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Dragonslayers - The Story of the Gallowblades [Medieval Fantasy Roleplay]

@Thantos I probably should have been a bit more clear on the races, especially the ones that don't exist elsewhere, haha. The tuvuls aren't actual genies or djinn, they're just blue or purple-skinned humanoids with a particular fondness for magic. They still have legs with bones, muscle, and blood, and not little wisps of blue fog like the classic genie depiction. I just used pictures I found when googling djinn, because that's the general physical appearance I had in mind!

@Keksalot I suppose nothing is stopping someone from doing that. However, the more access magic has to the body, the more powerful/effective the spell would be. If the mana can only reach the arm, then your fireballs are likely going to sizzle out 80% of the time. The power involved behind the spells doesn't change this, either. So if you wanted to create a small candlelight on your fingertip, or shoot a canonball-sized ball of flames, they'd still fail a vast majority of the time if the mana can only reach your arm. It's not a completely fleshed out system, I mainly came up with it because I didn't want every character to be masters of melee combat as well as some kind of magic, and still somehow be in their mid 20s. I wanted the two to remain as separate as possible.

In the same breath, magic in general is not the most well-developed science in this world. Its uses are limited, so things like teleportation, telekinesis, major altering of the body (like invisibility or something) just aren't going to be possible. It's still a very primitive and undiscovered source of power. Hope that helps!

@Kronshi That sounds good! I like that.

What do you guys think of the idea of a class system? Should I throw in a list of classes, like I did with races? Or should I just leave that up to the players? Also, speaking of races, you aren't necessarily limited to the ones I listed. If you have something else in mind, feel free to run it by me. But please run it by me before making the character, because some races just might not work well in this universe.

Dragonslayers - The Story of the Gallowblades [Medieval Fantasy Roleplay]

Do you have what it takes to become a Gallowblade?

Sitting on the far eastern edge of the great northwestern continent of Hathaia, the small island country of Avadon is divided from the rest of Hathaian borders by a vast sea known as the Merchant’s Expanse. As a result, Avadon has, over the years, become a strange mixture of self-sufficient and dependent. Living so far from their continental neighbours, the people of Avadon have had to learn to rely on their home to provide a means of surviving, as they cannot rely on the bare necessities to be delivered via a simple daylong horseback ride. Instead, the people who call the island nation home have learned to make do with what nature provides. For example, their mainly seafood-based diet. In the same breath, the country’s economy relies heavily on the sailing routes of countries far to the east, who, when traveling over the emerald ocean, must stop in Avadon to rest and restock before making the venture across the Merchant’s Expanse, and into the other parts of Hathaia.

Avadon’s people have grown to rely heavily on the seas that surround their home. Many Avadonian folk take up lives as fishermen, sailors, or even pirates, for those who live less than noble lifestyles. As a result, Avadonian culture has evolved around seamanship, with great ballads being told of the plights of fishermen who brave the raging oceans, and almost every Avadonian dish contains some hint of seafood in the recipe.

The people of Avadon are a kindhearted folk with a strong sense of pride in their home, and the lifestyles they’ve built around it. One would be hard-pressed to find an Avadonian who does not have a week’s worth of tales to tell, all originating from their homeland. It has also become common knowledge among Hathaians, as well as travelers from across the world, that the hospitality of Avadon is unmatched. Despite their hardy, and sometimes obnoxious demeanours, the people of Avadon are highly regarded as some of the friendliest people to call Hathaia home. As a result, travelers will often make rounds to the country for nothing more than a home-away-from-home feeling.

However, Avadon has not always been such a welcoming land. Before humans began settling on the island, it was home to great reptilian beasts who roamed both the skies and the land. The winged creatures stood at nearly 20-feet tall when on all fours, with wingspans nearly doubling that. Their scaled bodies protected them from possible harm, and their great talons and fearsome jaws could cut through even the thickest of tree trunks.

The beasts, known colloquially as arachs, were territorial creatures. Their aggressive nature easily wiped out the first few human settling parties, and for several generations, none were willing to brave the then unnamed Avadon. Though few in number, the arachs easily dealt with any human invaders, and protected their homes atop the great mountains that littered the island.

Though ever intuitive, the humans knew just how important Avadon would be in the future, as its geographical location pitted it between two major landmasses. This was not something the humans would lose sight of easily, and the arachs were nothing short of a small hill for the humans to climb on their way to success.

After countless attempts at making a home on the northern island, humans were eventually able to study the flight paths, sleeping schedules, and diets of the great winged arachs, as the humans lay low under the brush of Avadon’s lush forests. When winter struck, the arachs were known to stay secluded in mountainous lairs, avoiding the chill of the winter snow. In the summer, they soared freely through the open air, hunting and gathering in preparation for colder seasons, where they would be at their weakest.

After even more failed attempts, and even more casualties in the seemingly endless war on the arachs, the humans gathered the knowledge they needed - a true weakness in the otherwise impenetrable defenses of arach scales. During their time spent in the depths of Avadon’s forests, the humans managed to ally with the buchens - tall, muscular humanoids with varying skin tones, protruding, hooked teeth, and sparse, usually unkempt hair across their bodies. Though rather vile in appearance, and otherwise fairly unintelligent, the buchens did possess a much deeper understanding of the arachs, as well as Avadon in general, that the humans would otherwise lack. In exchange for their continued freedom in the future, the buchens shared their knowledge of the land and the arachs alike, exposing the arach’s enmity for the divine magic found in the horns of unicorns, as well as a soft spot at the peak of arach skulls - the only part of their body not covered by thick, metallic scales.

Together, alongside the buchens, the ambitious humans hunted unicorns, whose population in Avadon far outnumbered those in other parts of human civilization. This population steadily decreased, however, as the greed for power prevalent in the minds of both humans and buchens found a finite sustenance among the unicorns.

Before long, the humans and their native allies had created weapons -shortswords and arrows, mostly - using the sharp horns of the deceased unicorns. Enough weapons, in fact, to boost the confidence of the humans tenfold. That winter, known to Avadonian historians and bards as the winter of bloody scales, the humans carried out their final invasion on the homes of the arachs. During the cold season, the reptilian beasts were most fragile, sleeping for weeks at a time, ultimately exposing their soft-topped skulls to humans brave enough to trespass in their lairs.

That winter, the humans finally saw success. One by one, they managed to slay the arachs, which numbered only in the dozens. Their caves were littered with reptilian corpses, and if one had managed to survive, it also somehow managed to escape the gaze of both humans and buchens, who spent the remainder of the winter season in celebration of their victory.

Now, 150 years have passed. Arachs are a thing of history lessons, and both humans and buchens alike live peacefully in cities, towns, and villages scattered across the face of Avadon. The unicorns live on as the nation’s symbol of success, and the art of slaying arachoid creatures is passed down, generation through generation, in a group of warriors known as Gallowblades.

Though sight of an arach has not been reported in nearly 80 years, the importance of the Gallowblades lives on as strong as ever. Mainly taking care of smaller reptilian beasts that threaten the peace of Avadon, protection of the humans and their home on Avadon is at the forefront of any Gallowblade’s mind, and their training regimen involves deep study of the art of slaying - an important bit of knowledge for anyone looking to take on 20-foot reptiles. With a presence in every major Avadonian city, the Gallowblades have not only become beacons of safety, but also a symbol of the undying pride Avadonians have for their home, and the measures they are willing to take to maintain it.

In recent years, however, numbers within the ranks of the Gallowblades has decreased. The lack of arach sightings in nearly an entire human lifetime has given Avadonians the idea that the beasts are extinct and, as a result, fewer people are looking to take up arms against beasts they do not know to exist any longer. To remedy this, the Gallowblades have been given the rite of conscription. Though it has not been put to too much use, the rite gives Gallowblade officers the right to recruit anyone they deem fit - willingly or unwillingly - into the ranks of the Gallowblades. In turn, these recruits will be trained to live and die in the name of Avadon and her people.

Despite their name, the Gallowblades are not all hardened fighters. The ranks of the Gallowblades vary, and the Blades are known to accept anyone from any walk of life, as long as they show a willingness to protect and serve Avadon. Knights and brigands, priests and necromancers, thieves and hunters, all are welcome, and sometimes forced, into the Gallowblades.

With rumours swelling among Avadonians of a possible undiscovered lair of arachs, the rite of conscription given to the Gallowblades has become a possible lifesaver. The people of Avadon fear an entire pack of arachs may have gone unnoticed over the years in a northern mountain - enough to wipe out entire cities at a time. The power of the unicorn weapons passed down over the last 150 has long faded since the last proper battle against arachs. Tensions are high, and all eyes are on the Gallowblades to stay true to their name, and protect Avadon and the people who call it home.

That is where you, a newly conscripted Gallowblade recruit, will etch their name into the history of Avadon. Were you conscripted into the Gallowblades, or did you join on your own ambition? Will you survive long enough to see an arach yourself, or will the vigourous lifestyle of a Gallowblade introduce you to an untimely death? Do you even care for Avadon, or are you here because of the fame? The money? Or was this your only choice, besides the end of an executioner’s axe? Your story is yours to tell, but all will eventually intertwine with the future of Avadon.

---------

I'm mostly posting this just to see how much interest it drums up. It's an idea that I've had rolling around in my head for some weeks now, and thought it could make for a fun roleplay.

The story will be further explained in a future post, but that's the jist of it. Your character will be a new recruit of the Gallowblades, and eventually the story will take us into the far reaches of Avadon in search of any remaining arachs, which may or may not even be true. That's up to you to find out.

Photos to help give you an idea of what I'm talking about:

Avadon

Arachs

Playable Races (can include more, just ask nicely. Hahaha.):

Humans

The main race in Avadon. The majority of NPCs will be human, and every major Avadonian city is ruled by humans. Naturally, humans get along nicely with other humans, and they're average at pretty much anything they take on. No real restrictions, but no real advantages either.

Buchens

Buchens were the race of creatures the humans allied with before Avadon was properly settled. These creatures lived here long before the humans, but, being the greedy things they are, saw an opportunity to live better lives if the humans succeeded. After striking a deal to share their knowledge, the buchens secured a place for themselves in Avadon's future, living alongside the humans. Buchens are largely based on hobgoblins, so if you want to use a picture reference for a buchen character, googling anything along the lines of hobgoblin will likely be acceptable.

Elves

Elves hail from the eastern continents, far across the emerald ocean. They're a fair folk who favour a pen more than a blade. Like any race, though, there are exceptions. Some elves find themselves living in Avadon after leaving their homes, but they're considered a rarity. Nonetheless, they often find themselves living among humans when they do settle on the island.

Dwarves

Dwarves, similar to the arachs themselves, have made homes in the mountains far to the north. Further north even than Hathaia itself. They're a hardy, yet noble folk that sometimes find themselves living in Avadon for various reasons, though oftentimes it comes hand in hand with their own exile from thier former homes.

Rakshasa

Rakshasa are a race of humanoid felaines. They come from the southern hemisphere of the world, and live in dense jungles. Even more rare in Avadon than elves, they're hardly ever spotted, and one may be lucky enough to come across one or two in their lifetime, if they do not leave Avadon's borders.

Tuvuls

Tuvuls are a race of humanoids with an affinity for the arcane. Though magic is largely unexplored, any major discoveries made in the arts of magic have likely been made by a tuvul. Hailing from deserts in the southern hemisphere, they believe they are descendants of ancient gods that once roamed the earth. Their population on the southern hemisphere matches that of humans of the north, and the two races often clash. Protip: If you want to make a tuvul character, googling "djinn" or "genie" can usually come with favourable results for reference pictures.

Magic

The use of magic is going to be fairly limited here. It exists, certainly, but any old average Joe isn't going to able to wield it. You want to lob fireballs? You best get to studying, because mastering fire-based magic is going to take years. You want to summon demons? Go for it, but don't come crying to me when one of them turns on you and rips your arm off. And when people start to shun you for working with devils? Hey, you asked for it.

As well as this, magic is going to require almost direct contact with the caster's body. So, you're not going to be able to wear steel-plated armour and shoot lightning from one hand while slashing a sword with the other. Mages are going to have to be wearing clothes that allow the mana the seep through it with relative ease. Things like wizard robes, or even regular clothing, would accomplish this.

The Roleplay itself

I'm not sure how many people I want. It all depends on how many people are interested, I suppose. We could start at four, or ten, or however many we can get, really. All depends on how much interest this post drums up.

I'm hoping everyone can keep their characters realistic, given the setting. Sure, you're training to slay dragons, but that doesn't mean you get to be all-powerful, undefeated gods on earth. I wanna see some jailed thieves serving as Gallowblades, or some nervous recruit looking to redeem his reputation. I likely won't accept your character if they seem too powerful/overdone. That being said, I'll always talk with you to see how we can change them up to fit the story better.

I won't really have an active character myself. Instead, I'll guide the party along with various NPCs, encounters, and situations. This might be common practice on this website, but I'm pretty new here, so cut me some slack. Hahaha.

I'm thinking weekly IC posts from myself to move the story along? Maybe bi-weekly, depending on how many people join. That should give people plenty of time to post their bit.

As the tag/title suggests, this takes place in a medieval fantasy universe. It's a new creation of mine, so it's ever-expanding, so if you want to add a creature, place, etc., just hit me up (here or via PM) and we can talk about it. However, I won't be accepting anything futuristic or technologically advanced. No guns, no robots, you know the drill.

Classes?

I'm thinking of setting up a list of classes for people to pick from. Like fighter, ranger, wizard, bandit, etc. Is this something people would like to see? Or do people prefer free range with their characters? Let me know, and if it's something people are interested in, I'll add a list of classes to pick from, and expand upon.

Other

Like I said, this is only a simple post to see who's interested in this idea. There's a lot more that I have in mind, but I figured my best bet was to see whether or not people actually liked the idea. If I see at least a decent group of interested people, I'll make this into a full-fledged game, and we can all have fun slaying dragons together!

If you're interested, let me know. We can discuss changes to th plot/world/etc. here, and you can run your character ideas by me and all that fun stuff.

Hope to see some people jumping on board with this! Cheers folks.

Allaria - Classical Fantasy Ch. 5 - Recruit the Shadowwald!

<Snipped quote by Cube>

Yeah I forgot to put it in the CS section.

@MelonHead

Ah, gotcha. No sweat.

Allaria - Classical Fantasy Ch. 5 - Recruit the Shadowwald!

Out of curiosity, who is Hraakir? Not trying to sound rude, hahaha, it's a genuine question - I don't see a dragonoid character in the Character Sheets section. Is this maybe something I missed from the discord chat? I plan to install that when I get home, just in case, lol.

The Redwatch

This sounds super interesting. Today/tonight is rather busy, but I'd definitely like to get around to writing up a character sheet sometime tomorrow, if there is space available!

Allaria - Classical Fantasy Ch. 5 - Recruit the Shadowwald!

Just a little side note to everyone playing/planning to play beastkin characters: It'd be great if you could make sure to remind us every now and then in your IC posts (call them capybkin or some such not-so-subtle hint) what kind of animal your character is based on. I understand we've now got a capybara and a cougar, which isn't difficult to remember, but if more furred friends join the fray, it may be difficult to keep track of who's what. Just a suggestion!

Allaria - Classical Fantasy Ch. 5 - Recruit the Shadowwald!

Yeah, I didn't get home until around 11:00 p.m. last night, so I used my small amount of spare time to write that up. Re-reading now to check for any spelling errors, haha.

Glad to see things are starting to move forward here!

Allaria - Classical Fantasy Ch. 5 - Recruit the Shadowwald!

Just posted Duren's intro. There may be some typos, I'll have to have a look through it tomorrow. However, right now, I'm just too tired. So hold off on the verbal beating until the morning, please? Hahahaha.

Allaria - Classical Fantasy Ch. 5 - Recruit the Shadowwald!

Duren Ghedic

Early morning, The Moving camp

The morning sun peaked over the vast mountaintops that circled The Moving's current location. A fair spot it was, and the bitter winds reminded Duren of his home - the dwarven city of Bhornbadir, which lay only half a day's journey south of the northern mountains that many mountain dwarves call home. As a highland dwarf himself, he never particularly loved the cold, but he always said that if he had to pick one or the other, he'd much sooner freeze to death than die of a heat stroke in some seemingly endless desert.

However, the old dwarf was certain his death would come today, and at the hands of something completely unrelated to the temperature, for this morning, like many mornings, Duren was suffering the ill effects of a hangover. His brain felt as though it had grown too large for its skull-prison and had begun to beat against the walls in a desperate attempt to escape. Likewise, with every slight movement of a muscle, he felt as though the containments of his guts would rush up through his throat and out his mouth. He never liked vomit, but his love of alcohol overpowered that distaste tenfold. As a result, he found himself facedown in a barrel more often than he'd like to admit.

Years of practice seemed to only to do the highlander an ounce of good, though, as the hangovers never got any better, no matter how many pints he drank in rapid succession. The small rays of sun that beamed in through the seams of his tent felt painful rather than warm, and his normally soft bedroll felt as though it was getting tighter with each movement, like quicksand in some strange cloth-like form. Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinked, sighed, and rubbed his face in a lame attempt to wake himself up.

"Soddin' booze ain't killed me yet," Duren murmured to himself, chuckling as a faint smile formed behind his thick black beard. However, the pain involved in moving even these small muscles meant that this smile was short-lived.

No doubt, the dwarf was in a rough state this morn. Rougher, one might say, than most mornings. It did little, however, to quell Duren's optimism, and despite the surging pain, he managed to pull himself from his bedroll and do his best to clean himself up. Highland dwarves took pride in their cleanliness when compared to their mountain kin, but since leaving his home to pursue life as a traveler, he's noticed an even higher level of expectation when it came to living amongst humans. Bathing every morning seemed almost counterproductive to him, but he did not question it. After all, he was in the business of protection, not investigation.

Preparing himself for a blast of sunshine to worsen his state, Duren approached the small entrance of his tent, pulling the cloth door to one side. To his delight, heavy - almost black - rainclouds approached from the west. Rainfall always did a hungover soul well.

However, having been a part of The Moving for several months now, Duren also knew that a hangover was not an excuse for laziness, especially not in a community such as this that had so graciously taken him in. He had a duty to these people - their protection. His skills as a guard during his time in Bhornbadir served these people well, even if his days consisted mostly of fending off hungry animals as the people of The Moving moved throughout the wildlands of Allaria. It was a job, and one Duren took pride in. Seeing the world was just an added bonus.

Letting the remnants of the sun's light illuminate his tent before the clouds took over, Duren prepared himself a light morning snack - just something to keep his stomach settled - accompanied by a portable mug of tea. The recipe for the beverage was one his great-grandmother, Gorinara, taught him when he was a small lad. Of course, like any good dwarven brew, the drink was spiked with a small spoonful of whiskey. Nothing truly cures a hangover like more alcohol in the system, after all.

With his whiskey-tea in tow, Duren donned his dwarvencrafted armour once more, slung his grand-pappy's shield over his shoulder, and clipped his waraxe to his hip. An intimidating sight, to be sure, but anyone who knew the dwarf knew that his jolly personality abandoned his menacing appearance, and that anyone looking to brighten their day could rely on Duren to do just that.

"G'morning to ye', lassie!" Duren shouted, raising an arm to wave at Linda, a young human woman, aged only 23, that Duren had grown to appreciate as if she were a member of his own family. She, in turn, treated him as something of an adopted uncle, and the two could often be heard deep in conversation, and it was not rare to see Linda approach Duren during guard duties with freshly baked goods, and sometimes a little extra liquid courage, to help get him through the day. With only a few months under his belt as a member of The Moving, Duren had come to appreciate Linda's hospitality, and she in turn seemed to appreciate his friendship.

As Linda saw Duren, she returned the warm gesture, approaching him from across the community's small marketplace, nearly forgetting to pay for the light foodstuffs she'd purchased from an old vendor.

"Someone's looking a little worse for wear," the woman said, giving Duren a playful nudge on the shoulder. The dwarf stood at about half his friend's height, though the wrinkles that lined his face did little to hide the fact that he's lived twice as many years as she. Linda observed the dark circles under Duren's eyes - a clear sign of his state. She chuckled, knowing there was little she could do to help at this point. "I nearly had to drag you from the tavern-tent last night, you old boozebag. You and that Szazah were having quite the conversation, hm? Something about snow elves, or some such nonsense."

"Szazah?" Duren replied, after returning Linda's nudge and taking a sip of his tea. The morning whiskey really did hit the spot. The name Szazah, however, did little to clear the fog of his memory. "I dinnae r'member. Th' snow elves is just a legend, anyways. T'ain't no truth to it."

Linda nodded her head in agreeance with the notion, and handed Duren a plum. The purple fruit looked about as ripe as it could get in this part of Allaria, and Duren knew that such a thing would have cost the girl a pretty penny. Clearly, his look abandoned his thoughts.

"Don't worry," Linda said, with a mischievous giggle. "All it cost me was an innocent smile, and a single loosened button. Take it, it'll do your old bones some good to get something other than bear meat and ale into your system."

Duren chuckled in return, taking the plum with no more hesitation. "Yer' a sly one, girl."

"Yes, and you're going to be a late one if you don't get a move on. What would we do without mighty Duren to save us from malnourished coyotes?" Before Duren could reply to the snarky remark, however, Linda's giggles trailed behind him. He laughed as well as he watched the young woman head off to carry out the remainder of her morning routine with one hand on his pounding forehead, while the other one rolled the new addition to his meal in his callused palm.

Noon, The Moving camp entrance

As the morning passed, the rain kept falling. The drops were heavy and thick, and Duren could feel each one beat against his forehead, and the smaller drops of the splash that followed each plop. Water beaded off the ridges of his brow, falling in front of his eyes and onto his puffed cheeks. He'd be lying if he said the weather did not help soothe his hangover, but the cold was starting to get to him, and he could feel his thick fingers begin to shake underneath his steel gauntlets.

But such was the life of a guard. Some days, the sun shone brightly, while others, she hid behind the clouds. Likewise, some days the community made nothing louder than a peep, while others would be spent tracking down thieves and other ne'er-do-wells. Each day was new, and that's something Duren had learned to accept in his 47 years of life.

Despite this, the weather was the last thing on the dwarf's mind this morn. In fact, he had been wracking his brain during his entire shift, ever since Linda had mentioned it, wondering just what he could have been talking about with Szazah, and why she thought they had mentioned the Shadowwald. Surely, if a race elves who called the tundras home did exist, they would not have managed to survive for so long, completely undetected by other civilizations. Surely, Duren thought, they were nothing but a myth. Surely.

But, to his great frustration, Duren could not pull the unusual memory from his mind-bank. Had Linda even truly seen and heard what she thought she did? Perhaps she had mistaken the man's identity, and it was indeed just another commoner. Duren couldn't imagine a reason for he and the man named Szazah to converse so openly, especially about a topic as bizarre as the Shadowwald.

With his free hand, Duren stroked the braided bits of his long beard, overlooking the mountainous scenery that surrounded The Moving's newest landing. It was quite the sight, though Duren dreaded the treks across the mountains - his legs were not quite as long and travel-ready as these humans', and especially not of certain beastkin he had seen. Indeed, some of them spanned double his height, and then some. Despite having been away from dwarven lands for over two years now, he still had trouble accustoming to the significant height differences. If anything, that was what he missed from Bhornbadir - a true sense of fitting in.

Realizing how far his thoughts had wandered, Duren gave his head a slight shake. Rainwater splattered in all directions, like that of a dog fresh out of a lake, as his coarse facial hair swung from side to side.

The dwarf reached down to grab his plum, taking a hefty bite. By the time the sour juices of the fruit reached his taste buds, the water pouring down from the heavens had conglomerated between his beard hairs once more. This time, he let it remain as he chewed. What harm could rainwater do, after all?

Late afternoon, The Moving camp

As Duren's shift slowly came to a close, the rain began to ease up. Just in time for the residents to come out in the open, and, with any luck, join together at the tavern-tents for some ales and tales. The perfect way to end a day, as far as Duren was concerned.

Footsteps, about as heavy as Duren's own, but much more sparse, could be heard approaching the dwarf from behind, within the walls of the traveling community. As Duren turned to look, he saw Airic, who became more and more clear the closer he got, eventually close enough for Duren's poor eyesight to make him out completely clearly. Adorned in silver armour with a menacing blade bouncing upon his thigh with each step, Airic approached Duren looking about as clean-cut as the dwarf had earlier in the morning.

"Don't laugh, you're the one who did this to me," Duren's guardmate said, pointing and trying his best to hide his laughter behind a poorly disguised smirk.

"Aye? An' I must'ave knocked ye' out an' dragged ye' down to the aletents, then, did I?" Duren replied, followed by a bout of laughter. There was a certain level of amusement the dwarf found in the longer-lasting effects alcohol had on humans as compared to dwarves. Both creatures certainly experienced hangovers, but the poor humans were known to suffer for entire days at a time, while the stouter dwarves were ready and willing to go for round two after only a few hours. In the past two years, Duren's learned to appreciate this fact more and more.

"Stuff it, dwarf," Airic replied again, laughing alongside his companion. "Any sign of trouble this morn?"

"Nay, not a sign o' bandit nor bear. Not ev'n a bird in th' sky, today."

"That bodes well for me, I suppose. I'd rather be bored than sinking my blade in some poor sap's gut. Blood is a real pain in the arse to wash."

"Aye," Duren replied behind a chuckle. Airic had a dark sense of humour, undoubtedly, but humour is humour, and dark is quite a common choice among guardsmen.

"So, have you heard the news?" Airic questioned his short friend, as he readied his own gear in preparation of taking over the guard's duties once Duren's shift ended. "Your bar-buddy got the go-ahead for his little expedition. I suppose we'll have to find someone else to cover guard duties until you come back, hm?"

Airic's words did little other than confuse the old dwarf. He had claimed it were news, but all it did was create more questions to bounce about in Duren's mind.

"You been drinkin' that goblin juice again, lad? Whate'er ye' be talkin' about?" At this point, Duren's head had turned to face his fellow guard once more, watching him sharpen a couple arrows that sat in his quiver. Airic returned the stare, and before long, a wide smile creeped across his face. Yellowed teeth revealed themselves to the lighter drops of rain, and Airic went on to laugh through his thin nose, the air pushing away the sparse hair that grew in small patches on his upper lip.

"You don't remember, do you?" Airic asked, answering Duren's question with a question of his own. The highland dwarf shook his head, one eyebrow raised to mould a suspicious expression.

"You and that old Szazah - the man that's had the whole Moving going on about the Shadowwald? He wants to go on some insane journey to find the 'snow elves?' Any of this ring a bell for you? No?" Airic chukled again, shook his head, and took a seat on the opposite side of the gate. Duren stood up from his own seat, his belongings slung hastily over his shoulder. Again, he shook his head, and again, he could not help but feel as though both Airic and Linda had made some strange mistake.

However, Airic's words soon put an end to Duren's confusion.

"You damned fool. Szazah had you all up in arms all night, going on about his plans to discover the Shadowwald. Had you convinced they were real, and everything."

Airic's story, slowly but surely, began to form pictures in Duren's hazy memory. It was as though the syllables were gusts of wind in his mind, blowing away a dense fog that hid the memories from Duren's mind's eye.

"Before any of us knew it, you'd pledged allegiance - some sort of dwarven honour, you were going on about - to Szazah's grand delusion. Said you'd be honoured to act as a guard for him on his journey. I bet he's waiting for you right now. I saw two other folk enter his tent on my way here."

As Airic finished speaking, Duren's eyes grew wide. His mind had suddenly cleared, and any trace of the fog that once guarded his memories had all but faded. Now, he could remember very clearly how he had promised Szazah to aid him on his quest to discover the Shadowwald. He had sworn it, in fact. Sworn on his grand-pappy's beard that he'd help Szazah find some kind of answers to his questions, for the betterment of The Resistance.

With a sloppy smack, Duren's hand came up hard against his forehead. The dwarf facepalmed, shaking his head in his soaked palm as the memories finally dawned on him.

He wasn't disappointed to hear the "news," however. In fact, behind the rough hand, a smirk began to form.

"Aye, ye're right. I remember now," Duren said to Airic. He approached the man and lay a hand on his shoulder, the clink of wet steel on wet steel overpowering the lightened rain. "I s'pose tha' means I'm off, then. 'Ave fun wit' th' malnourished wolves, eh lad?"

With a wink, followed by a nudge, Duren took off back into the community, one arm swinging back and forth while the other kept a firm grip on the bottom of his shield to prevent it from bouncing too much on his back. A dwarf's honour was on the line here - namely, his own honour - and what's a dwarf without honour? A criminal, usually, and Duren had spent 30 years as a guard fighting against the actions of those who would go against the law.

Before long, Duren was at the entrance to Szazah's tent, huffing and puffing as he swerved in between the townsfolk. His hair was matted to his scalp as the rainwater kept it moist, and the bottoms of his steel greaves were coated in mud from the splashing of the mucky earth beneath his hurried footsteps.

Without hesitation, Duren swung open the tent doors, nearly collapsing through the entrance. Inside, he was met with the sight of Szazah himself, alongside two fellow members of The Moving - a human man, and a beastkin man, though Duren was unfamiliar with what animal he was, exactly. Some kind of rodent, no doubt.

"Ye' best not be leavin' on an adventure without a dwarf in yer' midst, eh?" Duren shouted, likely interrupting any conversation within the room. "Not to worry, laddies! Duren is 'ere, and t'ain't no gettin' rid o' me once ye' got me," he said, chuckling. With each laugh, the dwarf's black beard bounced in unison with his stomach. The dwarf swung his knapsack from his shoulder and down onto the floor of Szazah's tent, pulling a couple bottles of brownish liquid from the bag's various compartments.

"Now, who wants ale, hm?"

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Summary: Drunk dwarf makes wonderful first impression.

Allaria - Classical Fantasy Ch. 5 - Recruit the Shadowwald!

I don't have Discord. Not entirely sure what it is, to be honest. Hahahah.