Eisenhorn

Torchlight

Alright, I will have a post up either tonight or tomorrow at the latest.

Unheroic: The Fish and The Falls [Closed]

Arms of Steel, Now to find their first Test...

Apparently that fancy runed, gilded war anchor wasn't hers? Well, far as Jericho was concerned, it was likely a straight upgrade so he would leave it at that. Once the weapons were put out, however, a rare open grin was present on his face as he stepped over to weigh the various arming swords and daggers in each hand, eventually settling on a pair that complimented each other nicely. Hooking the sheathes of both blades to his left hip, preferring to draw them as such, he was content enough when another offer to lighten the load on bedrolls, general camping supplies, and the like. "Ye lot are rig't proper c'aritable, aren' ye? But a' reckon we can ligt'en the load a touc'." He would grab a bedroll and some other utilities, flint and a striker, and the like. He wasn't one for tents, sneak under a overhanging building in the slums if he had to rough it outside. He recognized the attempts to disengage though, and wasted no further of the man's time, having kitted out as he saw fit and was indeed about to turn and leave when another from the adjoining room came over to check on them.

In all reality, Jericho was mostly surprised it had taken them this long to even bother checking up on the scoundrel and a drowned lass. He promptly went rooting and the foreman fellow went ranting off about some complete bullshit, shenanigans, or the like near as he could tell. Then again, lying came as easy as breathing far as Jericho was concerned, so he did not readily fault the newt fellow for his story being...flexible. Though when presented with a backpack that, apparently, seemed to have more room than something its size could possibly allow, he was immediately wary of it. Reeked of the work of Magicians, fiddling with things well and truly beyond what they should be. That being said, he warily took the bag, before tossing it over to the new fellow once he had gotten the lad's attention. "'ere lad, w'y don' ye carry t'is? Wouldn' want a disreputable fella like me carrin' it, aye?" The smirk hinted that he was joking, though whether or not it was a joke at his nature, or a joke at the fact he looked disreputable as all hell, remained to be seen. That, and he couldn't be arsed to carry everyone's stuff, so he palmed that duty off right quick.

Torchlight

Name:
"Name's Voss."

Class:
"Your kind refer to me as Barbarian, so that will suffice."

Devotion:
"Many of my kinsman favor Ragnarok, but I pledge myself to Kessel."

Familiar:
"I am not Druz Tassa, it is not my place to command the beasts."

Spell List:
"I wield not the otherworldly fury of the Julda."

Backstory:
To the south east, several weeks of hard travel away, are wide and arid deserts that house various tribes of natives to the land. These men, considered little more than simple minded savages playing in the sand, maintain a proud, nomadic culture that often puts the needs of the many ahead of the few. Each tribe follows a larger, ruling caste that tend to form their own pseudo tribe to better lead their people. This is a native form of preventing any one group from holding too much power, as the warrior tribes cannot trade, farm, teach, or otherwise act as a civilized people to anywhere close to the same degree as the tribes that practice the native faiths and magics of the land. Warriors of these southern desert dwellers are trained to be light on their feet, as heavy armor would simply bog them down in the sand and open plains that break up the sand and leave them open targets. Such a life is from where Voss hails from, though why he chose to leave remains a closely guarded secret.

The reality is that Voss is under the command of one of the Julda, literally Sand Prophets, who tend to hold the real power in the society, even if the ruling caste are the faces of the tribes. As a warrior, one of Voss' duties was to protect and defend those of importance, even against the machinations of others within the tribes. He had been a skilled fighter, light on his feet and strong of arm and shield, doing the dance of war that his people practiced. Fade back, braced for the attack, and ducking forward after weathering the storm. Voss was an oddity among his kind, as most of the warrior cast followed their version of Ragnarok, while Voss favored a nameless god, one who was yet considered powerful as most would not invoke their name, and yet hope they had their blessing. Kessel, god of fortune, and given the warrior way of his people, which incorporates heavy amounts of bleeding. A man who is bleeding uncontrollably from a wound cannot readily fight.

Voss was assigned to a Vur Julda that most distrusted, if not outright reviled, as the guardian of their well being. This Vur Julda was dabbling in what was considered godless arts, yet the ruling cast deemed the efforts worthy of protection. So despite misgivings, Voss had to protect the Vur Julda from the efforts of even his own kinsman in their efforts to challenge and slay what was foreseen as a madman. Eventually, Voss would find the Vur Julda in heated debate with another of his caste, and his charge attempted to strike his fellow caste member down with powers that no god could ever grant, be it religious or otherwise. This left Voss with a dilemma, his honor demanded he protect the female Julda from his charge's attack. Yet, his place in the tribe demanded he stand by and let it happen. Voss chose to slit the throat of his charge, drawing the razor sharp steel across the stunned Vur Julda's throat. He was then taken into captivity, held while the ruling caste argued with his warrior caste.

The incident split the tribes evenly down the middle. One side, led by the ruling tribe, by their tongue the Kastan, argued he had betrayed his oaths and acted selfishly. The other, led by the warrior tribes, by their tongue the Bala Tinva, claimed that the attempt on a fellow Julda's life invalidated the oaths that Voss had been forced to swear, and he had been honor bound to act as he had. The strife was eventually ended, before it came to violence, by the Julda tribe. They decreed that the dark arts that the Vur Julda had endangered the tribes and Voss had acted justly. However, to keep the peace, Voss was oath sworn to the Julda who he had saved the life of. She had foreseen trouble in the northern lands of outsiders, and until now had nothing but her complaints to satisfy her. Now she had a oath sworn of the Bala Tinva, and she tasked him with heading north to offer his sword in preventing the madness she foresaw, and had left her unstable at the best of times. Voss would follow his orders, departing and learning the northern outsider terms and language for things along the way, and added to what his Julda had taught him, learning of a King's Call. This surely was the place that his Julda claimed he had to go and prevent disaster at. So, he went, and that was the first step on a path of redemption, according to his tribe and people.

Torchlight

Alright, got my fellow sorted. I also have no problem with another person joining in. (And I do have a growing lexicon of translations for Voss' tribal language for consistency's sake.)

CS

Name:
"Name's Voss."

Class:
"Your kind refer to me as Barbarian, so that will suffice."

Devotion:
"Many of my kinsman favor Ragnarok, but I pledge myself to Kessel."

Familiar:
"I am not Druz Tassa, it is not my place to command the beasts."

Spell List:
"I wield not the otherworldly fury of the Julda."

Backstory:
To the south east, several weeks of hard travel away, are wide and arid deserts that house various tribes of natives to the land. These men, considered little more than simple minded savages playing in the sand, maintain a proud, nomadic culture that often puts the needs of the many ahead of the few. Each tribe follows a larger, ruling caste that tend to form their own pseudo tribe to better lead their people. This is a native form of preventing any one group from holding too much power, as the warrior tribes cannot trade, farm, teach, or otherwise act as a civilized people to anywhere close to the same degree as the tribes that practice the native faiths and magics of the land. Warriors of these southern desert dwellers are trained to be light on their feet, as heavy armor would simply bog them down in the sand and open plains that break up the sand and leave them open targets. Such a life is from where Voss hails from, though why he chose to leave remains a closely guarded secret.

The reality is that Voss is under the command of one of the Julda, literally Sand Prophets, who tend to hold the real power in the society, even if the ruling caste are the faces of the tribes. As a warrior, one of Voss' duties was to protect and defend those of importance, even against the machinations of others within the tribes. He had been a skilled fighter, light on his feet and strong of arm and shield, doing the dance of war that his people practiced. Fade back, braced for the attack, and ducking forward after weathering the storm. Voss was an oddity among his kind, as most of the warrior cast followed their version of Ragnarok, while Voss favored a nameless god, one who was yet considered powerful as most would not invoke their name, and yet hope they had their blessing. Kessel, god of fortune, and given the warrior way of his people, which incorporates heavy amounts of bleeding. A man who is bleeding uncontrollably from a wound cannot readily fight.

Voss was assigned to a Vur Julda that most distrusted, if not outright reviled, as the guardian of their well being. This Vur Julda was dabbling in what was considered godless arts, yet the ruling cast deemed the efforts worthy of protection. So despite misgivings, Voss had to protect the Vur Julda from the efforts of even his own kinsman in their efforts to challenge and slay what was foreseen as a madman. Eventually, Voss would find the Vur Julda in heated debate with another of his caste, and his charge attempted to strike his fellow caste member down with powers that no god could ever grant, be it religious or otherwise. This left Voss with a dilemma, his honor demanded he protect the female Julda from his charge's attack. Yet, his place in the tribe demanded he stand by and let it happen. Voss chose to slit the throat of his charge, drawing the razor sharp steel across the stunned Vur Julda's throat. He was then taken into captivity, held while the ruling caste argued with his warrior caste.

The incident split the tribes evenly down the middle. One side, led by the ruling tribe, by their tongue the Kastan, argued he had betrayed his oaths and acted selfishly. The other, led by the warrior tribes, by their tongue the Bala Tinva, claimed that the attempt on a fellow Julda's life invalidated the oaths that Voss had been forced to swear, and he had been honor bound to act as he had. The strife was eventually ended, before it came to violence, by the Julda tribe. They decreed that the dark arts that the Vur Julda had endangered the tribes and Voss had acted justly. However, to keep the peace, Voss was oath sworn to the Julda who he had saved the life of. She had foreseen trouble in the northern lands of outsiders, and until now had nothing but her complaints to satisfy her. Now she had a oath sworn of the Bala Tinva, and she tasked him with heading north to offer his sword in preventing the madness she foresaw, and had left her unstable at the best of times. Voss would follow his orders, departing and learning the northern outsider terms and language for things along the way, and added to what his Julda had taught him, learning of a King's Call. This surely was the place that his Julda claimed he had to go and prevent disaster at. So, he went, and that was the first step on a path of redemption, according to his tribe and people.

Torchlight

I am putting someone new together, but expect to see him done sometime today.

Torchlight (based off of Darkest Dungeons)

Still living the dream, best I can mate, yourself?

Unheroic: The Fish and The Falls [Closed]

Heirlooms Safely Reclaimed, and Recognition Realized...

Jericho had quickly retrieved his pipe, relieved to have his lucky pipe, taking it out of the box and pocketed it in the meantime. Sure, he never had carried it in that nice of a case, but now that he had it in hand, he started checking his pockets, seeing if they had stolen his tobacco too. Then he would need a light as well then, but all one step at a time. Matches were easy to get a hold of, usually, and they had the torches still so he could carefully do something with one of those if he needed to. However, he quickly noticed the shift in the demeanor of the fellow in front of him, seeming to get more excited and less jaded than before while several others behind him seemed to figure out the concept of a anchor and fled to apparently work on those as well. He was asked after who had freed him, needing to shake their hand, and he kept an easy, relaxed expression and stance while he held his pipe as a matter of comfort and habit, since his tobacco was missing as well. At this rate, he should be relieved he woke up with his clothes on. "Ain' jus' the two o' us eit'er, handful o' us in the next room over. Our 'elper is recouping o'er t'ere. T'ey may be a touc' jumpy rig't now, given t'e trouble we ran int' gettin' t'is far."

Of course, given how fast the sodding anchor was built for the drowned lass, it did remind him that he was going to have to be armed as well, given the violent breakout. Returning his pipe to his pocket, and letting his hands rest there, he looked at the steady craftsmanship on the anchor, as the salamanders began writing strange, foreign symbols along the crest of the war anchor. He had to tack on war to the beginning of that, since it did not look like something you would put on a ship to use conventionally. Turning to look back at the foreman, leader fellow, he resumed talking. "Aye, t'e more we know, t'e better. An I reckon a'll need a sword an dagger t' get stuck in. E'en if s'e's got a sodding anc'or as a weapon..."

Torchlight (based off of Darkest Dungeons)

I am here as well, sure as sure.

Unheroic: The Fish and The Falls [Closed]

Items Found, Yet Far from Grasp...

Jericho cocked an eyebrow at the remark of cracking it over a knee and tossing it into the sewer, though he kept his temper since that, despite wanting to jump to conclusions, was unlikely. He also made damn sure that he didn't make a remark on the girlfriend bit, as he did not even want to begin to imagine the logistics behind how that would even work. Given she was a good several inches taller, and had nearly slapped his face clean off already, that would be a very strange relationship indeed. Of course, the lack of a pulse might complicate things, but devil was always in the details. When she asked over her own equipment, an anchor and armor, he couldn't help but glance over at her, cocking an eyebrow. A sodding anchor? Thing used to hold ships in place? Given the manner she had fought so far, well, he couldn't say it was a complete surprise, but he still was not expecting her to just pick up a sodding anchor when she had a perfectly serviceable mace. "A soddin' anchor, lass? T' each t'eir own, a' s'pose. Also watc' t'em 'ands, savvy? Near took my nose clean off." Though the questioning of whether the war was done or not, what with all the bastard was dragging back, probably alluded to Kazzok, though he didn't speak the name out loud. "Can't say, mate, far as a' know,'e's still at it all t'e same. Mentioned somet'in' 'bout an ol' king, bless 'is soul?" Might as well gather information while he was here, not like he was going to likely get answers from much else right now. Their rescuer could barely speak, having to use stolen words to try to communicate, so that left a lot to be desired in terms of information.

A crooked grin appeared on Jericho's face when his old pipe was revealed to him, settled in a nice wooden box in red velvet. Someone thought it was bloody important, and given the faded niceties and engravings, one might even think it was an old item of some import. Shame it was just a lucky hand me down, but he had been rather ticked his pipe was missing up until now. Who steals a mans pipe? "Aye, t'at would be it. Good t'ing we stopped on by 'fore it got packed away, e'?" That latter bit was a general remark, though one could understandably see it directed at whoever wanted to take it as such.

Unheroic: The Fish and The Falls [Closed]

Heirlooms Hinted At, and Focus Reestablished...

Upon entering the storeroom, or what had appeared to be a store room, he was quickly confronted with some short, newt looking abomination clad in leather, but he kept his face even upon sighting an all too familiar sight. His pipe, no, not his pipe, but a replica of it. Someone had either shown it to this thing, or it had seen his pipe closely enough to make a near flawless replica of it. Given how new it looked, either it had not been too long since it had been replicated, or it did not see that much wear and tear in the hands of this newt thing. Smirking faintly at the accented barks, using the back of his heel to push the door shut, better to stay on this things good side until he could get his hands back on that pipe. Besides, if things went south, that was what the drowned lass was for. Between her brute force and the two handed mace, he would barely be needed at all. Convenient she decided to come along then, and all the more reason he had made sure to bring an extra pair of hands just in case, no telling what these things could be capable of if they got violent.

"I'll save th' checkin' out of yer tits for another time, mate. Clever replica o' a pipe ye got t'ere, w'at happened t' the original? Just mig't be interested in gettin' my 'ands on it, aye?" While waiting for an answer, he could see others poking there heads out, muttering and otherwise watching the sudden shouting and the two newcomers to their area. This could get nasty if the foreman wanted it to be loud and nasty, but as far as Jericho was concerned, he was sure they could to some sort of arrangement. Business was business, wherever you went, and from the looks of things, this was just another one of those businesses. Sure, the face was different, but he could work with this. Wasn't foreign to seedy dives and sketchy dealers in artifice of unknown quality. For now, he would keep a sharp eye on his surroundings, and if things went south, hell, he could always take cover behind the drowned lass as she went rampaging. Or she was going to go rampaging anyways, and he would have to extract the answers out of any survivors he could get his hands on. Preferably that wouldn't be the case, at least not as a first resort.