured some alcohol over the entry point to kill any infection and attempted to cover the wound.
"Oi, lass, can you hear me?" he would attempt to ask.
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