|
Post by Grand Duchy of Voruta on Jan 18, 2018 15:17:48 GMT -8
The Grand Duchy of Voruta is full of fields of wheat and rye, claiming the native pastures of grasses that used to feed the horses of the heavens. Most of the roads between isolated villages, farmsteads, manor houses, and occaisonal castles are little more than dirt tracks, which turn to quagmires in the rain season, and sources of endless dust in the dry seasons. The only paved road in the Duchy is the Royal road, which ties the City and Fortress of Voruta to Isra.
Most of the villages are poor and weathered, surrounded by wooden palisades to keep out marauding beasts from the Eastern Woods. The fields are fenced with stone walls built over generations, to serve the same purpose as the wooden palisades, surrounding similarly weathered farm houses and manors. The only sign of wealth in the Duchy are smaller castles, though those are often made of wood, though the wealthiest lords reside in Stone Fortresses.
|
|
The Pork Snatcher
New
Totally doesn't steal your pork
Roleplay posts: 9
Clothes and Equipment: Cloak, pork snatching equipment, pork-attractor-flute
Registered: Mar 27, 2018 12:59:12 GMT -8
|
Post by The Pork Snatcher on Mar 27, 2018 13:29:57 GMT -8
Grey clouds blanketed the skies, having swept across the countryside during the preceding night. They teased the earth with small droplets - a taste of the downpour to come. The encroaching weather was accompanied by an easterly gale, spinning a whistling tune through the tree branches. The sun retreated behind the horizon, giving way to a moonless night.
Now was the perfect time for the plan.
A lone figure, concealed with hood and cloak, covertly made his way through the woods and across various fields. Under the cover of darkness he hoped to remain incognito. As he worked hard to maintain his concealment he attempted to scan the surrounding areas for pig pens...
|
|
|
Post by Grand Duchy of Voruta on Mar 27, 2018 16:35:38 GMT -8
The solitary homestead stood on the edge of the village due to its occupants and its proximity to the nearby thicket, which the occupants would roam in the day, looking for any goodies to eat on the ground. The occupants tended to annoy the village folks, with all their snorting and squealing, and their ghastly smell that seemed to radiate into every inch of every building. Tonight however, it was rather quiet, as most the occupants had been herded from the pens into the barns. The rain season had begun, and if left out in the rain, they tended to get sick, causing more issues than the hassle to herd them in and out every morning and night.
A solitary candle was alight in the window, but it seemed that it may have been left alight in error. Otherwise, the grounds was deserted, and the house was quiet.
|
|
The Pork Snatcher
New
Totally doesn't steal your pork
Roleplay posts: 9
Clothes and Equipment: Cloak, pork snatching equipment, pork-attractor-flute
Registered: Mar 27, 2018 12:59:12 GMT -8
|
Post by The Pork Snatcher on Mar 28, 2018 12:30:05 GMT -8
The Pork Snatcher, crouched behind a low stone wall, slowly peered over the barrier, like an early morning sun breaching the horizon. A single flame flickered in the nearby home, hosting a minor dance of shadows within. The hog hodler shifted his gaze from the farmhouse to the barn. His mouth watered and he licked his lips - not because he savored a meal to come - but because the success of his mission seemed inevitable.
Very slowly, the thief crept his way towards the barn. Provided there was a lock or wooden slat holding the door closed, he would carefully neutralize it. He reached down into his pocket and withdrew a flute, like a knight with a sword.
The musical instrument was raised to his lips and, with a gentle breath, he began to play a quiet, soft, lullaby-tune. This was no ordinary tune, and most certainly no ordinary flute… the swine within the barn would hear this music and become alert - attempting to locate the source of the sound and blindly find their way to the player’s location.
The snatchery had begun.
|
|
|
Post by Grand Duchy of Voruta on Mar 28, 2018 12:50:57 GMT -8
A pink, triangular snout lifted in the air, giving a curious snort as the soft, airy tune started to waft in through the closed barn doors. Another snout joined it, then another, then at least twenty snouts were in the air, and started walking towards the doors. Soft snorts accompanied the soft treading of hooves, as they approached the doors.
The first pig ran into the door. Quite literally ran into it. The door was not only firmly locked from the outside, which the Pork Snatcher had unlocked, but there was a fail safe. The owner of the barn had installed a dead bolt on the bottom of the door, which latched into a small hole in the ground.
The second pig followed after the first, and soon the entire herd was pressing up against the door. Feeling all the pressure from behind, and being crushed against the door, the first pig let out a loud squeal in pain.
|
|
The Pork Snatcher
New
Totally doesn't steal your pork
Roleplay posts: 9
Clothes and Equipment: Cloak, pork snatching equipment, pork-attractor-flute
Registered: Mar 27, 2018 12:59:12 GMT -8
|
Post by The Pork Snatcher on Mar 28, 2018 13:04:39 GMT -8
The Pork Snatcher soon realized an immediate folly: a deadbolt on the ground which provided an additional security measure! His eyes widened and his heart sank, fumbling with one hand to unlock the door. It was harder than it should have been, for the force of the Walking Hams put the deadbolt in a bind. He finally managed to unlatch the deadbolt and rotate its shaft to keep it unlocked.
Unfortunately, he had acted to late. One of the pig’s squealed, and all men know there are few things as alarming as a pig squeal.
The Snatcher had to act fast. He quickly resumed playing the lullaby-tune, but this time with a quicker tempo and a more complex rhythm. The swine split into two groups upon hearing this new song. One drove following the Snatcher - who was running at a hogs-pace away from the farm and village; the second group, much smaller, made a beeline for the farmhouse.
|
|
|
Post by Grand Duchy of Voruta on Mar 28, 2018 13:14:15 GMT -8
The pigs were firmly entranced with the tune of the Pig Snatcher, following after with glee. The tune seemed to promise tasty bits of slop, fresh apples on the ground, and plenty of mud to cool them on hot days.
Unfortunately for the Pork Snatcher and his dastardly plot, there was not only the farmhouse to contend with. A rather drunken farmer was returning home from the local tavern, and had gotten rather lost due to amount of spirits he had imbibed that night. Stumbling along, he found himself needing relief. He stopped beside the side of the barn, and as he about started to relieve himself, he heard the rather odd sound of pigs and music. Not bothering to pull up his pants, he found himself confronted with what he thought could only be a delusion from the alcohol.
But, to make certain that he couldn't be held culpable if it wasn't in a fact a dream, he let out a loud cry, "WATCHMAN! SOMEONE'S GOTTEN THE PIGS!"
|
|
The Pork Snatcher
New
Totally doesn't steal your pork
Roleplay posts: 9
Clothes and Equipment: Cloak, pork snatching equipment, pork-attractor-flute
Registered: Mar 27, 2018 12:59:12 GMT -8
|
Post by The Pork Snatcher on Mar 28, 2018 13:28:51 GMT -8
If the pig owner within the farmhouse was awoken and attempted to investigate he would be met by the small group of hogs directed to his door by the Pork Snatcher. They would barrel into his legs and begin to ramble through his home. They would mean no harm, of course, merely attempting to delay his attempt at swine retrieval.
But yet another concern arose. A drunken farmer, attempting to empty his own little pink pig, hollered at the top of his intoxicated lungs "WATCHMAN! SOMEONE'S GOTTEN THE PIGS!"
The Pork Snatcher was taken by surprise, twisting his head in the direction of the shout, once more breaking the flute’s tune. Heavenly Horsemen run down this man, the thief cursed to himself. “Hush your mouth, peasant! I do the bidding of the Heavenly Horsemen! They demand a blood sacrifice!” he said in a high-pitched voice - not unlike that of a talking pig.
He had no more time to waste. He lifted the flute back up to his lips and fingered the previous tune, prompting the Oink Patrol to continue their merry dance-scepade - away and to the cover of the woods they went!
|
|
|
Post by Grand Duchy of Voruta on Mar 29, 2018 17:07:24 GMT -8
The hog farmer, is eyes red and puffy from being awoken at the cry for the Watchmen and the shuffling of pink hooves outside his door, came running, to only be waylayed by his stock. They knocked him down, and falling onto the backs of a few of them, they carried him back inside the farm house, to ruffle around for any delicious goodies within snout's reach. The farmer's wife let out a shriek of surprise as a hog, who wasn't her husband, jumped into her bed and laid down.
Rather than shut his mouth, the drunk opened it again, only to slowly teeter, then fall over. There was no apparent reason for his falling over, other than his current less than sober status. As proof, he soon started snoring, similar to the snorting of the hogs trotting after the pig snatcher.
But, the watchmen did hear, and did attempt to follow after the hogs. Unfortunately for him, he found he could not keep pace with the herd and its sheperd, and lost them in the dark. Swearing to himself, he knew he would have to make a report to the local lord tomorrow, explaining why he lost a valuable part of the community.
|
|
The Pork Snatcher
New
Totally doesn't steal your pork
Roleplay posts: 9
Clothes and Equipment: Cloak, pork snatching equipment, pork-attractor-flute
Registered: Mar 27, 2018 12:59:12 GMT -8
|
Post by The Pork Snatcher on Mar 30, 2018 4:07:04 GMT -8
Into the safety and cover of a small, nearby wood the Pork Snatcher and the Slop Slobbers vanished. The soft lullaby of his flute - barely audible as it was - faded into obscurity. The entranced pigs followed him blindly, never once faltering at the commands of their new master. Eventually the Pork Snatcher and the swine herd would find themselves in relative safety, away from the prying eyes of the Vorutans, and proceed to a very special abode...
<exit>
|
|
|
Post by Grand Duchy of Voruta on Apr 2, 2018 12:40:08 GMT -8
The day started early for the lumberjacks at the edge of the Eastern Woods, as per their usual routine. The sounds of metal axes, the rhythmic buzzing of crosscut saws as men on either side grunted in exertion, and the splintering of ancient trees, followed by a tremendous crash, accompanied the flying of wood chips in the air. With a tree on the ground, other men got to work, chopping off smaller limbs, denoting the ones suitable for other tasks from those bound for the charcoal kilns. Teams of mules were hitched to the pruned logs, and drug them down the road, to be processed at the local lumber mill, situated along a creek.
Great dark green eyes, showing an uncharacteristic tiredness and depression, observed the work of these mortals, destroying part of its range. It was a rather distressing state of affairs to the eyes, it seemed that daily its domain was shrinking to nothingness. It seemed these men had nothing better to do than to intrude where they were neither needed nor wanted. The watcher could remember a time when there were no humans in this area of the woods, when this was deep into the forest. Now, like ants, these creatures keep pushing and pushing, overrunning the once verdant green land with fields of shades of tan.
Another crash caused the watcher to shift his gaze to the cause. An especially tall and ancient tree had fallen, and was being scurried over by the ant-like men, who seemed to ignore the scrape marks, where a very large creature had rubbed itself against. A fire seemed to erupt in the eyes of the watcher. It remembered that tree fondly, it served as a landmark in the deep woods, and its favorite rubbing tree, and now it was gone. The creature found itself even more tired as that tree joined the others. It was dying, along with the forest, and it knew it.
A low bellow, turning into a roar, exploded from the tree line, causing the lumberjacks to turn towards the source, and then turn and run. The first glimpse the lumberjacks got of the Watcher were of its long ivory horns, which quickly turned out to be attached the head of a very large bovine, at least as tall as two men, and many times longer. The green of its eyes matched its well muscled hide, though the workers weren’t paying any attention to that.
They were running to the mill, to find protection within its walls. The majority managed to make it within before the doors were closed, but the mule skinners were outside, attempting to free their responsibilities of their harnesses, running to and from the bucking and bawling mules, and cutting them free with their knives. Once freed, most the mules ran as fast as they could away from the woods, with their watchers following after them. One man managed to grab onto one of the mules, and took off down the trail to get help.
The Watcher continued to bellow and charge, though its aim now was to frighten, to remind those pesky ant-men that it still ruled this part of the forest. It made several passes at the mill, shaking the ground and men inside with its heavy hooves, narrowly missing the eaves with the tips of its horns, bellowing out its war cry to those within. The men inside huddled away from the windows and walls, worried that it might change its mind and bring the whole building down on top of them.
Finally, the Watcher stopped its charges at dusk. Sensing that it had proven its point, it let out another long, harsh bellow, letting the lumberjacks know that it would be watching, before turning back into the forest. The lumberjacks didn’t budge from the mill however, afraid that whatever was within would come back out and finish what it started. A heavy rain began to fall over the mill and camp, turning the well trod path and work area into a quagmire.
Morning brought the sun, turning the sky blood red as it peaked over the horizon, bringing with it the baying of the hounds. The workmen wearily stumbled out of the mill to greet their rescuers.
The band was led at the front by the pack of hounds, being restrained by long leashes by several huntsmen, with their crossbows and longbows strung across their backs. Behind them rode two heavily armed knights, wearing full plate armor, their lances being held by their squires behind them, with their helmets slung across the horns of their saddle. Behind them rode ten other less heavily armored horsemen, armed with bows and javelins, along with their personal melee weapons. The last member of the company was a Witch Hunter, distinguishable from the others by his tall, wide brimmed black hat, and his brown leather duster.
|
|
Oskar Boleslav
Established
Roleplay posts: 10
Age: 21
Physical Description: Oskar is of average height, has dark hair kept short, dark brown eyes, and a small mustache. Years of training and carrying a lance and large shield shows as he is muscular and physically fit. His shoulders are particularly broad from years of wearing chain mail.
_____________________________________________________________
Clothes and Equipment: Light chain mail, conical metal helmet over a mail coif, a small composite bow and a small quiver with twenty arrows, a 4-meter long light lance, a Voruatan Szabla(Saber), and a heavy Vorutan Pavise shield with his lord's coat of arms.
As he cavalry retainer, Oskar has small, quick and agile, brown gelding.
_____________________________________________________________
Registered: Mar 29, 2018 12:38:56 GMT -8
|
Post by Oskar Boleslav on Apr 2, 2018 20:06:08 GMT -8
Oskar Boleslav was hunched over in his saddle, bored, while his brown gelding, Szybki, trotted along with the rest of the retainers behind the two nobles and their squires. His metal helmet, like the heavy cavalry in front of him, was off and hanging on the pommel of his saddle. His metal coif was lowered and a small bead of sweat glistened across his hairline. His large shield was also wrapped around the pommel of the saddle, it's strap underneath his helmet's so he could get it on first, and his long four-meter lance was clutched loosely in his left hand, as were the reigns, so his right hand was free. Raising his right hand, he raked the mailed hand through his thick dark brown hair in an attempt to wipe the sweat away. The odd individual strand of hair found itself caught in-between ring-links of the mail, pulling them out by the root. It was irritating, but Oskar learned to bloke such irritation out during his training. It was more important to keep the salty sweat from rolling down his face and stinging his eyes.
Oskar probably should've been afraid of what was to come, some mysterious monstrosity jumping out of the forest and attacking woodsmen. That's the type of shite mother's told their children before bedtime to scare them into behaving and respecting the woods. But he wasn't afraid. If anything, he was eager. This was his chance to prove himself, and he looked forward to tacking and hunting this beast down. He prayed that it would be his lance driven through the beast's heart, giving the death blow.
To Oskar's immediate right rode Aleksander, a recent "friend" of his. He was wearing his helmet and his lance and shield were both at the read. He was peering straight ahead through his visor, studying the landscape in front of them very carefully. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed Oskar looking at him and turned to face him with a small smile, which turned into an uneasy grimace when his gaze fell on the Witch Hunter not too far away. Noticing Aleksander's expression, Oskar looked to his left and examined the Witch Hunter himself. Though he had been calm, the man wearing the large black hat made him uneasy as well. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. Instead of fretting about it, he hunched his shoulders and returned his gaze forward...
|
|
|
Post by Grand Duchy of Voruta on Apr 4, 2018 19:39:02 GMT -8
The wood cutters bowed to the knights, giving more consideration to the elder of the two. His well trimmed beard was snow white, as well as his thinning and receding hairline, sitting above his well wrinkled face. Despite his age, he wore his armor without strain, which he personally attributed to the divine blood in his veins. The younger man next to him looked to be a near carbon copy of the elder, but about thirty years younger, with the snow white hair and beard being replaced with a dark brown. The elder raised his hand, signalling that they could stop bowing, and asked, "Who's foreman here?"
A man stepped forward, stating, "I am foreman, good Sir Vyatautas," though he looked just the same as the other workers.
The elder Vyatautas lowered his hand, and stood up his stirrups for a second, to readjust himself before sitting back in the saddle, "So, do you mind describing what you saw?" He then looked behind him towards the Witch Hunter, and waved him forward. The Hunter obliged, nudging his black stallion forward, stopping short of being right next to the elder Vyatautas. The Hunter pulled out a small book from a pack attached around his waist.
"Well, my good Sire, it was rather large. Much larger than any mule or man. It had horns longer than yay long," the foreman made a motion with his hand, indicating the distance between him and a stump, about twenty feet away, "and, to tell you the truth my good sire, we didn't quite get a good look at it, other than we can say it looked like a rather large bull."
The Witch Hunter had been mentally noting what the foreman was saying, as he leafed through the tan parchment in the thick book. Finally, he came upon the section he was looking for, and handed it to the Elder Vyatautas, saying softly, "Sounds like a rather large auroch, but much bigger than a natural one. May be the patron of the others."
The Elder Vyatautas took a quick glance at the book, before handing it back to the Hunter, "Thank you Lukas." Turning back to the foreman, he asked, "Have you men killed many wild bulls recently?"
The foreman grew visibly nervous, and paused for a second, appearing to be debating to tell the truth or not. Finally, reason prevailed, and he answered, "Not us, Sire, but a band of huntsmen did recently come through, and they carried large amounts of fresh meat and horns upon their shoulders."
The younger Vyatautas finally spoke, turning to the elder, "We can't hardly blame these men for this. They probably would have had to call in the huntsmen in eventually to rid them of the trouble of the aurochs."
The Elder nodded in agreement with the younger, and replied to the foreman, "Well, you men were fortunate for us to be nearby," turning to his personal huntsmen, he ordered, "See if we can get a scent for this thing."
The hounds were released, and soon dispersed through the work area, sniffing for any sign of clues. The huntsmen followed after their own wards, and the retainers began to ride about, seeing if they could find any visible sign of where the beast could have run off to. Finally, one of the hounds called out in a long howl, indicating it found a fresh scent on a tree. Riding over, the Nobles and the Witch Hunter saw that the beast had followed a well worn path into the woods.
Fixing their sallet helms, the younger called the retainers back to them, and gave a brief list of orders, "So, it seems that whatever we're chasing has decided to run into the woods," seeing several looks of dread appear on some of the more wary of the retainers, the younger replied, "and I like that about as much as the rest of you do. But, this beast can't be allowed to live and threaten our people, so that means we have to go in after it. The dogs will go first, huntsmen after, then single file will be me, Honorable Hunter Lukas, Oskar, Aleksander, Ivan, and Georgi. Then will be Father," the elder bowed, "and the rest of the retainers. The squires will remain behind, and get some warm food going for our return. Understood? Good."
With that, the huntsmen and the hounds began the march into the woods, followed by the younger Vyatautas.
|
|
Oskar Boleslav
Established
Roleplay posts: 10
Age: 21
Physical Description: Oskar is of average height, has dark hair kept short, dark brown eyes, and a small mustache. Years of training and carrying a lance and large shield shows as he is muscular and physically fit. His shoulders are particularly broad from years of wearing chain mail.
_____________________________________________________________
Clothes and Equipment: Light chain mail, conical metal helmet over a mail coif, a small composite bow and a small quiver with twenty arrows, a 4-meter long light lance, a Voruatan Szabla(Saber), and a heavy Vorutan Pavise shield with his lord's coat of arms.
As he cavalry retainer, Oskar has small, quick and agile, brown gelding.
_____________________________________________________________
Registered: Mar 29, 2018 12:38:56 GMT -8
|
Post by Oskar Boleslav on Apr 6, 2018 13:38:57 GMT -8
Oskar straightened up as they approached the camp, following closely behind his liege lords and their squires. He listened to what the foreman had to say intently, with a furrowed brow and a thoughtful frown. He had heard about the aurochs before, but has never seen one before. He had no qualms with hunting down the large bull, figuring this hunt will be easy. How dangerous can a bull be against a group of armed Vorutan cavalry? He wondered with an eager smirk.
As the other retainers fanned out looking for clues after the hounds had been released, Oskar lifted his metal coif over his head with his right hand, unstrapped his helmet from the pommel of his saddle and placed the heavy metal tenderly on his head, and then shifted his lance from his left hand to his right. After, he finally lifted up his shield, wielding it. Prepared for battle, he urged his horse forward.
Oskar nodded at the younger noble’s command, and, using his knees to guide his gelding, brought his horse up behind the Witch Hunter’s. Oskar’s neighed and snorted, slightly uneasy by the black stallion in front, but otherwise did nothing but follow as prompted.
Oskar was ready. He’d not be made afraid of such a beast, and he looked forward to the glory of hunting it down. He clutched his lance tight and narrowed his eyes as he stared forward toward the edge of the wood, looking for any signs.
|
|
|
Post by Grand Duchy of Voruta on Apr 7, 2018 7:23:04 GMT -8
The game trail the party followed along twisted and turned with the land, often turning back on itself. It was flanked on all sides by ancient trees, creating a near impregnable wall to men on horses, restricting the party to the trail itself. For the better part of two hours the party traveled, with the only noises being the sniffing of the hounds, the shuffle of huntsmen's leather shoes on the packed dirt path, the rustle of armor, and the occasional snorting of horses.
As they found themselves on yet another turn on the road, they were greeted by a rare clearing with a rough circular hut. It appeared that the hut hadn't been occupied for some time, as it was overgrown with all manner of vines and brambles, but they were proven wrong as a trail of smoke snaked out of the opening at the center of the roof. Witch Hunter Lukas dismounted, handing his reins to the younger Vyatautas, and released his two handed sword from its scabbard, and slowly approached the hut. He paused right before the door, taking a second to gather himself, and then kicked in the door, following through with his sword pointed ahead of him.
The party was greeted by a malevolent and elderly cackle from a rise above the trail. An old crone dressed in rags, her greasy hair falling over her face in singular strands, her eyes covered with a piece of cloth, pointed a gnarled and thin finger at the Elder Vyatautas, "When a Noble soul waters the groves in their life force, from that holy offering a Duke shall spring, one with only one more eye than me," with that, the Crone lifted the piece of cloth covering her eyes, revealing two milky white irises.
"SHOOT HER!" ordered the younger Vyatautas, but before anyone could lift their bows, they were assaulted by yet another cackle, and the crone disappeared into thin air. The elder Vyatautas turned pale, his skin almost matching his hair. The younger navigated through the retainers to the Elder, and a flurry of muffled words were exchanged between them. After several long moments, the Elder raised his voice, "Enough. We must continue, we can't risk splitting the party for the sake of one old man."
As they were talking, Witch Hunter Lukas had been scouring the hut, looking for anything that seemed important. He must have turned up nothing in his search, for as he left with only his sword and a fiery brand, he lit the thatch of the roof, and flames quickly consumed the entire hut. He seathed his sword, and remounted as the younger retook his position at the head of the party. They were soon underway, following the trail again.
|
|
Oskar Boleslav
Established
Roleplay posts: 10
Age: 21
Physical Description: Oskar is of average height, has dark hair kept short, dark brown eyes, and a small mustache. Years of training and carrying a lance and large shield shows as he is muscular and physically fit. His shoulders are particularly broad from years of wearing chain mail.
_____________________________________________________________
Clothes and Equipment: Light chain mail, conical metal helmet over a mail coif, a small composite bow and a small quiver with twenty arrows, a 4-meter long light lance, a Voruatan Szabla(Saber), and a heavy Vorutan Pavise shield with his lord's coat of arms.
As he cavalry retainer, Oskar has small, quick and agile, brown gelding.
_____________________________________________________________
Registered: Mar 29, 2018 12:38:56 GMT -8
|
Post by Oskar Boleslav on Apr 10, 2018 14:20:20 GMT -8
Tilting his head up, Oskar closed his eyes and inhaled the earthly aromas wafting about. The mud, trees, hickory smoke rising steadily out from the small hut. It was a nice scent, one Oskar enjoyed with a small smile on his face.
Of course, the crazed cackling of a would-be witch brought him out of his reverie. He snapped his head down and stared at the creature as it pointed its finger towards his lord. Just the sight of the creature made his hackles rise on end and sent a shiver down his spine. On the Elder’s orders, he made his move. Although the command was to shoot, if Oskar were to reach for his bow, he’d have to drop his lance, which he was not going to do. So, instead, he spurred his horse forward and gave a small shout of “Yah!”.
Unfortunately, in just the blink of an eye, the witch was gone before his brown gelding even took a single step. The horse shook its head and snorted, taking a small step back. It was clearly nervous at the happenings of the forest, but he remained mostly calm, as Oskar knew he would be.
Oskar let out a shaky breath as the witch hunter exited the small hut and proceeded to light it aflame, the bright light flickering off the many metallic helmets. For the first time, the tendrils of nervousness and even fear, snaked their way through Oskar, and he took a deep inhale to keep himself calm. He took a small glance down and noticed his hands were still very much steady. Good, good.
Off somewhere behind him, Oksar heard Aleksander clear his throat and speak. “So anyone here know if they have a one-eyed Duke in their family?” He asked lightheartedly, trying to add a little levity, but failing, in Oskar’s opinion anyway.
|
|
|
Post by Grand Duchy of Voruta on Apr 11, 2018 12:11:29 GMT -8
"I ordered silence on this march," reminded the younger Vyatautas at the head of the column, coldly and firmly telling Aleksander to not joke about such things. Prophecies from woodland crones had a way of biting one in the ass when they least expected it. Silently, the younger was praying to the Heavenly Horsemen that the crone was simply on some hallucinogenic potions, and wasn't channeling any power from beyond.
Beyond the now cleansed clearing, they continued tracking the beast they had originally come into the woods for a short while, before the hounds stopped once more. They gave their tenders nervous looking expressions, and refused to move further. The horses of the company started to act skittish as well, snorting loudly, shuffling back and forth on the trail, their eyes as wide as saucers. Several retainers were finding it difficult to keep control over their mounts. The woods were eerily silent aside from the company, with not a single chirp from any birds... if there were any birds in this area.
The column stopped right behind them, as the huntsmen drew their bows and crossbows, and crawled forward on their bellies into the underbrush. Professionals all, they disappeared into the green, with not even the slightest of sounds giving away their presence. While they gone, the knights and retainers did one last check of their equipment, making sure every bit of armor was secure, and their steel was sharp. Before long, a solitary huntsmen suddenly appeared next to the younger Vyatautas, startling his horse and nearly throwing him off as it reared. Struggling to bring it back under control, the younger demanded, "Report."
"It's in there, bedded down in a clearing. And the woodcutters didn't exaggerate. It's going to take a lot to get it."
"Right, we'll storm the clearing, you and the other Huntsmen give it something to think about. Understood?" he ordered to the Huntsman, raising his voice to be heard to the rest of the column. With a quick nod, the huntsman disappeared into the underbrush again. Giving the huntsman enough time to get back and spread the news to the others, the younger Vyatautas then continued forward along the trail, followed by the rest of the company.
The trail ended after only a few short yards, and another twist opened into the clearing. It was about 90 square yards of clover, and small ponds grown over with muck and lily pads. It would've been hard to maneuver alone, let alone with the Watcher, asleep on its belly, and ten horsemen all vying for room. But they couldn't afford to dismount, they needed that extra speed and agility only a horse could provide. Waiting for the party to file into the clearing, the Younger studied the Beast. It was quite large, probably about 20 feet head to rear, with horns about ten feet wide. Not quite as large as the wood cutters said. It was heavily built and well muscled, and its hide was an usual shade of green. When he was finally joined by his men, he gave a cry, "FOR VORUTA!" and charged at the Beast.
The Watcher had rather been enjoying its afternoon nap, though it nose had wrinkled at the faint scent of acrid smoke. The Hag must've burned something again. She really ought to be more careful. It was started awake by the cry, jolting upright. It was rather shocked to see humans here, in his home. I thought I scared you off yesterday, you pesky ants! Then, it felt something akin to a punch on its flank, and then a sting, followed by something wet. It turned its head, and saw a crossbow bolt was embedded in its side. Instead of hurting it, it only made the Watcher angry. It rose to its feet, much quicker than could be expected of something its size. It's green eyes sparked with fury, and attempted to charge down one of the darting horsemen, who shot an arrow at it. It was distracted then by another horseman, who threw something else at its side.
Knowing they couldn't charge the beast straight on, the retainers did what they were taught to do; harass. They darted close to the Beast, and loosed their bows or their javelins, before retreating back, to be followed by another. They attacked from all sides, with the Huntsmen pouring on their own arrows and bolts from the trees.
|
|
Oskar Boleslav
Established
Roleplay posts: 10
Age: 21
Physical Description: Oskar is of average height, has dark hair kept short, dark brown eyes, and a small mustache. Years of training and carrying a lance and large shield shows as he is muscular and physically fit. His shoulders are particularly broad from years of wearing chain mail.
_____________________________________________________________
Clothes and Equipment: Light chain mail, conical metal helmet over a mail coif, a small composite bow and a small quiver with twenty arrows, a 4-meter long light lance, a Voruatan Szabla(Saber), and a heavy Vorutan Pavise shield with his lord's coat of arms.
As he cavalry retainer, Oskar has small, quick and agile, brown gelding.
_____________________________________________________________
Registered: Mar 29, 2018 12:38:56 GMT -8
|
Post by Oskar Boleslav on Apr 12, 2018 17:38:32 GMT -8
Oskar was fortunate his horse was a gelding and, though it was somewhat nervous, snorting occasionally and shaking its head, he remained mostly calm despite the ominous feel permeating the air around them. He followed closely behind the Witch Hunter’s horse down the trail, and slightly slumped over so he could pat his horse’s neck with his shield hand to keep him calm as they entered the clearing. Oskar felt his heart lunge into his throat and his eyes went wide with shock at the sight of the creature. Thought it wasn’t as large as the woodcutter had claimed, seeing it in person intimidated Oskar nonetheless.
Sucking in a large lungful of air, Oskar bellowed “FOR VORUTA!!!” Along with his fellow cavalrymen, gaining confidence from being at their side as they charged down the clearing towards the beast. He slung his light long lance over his shoulder and brought up his small composite bow, making sure to pull out a barbed arrow from the small quiver on the small of his back. everyone was in skirmish mode, and for good reason, yet this was not Oskar’s forte. He frowned in concentration, notched the arrow, and pulled back on the bowstring. As he urged his gelding to maneuver to the right, he let loose the arrow, which flew harmlessly over the beasts head. Fuck, he mentally chided himself.
The gelding was real close to the bank of one of the ponds, his hoof sinking in an inch of mud and it slowed them down temporarily. Fortunately, it did allow Oskar to get a good shot in, his second arrow whizzing through the air right at the beast, looking to strike right under its shoulder.
|
|
|
Post by Grand Duchy of Voruta on Apr 13, 2018 19:17:45 GMT -8
Oskar's second arrow would join the many piercing the watcher's hide, turning the once green hide of the bull red, making it look like a great hedgehog. But, if it showed any signs of feeling any pain, it was overshadowed by its great rage as it lunged at one retainer and then the next. It usually missed, but on one unfortunate soul, all it took was one mighty swing of the Watcher's horns for the retainer to go flying, hitting his head against a tree, and breaking his neck with a sickening crinkle.
Other's were not so luckily when it came to the ponds either. One horse stepped into a particularly slick place of mud. A loud CRACK, and the pitiful scream of the horse echoed over the thudding of the hooves of the other riders, as its cannon bone snapped. Its rider was thrown into the pond, and sunk into its rather impressive depth, weighed down by his heavy armor. He didn't even have time to scream.
The Elder Vyatautas had held back from the swirling melee, his blood turning cold as he saw his own fate in the great green eyes of the Watcher. He heard his own knell in the great bellows of the beast, felt his own soul shake with every pounding of the creature's hooves. Then his blood turned even colder. The Younger Vyatautas had closed the gap with the beast, and with the weight of both man and horse behind it, skewered the creature with his great lance.
But the creature showed no pain. The Younger managed to let loose of his lance in time for the creature to not swing him like a rag doll from the saddle, but then it bore down on him. He was too close, his horse not agile enough, there was simply not enough time. The Watcher gored the stallion, sending the Younger careening off onto the ground, straight into the patch of mud that broke the leg of a horse. He couldn't move, he was stuck. And the beast tore after him. The Witch Hunter Lukas stepped forth, dismounting from his stallion and placing himself in front of the bull's great charge.
But it won't be enough. The Elder knew, felt the jaws of fate grab him in its maw. Spurring his steed forward, he bowed forward with the lance couched under his arm pit. 20 feet, 10 feet, 5. The Elder closed his eyes, offering a silent prayer to the Heavenly Horsemen to give him an honorable death, and prepared for the impact by bracing his legs straight forward, pushing his back against the cantle. Still, the force generated by the impact of sharpened steel, horseflesh, and man nearly caused his stallion to sit on its rear.
Another great bellow came from the Watcher, as it felt the lance drive deep past its ribs, into its vital organs. Turning towards the greater menace, he lowered his horns, and ran the old ant through with its wickedly sharp horn. A horrifying cacophy of noise exploded, with the screeching of tearing metal, the scream of the stallion knocked off its hooves, the bellow of the beast as it fought for every foot of ground with its lifeblood, and the silence of the Elder.
|
|
Oskar Boleslav
Established
Roleplay posts: 10
Age: 21
Physical Description: Oskar is of average height, has dark hair kept short, dark brown eyes, and a small mustache. Years of training and carrying a lance and large shield shows as he is muscular and physically fit. His shoulders are particularly broad from years of wearing chain mail.
_____________________________________________________________
Clothes and Equipment: Light chain mail, conical metal helmet over a mail coif, a small composite bow and a small quiver with twenty arrows, a 4-meter long light lance, a Voruatan Szabla(Saber), and a heavy Vorutan Pavise shield with his lord's coat of arms.
As he cavalry retainer, Oskar has small, quick and agile, brown gelding.
_____________________________________________________________
Registered: Mar 29, 2018 12:38:56 GMT -8
|
Post by Oskar Boleslav on Apr 16, 2018 7:25:52 GMT -8
Oskar watched the death and mayhem in horror, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar. His hands not moving, or notching another arrow, and he simply stared at the scene unfolding before him. Watched as the Younger Vyatautas bravely charged the Watcher, only to have his horse killed, or so it appeared, and him pinned to the ground underneath it.
Oskar sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, not wanting to see his lord’s fate, and he started moving again, urging his gelding out of the gods-forsaken mud. When this is all said and done, he’d have to spend extra time washing his poor gelding’s hooves, to remove the amount of mud from its white socks. Not the most pressing matter currently, or a priority, but Oskar felt that thinking about something calming in the future, helped him tune out the death and fear around him presently.
His horse finally managed to step out of the mud without breaking an ankle, and Oskar began his approach towards the creature. He slung his bow back across the rear of his saddle and pulled up his lance. The time for skirmishing was at an end. Unfortunately, due to the mud having slowed him down, the Elder Vyatautas had passed him and would get the first charge in, right in harm's way.
Gritting his teeth, Oskar couched the lance expertly and began his own charge, his heart pounding in his chest. “FOR VORUTA!” He screamed. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Where Oskar was an expert in melee, Aleksander was the opposite; quite skilled skirmishing from horseback, and arguably a better rider than his friend. He had spent the battle up to this point circling around the beast, adeptly maneuvering his horse around the few ponds while constantly firing arrows from his bow, each nearly always striking his target.
Soon, Aleksander’s quiver was nearly empty, and he’d have to change up his tactics. However, he resolved to do that anyway, as he witnessed his young lord thrown to the ground by the mighty beast. Casting a quick glance down the small clearing, he spotted the Elder Vyatautas, followed by Oskar, charging the beast, and decided to swoop in for the rescue.
Gulping, Aleksander spurred his horse in the Younger Vyatautas’ direction, casting side-long glances at the beast to make sure its attention remained on the two charging men. As he got closed, he pulled his feet out of the stirrups, slung one leg over his saddle, and briefly rode side-saddle so he could dismount quickly when he arrived. And he had, once his horse passed the Younger Vyatautas, he jumped off his horse, his on legs rapidly moving in short steps to keep his balance, and ran to his Lord’s side, trusting his horse to stop. He had trained it to stop moving once it’s rider dismounted just for scenarios like this. However, this would be the first time in actual combat and Aleksander couldn’t be certain his horse wouldn’t get spooked by the bull and run off anyway.
“Sire!” Aleksander called out as he drove his lance into the soft dirt underneath the horse, mere inches beside his Lord’s leg. “I’ll lift, and you’ll crawl out, if you can.” He kept his eyes peeled on the mighty creature as it turned to attack the Elder Vyatautas, making sure it didn’t return and attack him. His conscious battled on whether or not he’d be able to hold his ground and die next to his lord, or flee like a coward. He liked to think the first, but it was likely he’d throw the lance down and run to his horse.
Shaking his head, Aleksander heaved on the lance. The wooden lance worryingly began to bend in the middle, and Aleksander prayed to all the Gods that the horse would be lifted enough for the Younger Vyatautas to crawl out before the pole snapped like a twig… ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“NOOO!” Cried out Oskar when his elder lord was skewered on the Watcher's large horns. He spurred his own horse faster his mouth a thin line of determination and his eyes narrowed, on target. While it was focused on the man on its horns, Oskar quickly closed the distance with his swift gelding, holding onto his lance tightly with his sweaty palms.
He flexed his legs a little to stand him up slightly in the saddle, and rammed his lance into the creature’s shoulder, trying to drive it down into its heart for the killing blow. The force of the blow and the speed he was passing caused the lance to break nearly in half, and he lost his grip on it. Four feet of splintered wood careened away while a foot of it jutted out of the Watcher’s bloodied fur, telling Oskar a good two feet drove into its body.
I hope that’s enough, was his thoughts as he tried to maneuver his horse out of the way in case the Watcher didn’t die and retaliated.
Oskar’s shoulder had popped when the lance was wrenched out of his, and his whole right arm grew sore. He didn’t believe anything was broken or dislocated, the pain wasn’t that bad, but he’d be sore for a couple days.
|
|