BangoSkank

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

Finally free from the prison Gorosk's relief was immediate. It was an odd thing confinement. The prison conditions themselves had not been truly torturous. Compared to his time in the monastery it had not been all that bad. They had fed him and they had left him alone. No fights, no chores, no sermons. Yet the inability to escape and indeterminate length of his sentence had been unbearable. They were free once more, at least in one sense. He could touch the leaves he had seen through the windows. Gorosk did so. Running his hand along some leaves. Breathing fresh air.

The Justice was gone, only the Priest left now. Only Marthan and the hateful militiamen. Only them, and whatever it was they were being made to do. Wherever they were going to be made to go. The chests came out, Gorosk gathered his few belongings, nodding to his fellow prisoners as he did so, and changed in to his own clothes. Mutterings of pools, angry faces, disinterested faces, frightened faces watching the prisoners as they each readied themselves. The militia whispering to each other all the while. Let them whisper. Soon the journey would begin. Gorosk hoped it would at least be interesting, interesting and far far from this prison. The sooner they were rid of this place the better. Finally a voice spoke up, uncertain perhaps but clear.

"Forgive me, not all of your things are here as you can tell, His Honor ordered the men to keep hold of your weapons until we returned to the village. I am sure you can understand his reasoning."

"You took my stick and my axe, Priest" he said, fidgeting with the clothing he'd worn since his days in the monastery so it would sit right. Soft, flowing, loose in the right places. He pulled from his pack several other pieces of cloth, tying a scarf over his head and wrapping two red and beige strips of cloth around his wrists and hands.

"You did not take my weapons."

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

Gorosk had been wrong it seemed, about the woman. He'd thought there were some truth in the accusations against her. Unlawful hunting, conspiring with beasts, disturbing cursed ground, and uttering curses. Why had he given the militia the benefit of the doubt, when he had been a victim of such false claims himself. Uttering curses had simply been the odd tongue of her people, unlawful hunting was a rather strange concept in these days, but he had been ready to go along with the claims. The holy men had judged them all free from evils they had stood accused of. All of them. Innocent in the eyes of the divine, but guilty in the eyes of man. Guilty of breaking some law or tradition against the land and against the King.

Gorosk wondered what crimes those might be. They were to find themselves in service to the temple, to wipe the slate clean for these crimes. In exchange their "debt" would be considered paid and they would be free men, and women, once more. Yet they were free from the evils they had been accused of and innocent in the eyes of the divine. This smelled of politics, were they caught up in such games of men?

He could do little to disguise the doubt on his face. To be found innocent in the eyes of the divine, but forced to serve the will of the land, or the King. It might be legal, but it seemed wrong. Gorosk looked to the priest, who seemed surprised at the verdict, then back at the Justice. He made eye contact with the justice and shook his head, No, slowly in response to his question, then continued to try to assess precisely what was going on with the two of them. Were they sincere in this, what was the motive here, was this the judgement of the gods that they should pay for whatever law of man they had broken or a more mundane trick to free them of their shackles but keep them imprisoned.

Sense Motive

roleplayerguild.com/rolls/18055
11

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

Alvin rarely got the opportunity to travel quite so well protected and provisioned. It had always been his practice to travel light. A halfling riding a dog could hide much easier than a man atop a horse, flee nearly as quickly, and if seen would generally present a less desirable target. Not a lot of meat, not a lot of wealth, unlikely to be anyone of import, not worth the time really. The loaded wagon creaked and whined behind them pulled along by massive Bretonnian work horses, his compatriots rode along atop sturdy horses of their own or rode within the wagon itself. Behind them followed the train of donkey's carrying their bedding and supplies. They were quite the sight.

He made small ticking noises to direct his loyal steed Woof to slow down momentarily and keep pace again with the wagon, Bark picked his head up from his paws in the back of the wagon and stuck his muzzle out for a sniff and a pet before settling back in for a nice nap. Schartenfeld was gradually growing smaller behind them and the Reikwald loomed ever larger as they rode out. Shivering from the talk of a Red Crow or Raven or whatever creepy sort of bird it was, some portent of doom, and his own old but suddenly not really all that old memories of the stories surrounding Altern Forest, he looked about and was thankful indeed for the protection of the others. A strong young man wielding a warhammer and the word of Sigmar, a strong young man wielding a Flamberge and some well worn armor, a young Knight with all the promise that brought, the rather spooky Black Errant, Master Dwarf, and a Healer in case any monsters got past all that beef and endangered poor little Alvin.

Thinking of it, Alvin digs in to his pocket to find his little treasure. A Dwarven delicacy, boiled wolf hide, a perfect trail snack. Flavorful (if an acquired taste), chewy (perhaps too chewy), and long lasting. He made his way to offer it to the others, starting with the one most likely to appreciate it,

"Master Dwarf!," he called out trotting Woof along, looking for his hardy compatriot, "I've something for you."

He'd offer it to each, you didn't need much Traggot, the taste was strong and the hide was stronger, so a little went a long ways. He'd ask the healer last. He meant to speak with her anyway, once they were out a bit closer to the woods. If Woof could pick up a scent from that poor young man's clothing that would likely be their best shot at finding a trail. Hopefully she had something of the poor lad's, something that might have his scent and perhaps the scent of whoever or whatever had taken him, bird or no.

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

Gorosk had watched the "judgement" of the two men and it was now his turn. He had been called to step forward and allow judgement. As they stepped across between the cells he stepped forward to meet them, trying to perform his own assessment. One younger, one older, both seemed to have the air of men simply going about their business dispassionately. In the seconds he had to consider this Gorosk was not able to decide if that should calm his fears that this was all a show to justify their executions to the militia.

"I am Gorosk," he said stepping up to the bars and meeting the gaze of the men.

Perhaps this was it. Perhaps he would find out if his blood was cursed, if the curse had damned him, if his time with the Brotherhood of the Perfected Hand had been wasted. There was little he could do as of yet but go along with their process. Gorosk would face this judgement head on, come what may.

WE ARE HIS CHOSEN!! (Warhammer Age of Sigmar roleplay, can accept 1-2 more people)

Name: Aomalur the Merciless

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance:
His kind face and unremarkable height belie the cruelty of Aomalur. Perhaps that is why he did as well as he did in the Arena. A flair for the the theatrical and a tendency to play with his opponent, as well as his less than particularly threatening appearance, meant that his fights tended tended to ratchet up to their often grisly and drawn out ends. With his nondescript appearance Aomalur had not been granted a particularly impressive weapon to start out with or any title to strike fear in to the hearts of others. He had been expected to fight and die and to do the latter rather swiftly, but his tendency to drag the fights and the deaths out became his calling card.

Equipment:
Sticking with his initial weapon, a simple but substantial sword with a squared off guard and a spiked pommel, Aomalur eventually earned and adopted a shield with a crescent cut out to complement the sword and stopped there. Neither required any particular strength or endurance to wield and so he was free to practice his foot work and his swings. In time he made additions to his armor to capitalize on his developing methodical style.

Chainmail hangs from his shield to catch deflected weapons and disarm or distract opponents. Chainmail about his chest serves a similar purpose. He otherwise wears minimal armor to allow himself unimpeded movement. In the Arenas his horned helmet served mostly as decoration, and to serve as part of his ceremony. When his foe was beaten, lying exhausted in the sand and waiting for the sweet release of death and an end to pain, Aomalur would drag the poor soul to his helmet, deliver a killing blow, and bathe the helmet in the last of his opponent's life blood before donning his helm to the applause of those gathered.

These are his only tools, but he knows them well and they have seen much use.

Ambition:
To march across these worlds and leave a trail of bloody dirt and bleached bone behind.

WE ARE HIS CHOSEN!! (Warhammer Age of Sigmar roleplay, can accept 1-2 more people)

Name: Aomalur the Merciless

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance:
His kind face and unremarkable height belie the cruelty of Aomalur. Perhaps that is why he did as well as he did in the Arena. A flair for the the theatrical and a tendency to play with his opponent, as well as his less than particularly threatening appearance, meant that his fights tended tended to ratchet up to their often grisly and drawn out ends. With his nondescript appearance Aomalur had not been granted a particularly impressive weapon to start out with or any title to strike fear in to the hearts of others. He had been expected to fight and die and to do the latter rather swiftly, but his tendency to drag the fights and the deaths out became his calling card.

Equipment:
Sticking with his initial weapon, a simple but substantial sword with a squared off guard and a spiked pommel, Aomalur eventually earned and adopted a shield with a crescent cut out to complement the sword and stopped there. Neither required any particular strength or endurance to wield and so he was free to practice his foot work and his swings. In time he made additions to his armor to capitalize on his developing methodical style.

Chainmail hangs from his shield to catch deflected weapons and disarm or distract opponents. Chainmail about his chest serves a similar purpose. He otherwise wears minimal armor to allow himself unimpeded movement. In the Arenas his horned helmet served mostly as decoration, and to serve as part of his ceremony. When his foe was beaten, lying exhausted in the sand and waiting for the sweet release of death and an end to pain, Aomalur would drag the poor soul to his helmet, deliver a killing blow, and bathe the helmet in the last of his opponent's life blood before donning his helm to the applause of those gathered.

These are his only tools, but he knows them well and they have seen much use.

Ambition:
To march across these worlds and leave a trail of bloody dirt and bleached bone behind.

WE ARE HIS CHOSEN!! (Warhammer Age of Sigmar roleplay, can accept 1-2 more people)

I'm pretty sure I love you now Jarl Coolgruuf

WE ARE HIS CHOSEN!! (Warhammer Age of Sigmar roleplay, can accept 1-2 more people)

I don't have a character worked up but I'll join up. I've got a couple ideas so I'll probably wait to see what other folks take before I hop in. I've got like four ideas based on a look at the AoS site, so I'll take whichever isn't represented.

A Warrior's Road [Post Apocalyptic Fighting RP]

I'm well in to the idea as well. Most of my RP experience has been in the Fallout Universe.

A big fantasy adventure, but you don't know who the other players are!

I'd be interested too, Supers or Fantasy