"It's just a flesh wound."
"...your arm's off!""
"I have enough potions."
"...your arm's off!""
"I have enough potions."
Oak7ree
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Mr. Rock n' Roller
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Bio
Shortly.
Just a regular university student, majoring in hospitality and tourism. Also a history and trivial knowledge nerd, aircraft aficionado, occasional trekker and a D&D player.
Just a regular university student, majoring in hospitality and tourism. Also a history and trivial knowledge nerd, aircraft aficionado, occasional trekker and a D&D player.
Most Recent Posts
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Headache was the first word that popped into Felix' head when he started to wake up. His head was pounding, like on a morning after drinking too much Nord Mead. The world was all grey and black, without colours. Felix could hear sounds, a blurry bundle of voices talking, the wind was howling. He was being carried on someone's shoulders, tied and bound like a pig ready to be slaughtered. On his cheek a blood stain had dried, but it seemed that his head was fine.
There were three men, Felix noticed as his vision improved. He couldn't see them clearly in the night, but the stars were alight, and lighted their steps in the hilly terrain. "Carry on, Buttercup, we're almost at our post" one of the Forsworn said. "Soon we could can roast him on the fire and interrogate him about the camp's defence."
"Don't call me that, you know how much I hate that name. Next time I'll throw you down a cliff" the man who had been called the Buttercup grunted. "You don't have to carry a burden."
"Have it then by your way, Conan, but next time, don't miss with the bow. Arrows like the one you missed aren't very common in caravans." The men continued in silence, only grunting and panting while running and walking toward their post, where ever that was.
Felix tried to keep his calm. He wasn't dead yet, and it was quite comfortable to be on someone's shoulders. The man who carried him was a large one, and thick with muscle. It seemed that he could navigate through the hilly terrain as easily as a mountain goat.
Heck Felix, you just keep on running into trouble, but it could be worse, he thought, trying to reassure himself. Just keep the act on and you'll survive this. His legs felt numb, mostly because the rope around his legs were so tight. He didn't dare to move them, fearing that the men noticed he had awoken.
The climbing just went on and on, and the trio stopped only a couple times to catch some breath or to figure out a path. When Felix was thinking that the climbing and running wouldn't end, they halted for good and he was put down. Conan the Buttercup wasn't very gentle at it, and Felix grunted noisily. "Ouch!" he almost howled.
"Oh, the bastard is finally awake. Do you want to wake the whole countryside?" one of the other men asked rhetorically. "Deeds like that often make living men dead."
Act cool. "Well, try yourself being tied and bound for gods know how long, and don't complain" Felix said without much of a thought. He was numb and hurt, and his fast tongue had always been his worst enemy.
"A spiky one, aren't you? A true fighter" the man said, with a voice full of pride and mocking tone. Felix saw that he had a fine steel armour and a black iron sword. His face was hidden in the darkness. "Your handiwork was just bad. Luckily, we needed a captive to be interrogated, and you were the right man at the wrong place. Now, tell us how the camp is defended. How the guards hold watches, start from that. If we like your answers, we might just cut off your legs instead of roasting you alive on a fire. Your choice."
I have no option but to lie, but that's what I was taught to do my entire life. To lie and tell stories. Felix started to talk, telling all kinds of lies and weaved a net like none other. And the Forsworn believed him.
There were three men, Felix noticed as his vision improved. He couldn't see them clearly in the night, but the stars were alight, and lighted their steps in the hilly terrain. "Carry on, Buttercup, we're almost at our post" one of the Forsworn said. "Soon we could can roast him on the fire and interrogate him about the camp's defence."
"Don't call me that, you know how much I hate that name. Next time I'll throw you down a cliff" the man who had been called the Buttercup grunted. "You don't have to carry a burden."
"Have it then by your way, Conan, but next time, don't miss with the bow. Arrows like the one you missed aren't very common in caravans." The men continued in silence, only grunting and panting while running and walking toward their post, where ever that was.
Felix tried to keep his calm. He wasn't dead yet, and it was quite comfortable to be on someone's shoulders. The man who carried him was a large one, and thick with muscle. It seemed that he could navigate through the hilly terrain as easily as a mountain goat.
Heck Felix, you just keep on running into trouble, but it could be worse, he thought, trying to reassure himself. Just keep the act on and you'll survive this. His legs felt numb, mostly because the rope around his legs were so tight. He didn't dare to move them, fearing that the men noticed he had awoken.
The climbing just went on and on, and the trio stopped only a couple times to catch some breath or to figure out a path. When Felix was thinking that the climbing and running wouldn't end, they halted for good and he was put down. Conan the Buttercup wasn't very gentle at it, and Felix grunted noisily. "Ouch!" he almost howled.
"Oh, the bastard is finally awake. Do you want to wake the whole countryside?" one of the other men asked rhetorically. "Deeds like that often make living men dead."
Act cool. "Well, try yourself being tied and bound for gods know how long, and don't complain" Felix said without much of a thought. He was numb and hurt, and his fast tongue had always been his worst enemy.
"A spiky one, aren't you? A true fighter" the man said, with a voice full of pride and mocking tone. Felix saw that he had a fine steel armour and a black iron sword. His face was hidden in the darkness. "Your handiwork was just bad. Luckily, we needed a captive to be interrogated, and you were the right man at the wrong place. Now, tell us how the camp is defended. How the guards hold watches, start from that. If we like your answers, we might just cut off your legs instead of roasting you alive on a fire. Your choice."
I have no option but to lie, but that's what I was taught to do my entire life. To lie and tell stories. Felix started to talk, telling all kinds of lies and weaved a net like none other. And the Forsworn believed him.
Are you posting your first IC today?
I am always open suggestions and feedback, Lexinton Lexicon, and I promise not to be too oppressive and evil Game Master.
Now, we have the first IC post!
The Dark Age of Brythunnia
It was an evening when Lord Rickard paced through the hallway towards the king's bedchamber. It was hot inside the Aed's Keep that stood in the central hill of Lundine. It was almost the midsummer, and the day was at its longest. His nephew had summoned him for an urgent meeting, and Rickard, being the royal adviser, had followed the order. It was his duty as the uncle and as the king's adviser, although Rickard didn't know if his nephew ever really needed his advice. He was an intelligent young man, who often was more acquainted with this or than matter than his adviser or his council. And really a pedant if he wanted so, Rickard thought.
The hallway leading to the bedchamber was spacious, well-lit and long, and decorated with tapestries on the wall. They depicted dragons and battles, the thousand-year history of Brythunnia and its kings and queens. Some of them were centuries old, and filled any gazer with excitement to learn more about the pictures. Or so they had done with Rickard when he had seen them the first time as a boy.
Lord Rickard walked naturally with long strides, but he slowed down to watch the tapestries for a while longer. In one picture, Hildebrand the Dragonslayer stood defiant against Aed the Lion. In the next, Hildebrand laid in the ground a longsword buried in his belly after the battle of Camlainn. Rickard stopped for a second before continuing and examined the tapestry. What did Hildebrand think when he knew he had lost?
He brushed the thought away and walked to the bedchamber's door. It was a thick door made of oak, with iron reinforcements. Two guardsmen stood vigilant, spears at hand and swords on their hips. They moved aside without a word, when they recognized Rickard. Being the king's uncle had its perks. Rickard opened the door and entered the bedchamber. "Duncan", Rickard started. "I am here." There was no answer, as usually. Often, when Duncan wrote something, he would concentrate on the writing wholly.
The bedchamber was a round room with small arrow slits on the wall. It had a stoic furniture, only a bed and a couple chairs. Duncan hadn't wanted to use his father's old, more spacious bedchamber, but preferred using the one he had used since childhood. He had enough room and no need to move, Duncan had argued, and who could argue with a king?
Adjacent to the bedchamber, there was also a privy and a small study room. Rickard found Duncan sitting beside his desk in the study room, writing a letter. He was as concentrated as always. Rickard walked behind his nephew and couched noisily. Finally, Duncan put away his quill and turned to face Rickard. "Uncle, it's good that you came so fast here. I have a couple questions concerning my father."
Rickard already knew what Duncan meant with these questions. His father, King Aedin had been a man of big taste for women, and it wasn't a secret that he had had many mistresses. Aedin had died in the Northern War, and as far as Rickard knew he had never talked much about his secret love life to his son. "Go ahead, Duncan. What on your mind?"
Duncan fixed his deep green eyes on Rickard. "I believe I have located one of my father's bastards, my half-brother by a woman named Luciena Cain. Ever heard of her?"
"A former courtier who lived here a couple decades ago. Her brother Kaldian was a captain in your grandfather's army, I believe", Rickard said. He saw no point of hiding the truth from Duncan, as he was a talent to detect lies small and great. "What I have heard, she died years ago, and Kaldian took care of her son. His name is Jaden, I believe."
"Jaden Cain, yes. My father discussed that on a letter I found after his death."
That came as a surprise to Rickard. He hadn't about any letter. "On a letter? What letter?"
Duncan rubbed his jaw, red and raw from the shaving. "Father wrote a letter where he told about one of his bastards. He left it at his bedchamber for me to find when he marched to war to the south. I found it a few weeks ago by accident."
"What are you going to do with this information?" Rickard asked, although he could guess what his nephew was going to do.
"I want you take this letter and give it to Lady Catherine du Aren. I believe she's been itching to get back to the Southern Marches to punish an unruly castellan." Duncan gave the letter Rickard. It was still unsealed. "This is what I am going to do with that information."
Rickard read the letter in his mind. "Dear Lady Night, your next assignment is to find King Aedin's bastard son named Jaden Cain, who lives in the Dragon Mountains, and either capture him, kill him if he resists or at least try to secure information about his fate if he has died or lost. Your reward will be higher if you can bring him alive to me, for the reasons of state. According to my knowledge, his mother was a courtier named Luciena Cain, but she has been dead for years. He has ever since apparently lived with his uncle Kaldian Cain. I have woven a cover story for Catherine du Aren. She is to travel to the Southern Marches to her estates to punish her castellan who is rumoured to be an embezzler. Travel to the Dragon Mountains as soon as possible, and burn this letter before leaving."
"Are you sure about this? Some stones are better left unturned" Rickard said. He didn't mind killing his enemies, but he preferred doing so by himself, not by some hired dagger, let alone by an assassin. "What are you going to do with him when Claret brings him here?"
"Yes, I am hundred percent sure. Who is going to replace me if I die before fathering an heir? You? Everyone knows what you think of managing the kingdom. And I want to assess his worth and quality, if he has any, with my own eyes."
Rickard was doubtful, but Duncan was his king. He handed the letter back to him. "Seal this letter, and I take it personally to Lady Catherine right away."
It took a while to seal the letter with wax, and then Rickard left his nephew's bedchamber, marching with the same long strides and watching the same tapestries as he had seen a few moments ago.
It was an evening when Lord Rickard paced through the hallway towards the king's bedchamber. It was hot inside the Aed's Keep that stood in the central hill of Lundine. It was almost the midsummer, and the day was at its longest. His nephew had summoned him for an urgent meeting, and Rickard, being the royal adviser, had followed the order. It was his duty as the uncle and as the king's adviser, although Rickard didn't know if his nephew ever really needed his advice. He was an intelligent young man, who often was more acquainted with this or than matter than his adviser or his council. And really a pedant if he wanted so, Rickard thought.
The hallway leading to the bedchamber was spacious, well-lit and long, and decorated with tapestries on the wall. They depicted dragons and battles, the thousand-year history of Brythunnia and its kings and queens. Some of them were centuries old, and filled any gazer with excitement to learn more about the pictures. Or so they had done with Rickard when he had seen them the first time as a boy.
Lord Rickard walked naturally with long strides, but he slowed down to watch the tapestries for a while longer. In one picture, Hildebrand the Dragonslayer stood defiant against Aed the Lion. In the next, Hildebrand laid in the ground a longsword buried in his belly after the battle of Camlainn. Rickard stopped for a second before continuing and examined the tapestry. What did Hildebrand think when he knew he had lost?
He brushed the thought away and walked to the bedchamber's door. It was a thick door made of oak, with iron reinforcements. Two guardsmen stood vigilant, spears at hand and swords on their hips. They moved aside without a word, when they recognized Rickard. Being the king's uncle had its perks. Rickard opened the door and entered the bedchamber. "Duncan", Rickard started. "I am here." There was no answer, as usually. Often, when Duncan wrote something, he would concentrate on the writing wholly.
The bedchamber was a round room with small arrow slits on the wall. It had a stoic furniture, only a bed and a couple chairs. Duncan hadn't wanted to use his father's old, more spacious bedchamber, but preferred using the one he had used since childhood. He had enough room and no need to move, Duncan had argued, and who could argue with a king?
Adjacent to the bedchamber, there was also a privy and a small study room. Rickard found Duncan sitting beside his desk in the study room, writing a letter. He was as concentrated as always. Rickard walked behind his nephew and couched noisily. Finally, Duncan put away his quill and turned to face Rickard. "Uncle, it's good that you came so fast here. I have a couple questions concerning my father."
Rickard already knew what Duncan meant with these questions. His father, King Aedin had been a man of big taste for women, and it wasn't a secret that he had had many mistresses. Aedin had died in the Northern War, and as far as Rickard knew he had never talked much about his secret love life to his son. "Go ahead, Duncan. What on your mind?"
Duncan fixed his deep green eyes on Rickard. "I believe I have located one of my father's bastards, my half-brother by a woman named Luciena Cain. Ever heard of her?"
"A former courtier who lived here a couple decades ago. Her brother Kaldian was a captain in your grandfather's army, I believe", Rickard said. He saw no point of hiding the truth from Duncan, as he was a talent to detect lies small and great. "What I have heard, she died years ago, and Kaldian took care of her son. His name is Jaden, I believe."
"Jaden Cain, yes. My father discussed that on a letter I found after his death."
That came as a surprise to Rickard. He hadn't about any letter. "On a letter? What letter?"
Duncan rubbed his jaw, red and raw from the shaving. "Father wrote a letter where he told about one of his bastards. He left it at his bedchamber for me to find when he marched to war to the south. I found it a few weeks ago by accident."
"What are you going to do with this information?" Rickard asked, although he could guess what his nephew was going to do.
"I want you take this letter and give it to Lady Catherine du Aren. I believe she's been itching to get back to the Southern Marches to punish an unruly castellan." Duncan gave the letter Rickard. It was still unsealed. "This is what I am going to do with that information."
Rickard read the letter in his mind. "Dear Lady Night, your next assignment is to find King Aedin's bastard son named Jaden Cain, who lives in the Dragon Mountains, and either capture him, kill him if he resists or at least try to secure information about his fate if he has died or lost. Your reward will be higher if you can bring him alive to me, for the reasons of state. According to my knowledge, his mother was a courtier named Luciena Cain, but she has been dead for years. He has ever since apparently lived with his uncle Kaldian Cain. I have woven a cover story for Catherine du Aren. She is to travel to the Southern Marches to her estates to punish her castellan who is rumoured to be an embezzler. Travel to the Dragon Mountains as soon as possible, and burn this letter before leaving."
"Are you sure about this? Some stones are better left unturned" Rickard said. He didn't mind killing his enemies, but he preferred doing so by himself, not by some hired dagger, let alone by an assassin. "What are you going to do with him when Claret brings him here?"
"Yes, I am hundred percent sure. Who is going to replace me if I die before fathering an heir? You? Everyone knows what you think of managing the kingdom. And I want to assess his worth and quality, if he has any, with my own eyes."
Rickard was doubtful, but Duncan was his king. He handed the letter back to him. "Seal this letter, and I take it personally to Lady Catherine right away."
It took a while to seal the letter with wax, and then Rickard left his nephew's bedchamber, marching with the same long strides and watching the same tapestries as he had seen a few moments ago.
Okay, I'll try to write something.
@Sonatina Welcome back! Now I don't have to write another character. Also, I approve Claret.
That trilogy is among my favorite movies, and was one of the reasons why I started to read fantasy.
I am thinking of making another character to fill Claret's place if Sonatina doesn't show interest by tomorrow.
And to sidetrack, today I found the extended editions of the Lord of the Rings movies. I couldn't be happier!
And to sidetrack, today I found the extended editions of the Lord of the Rings movies. I couldn't be happier!
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