@Crimson Paladin
would rather spend five hours getting smacked for 41s on Zulrah's "mage" phase
would rather spend five hours getting smacked for 41s on Zulrah's "mage" phase
HereComesTheSnow Member
dehydration expert
STATUS: all i've been trying to say is that Ethical Corruption has never been tried before you don't need to yell at me 18 days ago
- Last Seen: 2 hrs ago
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 4029 (0.93 / day)
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- HereComesTheSnow 12 yrs ago
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18 days ago
Current
all i've been trying to say is that Ethical Corruption has never been tried before you don't need to yell at me
1
like
2 mos ago
Just ran a stale yellow. Nobody on this website is doing it like me, sticking it to the man like me, blazing a trail against tyranny like me. the only thing revolutionary about you is your rhetoric
3
likes
3 mos ago
Takeru Segawa is the type of man they made myths out of. Intensely privileged to be able to say I watched him burn so bright as he did before going out with a win. I’ll miss you, hero.
4 mos ago
a frayed thread on the colorful tapestry of our existence, begging to be yanked until the whole thing unravels, a suggestive, inviting golden glow around the idea of leaking my buddy's DMs to his wife
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5 mos ago
I'm like the "conspicuously modded with multiple trojan backdoors skyrim save on your friend's screenshare stream" of white boys
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Most Recent Posts
honestly wishing we were ardougne but on the other hand i don't want to get locked in a house and pickpocketed until somebody gets a 99
Oh, we're Germany? I thought we were kinda French like the last one— works out fine for me, though. The Hungarian bits aren't even really a stretch anymore!
unless my memory's failing me, we didn't get much in the way of hints as to what we were looking for there
got kicked over to the opposite side of the field from you my b
ok im glad i wasn't the only one thinking it
lets beat that ass
lets beat that ass
I’m sure nobody’d mind
@jdh97@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR
"Of course not." he reassured. "I wouldn't dare neglect one chance for another."
Beyond that, preparations were swift. A few more knights split themselves amongst the four fronts, filing in behind the leaders with simple, brief words of assent. Just as well— any internal conflict on the ensuing front would create needless tension within their ranks, and potentially spoil the dominating victory that lied ahead. But Knights were professional even in the face of certain misgivings— none he himself held or knew any to hold against him, but those more plainly observed in his peers had been quelled in the face of imminent action.
They broke through the tree line once more, bandit camp now in sight. High above, Ter's iridescent wings fluttered, a spot of azure against the dimming orange sky that kept watchful eye upon the positions of their fellows and awaited the magical signals from their back lines, just as Sir Jerel had asked of him. While he was no falconer, Gerard found himself impressed by the obvious intelligence Ter seemed to display— it was a more complex command than "hunt for voles". It required more abstraction, by his reckoning, for the frame of mind for a bird of prey.
But he could ask such questions later. For now, everything should be in position. All that was left was the signal.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the battle to come.
For a moment of silence, the proverbial calm before the storm, there was a profound stillness in the now-night air. Despite neither having the eyes of Ter high above nor Tyaethe on the opposite flank, the roaring bonfire provided ample illumination for Sagramore to take in the encampment, take in his foes. Bandits, Jeremiah's army, milled about a coven of makeshift huts, tents, and other rudimentary, disposable or portable structures. They were unaware of what was to come, and upon the glorified chair of oak overlooking the bonfire, supposedly their "King"'s throne, there was nothing. Presumably he was amongst them. Perhaps near the rightward flank?
Should we be so lucky.
He saw a familiar sight upon their axes. Their spears. Their swords. Their sickles. Their armor. Their faces. Their hands.
Blood.
That blood he knew to be of either innocents, or those who had sworn to protect them. Those whose lives had been taken, were being brutalized, or worse by these unrepentant thugs. He knew well what bandits did to "prisoners" or "hostages"— lawless men saw no barriers beyond, if you were lucky enough to be perceived as "useful", killing you.
In spite of himself, young Gellért felt a familiar burning tar where his blood once ran calmly.
His grip around the longsword tightened as he returned his search towards the sky— for exactly THAT pinprick of light.
"Előre!"
With the roar of "forward" in his native tongue, punctuated by Ter's cry from high above, the coal-haired night threw himself fully towards the camp, steel ready to bite deep into all opposition and his fellows following swiftly behind, just as he knew Tyaethe's were upon the other end of the camp. Forget hammer and anvil— his full intent was to hammer them from both sides.
And should this Jeremiah show his mug within the reach of his blade, Segremors would waste no time in carving the title he so pompously adorned himself with right into his vulgar hide.
"Of course not." he reassured. "I wouldn't dare neglect one chance for another."
Beyond that, preparations were swift. A few more knights split themselves amongst the four fronts, filing in behind the leaders with simple, brief words of assent. Just as well— any internal conflict on the ensuing front would create needless tension within their ranks, and potentially spoil the dominating victory that lied ahead. But Knights were professional even in the face of certain misgivings— none he himself held or knew any to hold against him, but those more plainly observed in his peers had been quelled in the face of imminent action.
They broke through the tree line once more, bandit camp now in sight. High above, Ter's iridescent wings fluttered, a spot of azure against the dimming orange sky that kept watchful eye upon the positions of their fellows and awaited the magical signals from their back lines, just as Sir Jerel had asked of him. While he was no falconer, Gerard found himself impressed by the obvious intelligence Ter seemed to display— it was a more complex command than "hunt for voles". It required more abstraction, by his reckoning, for the frame of mind for a bird of prey.
But he could ask such questions later. For now, everything should be in position. All that was left was the signal.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the battle to come.
For a moment of silence, the proverbial calm before the storm, there was a profound stillness in the now-night air. Despite neither having the eyes of Ter high above nor Tyaethe on the opposite flank, the roaring bonfire provided ample illumination for Sagramore to take in the encampment, take in his foes. Bandits, Jeremiah's army, milled about a coven of makeshift huts, tents, and other rudimentary, disposable or portable structures. They were unaware of what was to come, and upon the glorified chair of oak overlooking the bonfire, supposedly their "King"'s throne, there was nothing. Presumably he was amongst them. Perhaps near the rightward flank?
Should we be so lucky.
He saw a familiar sight upon their axes. Their spears. Their swords. Their sickles. Their armor. Their faces. Their hands.
Blood.
That blood he knew to be of either innocents, or those who had sworn to protect them. Those whose lives had been taken, were being brutalized, or worse by these unrepentant thugs. He knew well what bandits did to "prisoners" or "hostages"— lawless men saw no barriers beyond, if you were lucky enough to be perceived as "useful", killing you.
In spite of himself, young Gellért felt a familiar burning tar where his blood once ran calmly.
His grip around the longsword tightened as he returned his search towards the sky— for exactly THAT pinprick of light.
"Előre!"
With the roar of "forward" in his native tongue, punctuated by Ter's cry from high above, the coal-haired night threw himself fully towards the camp, steel ready to bite deep into all opposition and his fellows following swiftly behind, just as he knew Tyaethe's were upon the other end of the camp. Forget hammer and anvil— his full intent was to hammer them from both sides.
And should this Jeremiah show his mug within the reach of his blade, Segremors would waste no time in carving the title he so pompously adorned himself with right into his vulgar hide.
Well.
"Of course, Sir Renar, Sir Jerel." he replied graciously, nodding to both in turn. "I would be honored."
It seemed the young Captain was still somewhat unfamiliar with the knights under her command— In appointing Gerard, at the very least, she was giving the responsibility to one of her greenest as opposed to a knight with more tenure and earned respect within the Order. For this to happen so soon was surprising. He had easily enough battle experience to wait for a signal and order a cavalry charge, that much was true enough, but he had in truth been more of a frontline fighter before knighthood— A man in decent armor pointed towards something that needed killing by men who stood in the position she had just thrust him into with much more experience. Much more than either of them.
A thousand miles and a single step, eh?
But Knighthood meant decisive action, and this was part of it. One order, one signal, one charge.
It served none for him to falter. His mission was so simple he could do the tasks it entailed in his sleep, and the companions who volunteered to his detachment deadly, self-sufficient men. If they would follow the Captain's appointment and freely offer to ride with him without issue, then his authority would not need to be hammered down upon them like it would upon the unruly miscreants he was used to. He had not survived in the fray for seven years thanks to any sort of folding under pressure, had he? A knight was a man with poise and dignity, and when the call was made, he would step to answer it with neither hesitation nor complaint.
And that would be it.
"Let's make haste, then. All others who would join me, fall in."
If the bandits they had encountered were any indication, he needed only worry about Jeremiah himself running to their flank— thereby leaving every other side open to the crushing force of the other three companies. A military force propped up by a singular fighter, exceptional or otherwise, could only work through a choke point— and this encompassing assault proved just the opposite. The man certainly could not be everywhere at once.
Without anyone breaking synchronization, the Iron Roses definitely could. Regarding that, he had an inkling of an idea.
"Sir Jerel, that falcon of yours— Would he be of any use in spotting and relaying our Captain's signal in the event we ourselves couldn't?"
@jdh97@Psyker Landshark
"Of course, Sir Renar, Sir Jerel." he replied graciously, nodding to both in turn. "I would be honored."
It seemed the young Captain was still somewhat unfamiliar with the knights under her command— In appointing Gerard, at the very least, she was giving the responsibility to one of her greenest as opposed to a knight with more tenure and earned respect within the Order. For this to happen so soon was surprising. He had easily enough battle experience to wait for a signal and order a cavalry charge, that much was true enough, but he had in truth been more of a frontline fighter before knighthood— A man in decent armor pointed towards something that needed killing by men who stood in the position she had just thrust him into with much more experience. Much more than either of them.
A thousand miles and a single step, eh?
But Knighthood meant decisive action, and this was part of it. One order, one signal, one charge.
It served none for him to falter. His mission was so simple he could do the tasks it entailed in his sleep, and the companions who volunteered to his detachment deadly, self-sufficient men. If they would follow the Captain's appointment and freely offer to ride with him without issue, then his authority would not need to be hammered down upon them like it would upon the unruly miscreants he was used to. He had not survived in the fray for seven years thanks to any sort of folding under pressure, had he? A knight was a man with poise and dignity, and when the call was made, he would step to answer it with neither hesitation nor complaint.
And that would be it.
"Let's make haste, then. All others who would join me, fall in."
If the bandits they had encountered were any indication, he needed only worry about Jeremiah himself running to their flank— thereby leaving every other side open to the crushing force of the other three companies. A military force propped up by a singular fighter, exceptional or otherwise, could only work through a choke point— and this encompassing assault proved just the opposite. The man certainly could not be everywhere at once.
Without anyone breaking synchronization, the Iron Roses definitely could. Regarding that, he had an inkling of an idea.
"Sir Jerel, that falcon of yours— Would he be of any use in spotting and relaying our Captain's signal in the event we ourselves couldn't?"
@jdh97@Psyker Landshark
Sorry, dealing with some roommate switches. Still here, looking to post again before the end of the week.
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