Eisenhorn

Fantasy's Shattering

We take who is useful, and abandon the rest.

Fire Emblem: Light's End

Jerod

Jerod had been using as much showmanship with his sword and brazen yelling as he had doing real damage to keep the damn fanatics at bay. Meanwhile all the talking and fighting in the backranks showed that, not surprisingly, one man and a wounded horseman were not good line holding material in an open plain like this. Jerod would be having words with the lad after this, probably on better ways to imply to some that STAY PUT was as valid a way of telling someone to hold the line as anything else. The chatter on tactics and plans got a grunt from the mercenary, as he looked towards the best path to do just that, responding to the orders from the horseman.

"Aye, y' got it 'orseman. Alright, y' gits, le's get t'is movin', sooner we git t'ere..."

Jerod never finished that sentenace the way he intended, a whistling arrow embedding itself firmly in his right shoulder, causing him to step backwards, or risk being toppled by the force of the arrow stopping in his shoulder. The mercenary looked at the arrow, and offending archer who was in their way anyways, as several more soldiers poured over to try and stop their suspected advance. Jerod knew better than to break the arrow off, which would not be easy anyways as arrows are built to not break like that, or rip it out, barbs might make that problematic. Best bet would be pushing it through, if the scale he was wearing would not have prevented that on the other side. No, it would wait to come out, and with all this thought in a split second, he glared at the offending enemies and started charging towards Jacob and his newfound harem, roaring in rage again at the first known wound to the group, his cloak and armor helping hide the second. Nothing intelligeable or even worded this time, just one constant roar of rage and hate carrying the wounded but unshaken mercenary into their ranks, the ones separating Jerod and company from Jacob and company, trusting the horseman to do his damn job.

Jerod punched through the, albeit far thinner, ranks and cut the archer's bow clean in two, leaving a rather nasty wound from shoulder to hip across the man as well as he collapsed to the ground. Turning to his left, he fought the two on that side as he left the right flank to Marius, as was the plan. A straight kick sent the axe wielding warrior stumbling to the ground, out of wind, and he left that for the crazy dark mage girl to deal with. He locked blades with the other soldier, before twisting and headbutting the man, shattering his nose and followed up with a clean cut that left his throat open to the bone. A fatal injury, indeed, and he turned to aid Marius if he needed it before leading the group to Jacob, a grin on his face despite the injuries he had sustained, and once he saw Niya tending to the wounded woman he began laughing.

"Lad, w'ere in th' 'ell did ye dig yer up from? An' th' Crimson 'ound no less a' well, yer reputation precedes ye' lass! An' th' rest o' yer grand army, reportin' fer th' line breakin' push, savvy?"

Niya

Niya sat upon her horse, scanning her surroundings when she promptly ducked, an arrow narrowly missing the group and its intended target as it embedded itself in the dirt several feet behind Solanne, having missed Niya and Abra as well. Solanne's reply to her own small comment got a soft shrug before responding, speaking rather quietly as was her want.

"Quite, a tad bit on the soft side though. Mind the arrows."

Niya watched the fighting and struggle going on around her between friendly and not so friendly forces, the Feroxians seemed to be holding the Longfort still, catching glimpses of an old man in their ranks that she did not recognize as one of their own. Probably on loan from this group that were relieving the Feroxians, then, as she continued trotting after Jacob as he fought, noting his swordsmanship was, at worse, on par with his magic, which had proven sufficient so far. She noted that, after cutting the woman and her two friends down, promptly took concern for her being injured, and Niya sighed as she raised the healing staff, stabilizing the woman despite her better judgement. Orders were orders, after all, and after the emergency stabilizing, she hopped off her horse to further examine the injured woman, sighing quietly at the sound of that familiar mercenary bellowing across the field of battle once more.

"She is stable, although survival is not guaranteed right now. Jerod, I would say welcome home, but we're still far too south for that. Khan might not be pleased to see you here, one of them at any rate."

Fantasy's Shattering

Atreides eventually strolled out of the tavern, having kept an eye on the comings, goings, and gossip for awhile, leaving payment for his drinks and time spent there, and unlike so many of the usual mercenaries and sort coming through the town, the Taskmage was one who was usually tolerated more than others, due to his beneficial nature alongside hte profit of having them paying to stay and resupply in such places. But as he walked out of the establishment and skirted down the sides of the road, he noticed something that made the man sigh. That punk ass with the shadow chains was getting in Sable's face, and to make matters worse, some barbarian that reeked of the Old Gods had went and tackled him, which would no doubt start some fight that would destroy far too much property to ever be welcome again. And would bring Sable into the line of fire, which simply would not do. But he couldn't just blast both into oblivion, god knows what the woman would do if she died with that stinking aura of the Old Gods, and punk ass probably had something nasty up his sleeves too.

"What in the blazing fucks are you two damn clowns doing? Making some big stinking scene in the road, let me address both of you. One, lady, really need to ditch that Old God thing you got going, you reek of it, from a mile away. Secondly, if you need male attention that badly, tackling strangers in the road ain't the easiest way to go about it. As for you, punk, getting up in a ladies face, rude and uncalled for. No one sees you big and tough getting in her face like that. Especially considering she cold filet you and string you up to dry before any of us blinked. Secondly, none of your damn business what other folks are doing or why, savvy? Try being polite and not barging into another persons business, aye?"

Atreides was giving his speech all as a front, walking in a circle around the group, his movements seperating Sable from the tackled pair of fools, and outside the circle in the dirt that eventually was formed as he finished speaking, standing beside Meat with his arms crossed and a very, very dissaproving look on his face. The two idiots try something, that circle was one of his dirty tricks, it formed a barrier that nothing gets in or out of, so any damage would be contained and prevent harm to the surroundings. Second, if either of them came after himself or Sable, same deal, and he would leave them to either figure out how to get out, or starve in the street. He didn't take kindly to these sort, especially the kid who was so damn determined to not come across as some weak ass punk. No one cared, Atreides certainly didn't, about what the kid thought he had to prove. The Taskmage had been there, done that, and all he got was a lousy shirt from the whole mess. Let the kid try something stupid, either of them, Atreides had some energy to burn for once.

Dragon Age: Peace Torn Asunder

Atreides had his arms crossed, looking over to the rather wonderful borderline verbal sparring going on between the Grey Warden, Templar, and an ex Templar, at least ex templar as far as he was aware. Seems the Grey Warden could have handled that a wee bit better, as could the Templar granted, but it seemed to be the usual problem that so plagued the front presented against the Tevinter. Templar and Mage could not stop backstabbing each other long enough to kill the threat to their survival. The Ex templar seemed to at least try and make peace between the two, which got an amused snort out of the Taskmage, who had seen the entire event transpire, dismissing the Entropy field he had as the last few corpses were being checked, having stored enough energy against the future to be safe. The Grey Warden stalked off, stumbling upon another almost dead slave soldier, and the Taskmage gave the elf archer an amused glance before stretching.

"If we're done pissing in each others meals for five minutes? The Tevinter are bound to either miss this patrol, or know their little ambush went down the latrine. Probably wouldn't hurt to start thinking about someplace not here that we could hunker down for awhile, figure out something that isn't akin to aimless wandering. Just a thought."

The taskmage shrugged, they would take his suggestion, or they wouldn't. He couldn't really control them and force the issue. Well, no, that wasn't quite fair, Entropy magic might make the issue forceable, but he didn't need to make enemies amongst the Templar of the bunch that quickly. Even if they didn't seem to overmuch mind his use of Entropy, although the ex templar looked a might bit queasy, which he smirked and made a remark on prior to wandering towards the tents. "What's wrong, prioress to be? The dead don't need it anymore, and I'm saving a fortune on lyrium potions."

The apostate mage laughed softly as he walked, waving off handidly towards the remaining few and glanced over at the Grey Warden, shooting a remark her way as well. "Playing nice might help us in the long run, Warden, just a thought. They might not like us, but long as we don't go pull a Kirkwall uprising we should be alright, yea?"

Fantasy's Shattering

Atreides had eventually made his way back to town, alone for the time being. He avoided contact with the last few Imperial troops roaming about, still sniffing for further relics or hints towards those relics. The Taskmage really didn't feel like dealing with those mindless goons right now, so he skulked in the shadows until they left, sighing quietly as he walked down the empty streets. He wasn't tired, granted he slept little and ate less most days, but that was nothing unusual for him, not anymore. People commented on it, usually, but he shrugged them off for the most part. He still functioned normally, he just had to crash every once in a blue moon to catch up on what he missed. But he had to figure out the next general location for the next relic, Sable usually relied on him in that regard, if any others even existed. He had a knack for figuring out the right place and right time to pick out relics and their locations.

The Taskmage headed for the seediest part of the town, he knew some people there that would be able to help him out. They would probably not be happy he was back in town, one of them might be dumb enough to draw on him, but that would be the blood he needed to intimidate the rest into cooperating, no doubt. He had no qualms doing so, as long as he got the information he needed, that would be that. He walked into a bar that only thieves, murderers, other equally dangerous sorts, and fools would walk into and began putting out feelers with the few night walkers that were there, digging around for information. The barkeep knew him and what he did well enough to not try and stop him, but several beatings tended to loosen tongues, and as he picked up the pieces of a table and set them aside, he was mulling over what he knew so far.

Atreides wasted no time heading for the tavern that Sable was staying at, walking through the front doors like a shadow more than anything else, sitting himself in a corner of the main common room, eventually coming to have a drink in hand as he kept his peace, and someone who knew the man would recognize that he was guarding the only way up to the bedrooms, where Sable was asleep. He couldn't stop people trying for the windows, sure, but he trusted the woman was smart enough to take care of herself in that regard. He could keep an eye on the main way upstairs, she could handle herself in her own quarters.

Dragon Age: Peace Torn Asunder

Taskmage Alexander Atreides was walking the corpses, an aura of strange energy following him as he walked from corpse to corpse, thin trails of energy seeming to drain from every corpse near him, the ones that seemed to resist the mage directed someone with a knife to, and they would find someone trying to hide the fact they yet lived, and that was quickly rectified. Alex was utilizing an old, usually frowned upon, form of Entropy magic to drain the dead of their remaining energy, replenishing the reserves he had spent during the fighting. He didn't tell the poor soldiers that, however, he merely pointed out that if the strands were not coming from a corpse, it was highly likely the body in question was not dead yet. Anyone familiar with entropy magic would no doubt recognize the spell though, no doubt the Templar and former Templar among their numbers would especially recognize the magic and be curious as to his knowledge and use of it. Not many Circle mages ever were fond of the spell.

Using a spell for a use other than its original intention was all par for the course when it came to how the Apostate mage operated. Normally, he would not have been found dead, or alive, anywhere near any sort of Templar. They tended to not like him very much, on the grounds of something he had no control over being gifted with and making the best of it, but that was neither here nor there. The Tevinter would hopefully satiate the mage murder lust some of these Templar had, since he had no interest in having to deal with some mad Templar again. Those had never been fun encounters. But he would be keeping a close eye on his new Templar friends. One such Templar was on watch, cleaning her gear from the fighting, and he spared his own attire a brief glance to look for damage.

The clear blue of his robes were unblemished, he had been quite a few paces away from any blood spilling that had been going on during the brief fighting. Good, Alex decided, blood was a pain to get out of clothing, especially when it stood out as glaringly as it would on his own attire. Alex had directed several people who had not been busy to go prepare to move the camp, and while he was not formally in the chain of command, younger folks sometimes listened to what the middle aged mage had to say, once in a blue moon. But he was now storing extra energy from the corpses he was draining, instead of replenishing, just in case he needed to drop a lot of spells at once. Hopefully not, but with what they were doing, who knew?

Project Freelancer

Penn looked up when Cal came back and told him he needed his help. The man grinned when he was informed that one of the two Mongoose vehicles they brought with them needed a high explosive makeover. The followup on the chaos plan was them riding around, destroying everything in sight? Well, that was icing on the cake, and everyone could hear Penn laughing as he stood up and stretched, hauling the bag of explosives off the deckplate before speaking to Cal, already looking towards the two vehicles, one of which was about to get an extreme makeover. "Consider it done mate. Got a preference on which one doesn't get turned into a rolling bomb? Hell, this reminds me of an old job couple years back, before this whole Project business. Good times."

If Cal had a preference and voiced it, Penn would respect it. Otherwise, he set to work with some of the extra explosives he brought for the ocassion. First off, he lifted the metal coverings wherever he could, finding the empty spaces and voids underneath them and started packing them with explosives. Non volatile, granted, so a stray round wouldn't send it up prematurely, nor would bouncing around a lot. Penn saved the volatile stuff for missions where entry alone wouldn't risk detonating it all. Replacing the coverings, he rigged up a string of frags on each side, tucked safely away that the pins would pull on when the trigger signal was sent, priming them to detonate alongside the packed explosives, adding even more shrapnel to the mix then there already would be. It would take some time, granted, but it wasn't a new idea, rigging a dummy vehicle to explode. Standing up, his pack a lot lighter now, he dusted himself off and looked at his handiwork, noting you could almost not tell the thing was even more dangerous, just more so to everyone around them vice the riders. "And that's all she wrote on that one. You folks might not want to ride on that one, bit of a firecracker now."

Masagera: A Deep Sea Fantasy Adventure (Mer people, and other fantasy deep sea races abound)

Name: Orman Leomaris

Age: 47

Gender: Male

Race: Merfolk

Role/Skills: Orman's role within the Empire of Mer is a warrior scout, finding trouble well before it becomes a problem and alerting the Mer military of it before its too late. He can also fight alongside his more regular comrades in arms, in this capacity. As for skills, he has a very small set of skills, stemming from a long, traditional history of his family and military service.

Recon: First and foremost, the Leomaris family has long been trackers and hunters of the Mer empire. Each Leomaris of the family, even those who are not destined for military service, are trained in the art of tracking any query that might cross their path, and getting away unseen. From the safe and risky hiding locations, techniques for outswimming and manouvering larger, faster, or otherwise dangerous situations that warrant a fast withdraw. In these capacities, most of the Leomaris family could be levied as scouts in times of emergency, but for those going on to serve the Empire of Mer as warriors, their training is expanded to include the most potent and well guarded of secrets that the Leomaris use as trademarks of their work, making the few Leomaris that make their choice a military one far too few, and far more coveted than one would think.

Martial Prowess: When pressed into a corner, Orman has his dual training from both his family, the Leomaris, and the Mer military to thank for his talent. From the Mer military, he has learned to handle his hunting glaive, a traditional weapon of his family, with far more precision and defensive posturing, prolonging his staying power in a fight. From his family, he learned how to quickly identify and strike vital points on many kinds of foes, and rapidly learn when facing new or unfamiliar foes, how to strike to hurt. He wears almost no armor, and little clothing beyond that, to land each harpoon he has with precision, and how to give it maximum distance through the water to reach as far as it can without losing too much of its punch, each barbed harpoon capable of lodging and hamstringing the movement of many foes.

Magic: N/A

History: The Leomaris family has a long standing, proud tradition of service to the Empire of Mer, with some historians capable of tracing their roots back as one of the early, if not one of the founding, families that first formed the once nascent Empire of Mer. Acting as the premier hunters and trackers of many Mer operations, a Leomaris hunter is well appreciated, as they often bring in the most non organic food in any given settlement, and help provide some of the rarest delicies known to the Empire, having secret knowledge of old hunting grounds and ancient places forgotten, where only the dead, the prey, and the rare Leomaris hunter might dare swim. Even rarer from the Leomaris are their scouts, the hunters who chose to dedicate their lives to the Empire of Mer military, providing a handful of the finest scouts and, when the need arises, hit and run warriors they might call upon.

Orman Leomaris is a direct descendent of the first known member of the Leomaris family, who held that honor alongside the first frontier scout of the Empire of Mer many cycles ago. Like his ancient forebearer so many years ago, Orman did not feel at ease just being a hunter, as he was raised and trained in the art of the Leomaris hunter. He was too keen to just content himself a hunter. Rather, he was always out exploring the old, forgotten paths throughout the world, narrowly avoiding the enemies of the Empire of Mer countless times, even as a youth. It was this and his near perfect recollection of such events that made the family elders decide the lad had only one path available for him. The Mer military, when Orman came of age and inherited his father's glaive, gladly accepted a Leomaris into their ranks, reassigning him as early as possible to their scouting corp.

Orman excelled far beyond what anyone expected, even amongst the Leomaris who were keeping an eye on the young merman. He was like a seaghost, haunting the places no other dared swim, for fear of their lives or worse, all the while Orman made a name for himself as he grew older and wiser, earning battle scars from skirmishes and fending off the odd Dark Dweller raid. He never speaks of what he has seen from these raids, seeming to grow uneasy and uncomfortable with such topics, citing what they left behind was not pretty. But this did not stop him from doing his job well, growing in increasingly senior ranks and roles within the Empire of Mer's scouts, and once he came of age, was given command of a team of fellow scouts. Although Orman rarely was able to be found, often times busy organizing or scouting on his own, the merman no doubt had the best interests of the Empire in his heart and mind whenever he was on the job, and for good or ill, he would see these through until fate stole his life from him.

Appearance:


Other: Orman is rarely, if ever, parted from his hunting glaive, a weapon passed down from father to son for countless generations now, and the weapon has seen more bloodshed than most denizens of the Empire of Mer could ever remember.

Masagera: A Deep Sea Fantasy Adventure (Mer people, and other fantasy deep sea races abound)

And I have a CS done, finally.

Orman Leomaris

Name: Orman Leomaris

Age: 47

Gender: Male

Race: Merfolk

Role/Skills: Orman's role within the Empire of Mer is a warrior scout, finding trouble well before it becomes a problem and alerting the Mer military of it before its too late. He can also fight alongside his more regular comrades in arms, in this capacity. As for skills, he has a very small set of skills, stemming from a long, traditional history of his family and military service.

Recon: First and foremost, the Leomaris family has long been trackers and hunters of the Mer empire. Each Leomaris of the family, even those who are not destined for military service, are trained in the art of tracking any query that might cross their path, and getting away unseen. From the safe and risky hiding locations, techniques for outswimming and manouvering larger, faster, or otherwise dangerous situations that warrant a fast withdraw. In these capacities, most of the Leomaris family could be levied as scouts in times of emergency, but for those going on to serve the Empire of Mer as warriors, their training is expanded to include the most potent and well guarded of secrets that the Leomaris use as trademarks of their work, making the few Leomaris that make their choice a military one far too few, and far more coveted than one would think.

Martial Prowess: When pressed into a corner, Orman has his dual training from both his family, the Leomaris, and the Mer military to thank for his talent. From the Mer military, he has learned to handle his hunting glaive, a traditional weapon of his family, with far more precision and defensive posturing, prolonging his staying power in a fight. From his family, he learned how to quickly identify and strike vital points on many kinds of foes, and rapidly learn when facing new or unfamiliar foes, how to strike to hurt. He wears almost no armor, and little clothing beyond that, to land each harpoon he has with precision, and how to give it maximum distance through the water to reach as far as it can without losing too much of its punch, each barbed harpoon capable of lodging and hamstringing the movement of many foes.

Magic: N/A

History: The Leomaris family has a long standing, proud tradition of service to the Empire of Mer, with some historians capable of tracing their roots back as one of the early, if not one of the founding, families that first formed the once nascent Empire of Mer. Acting as the premier hunters and trackers of many Mer operations, a Leomaris hunter is well appreciated, as they often bring in the most non organic food in any given settlement, and help provide some of the rarest delicies known to the Empire, having secret knowledge of old hunting grounds and ancient places forgotten, where only the dead, the prey, and the rare Leomaris hunter might dare swim. Even rarer from the Leomaris are their scouts, the hunters who chose to dedicate their lives to the Empire of Mer military, providing a handful of the finest scouts and, when the need arises, hit and run warriors they might call upon.

Orman Leomaris is a direct descendent of the first known member of the Leomaris family, who held that honor alongside the first frontier scout of the Empire of Mer many cycles ago. Like his ancient forebearer so many years ago, Orman did not feel at ease just being a hunter, as he was raised and trained in the art of the Leomaris hunter. He was too keen to just content himself a hunter. Rather, he was always out exploring the old, forgotten paths throughout the world, narrowly avoiding the enemies of the Empire of Mer countless times, even as a youth. It was this and his near perfect recollection of such events that made the family elders decide the lad had only one path available for him. The Mer military, when Orman came of age and inherited his father's glaive, gladly accepted a Leomaris into their ranks, reassigning him as early as possible to their scouting corp.

Orman excelled far beyond what anyone expected, even amongst the Leomaris who were keeping an eye on the young merman. He was like a seaghost, haunting the places no other dared swim, for fear of their lives or worse, all the while Orman made a name for himself as he grew older and wiser, earning battle scars from skirmishes and fending off the odd Dark Dweller raid. He never speaks of what he has seen from these raids, seeming to grow uneasy and uncomfortable with such topics, citing what they left behind was not pretty. But this did not stop him from doing his job well, growing in increasingly senior ranks and roles within the Empire of Mer's scouts, and once he came of age, was given command of a team of fellow scouts. Although Orman rarely was able to be found, often times busy organizing or scouting on his own, the merman no doubt had the best interests of the Empire in his heart and mind whenever he was on the job, and for good or ill, he would see these through until fate stole his life from him.

Appearance:


Other: Orman is rarely, if ever, parted from his hunting glaive, a weapon passed down from father to son for countless generations now, and the weapon has seen more bloodshed than most denizens of the Empire of Mer could ever remember.

Masagera: A Deep Sea Fantasy Adventure (Mer people, and other fantasy deep sea races abound)

You have my interest.