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Vogon poetry enthusiast, groundhog-watching hobbyist, avid IKEA plush collector. I like making sentences sound pretty.

Main RP interests: high/epic fantasy adventure, nation-building space-age sci fi, supernatural coming-of-age mysteries, anything Star Wars. Keep me away from your 1x1s please, I'm an ensemble cast kinda guy.

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Stur released a long breath as the headless troll finally moved its last. Immediately he picked up his weapons from their places within the fetid flesh of the creature (heaving tremendously to free the axe from where it had been embedded in the stump of the neck) and wiped them down. Wouldn't do at all to have whatever hellwater they had for blood etching his fighting steel. With a final savage kick to the thing's abdomen to ensure it was really done coming back to life, he turned without a word to any of his companions and made straight for the supply wagon, shooting a venomous look at their cowardly "guide" as he did so. Gods-damned casters and their little tricks. Couldn't even be bothered to let the ones that did the work claim the satisfaction of the kill.

The mercenary opened his travel pack and felt around blindly until his hands closed around the yielding material of his waterskin. In one well-practiced motion he unstoppered the skin, lifted it to his lips and took a long pull. Warm wine flooded into his mouth, immediately calming him down. After the adrenaline of the battle had worn off, he had felt so very tired. That fucking shoulder had gone to aching again where he had thrown himself into the somersault, and he didn't want the others to see how his hands had started shaking so badly as he pulled his axe free. Still breathing, he reminded himself.

Feeling considerably better, he sighed deeply and looked around at the other members of the company. Everyone seemed more or less unharmed, though a few had been splashed by that blood... Stur's eyes fell on the king's guard. Brynan was completely covered with the stuff after that little maneuver she had pulled there at the end. He couldn't help but respect her all the more for it - she'd been fearless, and turned her rage into a potent weapon. The marks of a good fighter, in his book. He wordlessly trudged back over to the corpse of the troll, holding out the wine in her direction.
Yeah, I'm still only in the barest beginning stages of preparing my character. We'll see what happens.
It appears that Class C amnestics have been administered.
My love of excessive character sheets strikes again!

Jesus, you weren't kidding on that one.

...good thing my love of character building is here to save the day.
Tentatively interested. Could you put me down as a club member for now?
The blasterfire whizzing over 8246's head suddenly started to sound just a bit louder. He risked a quick peak, noting a tannish blur in the tower and the lumbering forms of what could only be two super battle droids making their way down the middle before he ducked back behind the artifical cover. If those clankers kept up that advance, this whole run would be sunk before it could get started. The medic let slip a tiny, colorful bit of Mando'a as he stayed hunkered down, turning his Deece over and over in his hands. Just like Harkin to throw a few surprises into the mix. 8246 admired the idea to keep their power packs at half charge; it would keep everyone smart about how and where to fire a shot. Not sure how well it'd translate over to real combat - he couldn't see himself ever forgetting to bring charged packs to the field. That doesn't exactly matter now, though.

Focus, focus. 8246 took another quick scan of the room, this time with his attention trained on his brothers. 7642 and 7331 were getting the gun up in what must have been some kind of record time, but the fire coming from the tower was doing quite a bit to hamper that accomplishment. 7627 was drawing fire farther up the center. Without hesitating, 8246 swung his carbine up and squeezed of a burst of shots towards the tower, trying to give the guys on the turret an opening.

"Look alive, ner vod!" He called up to 7642, jerking his helmeted head towards the Supers downrange.


The familiar jolt of the axe burying itself in flesh and bone rattled its way up Stur's arms and across his body, causing his teeth to click sharply together. At the same time, an unusually cold spray of blood spattered his face.

Ordinarily, the mercenary would have welcomed a little blooding in a fight. But the strange wrongness of the stuff caused him to flinch away in disgust, and then a half-second later in pain. The cursed ichor began to burn and almost sap the strength from his body as anger and bewilderment continued to grow inside his heart. Eyes momentarily blinded, Stur instinctively yanked on the haft of the longaxe to free it from its resting place in the ruins of the troll's second head, but instead found himself tripping backwards in the mud as his hands failed to find a grip on the blood-slicked haft. He cursed loudly at the thing, throwing himself into a clumsy backwards roll, coming back to rights with his dirk firmly gripped in one hand and his right side splattered in mud, but now blessedly free of the troll's poisonous blood.

Cautiously opening one eye, he took a moment to survey the situation. The troll was down a leg, scrambling for purchase in the mud with one hand thrust out for balance. His wayward axe was serving as a fair replacement for the abomination's missing head, haft jutting straight out to the side like a sapling grown into the side of a mountain. The new arrival was, to her credit, right in the thick of things, hacking away at limbs seemingly without a fear in the world. Stur felt a brief surge of respect for the woman, though whether she was to be trusted remained to be seen. The troll's ire was focused on Brynan, who was still knelt in the mud after her initial strike.

Deciding that the quickest way to finish this was to get the enemy on its back, the battered warrior took advantage of his being behind the troll and undetected, slipping carefully up to its unprotected flank and plunging with the dirk towards the back of its one intact knee.


Stur grunted an affirmative in response to the big bull's question. He had had to fight trolls several times before, unfortunately. Wild hill-trolls back in his own lands during his youth, and once, one of Torvelt's own trolls not that far outside of Koprust on one particularly bad job. Aye, it was true that they were big, and ugly, and dumb, but people often underestimated them. They were capable of playing some tricks - fair deadly ones, even. He was about to tell just that to Gentle when a pair of interruptions grabbed at his attention.

"Ahoy! Friend coming in!"

Stur turned briefly to scan the new arrival. Human, like himself, unless he missed his mark, but one of those from the lands far away from his own, to the west or south. She would have stuck out like a sore thumb in this place, slogging her way through the mud like that, only she seemed oddly comfortable doing it. There was no time to question her, though, as in the next moment the trolls broke though the brush, tearing straight towards their little battle line.

The suspicious woman, the bull, the dwarf with his loud challenges all faded into a slight background whisper. Stur could only hear the pounding of the trolls' footfalls against the sodden Earth. From this distance, they sounded a great deal like hooves, galloping at full tilt towards his position. A cold shiver ran down his spine briefly as he remembered.

These were not the regular variety of trolls. In fact, he had never seen abominations against the gods like these before. They almost seemed to be melting before his very eyes, and every step closer the smell of dead things grew stronger. They should not be alive - he knew it in his bones. Something was wrong here, very wrong.

In an instant, the trolls were on them, and the world returned to the mercenary all at once. They split off in front of the battle line, one grappling with Gentle and the other moving to strike out at the shield-bearing Aasimar lad.

"It's poison! Don't let them touch you!"
Came the call from behind. Brynan and the dwarf moved into his field of vision, each moving off to attack one of the two trolls in their unprotected flanks. Without hesitating, Stur shifted his focus towards the troll attacking the Aasimar, and its excess of ugly heads. His anticipation and his old fears evaporated into anger, and with a wild war cry he brought the head of his axe down towards one of the bloated, infected necks filling his vision.


Stur murmured a low oath as the first bone-chilling yell drifted over their surroundings. He knew that sound instinctively; he'd had to deal with many a troll, back in the day. It was never pretty. He cast a quick look back over his shoulder, trying to make eye contact with any of the more long-range inclined types that happened to be paying attention.

"They're faster than they look, and an arrow or two will probably only make 'em madder. Might want to stay behind us." He called tersely, us obviously indicating the sturdier members of the band.

As it happens, the mercenary managed to glance back at just the right time to see their fearless leader Nathaniel completely vanish while standing in plain sight.

"Fuckin' figures." He ground his teeth in frustration and swung back to keep his focus trained on the hill where the troll-cries were coming from, hefting his longaxe as he did so. Its worn haft thudded softly into the cold, yielding mud of the road. Couldn't rely on those gods-damned frilly casters to do anything useful when it came down to cold iron.
8246 sat cross legged in his pod, the dim illumination strips of its enviro-lighting drowned out by the glow of the datapad in his hands. It was loaded with nothing more than the military education complex's standard learning modules, yet he had taken it with him to lights-out all the same. He had always enjoyed learning about other species, both to learn how to treat their wounds and to see how their customs differed from the Resol'nare he and his brothers had been carefully raised on by Instructor Harkin. If anything, the recent unusual activity around the 'plex only made him tear into the information he could find with more determination. He might have to put his skills to the test sooner than anyone in the squad thought. Even more than those tense moments where he found himself working in perfect sync with his squadmates in drills, 8246 loved the feeling of being relied on for what he did best. He was the last line of defense when it came to looking after his brothers.

The steady beeping of the alarms brought him back to the now, and his pod began to open with the slow hiss of hydraulics. Right. Time for drills.


8246 stood at attention with his brothers in front of the instructor. Preps for training amounted to the same mindless blur that it always was, but he was nothing if not comfortable with routine. Harkin seemed to expect something a little more out of them today, though. Probably wanting to show them off to the other drill sarges before... whatever it was, happened. Things had been slowly getting more urgent over the past few weeks. He moved in unison with his brothers up to the starting line, a tiny ghost of a smile blooming on his face as 7627 started his usual antics.

"Just try not to get tagged while you're showing that launcher off to us and everybody else in the Galaxy, Tooseven." He said, loading up his own Deece and trying to ready himself for anything.
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