Visual Aid Hellion made with Harbinger's Help for the Cells
BangoSkank Member
Halfway Intriguing Halfling
STATUS: Ah, I too am preparing to lose a lot of sleep and gain several pounds hunting monsters in the wilds. 1 yr ago
- Last Seen: 15 days ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
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- BangoSkank 9 yrs ago
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1 yr ago
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Ah, I too am preparing to lose a lot of sleep and gain several pounds hunting monsters in the wilds.
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likes
2 yrs ago
Fear of long words is hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia. Isn't that messed up?
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2 yrs ago
Star Wars Persistent World, that was a thing that was sort of a thing. Kind of.
3 yrs ago
LongSword is objectively the best main. Objectively.
3 yrs ago
The ones from Calle are usually monthly. I tried to start another one a few years back.
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Bio
I be Bango.
Most Recent Posts
Renault's wise words fell on mostly deaf ears. Gorosk knew him to be right, there was no point in letting the Goliath's words eat at him. The reputation of his lineage was known about the world, it was no surprise that one might hate him for it but the words ate at him just the same. Likely because he knew she was not entirely wrong. She could not know it, but she had touched on precisely the underlying conflict of his life. An Orc is still an Orc, however much that blood may be diluted or distilled. Even as he tried to dismiss her words that very poison worked within him.
As the night fell on them all he paced slowly about his small cell, trying to calm his blood. Poison Blood, Honorless, Unnatural, Abomination. The Goliath was not wrong, but she was also not right. Gorosk unclenched his fists and worked on his breathing. Whether she was wrong or right depended on him. The order of his mind could overpower the chaos of his blood. He would prove her wrong.
Gorosk turns to the window to distract himself from both new and old frustrations. He peers through to see what he might see out there in the world beyond these cells.
As the night fell on them all he paced slowly about his small cell, trying to calm his blood. Poison Blood, Honorless, Unnatural, Abomination. The Goliath was not wrong, but she was also not right. Gorosk unclenched his fists and worked on his breathing. Whether she was wrong or right depended on him. The order of his mind could overpower the chaos of his blood. He would prove her wrong.
Gorosk turns to the window to distract himself from both new and old frustrations. He peers through to see what he might see out there in the world beyond these cells.
its almost harvesting season
Alvin had fallen behind the others shortly after entering the Mayor's chambers, not a great practice for a scout and a tracker, but the Mootland scene had stopped him dead in his tracks. Right there in the hall amid painstakingly carved masterwork furniture, paintings of past Mayors, tapestries depicting great Imperial victories, and even a massive Zweihander, amid all these treasures was a painting of his own people. The first he had seen in quite some time. To the Halfling the other treasures paled in comparison. This was a scene he knew.
That bend of the Aver, where the children tested the waters, where the braver (or luckier) of them would look back to their peers with a wry smile and plunge in. In his mind's eye Alvin could see the painting expanding, tracking up the river to Hornsby's Ferry to follow the youths as they skittered home dripping water with every step. The Altern Forest beyond, and the myths of their being haunted, myths believed well enough that travelers within will rush to get through before the end of daylight. Myths believed well enough that Inns prosper on both sides to allow travelers an early start going either direction.
Perhaps it was good these myths had always had just enough hint of reality to spur the feet of even the most curious of his kind. Though he would have enjoyed dwelling there further, looking at the painting and recalling the flow of the Aver and the cities of his youth (Eicheschatten in particular, that great Halfling capital) his thoughts of the Altern Forest bring him back to the present. Alvin's eyes venture back to the Zweihander and he gulps before hurrying along to catch up with the others.
Alvin stood quietly, for once, amid the others while the situation was further explained. He stood on his tiptoes more out of habit than necessity when Van Schlofel pointed out the road the caravans, pilgrims, and travelers had been last seen on. No bodies, not of the citizens nor of their attackers. Nothing found by militia patrol. Van Schlofel offered them what help he could, but what they really needed was somewhere to start. Something the militia had not had.
The Halfling tried but failed to restrain a chuckle at the Dwarf's comment, though he'd been unable to stifle the chuckle he forced the grin from his face. It was still a good question. The more they knew about the forest the better. He waited for the Dwarf to receive his answer and then asked aloud but mostly to the woman, the Sister of Shallya,
"The Boy, he was out there in the forest wasn't he. Do we have anything of his? Something the dogs might get a scent from?"
The secrets of this forest may be darker than those of the old Altern Forest just past Hornsby's Ferry along the Aver, but they would find these secrets. They would all take the plunge.
That bend of the Aver, where the children tested the waters, where the braver (or luckier) of them would look back to their peers with a wry smile and plunge in. In his mind's eye Alvin could see the painting expanding, tracking up the river to Hornsby's Ferry to follow the youths as they skittered home dripping water with every step. The Altern Forest beyond, and the myths of their being haunted, myths believed well enough that travelers within will rush to get through before the end of daylight. Myths believed well enough that Inns prosper on both sides to allow travelers an early start going either direction.
Perhaps it was good these myths had always had just enough hint of reality to spur the feet of even the most curious of his kind. Though he would have enjoyed dwelling there further, looking at the painting and recalling the flow of the Aver and the cities of his youth (Eicheschatten in particular, that great Halfling capital) his thoughts of the Altern Forest bring him back to the present. Alvin's eyes venture back to the Zweihander and he gulps before hurrying along to catch up with the others.
Alvin stood quietly, for once, amid the others while the situation was further explained. He stood on his tiptoes more out of habit than necessity when Van Schlofel pointed out the road the caravans, pilgrims, and travelers had been last seen on. No bodies, not of the citizens nor of their attackers. Nothing found by militia patrol. Van Schlofel offered them what help he could, but what they really needed was somewhere to start. Something the militia had not had.
The Halfling tried but failed to restrain a chuckle at the Dwarf's comment, though he'd been unable to stifle the chuckle he forced the grin from his face. It was still a good question. The more they knew about the forest the better. He waited for the Dwarf to receive his answer and then asked aloud but mostly to the woman, the Sister of Shallya,
"The Boy, he was out there in the forest wasn't he. Do we have anything of his? Something the dogs might get a scent from?"
The secrets of this forest may be darker than those of the old Altern Forest just past Hornsby's Ferry along the Aver, but they would find these secrets. They would all take the plunge.
Whatever language the giant spoke it was lost to Gorosk's ears. Not only could he not understand the words but he wasn't confident he had ever encountered it before. Perhaps it was a curse, he considered, for though the meaning of the individual words was unknown the feeling behind them was quite evident to him. Her forehead pressed against the metal, her hands clutched tight around the bars hard enough that the pale slate tone of her muscular hands paled further. Each word came out a carefully pronounced growl, they had a meaning of some form, and each word was low enough it could only be meant for herself or for him.
“I thought I smelled the cowardly blood of an Orc…”
That part he understood, all too well.
Gorosk stepped up to the bars assuming a similar posture to the giant woman's own only he was relaxed where she was tense. His long pale green arms hanging out between the bars, that they might meet each other better. He spoke in a gravely tone that was less bestial sounding than a full blooded Orc but without the precise diction of a man.
"I only caught that last part giant. You are half right on that. I have the blood of the Orc, I am a half blood, but I am no coward. What of you Vah'lux, giantess who speaks in codes. What are you? Conspiring with beasts, disturbing cursed ground, uttering curses?"
“I thought I smelled the cowardly blood of an Orc…”
That part he understood, all too well.
Gorosk stepped up to the bars assuming a similar posture to the giant woman's own only he was relaxed where she was tense. His long pale green arms hanging out between the bars, that they might meet each other better. He spoke in a gravely tone that was less bestial sounding than a full blooded Orc but without the precise diction of a man.
"I only caught that last part giant. You are half right on that. I have the blood of the Orc, I am a half blood, but I am no coward. What of you Vah'lux, giantess who speaks in codes. What are you? Conspiring with beasts, disturbing cursed ground, uttering curses?"
I'll try to post something soon. I don't have much to write as I can't think of anything to have Alvin say, but I'll put up something about him admiring the Halfling painting
Gorosk had become quite accustomed to silence through his life and his time in this cell had been marked by copious quantities of exactly that. Alone in a small cell with bland food sufficient to do little more than keep his organs functioning he'd been passing the time meditating when he could, pacing when he couldn't meditate, practicing his maneuvers when pacing failed to help him focus, or shadow boxing when he felt the frustration of being restrained building up inside him.
In recent days new unfortunate souls had been added to the simple but seemingly solid jail. Perhaps they were guilty of their charges as he was of his, but perhaps not. The first prisoner, a human, seemed perfectly happy to join Gorosk in silent meditation or perhaps brooding or perhaps recovering from his bender. He had thus far been a very suitable fellow imprisonee. Though after his arrival there was slightly more noise than he had become accustomed to it was reassuring to hear another's footsteps and breathing once more.
He had thought that perhaps this was how he would spend the remainder of his time, however long that proved to be, in prison. In relative silence alone but together, just waiting for the day the guards got tired of fetching them stale hard bread and water. Perhaps it was a test.
It wasn't long before two more arrived, the human at night with no charges announced and a rather unceremonious arrival into the same cell as the other prisoner, the final an apparent Hunter or perhaps a Witch, he got a better look at. A very large woman, pale skin tone and markings, not human but not quite a giant, something new; and escorted with a guard dramatically more in number than he knew were even positioned out here. Her charges were more serious than his own or the drunken vagrant. Her charges likely meant death. Perhaps she deserved it, but something seemed odd about all of them arriving so soon after each other. Gorosk returned to silence and stillness to observe.
For some time they had all done largely the same. Trapped animals it seemed to Gorosk, like him, slowly feeling out their environment. From the cell that houses his oldest companion in this predicament and the other fresher arrived human came the sound of movement and the first words Gorosk had heard from any of them.
"I am Gorosk," he replied, noting that the massive Witch or Hunter or whatever form of devil she might be seemed to move to the front of her cell, moved to the front of his cell hoping the light at his back might conceal his heritage awhile longer, and waited to get a better look at cohorts, particularly the two menfolk.
In recent days new unfortunate souls had been added to the simple but seemingly solid jail. Perhaps they were guilty of their charges as he was of his, but perhaps not. The first prisoner, a human, seemed perfectly happy to join Gorosk in silent meditation or perhaps brooding or perhaps recovering from his bender. He had thus far been a very suitable fellow imprisonee. Though after his arrival there was slightly more noise than he had become accustomed to it was reassuring to hear another's footsteps and breathing once more.
He had thought that perhaps this was how he would spend the remainder of his time, however long that proved to be, in prison. In relative silence alone but together, just waiting for the day the guards got tired of fetching them stale hard bread and water. Perhaps it was a test.
It wasn't long before two more arrived, the human at night with no charges announced and a rather unceremonious arrival into the same cell as the other prisoner, the final an apparent Hunter or perhaps a Witch, he got a better look at. A very large woman, pale skin tone and markings, not human but not quite a giant, something new; and escorted with a guard dramatically more in number than he knew were even positioned out here. Her charges were more serious than his own or the drunken vagrant. Her charges likely meant death. Perhaps she deserved it, but something seemed odd about all of them arriving so soon after each other. Gorosk returned to silence and stillness to observe.
For some time they had all done largely the same. Trapped animals it seemed to Gorosk, like him, slowly feeling out their environment. From the cell that houses his oldest companion in this predicament and the other fresher arrived human came the sound of movement and the first words Gorosk had heard from any of them.
"I am Gorosk," he replied, noting that the massive Witch or Hunter or whatever form of devil she might be seemed to move to the front of her cell, moved to the front of his cell hoping the light at his back might conceal his heritage awhile longer, and waited to get a better look at cohorts, particularly the two menfolk.
Fackin psyched brah
The Halfling's feet swung back and forth through the air, kicking thoughtlessly, as he sat near the bar (the only place with seats high enough to allow him to eat while doing so) munching away at a particularly excessive breakfast. Alvin could not say when he might be back in an Inn or even if he would and so he would take advantage of the time he had. More sausages then he could eat in a sitting, more potatoes than was at all reasonable for so small a man. A generous meal even for a full grown man, let alone a Halfling. His belly would be full when the trip began, he would hold on to the leftovers to make it up to his dogs for they would have to carry his feast heavy arse around this morning. They sat near him, happy faces knowing full well that their master would never finish his meal and they would glean the benefit of his gluttonous eyes.
Between the simple but comforting food and good ale Alvin scarcely looked up from the table as the darkly garbed Bretonnian came in from the morning, sipping slowly at some schnapps, leaning against the wall. Outwardly he scarcely seemed to notice the tension when the other Bretonnian entered, though he listened in intently. Matters of family honor and vows, Alvin had always admired the Bretonnians for that. The hearth and home never far from a Halfling's mind, particularly one who had wandered as far as he had. Kith and Kin, all that.
With a bit of his sad story told Jehan left and Alvin decided it was time he pack up and depart for the Town Square. He'd likely taken too long at his breakfast, mustn't be too late. Alvin's body protested as he slid off his stool, then with a slight nod to Guy de le Guerre he headed up to his room with his dogs close at his heels, them still smelling the delightful sausages and potatoes he had emptied into his pockets for later.
Most of Alvin's packing had been done the night before to grant him more time to indulge in his customary pre-adventure smorgasboard so there was not much more to be done. His dogs, Woof and Bark, sat obediently beside the door as he strapped some of his belongings to them, careful too keep his pockets containing the food far from their faces. They were well behaved, well trained, but it's never wise to tempt a dog with something as tasty as Rosine's cooking. He slotted his knife into his belt sheath, slung his quiver over one shoulder and his bow over the other, then dug back in to one of his bags to find a particular snack that one among the party was liable to appreciate. He didn't have much of it, tough as it was he could only ever worry away at a tiny piece, but the Dwarf may well appreciate it, the old Dwarven delicacy Traggot, boiled wolf hide. He would make a powerful ally, and a solid wall to hide behind.
He headed back down the stairs, the two dogs following side by side, and quickly made his way out the door and to the Town Square, where indeed the party seemed to be assembling rapidly. The journey was about to begin. He belched.
Between the simple but comforting food and good ale Alvin scarcely looked up from the table as the darkly garbed Bretonnian came in from the morning, sipping slowly at some schnapps, leaning against the wall. Outwardly he scarcely seemed to notice the tension when the other Bretonnian entered, though he listened in intently. Matters of family honor and vows, Alvin had always admired the Bretonnians for that. The hearth and home never far from a Halfling's mind, particularly one who had wandered as far as he had. Kith and Kin, all that.
With a bit of his sad story told Jehan left and Alvin decided it was time he pack up and depart for the Town Square. He'd likely taken too long at his breakfast, mustn't be too late. Alvin's body protested as he slid off his stool, then with a slight nod to Guy de le Guerre he headed up to his room with his dogs close at his heels, them still smelling the delightful sausages and potatoes he had emptied into his pockets for later.
Most of Alvin's packing had been done the night before to grant him more time to indulge in his customary pre-adventure smorgasboard so there was not much more to be done. His dogs, Woof and Bark, sat obediently beside the door as he strapped some of his belongings to them, careful too keep his pockets containing the food far from their faces. They were well behaved, well trained, but it's never wise to tempt a dog with something as tasty as Rosine's cooking. He slotted his knife into his belt sheath, slung his quiver over one shoulder and his bow over the other, then dug back in to one of his bags to find a particular snack that one among the party was liable to appreciate. He didn't have much of it, tough as it was he could only ever worry away at a tiny piece, but the Dwarf may well appreciate it, the old Dwarven delicacy Traggot, boiled wolf hide. He would make a powerful ally, and a solid wall to hide behind.
He headed back down the stairs, the two dogs following side by side, and quickly made his way out the door and to the Town Square, where indeed the party seemed to be assembling rapidly. The journey was about to begin. He belched.
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