Dinh AaronMk

Winter Came on Forever: An 18th Century Alt-History

When can we start posting?

@Byrd Man

When the 2018 mid-term campaign begins.

B!tchfest: a healthy release for our non-roleplay annoyances.

<Snipped quote by mdk>

so are you saying trump is going to come and take our guns?

god dammit.

@Vilageidiotx

Silly Vilage, Obama already did that.

Winter Came on Forever: An 18th Century Alt-History

Name: Pontiac

Place: Michigan

Bio: Like many Native-Americans, little is known of the early life on Pontiac. Pontiac was born in an Ottawa village outside the location of Fort Detroit between the years 1712 and 1725. Pontiac was raised as a member of the Ottawa tribe by parents who were either Ojibwa or Miami Indian. For most of his child-hood life he was raised near Fort Detroit.

After his child-hood Pontiac came to prominence among his people when it 1747 he led his people as a war chief in alliance with the French against an uprising of the Huron people. The alliance between Ottawa and the French held strong after, and Pontiac partook in battles against the English in the North American front of the Seven Years war; the French and Indian War in the Americas. Here Pontiac grew to acclaim among his people as a warrior as he fought successive skirmishes and battles against the British, such as the French victory over the Braddock expedition.

It wasn't until 1765 that Pontiac drew public attention among a broader audience when a British frontier soldier met Pontiac in the midst of the war. It was from this encounter that the soldier wrote a play about the formidable and charismatic leader which became the root of his awareness among the British colonists in later years, and among the rest of the colonies.

Though while Pontiac had garnered a significant reputation on the battlefield during the French and Indian War, his best is yet to come.

With the conclusion of the war and cessation of former French lands to the British the formerly French-allied tribes were thrown into disarray as French presence in the Ohio Valley and Michigan disappeared as Upper Lousiana was ceded to British authority. The initial sweep of colonists into the native forests was bad enough, but when the winters began to become longer, and the summers colder it began getting worse.

Over short summers more and more of the British arrived on American shores. While initial diplomacy suggested the British would not infringe on native lands, the burdens became heavy as the flood gates opened unleashing many hundreds of British frontiersmen onto Native American land. And as the winter grew colder the prevalence of distance natives did grow as well as new hunters merged south in seek of warmer lands ahead of the ice-shields that grew from the northern reaches of Canada.

In these times as they grow dire and the world steeps itself in the confusion of changing times Pontiac reaches out to Guyasuta...
________________

Name: Guyasuta

Place: Michigan-Ohio

Bio: Born in western New York around the year 1725, Guyasuta is a prominent Seneca was chief. Having once met and lead a young George Washington to Fort Le Boeuf in the build up to the Seven Years war Guyasuta chose not to in the end ally with the encroaching British powers and allied with the French in the ensuing war. Playing a part in the battle that ended the Braddock expedition he crossed paths with leaders like Pontiac, and like the young Ottawa war chief came to acclaim among Indian warriors, though not to the degrees as Pontiac.

Much respected by his people he held an important place in Seneca leadership and was looked to for guidance by the Seneca people when beyond all expectations more and more British settlers sailed across the great ocean to settle the Americas, greatly displacing the Seneca tribe along with others. As the scope of British settlement grew and the Seneca were pushed from their land they fled west into the Ohio valley, and deeper still.

With the additional stress of the tired northern tribes straying south to avoid the deepening freeze and migrating game in Canada, Guyasuta and his people were faced with the double threat of not only European refugees filling up land, but migrating refugee Native Americans.

And it was when Pontiac called for him, he responded.
______________________

Name: Peter Pytorvich Kavinovich

Place: Northern California

Bio: Born in the year 1727, Peter Pytorvich came into the world as the son of a merchant family in Kiev, Russia. Peter's young life was a simple affair, attending church and a religious school paid for by his father. Born two years after Peter the Great and at the end of Catherine the Great's reign as Empress of Russia young Peter lived in a still changing Russia reaping the benefits of what was new to it for its re-alignment to the west.

His father traded primarily with the Austrians and the Germans through the years and as a teenager Peter traveled to Vienna and Königsberg on several locations. And although he never earned a mastery of the language, he still learned and became capable of speaking German as a result of his infrequent trips and dealings alongside his father as a young man.

When Peter came in adulthood he became conscripted into the Imperial Army, as the terms were for life Peter braced himself for a life of soldiery in 1754.

At the outbreak of the Seven Years War, Peter had attained the rank of sergeant in the military. During the course of the war his unit was marched to take the city of Königsberg. His previous familiarity of the city was like a return home to Peter, and in the battle for the city he displayed considerable valor and was to make a promotion for his show of force and valor in the face of enemy fire. However on hearing of the promotion a jealous fellow officer sought to stymie Peter's future in the army, and murdered one of the fresh privates the previous night.

The following morning Peter was summoned before command to answer for what had just happened. Flabbergasted, he was speechless as the jealous sergeant railed against Peter, producing evidence and testimony against him. He was promptly arrested and held prisoner to be tried for murder.

His imprisonment didn't last long, at some point he escaped; though he refuses to say how, and fled from Russian-occupied Prussia choosing to not face what punishment the military courts might have for him and instead choosing to live a life of self-appointed exile in Siberia.

In Siberia, Peter assumed a new name but lived in fear and paranoia of retribution for bailing on the army in the west. Seeking safety and work he sought refuge among the Siberian Host, cossacks serving the Tsar to clear and help settle the Siberian frontier for the Empire. Through the duration of the war he drifted with the hose across Siberia performing soldier's work, clashing with the Siberian tribes who called the vast tracts of wilderness claimed by the Empire. And over-time as the winter's bite grew colder Peter found himself the furthest east a man could walk in Siberia. Finding himself in the distant frontier port of Petropavlovsk he tried to settle down until he saw in the street the czar's men.

Peter's paranoia of being caught as a refugee never died, and quickly he dashed to the port were he traded his skills as a soldier-turned Cossack to a boat docked at port, a Russian fur-trader from Alaska bound to China. He was readily admitted and they set sail for East Asia the following day.

A storm blew in on their journey, damaging the ship and the Russian trade was forced to make land-fall outside the small village of Haishenwai in late winter. Or it was what they thought to be late winter, in truth the cold never let up that year and while the ice melted from the rivers and the horses could drink from the troughs there was always a cold snap and bite to the air. Repairs on the ship became slow, the men becoming afraid that they would be found out by Qing authorities who had strictly prohibited the non-Manchu from setting foot in this area of Manchuria.

In order to accommodate for repairs to their ship – having beached it in shallow waters on rocks, it was beyond the minor storm damage forced upon them – the expedition was forced to trade away the otter pelts from America to pay for the services from the village. Work lingered on into winter and the men were forced to endure another long, bitter winter that never relented in its onslaught.

After long complicated work they were able to leave their prison, and with no otter pelts to sell in legitimate ports in Asia the captain turned the ship around towards America.

Intending to take the usual route that would sweep them passed the Bering Straight and to follow the coast of Alaska until they made port, the plan was quickly foiled as the ship came across dense ice-pack that had formed into the Arctic Circle and extended far beyond. The ship never found Alaska.

When they finally made land-fall in waters free of dangerous ice the Russian expedition was far from where they wanted to be, low on water, and low on food. Harsh fashioning had been put in place and for food the crew had taken to capturing sea birds that came too close to deck. The entire crew came to land famished and weak.

Replenishing their supplies and their water, they scouted the area around them later reconnecting with Russian trappers and Siberian expats that had chosen to find refuge in the Americas rather than dealing with the threat posed in trying to find a home in China or Japan.

It was under these men that the bedraggled, lost, and confused Russian refugees established a new home, Fort Nadezha. They had no way to connect with the Russian authorities in Moscow, or if it were even possible. Hoping there would be other vessels at sea from Russia or to continue trading with the now lost colony in Alaska the inhabitants of the Nadezha built a rudimentary light house, where a large beacon would hail in any ships at sea.

Nadezha was a rudimentary shelter, composed of only a palisade wall and canvas tents, the men who called it home lived on hunting and foraging the country-side, and battling and trading with the natives. It wasn't long after its foundation that slowly small, half-starved crews drifted to the fort and joined with the men there. And longer after men and women fleeing Asia sought desperate refuge in the direction the Lost Russians went, and a small entourage of Japanese and Chinese sailors followed and joined them.

As a veteran of both the Imperial army and the Cossacks, Peter became a notable man in the defense of and policing of Nadezha, though hardly much in an official capacity. Through contact he learned Chinese and Japanese.

Describe Your RPG Friends with Things They've Said

@Gorgenmast

"Oh, hey... I got shot at and the truck is stuck on some train tracks outside Elektro. Can some one go and get it back?"

[Rescue Breeki intensifies]

@VilageIdiotX

"I have a lot of random shit"

@Pepperm1nts

"Fuck you"

@Raddum



@TheEvanCat

[Armenian and West Point noises]

Winter Came on Forever: An 18th Century Alt-History

Time for some Native Alliance

Name: Pontiac

Place: Michigan

Bio: Like many Native-Americans, little is known of the early life on Pontiac. Pontiac was born in an Ottawa village outside the location of Fort Detroit between the years 1712 and 1725. Pontiac was raised as a member of the Ottawa tribe by parents who were either Ojibwa or Miami Indian. For most of his child-hood life he was raised near Fort Detroit.

After his child-hood Pontiac came to prominence among his people when it 1747 he led his people as a war chief in alliance with the French against an uprising of the Huron people. The alliance between Ottawa and the French held strong after, and Pontiac partook in battles against the English in the North American front of the Seven Years war; the French and Indian War in the Americas. Here Pontiac grew to acclaim among his people as a warrior as he fought successive skirmishes and battles against the British, such as the French victory over the Braddock expedition.

It wasn't until 1765 that Pontiac drew public attention among a broader audience when a British frontier soldier met Pontiac in the midst of the war. It was from this encounter that the soldier wrote a play about the formidable and charismatic leader which became the root of his awareness among the British colonists in later years, and among the rest of the colonies.

Though while Pontiac had garnered a significant reputation on the battlefield during the French and Indian War, his best is yet to come.

With the conclusion of the war and cessation of former French lands to the British the formerly French-allied tribes were thrown into disarray as French presence in the Ohio Valley and Michigan disappeared as Upper Lousiana was ceded to British authority. The initial sweep of colonists into the native forests was bad enough, but when the winters began to become longer, and the summers colder it began getting worse.

Over short summers more and more of the British arrived on American shores. While initial diplomacy suggested the British would not infringe on native lands, the burdens became heavy as the flood gates opened unleashing many hundreds of British frontiersmen onto Native American land. And as the winter grew colder the prevalence of distance natives did grow as well as new hunters merged south in seek of warmer lands ahead of the ice-shields that grew from the northern reaches of Canada.

In these times as they grow dire and the world steeps itself in the confusion of changing times Pontiac reaches out to Guyasuta...
______________

Name: Guyasuta

Place: Michigan-Ohio

Bio: Born in western New York around the year 1725, Guyasuta is a prominent Seneca was chief. Having once met and lead a young George Washington to Fort Le Boeuf in the build up to the Seven Years war Guyasuta chose not to in the end ally with the encroaching British powers and allied with the French in the ensuing war. Playing a part in the battle that ended the Braddock expedition he crossed paths with leaders like Pontiac, and like the young Ottawa war chief came to acclaim among Indian warriors, though not to the degrees as Pontiac.

Much respected by his people he held an important place in Seneca leadership and was looked to for guidance by the Seneca people when beyond all expectations more and more British settlers sailed across the great ocean to settle the Americas, greatly displacing the Seneca tribe along with others. As the scope of British settlement grew and the Seneca were pushed from their land they fled west into the Ohio valley, and deeper still.

With the additional stress of the tired northern tribes straying south to avoid the deepening freeze and migrating game in Canada, Guyasuta and his people were faced with the double threat of not only European refugees filling up land, but migrating refugee Native Americans.

And it was when Pontiac called for him, he responded.

Cheeki Breeki

Name: Peter Pytorvich Kavinovich

Place: Northern California

Bio: Born in the year 1727, Peter Pytorvich came into the world as the son of a merchant family in Kiev, Russia. Peter's young life was a simple affair, attending church and a religious school paid for by his father. Born two years after Peter the Great and at the end of Catherine the Great's reign as Empress of Russia young Peter lived in a still changing Russia reaping the benefits of what was new to it for its re-alignment to the west.

His father traded primarily with the Austrians and the Germans through the years and as a teenager Peter traveled to Vienna and Königsberg on several locations. And although he never earned a mastery of the language, he still learned and became capable of speaking German as a result of his infrequent trips and dealings alongside his father as a young man.

When Peter came in adulthood he became conscripted into the Imperial Army, as the terms were for life Peter braced himself for a life of soldiery in 1754.

At the outbreak of the Seven Years War, Peter had attained the rank of sergeant in the military. During the course of the war his unit was marched to take the city of Königsberg. His previous familiarity of the city was like a return home to Peter, and in the battle for the city he displayed considerable valor and was to make a promotion for his show of force and valor in the face of enemy fire. However on hearing of the promotion a jealous fellow officer sought to stymie Peter's future in the army, and murdered one of the fresh privates the previous night.

The following morning Peter was summoned before command to answer for what had just happened. Flabbergasted, he was speechless as the jealous sergeant railed against Peter, producing evidence and testimony against him. He was promptly arrested and held prisoner to be tried for murder.

His imprisonment didn't last long, at some point he escaped; though he refuses to say how, and fled from Russian-occupied Prussia choosing to not face what punishment the military courts might have for him and instead choosing to live a life of self-appointed exile in Siberia.

In Siberia, Peter assumed a new name but lived in fear and paranoia of retribution for bailing on the army in the west. Seeking safety and work he sought refuge among the Siberian Host, cossacks serving the Tsar to clear and help settle the Siberian frontier for the Empire. Through the duration of the war he drifted with the hose across Siberia performing soldier's work, clashing with the Siberian tribes who called the vast tracts of wilderness claimed by the Empire. And over-time as the winter's bite grew colder Peter found himself the furthest east a man could walk in Siberia. Finding himself in the distant frontier port of Petropavlovsk he tried to settle down until he saw in the street the czar's men.

Peter's paranoia of being caught as a refugee never died, and quickly he dashed to the port were he traded his skills as a soldier-turned Cossack to a boat docked at port, a Russian fur-trader from Alaska bound to China. He was readily admitted and they set sail for East Asia the following day.

A storm blew in on their journey, damaging the ship and the Russian trade was forced to make land-fall outside the small village of Haishenwai in late winter. Or it was what they thought to be late winter, in truth the cold never let up that year and while the ice melted from the rivers and the horses could drink from the troughs there was always a cold snap and bite to the air. Repairs on the ship became slow, the men becoming afraid that they would be found out by Qing authorities who had strictly prohibited the non-Manchu from setting foot in this area of Manchuria.

In order to accommodate for repairs to their ship – having beached it in shallow waters on rocks, it was beyond the minor storm damage forced upon them – the expedition was forced to trade away the otter pelts from America to pay for the services from the village. Work lingered on into winter and the men were forced to endure another long, bitter winter that never relented in its onslaught.

After long complicated work they were able to leave their prison, and with no otter pelts to sell in legitimate ports in Asia the captain turned the ship around towards America.

Intending to take the usual route that would sweep them passed the Bering Straight and to follow the coast of Alaska until they made port, the plan was quickly foiled as the ship came across dense ice-pack that had formed into the Arctic Circle and extended far beyond. The ship never found Alaska.

When they finally made land-fall in waters free of dangerous ice the Russian expedition was far from where they wanted to be, low on water, and low on food. Harsh fashioning had been put in place and for food the crew had taken to capturing sea birds that came too close to deck. The entire crew came to land famished and weak.

Replenishing their supplies and their water, they scouted the area around them later reconnecting with Russian trappers and Siberian expats that had chosen to find refuge in the Americas rather than dealing with the threat posed in trying to find a home in China or Japan.

It was under these men that the bedraggled, lost, and confused Russian refugees established a new home, Fort Nadezha. They had no way to connect with the Russian authorities in Moscow, or if it were even possible. Hoping there would be other vessels at sea from Russia or to continue trading with the now lost colony in Alaska the inhabitants of the Nadezha built a rudimentary light house, where a large beacon would hail in any ships at sea.

Nadezha was a rudimentary shelter, composed of only a palisade wall and canvas tents, the men who called it home lived on hunting and foraging the country-side, and battling and trading with the natives. It wasn't long after its foundation that slowly small, half-starved crews drifted to the fort and joined with the men there. And longer after men and women fleeing Asia sought desperate refuge in the direction the Lost Russians went, and a small entourage of Japanese and Chinese sailors followed and joined them.

As a veteran of both the Imperial army and the Cossacks, Peter became a notable man in the defense of and policing of Nadezha, though hardly much in an official capacity. Through contact he learned Chinese and Japanese.

What Are You Listening To?

Winter Came on Forever: An 18th Century Alt-History

Give me some time to get my eggs in order.

Age of Iron - Reboot Edition

Voldagrad

Bron

Ilk was still shaken as the funerary pyre was lit in the fields outside the village. The dark cloak of night had fallen, and passed the orange glow of the bonfire's reach was an eternal blackness. The silhouettes of trees stood weak in their contrast against the sky which had opened free of clouds. The warping ribbons of an aura danced solemnly against the stars, and the villagers celebrated the cold lights above them as they burned the body of Rostok.

While it was a funeral, the villagers honored their passed king not with solemn heads bowed but banged out music on drums and sang. As well as they could they had given Ilk a seat of honor, giving him pelts of wolf fur and offering the best of their drink and meat.

The night had begun overcast, and when they had set out to send Rostok's soul to the gods the evening had been more solemn. But when they lay his body on the pyre and began the incantations to his spirit and the gods the sky had clear and lifted the eyes of the villagers. It was after they had put Rostok's body to the torch that the first ribbons of aural light opened up in the skies above and framed a low silver moon.

“The Gods welcome him warmly!” the old priest who had introduced himself finally after the ritual duel that took Rostok's life. He had brought himself before Ilk as Bors, son of Amov. And over the night he had not stopped proclaiming the good sign before the village, whipping them into a hopeful celebration as they felt the divine presence in the above night glow.

The fire now had grown large, transforming fluidly from a funeral pyre to a celebratory bonfire fit for a spring equinox. The bitter and rotten smell of human flesh long burned away and turned to roasting meat as men slaughtered chickens and suckling pigs for the occasion's honor. Several had gone down to the river to splash in the banks searching by torch-light for fresh fish to supplement their celebration. And several casks were broken open to distribute the winter's fermented liquor and malted beer.

In the jubilation of a soul having been so warmly taken up by the gods according to Bors, and the courage from alcohol several young girls had stripped naked and now danced about the fire. But even with the jubilation, Ilk felt heavy.

His hands worked slow and felt held down by the weight of a large cow. He ate slowly and halfheartedly. Deep inside he was guilty. He felt guilty. He had committed an act that would have gotten him hanged and found himself somewhere he thought he'd never be, as a landed chieftain. He was no renowned fighter, and that put the terror into him as well as the guilt of murder. It would be no hard feat for Rostok's son to return full of anger and kill him out-right and taking the title of chief back.

The hard foreign fighter that had been Rostok's man kept himself beside Ilk, silent as he was when he first met him. And while Ilk sensed he had softened on him, it seemed nothing more than a courtesy as a recognition for his deed. He imagined he had been his guard, and now he was his. The mystery of him compounded on Ilk's terrors and introduced a linger subtle concern. He made furtive glances towards the quietly brooding man as he sat cross legged on the floor, a large sheep's-skin thrown over his head shoulders and wrapped about the rest of him; in it he looked like a meditating diviner.

Ilk was stirred as someone bumbled too near, the loud crashing of two bodies falling nearby snapped Ilk straight and he looked to his other side as Bors fell to the cushions of skins with one of the dancing girls being pulled by his arms, though it may have been a case of her trying to pull him up but unable to move the old man more as he came down to rest from their latest excursion. But the girl, young though haggard from living through many winters was too drunk on vodka and hard drink too notice or to care.

“You really can not be done?” the naked girl cried melodramatically. The light of the follow highlighted her small round features and the sagging of full breasts.

“I am, I am.” Bors said breathlessly, brushing off her demanding hands. Denied, she wandered off into the warmth of the light. She quickly forgot though, and resumed wildly spinning.

“The Gods were good to Rostok!” he declared, a little red in the face and disheveled. His usual robe hung half on his own shoulders, and he spoke out of breath, “It is fair we celebrate a long life.”

Ilk didn't comment. Biting his lip he turned away and looked down at a half plate of freshly cooked mutton. It was getting cold now, but he had only half worked at it. He was too shaken still to eat.

“I guess now we do not kneel to the Wooded City of Volda.” Rostok said suddenly, and out of the blue. This roused Ilk up again and he turned and looked at the old man. He smiled, laughing drunk in the excitement of the moment, “Or will you kneel to them?” he asked. “Or perhaps you want to make Bron its own, free of either. In either case I don't imagine it will last long. The kings look for weak states such as villages like these.”

“How long do you think it'll take for Rostok's son to hear what happened?” Ilk asked, heading directly to his own concerns.

Bors had not expected this line of thought, and he gave it a second before he answered his new liege. “It may not be for a while. We here may go several months without having significant guests. You are our first... Well aside from the fat woman on the horse.” he added after a brief pause, “You may be the only messenger to reach Volda from these parts, and he may not know; if you choose to continue on.”

“I do.” Ilk said solemnly.

“So be it.” Bors said with a excusing wave of his hand. “I had Qawid can handle the day-to-day affairs of the village, there are not many.”

“Qawid?” Ilk asked.

Bors nodded and pointed to that foreign man that sat opposite. Ilk turned to look, finding he was looking directly into his sharp piercing eyes gleaming from underneath his shroud of wool and flesh.

“He was a slave Rostok won in a duel.” Bors said, “He's a man that doesn't talk much, and some days I am to wonder if he vowed himself to silence for his distant gods; as if they can hear him here. But he was Rostok's, then Rostok freed him. He never left, and instead vowed himself to his service; Rostok instead forced him to instead offer his services to the village, and he has done that dutifully for nearly eight winters now.

“He is as capable a enforcer of peace as I am a judge and augur.” Bors added pridefully.

Ilk nodded numbly.

“So, will you be moving on come tomorrow morning?” Bors pressed.

“I will.” Ilk said, “I have a job to do, I plan to do it.”

“Then you will be back.” Bors said confidently.

“I will.” Ilk repeated. Though he didn't know how he would get back, or how he might tell Perciv. Was there precedent such as this? He shut it out of his mind, he would deal with it when it arose.

“Then before you leave I must give you some of Rostok's things for the road.” Bors said, “Small things, for your protection.”

“Won't I be found out?” Ilk asked.

Shrugging, Bors remarked: “No, hardly. I will not be handing you his personal sword. His son may not recognize you if he sees you with it. But it will help you against any reavers raiding the woods, or wolves. And you will still look the part. Chiefs in this parts often look indistinguishable from the men of under the higher tribes by the cities. I have no fear.

“After all, the gods smile!” Bors exclaimed, holding his hands up and out to the heavenly lights.

In his mood Ilk didn't find this completely uplifting. He still wallowed in the anxious distress of the affairs he found himself in. Perhaps back on the road, and onto something most familiar to him he'll come to the peace he wanted.

Misrŭvani

Misruglaz

Sleet pattered down on the roof of the great hall, filling the empty silence with the wet sloppy pops of falling half-frozen rain. Wrapped in a large wool coat Perciv looked out through open windows into the gray sleeted landscape beyond. Tracts of woodland marched out over hills interspaced with the odds acreages of farmland in the hard cold north. The fields were still barren and brown, with patches of snow. The green on the trees hadn't yet come to bloom.

There came a sound behind Perciv. Rising in his seat by the window, he turned to the sound. At the door stood a guard, dressed in a heavy coat of leathers and mail. “My lord,” he said, with a bow of his head, “Your family is here.”

Perciv nodded knowingly, and rose to his feet; a smile on his face. “Then it's time I go to see them.”

The room he had been in was not large, a mere alcove tucked in a corner, besides the more important rooms for his living. Turning through the door the two men walked to the stairs, the sounds of their feet echoing in the cold stillness of the tower. The two came to the stairs, as they went Perciv dragged his hands along the rough rails along its sides, feeling the rough cut bare wood underneath gloved hands. With a final clack, both men landed on the final stone floor. The king had little time to turn before he heard a cry of, “Papa!” from the other side of the room.

As soon as he turned a small girl who stood stomach high crashed into him, and hugged her arms around the king's waist. “It's good to see you too, Eugena.” Perciv laughed, smiling down at the blond-haired girl below him.

Eugena was in her tenth year, her face round and flushed. A brush with pox had left her face scarred with the vestigial remains of disease as a permanent marker of her having survived, dimpled rosy pits in her cheeks and neck. Her eyes shone bright with a blue joy and exhilaration despite all things, and she had not fallen sick again since her first near brush with death, though her breath often fell short quick.

Standing by the door with their oldest was his wife, Vlamira. She was a plump pale woman who in the middle of her thirties bore all the traits of a well worked mother. Ratty thin gold hair lay combed back across her face as she held their eldest son's shoulders with a weathered hand.

Their son was a youth that had the same proportions of his father, but not yet his height as a teen youth now. But his face was handsome and clean. The first traces of a beard had not yet grown in, and behind his light blue eyes he regarded his father with a guarded restraint. He tensely bit his thin lips as he smiled and rose a hand to him.

“Ivanov.” Perciv greeted, walking to his son to give him a fatherly embrace. He stood chest height to his dad, and he weakly returned the gesture.

“Hello.” he said simply, meekly. He shuffled about as his dad let go of him and he looked around the room.

Behind the main throne-room was where the hall held its dining hall a large table with chairs cut from pine logs stood at the middle, a large stone hearth nearly filled the far wall between two wooden beams, an iron grate guarded the dining hall from the smoldering fire inside. The room was further bisected by another wall that cut it off from the kitchen, it was there the wide lazily descending stair case marched down to the main floor.

“How was the trip?” he asked, turning to his wife.

“It was cold.” she said quietly, “And long. Winter hasn't quiet left us. The night before we arrived though the clouds broke and we watched the Gods' Lights dance across the sky, it was a great sight to behold this time of year.”

B!tchfest: a healthy release for our non-roleplay annoyances.

That feel when someone approaches you for a commission, you give them the price, they say it's good, and you ask for half up-front so I know this is serious and I get the green light to go. I get the half half on completion and satisfaction.

Still haven't gotten paid. It's been several days, and we were at a clip of a message a day between the two of us. I just had to remind him I'm waiting.

@Dinh AaronMk

So he paid, so now I can begin.

Age of Iron - Reboot Edition

Right so I got time so I wrote half a post. I stopped being lazy, guys.

If I don't see any other movement from anyone else I'mma start issuing reminder PMs.