Partisan

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

So far I'm quite pleased with the posts! Good job.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

Ah, sorry. I couldn't really implement him as I had no idea where you'd have him start off. As far as the CS goes, it's good but the 'horsemen of the east' are more like nomads rather than scholars. Therefore he'd probably come from much much further east. And that leads me to wonder, how he got to the Whitelands as the trek across the continent is not something you can do on foot easily. That said we have quite a lot of scholars/scribes and what have ye. To be frank I had a lot of trouble writing in the ones that were there already as I don't know quite what they intend to do + they need interaction to keep stuff fun. I'm not quite sure how I could give you things to do without the tasks becoming mundane and boring. So if you are 100% sure you want to play this character I'll have to count on you doing something to get your own interaction as I don't know quite how to give it to you otherwise.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

I'd say it's autumn, going into winter soonish.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

Sorry, that should've taken me way shorter than it did. But there it is. I hope everyone has something to do ICly, if you don't please post here or PM me and we can try and figure out a way to get you in on the story. There were some characters that I didn't know how to implement/give any goals or tasks so please bear with me.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

With a firm but delicate stride Joakim marched through the hallways, causing a ruckus as he pushed aside a guardsman and servant who were conversing about a new sort of cheese. This all caused some chaos as the guard tripped over over his glaive, fell facefirst into a barrel and then continued his fall into a bucket of cleaning water. The servant rushed to help the guard, getting him on his feet again as the guard murmured something about apologies to lord regent Joakim. Lord regent, however, didn't seem to hear him as he continued his stampede down the halls. Passing a scribe of his, he raised his hand to him and gave out a command. “Send out a crow my uncle Favrin, marquis Gallatin, Baron Dennison and .. just call the banners!” The scribe raised a squeeky voice, trembling almost. “B-but my liege..” Joakim stopped dead in his tracks, turned around and walked closer. “Call the banners!” The scribe didn't answer, but simply bowed and ran off to write letters. Joakim continued down the hallway, somewhat more calm after yelling out his frustrations. He was headed for the gathering room, which was one of the simplest rooms in the entire keep as it's most prominent feature was probably the smaller version of the 'real throne,' seated at the end of the large table atthe center of the room. The bannermen would gather here to discuss whatever matters Joakim brought to the table. Crows flew from the keeps tower. The banners were called, and their feudal oath implored them to answer and ride for Wintershouse. After that the scribes would hurry across the keep and the village, calling to the keep the most important courtiers and servants. Evan Finn, the replacement of master scribe Barnabas who was unfit to attend. Joren Volkov, master at arms and commander of the garrison of Wintershouse. Briala Chesfield, the Lords' Huntsman. Over the course of a week the hall filled up, with the most northern bannermen sending envoys rather than coming themselves, as the trek would've taken even longer had they come in full ornament. The bannermen that had come were mostly earls and counts, baron Dennison and marquis Gallatin being notable exceptions, which were quite explainable due to their history with the weade and their precarious position within the court of Weades as they were direct vassals of the Weade's, rather than indirect through being a vassal of a count or earl. The opening ceremony was rather traditional, as always. Per custom of the house of Weade, all the earls and counts had to swear fealty to their new liegelord, or in this case the regent who represented lord Gregar. Joakim welcomed them, his voice shaking ever so slightly as he was not used to nor trained to speak in front of a crowd, especially not a crowd of important men. “W-welcome lords and ladies. I have called your banners today because..” Joakim fell silent for a moment, looking at the ground as he rest his fists on the thrones' armrests. A few of the counts started whispering and one of them even had the nerve to speak. “Get the hell on with it lad.. calling the banners is a serious manner, not some thing to do when you are bored.. I have my damn lands to tend to.” Some of them nodded in agreement, others chose to stay their tongue and pay due respect to the lord's son, who continued speaking. “If you had paid any attention to matters concering the realm rather than your own lands, you would've noticed my father and your liegelord Rikard had gone to serve the king in the Ironhill campaigns, ser Erik.” A silence fell over the crowd as Joakim continued, making it a point to keep his eyes fixed on ser Erik. “And perhaps you'd also have known that he fell in battle.” Several of the lords bowed their heads in respect, others were somewhat shaken by the sudden news of the death of their liegelord. Taking several minutes to give them some time to collect themselves, as well as give him some time to recover from his sudden outburst, he breathed in deeply and exhaled sharply. “Then I wish to collect your oaths of fealty to my brother, the rightful heir to duke Rikard, ser Gregar Weade of Wintershouse. Do you swear upon your dynasty to serve your liege into death of either side of this contract?” A silence creeped over the hall, eerie and eternal as only a moment of silence can make you feel in a moment of importance. Lord Erik, the rude count, stood up and put his left hand over his heart and the right rested on his sword. “Yes, I swear it on my heart and sword, may my dynasty rot if I commit betrayal!” He stood proudly, and Joakim nodded to him, implicitly thanking him for his correction of tone. The other lords followed suit, repeating his words and also holding their heart and sword. Getting that out of the way Joakim continued on with the more important matters at hand -- such as the letter lord Harrighfield sent to the keep after the death of ser Rikard. “Good, because we will need your oaths. Lord Perris of Harrighfield has sent us a letter shortly after we heard of the death of my father. It says.. he intends to take Wintershouse and claim the Whitelands. He uses the 'incapability to rule' of my brother Gregar as a ground for his claim. It seems the king has not interfered, even though this claim is unbased and unworthy. However.. he marches with an army.” The counts had mixed responses, some angry and some calm as they contemplated a proper course of action. Having spread the message that he'd have to spread, he gave the lords of the court some time to appeal their suggestions and ideas to him, and he made sure to include the courtiers into the list of people that were allowed to comment. Just as he was about to conclude the meeting, a messenger boy ran in, exhausted and panting heavily. As he caught his breath he muttered to the court. “L-lord Joakim! Ser Nigel of Northermoat has been captured by raiders, ser, and his wife requests your assistance.” Joakim looked over his courtroom of counts and earls and attempted to remember who the lord closest to Northermoat was. Earl Ramet had a decent sized barony near the small villagetown that was to be the place of capture, however earl Ramet had to make arrangements to send troops to Wintershouse from his main holding, the castle of Eyrewatch. As such, his forces in the barony would need a decent captain to deal with the raiders. “Ser Ramet, I trust you will not object if I use the forces in your barony nearby to free ser Nigel? Master Volkov,” he said as he turned in his throne to face the master at arms. “You will travel with me to Northermoat. I trust you can still ride a small horse, or a slow horse? I wouldn't want to overextend your leg.” Joakim smiled at the man as he faced back to the assembly. “Alright, thank you for coming today, lords, counts and other friends. You may return to your estates to prepare. Lord Gregar counts on you all.” As most of the earls, counts and other servants left the room, Joakim sighed deeply and got up, clearly shaken and tired from the whole assembly. However, there was a final thing he had to do. “Lady Briala, please go to the tavern in the village and ummm... make sure the counts' men don't cause any trouble.” As much as Joakim hated ordering people around and giving them mundane tasks, these things had to be done. Briala was a keen girl, however, and Joakim held some form of respect for her hunting capabilities. However, he was also under the impression that she was a man born in the wrong body, though he would never out such remarks to her. It was still strange to see a woman in a mans' position, but Joakim just decided to ignore it for now and let Gregar deal with it when he returned home. Gregar.. Joakim could sure use his clever sarcastical comments and cheesy grin right now. “Uncle,” he said as he adresed his uncle, count Favrin, just before the man left the room. “I feel like it might be worthwile to have you come with me to Northermoat. Please join me and ser Volkov.” His uncle was a bit detached from the family at times, or at the very least didn't quite fit in with Gregar and Joakim as the man was stern and serious. Never the less the man was a loyal servant for many years now and never seemed to hold a grudge against his brother, their father, for being first born. His experience was worth a lot, both on the battlefield and off it. Joakim turned to look where the scribe had gone, catching him in time and hailing him by raising his hand at him. “Scribe!” he said, not quite knowing the boys' name just yet as they wouldn't have interacted much before. “Please, fetch marquis Gallatin and show him the.. the book thing that you scribe people write down the money things in. Please inform him he is in command of the Wintershouse until I return. Assist him in anyway you can, and do everything he asks.” When he was finally done giving orders to those that needed them, he let out a sigh once again and slowly lowered himself into a more relaxed position on the throne. He took a few minutes to prepare himself before he got up and went to the courtyard, where he mounted his horse and waited for his uncle and the master-at-arms and their small retinue of 8 knights that would go with them as guards. If they left right now, the journey would take aproximately a day and a half to reach the small inlet of the icy plains where Northermoat was located. From there it was only an estimation of where the raiders would be, keeping ser Nigel hostage, no doubt for a fat purse.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

Well, since I gave you my skype account name, you can add me while I do the IC stuff.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

*Raises Hand* I don't do skype. :D

@Blue Demon

You rebel you.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

If anyone would be interested in such a thing I could start a skype group for coordinating stuff and also general talking. I've done that before and it was quite a help in organising, discussing and also just for keeping people interested. If you want in on it, add my skype: Vurige_Vos.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

The thing is, I didn't have specific positions in mind for people to fill. If you can create and make it work, go for it.

Surviving the Tide - a 1x1 apocalyptic survival roleplay

“I honestly can't tell. Maybe they are just travellers like us?” Well, Lutwig said that but he didn't really believe it. The way the man was dressed it was possible, but the woman looked like she had been living in a place that still acted like it was pre-apocalypse. Lutwig slowly backed away once Leeam had packed his bag and put it on his back -- Lutwig took this as a hint that it was time to leave. Reaching his own bag he quickly swung it around his arm and onto his back as well. Once he had done so he quickly moved back to the window and tapped Leeam's shoulder, signalling he was ready. Taking a final glare he could see another shadow slowly creeping in behind the two. The shadow was small, child-like, and moved slowly and even a bit sluggish at times. It's movements were careful however. “Leeam, look.” he said as he pointed out the small shadow. “A kid.” He couldn't of been more wrong and within a split second the shadow went from small to big, revealing a man that was crouching earlier, giving his shadow the childlike shape. A command was spit from his lips to the two figures. “Drop your weapons, now!” The man and woman turned around, raising their hands. They were obviously scared, the woman slowly backing off towards the man to get together with him. Lutwig grabbed Leeams shoulder and nodded towards the exit. They couldn't help even if they wanted to, but frankly Lutwig wasn't willing to risk it. “The gun is empty. Who still has working guns nowadays? They'll be fine.” The number of people that did was staggeringly low. Then again, they weren't in America where everybody and their mom could buy a gun. The guns you would see here sometimes would be low caliber handguns, police used handguns and hunting rifles and shotguns. Maybe some lucky sod got his hands on a military grade weapon after the apocalypse started. Lutwig made his way to the exit, staying somewhat low to avoid being spotted by the people across the gap. He went out the door, into a large, humid hallway with rotten carpet and rotten floorboards under that. Atleast one advantage of camping in this type of environment was that you could generally find some form of maggot in the rotten parts of a house. It was a nice addition to a can of food. Not that Lutwig preferred to eat maggots over a can of something more decent. Lutwig creeped his way across the hallway, dodging holes and weakspots in the floor as he passed them, heading for the stairwell so that they could go up, onto the roof and across a wooden beam to solid ground on the hill - or 'beach' as they should call it now. Once he went through the course, he felt relieved that he was finally touching some actual ground again. There was just something nice about dirt under your boots that he couldn't describe. Looking behind him to see if Leeam followed, he noticed that the man was still yelling orders at the man and woman in the other flat. A small lull in his orders gave Lutwig reason to keep walking, though the lull was then broken by a gunshot. A scream followed, loud crying by a woman and muffled coughs amplified by the surrounding silence and the acoustics of the flat they were in. Lutwig looked at Leeam with a concerned face, somewhat concerned about what just happened. Guess the gun was loaded after all.