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TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

@Terry Bogard@Varicke

Clayton Radshaw

Clayton's sharp sense of smell had no trouble singling out the new comer, his keen ears easily identifying each heavy footstep that took the fighter across the tavern floor, however, it all amounted to nothing. His acute heightened senses counting for naught as all the drinks that day prior caught up with him and conspired to impede and seperate him from his own senses. The copious amount of alcohol acting like a blinder, narrowing the breadth of his already vastly limited and inebriated focus, which as of right now was solely concentrated on and unreciprocated by the lady at the table.

He didn't even seem to be aware of the shadowy presence and the imp above him, which one after the other vanished from reality in their own subtle ways, and he most definitely didn't notice Terry's greeting.

It was just by pure coincidence and the luck and timing of an empty mug that made the big man to turn around as Terry strode up.
Clayton just stood there silently for a long drawn out moment, empty mug in hand, a slight sway to his balance, red eyes blinking, slowly appraising the newcomer who stood between him and the bar.

"And who are you?" He abruptly asked, his greeting falling short of any sense of formality.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

@Qia

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The Barn

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A heavy warm breath misted in the cold air as he let out a tired sigh. It was not directed at her, or anywhere, just an honest deep breath. He pause at the threshold of the barn, hand up against the old wood, gaze caught on something outside, on the darkness, on the cold, on the hidden town, on the nothingness.

"Thank you Eris, for the words of advice."
He reply softly without turning back.
"but do remember, I've been playing this game longer than you." It was not a brag or a boast, in fact he seemed displeased to announce it. Sharing it as a fact.

He looked back and gave her one last fleeting smile.
"Now you be careful with that stone. Such power has a way of becoming... addictive."

If he was saying more, if there was intentions behind his words, his level voice and flat smile revealed nothing of it. Thoughtful eyes gazed at her for a moment with distant contemplation, and then he turned away and soon vanished around the corner of the barn. The sound of his steel staff stabbing at the ground and the snow crunching under his footfalls slowly fading into the distance.

Suddenly reminding her it was still there, Dinner the large boar let out a loud whining grunt.

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

@Terry Bogardawesome intro post, I'll try get something up this weekend :)

Sword and Dungeon: An Adventurer's Guild-based Fantasy RP

Finally completed it.

Ehrik

• Name: Ehrik Thorn
• Age: 38 (Older than he looks)
• Gender: Male
• Race: Half elf (High)
• Rank: Copper
• Appearance: See picture
• Personality: Ehrik often comes off as an easygoing yet excitable individual. Constantly smiling and wearing a carefree, playful demeanour.
He is fiercely loyal and believes in lofty ideals of truth and justice, quite often leaving himself open and too trusting.
He has a curious mind, a kind heart, and dreams of grandeur and fame.

He can be competitive, annoying when he is bored, yet also deadly serious when the time calls for it. Locked behind the soft facade is a man of solid boundaries who has enough familiarity and experience with his own pain, sorrows and evils to treat every smile earned and given as its own defiant victory.

• Brief Backstory:
Born amongst humans he lived with his elven mother, the court mage, of a noble household. They were surrounded by riches and wealth yet were forbidden to partake in the vast abundance.
They were just the hired help after all, treated poorly like most other servants. But it was all Ehrik had ever known, and as his mother always told him, 'things could always be worse.'

Ehrik was too young to know what his mother was running from or why she chose to stay here. Too naive to see the resentment and spite his mother held against the lord. Too innocent to understand the leverage that bound them.

As a young halfelf he followed in his mother's footsteps, this was encouraged by the house's lord. He trained extensively in the art of magic, even though his heart lay elsewhere. Lost as it was to the stories he read in between his long days of study, stories of epic adventures and mighty heroes. How he dreamed of a life beyond the estate.

Life went on like this for a while, but time does more than just age, it changes people, humans faster than elves, and not always for the better. As Ehrik became older and his magic grew, so too did his duties and involvement with the house. He was not treated any better for it but instead given a harsh insight into those who he served.

The house was corrupted to its core by greed, and something far worse.

One day, without reason or warning, his mother vanished. He was offered little condolences or explanation, no support or compassion, just forced to fill her role and punished for her absence.
Again, life went on. This estate his whole world, his only escape was the stories he read. He occasionally had opportunity to talk to visitors but that was few and far between, they were not always kind either.

One day he suddenly found himself amidst the carnage and chaos of the mansion aflame. Not sure how or why he got there or what was going on, he took the opportunity and fled.

That night is years behind him now. He got lucky and found a temporary home. Since then he has spent his time travelling and doing the odd job here and there. The screams from that night still haunt his dreams, the cries and unholy guttural growls.

• Equipment:
A suite of fine Armor.
A special sword stolen the night he fled.
A magic book on magic
• Skills:
Adept Mage/Demonologist
He has a strong grasp on basic magic but specialises in the darker more risky arts.
Capable of enchanting items, enhancing himself, placing curses and summoning demons.
Elven reflexes
Not overly physically strong he relies more or his natural speed and reflexes.
Basic Swordsmanship
Since his escape, whenever he can, he studies and practices the art of the blade. He still has a long way to go but he has found was to compensate his lack of experience with magic.

• Imp friend:

Iktaski

Ehrik was not alone during the in-between years. He found the most unusual guide and companion to help him navigate the strange greater world.
It took them both a long while, many negotiations, arguments, deals and deceptions, spanning across their own private adventures, to finally land on the mutually beneficial arrangement they now share. One might even call it a friendship, if one of them wasn't a small demon.

Iktaski is a small shape changing imp that can disguise itself as nearly any critter around the size of a large rat. Despite not offering much in the way of magic, it has occasionally proven knowledgeable and to be a good scout.
It has unique senses and on occasion has gone briefly invisible, but refuses to disclose any information about that ability to Ehrik.
[url][/url]

Realms of Sun & Shadow

@Qia

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The Barn

---

A brash fool he may be, but he was not deaf. All fight instantly drained from him, extinguishing just like the light, upon hearing her reply, the tone of her voice.
It cut deeper than her barbed words.
She could not see it now but again he wore a surprised expression, this time it was guilt, not pride, that came to wash it away.

He hadn't meant to flaunt his position over her. Or had he. His mind -too tired to keep up with events- fumbled for words. Each of her footsteps through the hay towards the door was a ticking timer counting down his chance to fix this.

'If only Ev were here.'

He felt a chill run into his bones, a fatiguing ache, heavy and uncomfortable, as he accessed his sorcery. His gift, his training, his connection allowing him to manipulate the world around him. He did not ask for much, only demanding that the nearest torches re-light themselves. He forced heat into an item some distance away that he could not even see.

It was far from a challenge for one of his skill but still he reflected on how much easier such a thing used to be. The torches near the door popped back to life, crackling with a fresh flame, their warm orange glow dancing around the wooden barn with the shadows.

"Wait..."
He called. His voice sounding tired and a little strained. His next act of magic came with little thought, springing to action on his intention alone, feeling like a kick in the gut. It had grabbed at the iron brackets and hinges of the large barn door to slow its opening, to slow her escape.

"Lady Evercrest." He said softly and solemnly as he quickly approached her. Without dignity or grace he awkwardly fished through his layered sleeves to produce a small dark irregular rock bound to a fine silver chain by an intricate bulky clasp. He held it out to her by the chain, the rock, seeming like a lump of coal, and the complex clasping mechanism dangled beneath his hand. The silver flickered in the torchlight.

"Take it." He insisted with a nod.
"A quarter twist and it should last around a day. A half twist, a few hours. Release it completely, a matter of moments." He explained, as if adding to a conversation they never had.

His magical hold on the door released and he suddenly exhaled as that pressure left his body. Now, not really wanting to be stuck in the barn, and with no other way to go, he mumbled a farewell, gave a nod and awkwardly tried step around her to exit the barn first.

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

Hi! Just posted my character sheets. Took a while than I expected, but that had partly to do with RL stuff and other RPs I needed to catch up with that got in my way lol. I’ll see if I can come up with something in a couple of days (hopefully).

@Terry Bogard

All good! no pressure here. I'll dig through my old characters or maybe bring in someone new once you post :)

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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The Barn

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The Aurelian noble was utterly taken aback by the the lady's sudden cut of her words; he had not seen them coming. Caught completely off guard, his smile abruptly vanished and a stunned, perplexed expression slapped itself across his face in its place as he instinctively took a small, stumbling step back.
'What had he done? What had he said wrong?'

His mind reeled, apology rising to his lips -until he caught sight of her clenched fists.
‘A threat!?’
His gaze snapped back to her face, emotions warring across his own. Confusion remained, but pride surged to the forefront, drowning it out.
‘Who was she to make demands of him—especially now?’

Perhaps if he wasn’t so tired, so hungry, so sore…

"I beg your pardon!" he lashed out, voice ringing with outraged dignity as he stepped forward, reclaiming lost ground.
"Are all manners lost out here amongst the wilds of the south?"
His words poured forth, driven by a defensive anger, sharper and hotter with every breath.
"Have we all become barbarians?"

He had been nothing but polite—or at least civil. And even if he hadn’t, etiquette still demanded a bare minimum of respect.
‘Oh, how quickly one can fall from grace.’ he thought.
He could not tolerate this. After all he had endured, to be standing here in a dirty barn before a stable hand who thought to tell him how he could—or could not—look at her.

Maybe if he hadn’t been trudging through snow and endless night for days, wrestling a stubborn pig.
Maybe if exhaustion from long travel, sleepless nights, and hard ground hadn’t gnawed at him.
Maybe if he weren’t haunted by the choices that forced him to abandon everything he had ever known—only to end up here, dishonoured in a stable.
Maybe if it had been a different day, a different time—then perhaps he might own a bit more patience, more empathy, more restraint.
But it was not a different day.

"Or have you simply forgotten how to speak to nobility!? You may not be one anymore, but that does not excuse you."

He spat the words, his tone sharper, harsher—deliberately condescending. It was in the tilt of his chin, the stance of his body, the cold fire in his eyes. Every fibre of him dripped with a deliberate dismissive contempt for the lower class.

He knew he shouldn’t have reacted as he did, shouldn’t have spoken the words he spoke. It was unfair. Yet he could not regret them. Better to scorch the earth—burn away such blatant disrespect—than admit his own failings.

Stamping his staff upon the ground, he drew the last of its light into himself. Not to create heat, but to disperse it. All around the barn every flicker of warmth, every lamp, candle, and open flame soon faltered and died as they fell below the temperature needed to stay lit. All at once, near-pitch darkness swept the room.