Andreyich
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AS THOUGH A THOUSAND MOUTHS CRY OUT IN PAIN
STATUS: me wanting to play out shit from a setting from around 2010 that only europeans know... 2 mos ago
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- Joined: 10 yrs ago
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- Andreyich 10 yrs ago
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Recent Statuses
2 mos ago
Current
me wanting to play out shit from a setting from around 2010 that only europeans know...
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2 mos ago
what did he mean by this
6 mos ago
the issue is them king your thread was great (i didnt read it)
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1 yr ago
no fucking way
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1 yr ago
while tru, quantity != quality, the fact is there's enough good writers out there with diverse enough interests to fit most niches apart from the unrealistically specific i.e. kitten beheading RP
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Bio
If you enjoy my posts then consider pressing here to see my 1x1 interest check.
About me:
Where do I begin. I'm from Belarus, and fairly proud of it. I've been RPing about a decade starting mostly with chat stuff and some LARPs/reenactments, doing the stuff of this site for maybe half a decade now. I'm a former serviceman, and while I was conscripted I make sure to stay in related circles. As a day job I'm a programmer letting me usually work from home even when we don't have coronavirus forcing us to do so and thus I got a lot of time for RP.
About me:
Where do I begin. I'm from Belarus, and fairly proud of it. I've been RPing about a decade starting mostly with chat stuff and some LARPs/reenactments, doing the stuff of this site for maybe half a decade now. I'm a former serviceman, and while I was conscripted I make sure to stay in related circles. As a day job I'm a programmer letting me usually work from home even when we don't have coronavirus forcing us to do so and thus I got a lot of time for RP.
Most Recent Posts
The Doctor couldn't help but tilt his head at the young man bellowing threats of violence. He had killed these people, yet now was so petulant about what would be done with their remains? There was only one explanation for this he could credibly see, and that this young man was under the influence of some shaman or witch or other source of infantile irrationality clouding his mind.
He had known the people outside his homeland were far more backwards. He had known they were superstitious, and primitive, and any amount of similar descriptors. He had even read of many of their myths and notions. Some of it seemed exaggerated even, but the boy certainly did well to verify the stereotypes some fellow Haldran academics had about outlanders. He wondered: if he showed this lad a bit of electricity and alchemy, might he spout off a little litany about how this was witchcraft? Punctuated by a vigorous scratching and grunts mayhaps.
But there was no point in arguing with such a one. Violence was all such a mind could muster, and debate about how lives could be saved with the scientific insights born herein would be lost on a person that could only think of bloodshed. Frustrated, but cognizant of his position, Soren gave a thin polite smile along with a nod.
A thought occurred to Soren that he could just wait for them to leave, and then do as he wished. Whatever these people did they were clearly in such a rush they couldn't be rid of all the usable material.
But that was greedy and sloppy thinking. The risk was very severe that whoever sent these men had a plan B, C, D and so on which would also not take kindly to his work. Much as he loathed the thought, his involvement with these people in the brief combat had already sealed his fate. His participation on their side meant that they were to be his companions for now, as a donkey wasn't exactly a good guard animal against people seeking to avenge the death of their comrades.
He turned to Brig, who unfortunately hadn’t been sufficiently supportive of his cause that he felt he could go forth and do as he wished. She was clearly the leader of this group (and, the least crude in parlance) thus making him feel only she was worth addressing. “Either way, I must for now be tethered to you, for I am now implicated in these people’s passing and hence will be victimized by them if I remain alone.”
The man was then distracted by the motions of the mute woman, turning his attention. What an oddity. Still, it didn’t take very much for him to conclude what was wrong with the woman, in both senses of the word. With a sigh, he set aside his crossbow, removing the bolt and softly easing the tension in the string. Then he rummaged in his satchel, fingers coming by memory on the exact implements he needed. Motioning to Eirun to sit beside him on a rock, he began to prepare some bandaging along with two separate bottles for disinfection and ointment. “Now, this is going to sting. The stinging means it is helping, so do not hit me, yes?” Back home these things were known, but he didn’t want to take any chances with people that could do painful things to him at a whim. But once (or perhaps, assuming) he got some sort of affirmation, which he never got. He shrugged, merely laying the components he himself would have used on an unrolled cloth. “Suit yourself, but don't whine if it gets infected. Not that you could, I suppose.” It wasn't meant as an insult, he just had the misfortune of people complaining when their own activities resulted in poor treatment that they in turn blamed on him. “You should get a new dressing for it in a day. Return to me or another professional if you can, and let the one to change it know if it gets itchy or starts weeping or-...” he paused, remembering who he was speaking to and the certain communicative issue between them. “Just come to someone to get it changed.”
Soren would get up, and then let off a small series of whistles, the command for his donkey to get his cart to him. Squinting, he relaxed as he saw the trained beast coming along the road to him.
Softly, he began to whisper to himself, clutching at another one of his pouches.
He had known the people outside his homeland were far more backwards. He had known they were superstitious, and primitive, and any amount of similar descriptors. He had even read of many of their myths and notions. Some of it seemed exaggerated even, but the boy certainly did well to verify the stereotypes some fellow Haldran academics had about outlanders. He wondered: if he showed this lad a bit of electricity and alchemy, might he spout off a little litany about how this was witchcraft? Punctuated by a vigorous scratching and grunts mayhaps.
But there was no point in arguing with such a one. Violence was all such a mind could muster, and debate about how lives could be saved with the scientific insights born herein would be lost on a person that could only think of bloodshed. Frustrated, but cognizant of his position, Soren gave a thin polite smile along with a nod.
A thought occurred to Soren that he could just wait for them to leave, and then do as he wished. Whatever these people did they were clearly in such a rush they couldn't be rid of all the usable material.
But that was greedy and sloppy thinking. The risk was very severe that whoever sent these men had a plan B, C, D and so on which would also not take kindly to his work. Much as he loathed the thought, his involvement with these people in the brief combat had already sealed his fate. His participation on their side meant that they were to be his companions for now, as a donkey wasn't exactly a good guard animal against people seeking to avenge the death of their comrades.
He turned to Brig, who unfortunately hadn’t been sufficiently supportive of his cause that he felt he could go forth and do as he wished. She was clearly the leader of this group (and, the least crude in parlance) thus making him feel only she was worth addressing. “Either way, I must for now be tethered to you, for I am now implicated in these people’s passing and hence will be victimized by them if I remain alone.”
The man was then distracted by the motions of the mute woman, turning his attention. What an oddity. Still, it didn’t take very much for him to conclude what was wrong with the woman, in both senses of the word. With a sigh, he set aside his crossbow, removing the bolt and softly easing the tension in the string. Then he rummaged in his satchel, fingers coming by memory on the exact implements he needed. Motioning to Eirun to sit beside him on a rock, he began to prepare some bandaging along with two separate bottles for disinfection and ointment. “Now, this is going to sting. The stinging means it is helping, so do not hit me, yes?” Back home these things were known, but he didn’t want to take any chances with people that could do painful things to him at a whim. But once (or perhaps, assuming) he got some sort of affirmation, which he never got. He shrugged, merely laying the components he himself would have used on an unrolled cloth. “Suit yourself, but don't whine if it gets infected. Not that you could, I suppose.” It wasn't meant as an insult, he just had the misfortune of people complaining when their own activities resulted in poor treatment that they in turn blamed on him. “You should get a new dressing for it in a day. Return to me or another professional if you can, and let the one to change it know if it gets itchy or starts weeping or-...” he paused, remembering who he was speaking to and the certain communicative issue between them. “Just come to someone to get it changed.”
Soren would get up, and then let off a small series of whistles, the command for his donkey to get his cart to him. Squinting, he relaxed as he saw the trained beast coming along the road to him.
Softly, he began to whisper to himself, clutching at another one of his pouches.
By the time Soren had loaded the third bolt, the fight was in practical terms over. He had arrived late, but even setting aside his ego he could see the import of his contribution with the two well-landed bolts. He didn’t cheer at his own success, nor so much as smile. There wasn’t even much skill involved in what he had done, or at least merely in the shooting; it was all just rote application of study and his earlier craftsmanship in making a simple but effective weapon. The situation wasn’t complex enough that he had to think of wind-speeds and such things on the go, merely point and loose with the knowledge he had made a deadly tool.
Soren had fought together with these people, largely based on his own prejudice against magekind, combined with scientific curiosity. However, he did not know if this strange lot consisted of good or reasonable people. Naturally, if he tried to have a go at them he would lose, and that was why he planned to run if a chat with them went the wrong way. But, running was a lot simpler if your pursuer had a bolt sticking in them. So it was that he did not unload the crossbow as he made his way out of his cover, the string very softly creaking with the sustained stress. But as he approached the scene of for now finished violence, he did not hold it in a threatening manner lest the risk of him being a target to his erstwhile comrades become self-fulfilling prophecy. Rather he held it quite leisurely in one arm, the hend cradling it such that bicep and shoulder pinned it into a comfortable position that could be held a long time at rest – it was an unwieldily heavy thing after all. The fact the other party now had a mage in its ranks made him wary, but he figured he couldn’t just hide more if he was to get what he wanted out of this.
Now, Soren was a person that had seen a lot of gore and consequences of violence. But he had to admit at least to himself that even overseeing a mere fraction of it, the affair with the animated corpse did unsettle him somewhat. His expression as he walked didn’t reflect this, but one might just be able to glean this from him as his eyes darted constantly to and away from the writhing horror: too horrified to keep looking yet too fascinated to look away.
But by the time he was close enough to properly speak without words being lost in the breeze, he by and large had managed to compose himself. A soft smile was on his visage, stubble just a slight bit too short to be called a beard moving with his skin. “A good day!” he called out, despite the ground being littered with evidence to the contrary.
“My name is Soren, and it was my pleasure to be of assistance. Perhaps as a show of good faith to strangers as yourselves, I would offer to mend your wounds and other ailments resulting from this bout, for I am among other things a physician by trade. Free of charge of course, despite my regular fee being quite handsome!”
He didn’t see any of the others get particularly hurt, but offering to deal with the many hurting things a warrior had was in his experience a quite simple way to get into their good graces.
Regardless, he felt that was enough expounding on how exactly he was not a threat to these people that he could begin speaking on his own stake in this little battle. “I must admit however, my participation in this was not wholly altruistic in nature. I confess my interest was more scholarly than anything. It has been a long time since I had the opportunity to study magekind, and it would be an opportunity I can’t merely go to waste. Once you are done picking over their bodies for whatever valuables it is you seek, I merely ask I may take the remains for myself.” He paused for a moment, thinking over what Brigitte had said. “I can also make sure as many of them stay lively for you for as long as you need. With a small bit of shopping, I could even get them to be a lot more honest than they would otherwise be inclined.”
Soren had fought together with these people, largely based on his own prejudice against magekind, combined with scientific curiosity. However, he did not know if this strange lot consisted of good or reasonable people. Naturally, if he tried to have a go at them he would lose, and that was why he planned to run if a chat with them went the wrong way. But, running was a lot simpler if your pursuer had a bolt sticking in them. So it was that he did not unload the crossbow as he made his way out of his cover, the string very softly creaking with the sustained stress. But as he approached the scene of for now finished violence, he did not hold it in a threatening manner lest the risk of him being a target to his erstwhile comrades become self-fulfilling prophecy. Rather he held it quite leisurely in one arm, the hend cradling it such that bicep and shoulder pinned it into a comfortable position that could be held a long time at rest – it was an unwieldily heavy thing after all. The fact the other party now had a mage in its ranks made him wary, but he figured he couldn’t just hide more if he was to get what he wanted out of this.
Now, Soren was a person that had seen a lot of gore and consequences of violence. But he had to admit at least to himself that even overseeing a mere fraction of it, the affair with the animated corpse did unsettle him somewhat. His expression as he walked didn’t reflect this, but one might just be able to glean this from him as his eyes darted constantly to and away from the writhing horror: too horrified to keep looking yet too fascinated to look away.
But by the time he was close enough to properly speak without words being lost in the breeze, he by and large had managed to compose himself. A soft smile was on his visage, stubble just a slight bit too short to be called a beard moving with his skin. “A good day!” he called out, despite the ground being littered with evidence to the contrary.
“My name is Soren, and it was my pleasure to be of assistance. Perhaps as a show of good faith to strangers as yourselves, I would offer to mend your wounds and other ailments resulting from this bout, for I am among other things a physician by trade. Free of charge of course, despite my regular fee being quite handsome!”
He didn’t see any of the others get particularly hurt, but offering to deal with the many hurting things a warrior had was in his experience a quite simple way to get into their good graces.
Regardless, he felt that was enough expounding on how exactly he was not a threat to these people that he could begin speaking on his own stake in this little battle. “I must admit however, my participation in this was not wholly altruistic in nature. I confess my interest was more scholarly than anything. It has been a long time since I had the opportunity to study magekind, and it would be an opportunity I can’t merely go to waste. Once you are done picking over their bodies for whatever valuables it is you seek, I merely ask I may take the remains for myself.” He paused for a moment, thinking over what Brigitte had said. “I can also make sure as many of them stay lively for you for as long as you need. With a small bit of shopping, I could even get them to be a lot more honest than they would otherwise be inclined.”
“Betwtixt the trees, and stones, she sang, the wind came forth and-... fuck. Winds, not wind.” Soren sighed, looking down at the little harp he was playing alongside his singing. This was certainly much harder than the books made it out to be. He knew verbatim the instructions for how to modulate his voice and to pluck the strings of the instrument at his hands, but it was another thing to do in practice. With a shrug, he set it aside to get a drink from his waterskin. It was only after he was done that he heard at the very edge of his ears something was up.
“Hold.” He murmured into the ear of the ass pulling his cart, leaning into its ear. Metal upon metal. That was never a sign of anything good.
He could go the other way of course, and already started the slow and arduous process of getting the animal to turn the other way around on the narrow road. But it was a sound, a sound of some unnatural power that made it clear this was no ordinary highway robbery. No, this was something raising his curiosity. He checked his pistol hidden away in his long greatcoat, making sure the powder was dry before cocking the hammer back. Gently he retrieved his crossbow then, grunting with effort as the heavy string strained metal and wood to heave the great bolt loaded in.
Walking off the road, he headed towards the commotion, ready at any moment to run in the opposite direction if it seemed like it was far too much. He wasn’t some professional ranger, but moving between charred corpses of buildings he did his best to at least not step on any of the clearly visible twigs and leaves that might make a crunch heard for miles.
In part, he hoped that even if he was spotted, people would be far too busy with their own fighting to try and deal with him. However, most fights he had seen seemed to end in moments, rather than theatric duels of many minutes. He would almost certainly have to leave the beast and cart behind.
But he supposed that was worth it to sate his curiosity, and so kept on.
What he came upon was… well, not wholly expected. Magicians, yet they were dressed as Northmen. Their victims seemed to be struggling to deal with this assault, save one that seemed to wholly ignore the supernatural being thrown at him.
What a marvelous specimen! Now he had to stay. If this fellow died, he’d need to take him apart piece by piece and do every single possible test he knew of to study this man’s cadaver. What could make such an effect? He had to wonder.
But perhaps it was a more viable exemplar alive, for that would be where the most interesting studies could be made. That aside, staring from behind a bush at these Mage-Knights masquerading as Fenrisians, he knew he had no tolerance for their kind regardless.
A decision was made. Using a branch to steady his weapon and shoulders, he sighted down the crossbow. Breathing steadily, he aimed at one of the Mage-Knights, waiting, trying to time the shot with another warrior’s clanking of blades. So it was that he pulled the trigger mechanism, and the loud snap of the steel limbs of the weapon propelled a bolt with might speed and force at one of the foemen. He ducked down, taking cover out of sight behind a collapsed hut, reloading the weapon. Based on the numbers involved, there was a good chance even his intervention would not lead to the defeat of the Mages, but perhaps the elements of surprise of his shot and the one he would be delivering as soon as he loaded the next bolt would suffice to turn the tide.
“Hold.” He murmured into the ear of the ass pulling his cart, leaning into its ear. Metal upon metal. That was never a sign of anything good.
He could go the other way of course, and already started the slow and arduous process of getting the animal to turn the other way around on the narrow road. But it was a sound, a sound of some unnatural power that made it clear this was no ordinary highway robbery. No, this was something raising his curiosity. He checked his pistol hidden away in his long greatcoat, making sure the powder was dry before cocking the hammer back. Gently he retrieved his crossbow then, grunting with effort as the heavy string strained metal and wood to heave the great bolt loaded in.
Walking off the road, he headed towards the commotion, ready at any moment to run in the opposite direction if it seemed like it was far too much. He wasn’t some professional ranger, but moving between charred corpses of buildings he did his best to at least not step on any of the clearly visible twigs and leaves that might make a crunch heard for miles.
In part, he hoped that even if he was spotted, people would be far too busy with their own fighting to try and deal with him. However, most fights he had seen seemed to end in moments, rather than theatric duels of many minutes. He would almost certainly have to leave the beast and cart behind.
But he supposed that was worth it to sate his curiosity, and so kept on.
What he came upon was… well, not wholly expected. Magicians, yet they were dressed as Northmen. Their victims seemed to be struggling to deal with this assault, save one that seemed to wholly ignore the supernatural being thrown at him.
What a marvelous specimen! Now he had to stay. If this fellow died, he’d need to take him apart piece by piece and do every single possible test he knew of to study this man’s cadaver. What could make such an effect? He had to wonder.
But perhaps it was a more viable exemplar alive, for that would be where the most interesting studies could be made. That aside, staring from behind a bush at these Mage-Knights masquerading as Fenrisians, he knew he had no tolerance for their kind regardless.
A decision was made. Using a branch to steady his weapon and shoulders, he sighted down the crossbow. Breathing steadily, he aimed at one of the Mage-Knights, waiting, trying to time the shot with another warrior’s clanking of blades. So it was that he pulled the trigger mechanism, and the loud snap of the steel limbs of the weapon propelled a bolt with might speed and force at one of the foemen. He ducked down, taking cover out of sight behind a collapsed hut, reloading the weapon. Based on the numbers involved, there was a good chance even his intervention would not lead to the defeat of the Mages, but perhaps the elements of surprise of his shot and the one he would be delivering as soon as he loaded the next bolt would suffice to turn the tide.
[Mercenary Application]
yeah I can manage that fine so I guess I'll try apply, I feared it was a few times a week as I see often XD
one more question then, though, can we put 0 in a start (i.e. lower than E) if we have absolutely no interest in it like Aura, or will we actively have at least the bare minimum in all of these things (I suppose perhaps that is why the max is 6 for a stat out of a total of 10, so that we if maximize one thing the rest will always be 1 to begin with).
one more question then, though, can we put 0 in a start (i.e. lower than E) if we have absolutely no interest in it like Aura, or will we actively have at least the bare minimum in all of these things (I suppose perhaps that is why the max is 6 for a stat out of a total of 10, so that we if maximize one thing the rest will always be 1 to begin with).
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