POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

He had no idea what had happened when Camilla tossed the comely waitress the copper piece. But he supposed he didn't need to know. Sometimes he did not know if Camilla confused him because she was Tilean, or because she was a woman. He supposed that was apart of what endeared him to her. He was experienced in many areas, and her in most things he most definitely was not. He kept his eyes off the buxom maid and strode outside into the morning sun.

As they walked, Cyrdic felt very much like Camilla took the lead. Though he was satisfied with that, truth be told. He seemed more like her vigilant guard, though they often shared jokes and coy smiles at references of their previous few weeks together. He bought a pair of apples and handed one to his traveling companion, enjoying the small treat, even if it didn't substitute a proper meal. All manner of citizens passed them by as the walked the streets, from an Estalian poet singing to the crowd, to a contingent of Knights of the White Wolf.

Soon they were at the jewelry section, and Cyrdic turned his back and simply gazed at the crowd while Camilla haggled. His cable-like muscles pronounced as his arms were crossed. He saw the tips of the Middenheim wall just past the buildings, always looking like it was a distant peak that surrounded a great stone valley. It made him feel at home, if he was being honest with him. Next, his eyes fell downward, and he spotted what Camilla had. Some grey cloaked figure at the edge of his vision, that suddenly disappeared.

He turned to her when she asked him what they should do next. "Food sounds good. I could eat an ox," he told her. She handed him the coin they had made and he strapped it to his belt tightly, before walking her out of the jewelry section of the market. "I think a street over we can-"

He was interrupted by a gout of flame, and they turned to see a raven haired woman juggling twirling sticks, their ends pitched in fire. Cyrdic grinned and nudged Camilla. "I was about to comment I'd never seen such a thing before, but I'm pretty certain you could pull that off," he joked. The twinkle in his eyes disappeared when he saw the grey-clad figure yet again, and so focused on it was he that he failed to notice the halfling that had snuck behind him and cut the cord of his coin purse.

He rested his hand on his hip as he often did, and suddenly realized the coins were gone. Cyrdic spun, and through the crowd he met the eyes of the thief. "By Ulric," he growled, and he sped off toward where he just saw the little thief. Cyrdic wasn't sure if the Halfling was a true one, or a child. He didn't rightly care, and both of the duo sped after the pickpocket. Luckily for them, their coin purse was quite heavy after Camilla's smart haggling, and three streets uptown later, they saw the Halfling break into an alleyway and speed inside an unmarked door. The door slammed shut just in front of Cyrdic's nose, and he attempted to open it.

Locked. He growled, and backed up. Squaring his legs, he bullrushed forward and shouldered the door so hard it burst into pieces. Kindling fell and splinters clung to Cyrdic's hair, but he was alright. In front of them was the Halfling, having opened their bag to see the coins within. It only took Cyrdic unsheathing his sword, and glaring at him with his iron eyes for the Halfling to flee with nothing (or very little) of their earnings, having left the coin purse behind.

Cyrdic sighed, and was about to step forward to grab their coins when he heard voices from the alleyway over, and something to him to hide as the voices grew closer.

"-The ceremony."
"Were you followed?"
"No, by Tzneetch. I think I would know, wouldn't I?"
"The master wants no mishaps. Not like last time."
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic leaned back on his strong arms and watched his companion try to make even her common clothing stylish. Briefly, he wondered if he would ever get used to how beautiful she was. Though, all of the danger they'd been through, he'd never really had time to focus on it too much. "I have been wanting new armor, though I'd want it to be more functional than stylish. Maybe a tabard above it to make it...presentable?" He asked, almost not even knowing which word to use. By Sigmar, he'd never given thought to being presentable unless it was to impress a lady, and he'd not found one interested in him in awhile.

He winced, and felt his side. An old wound aching from the bath yesterday. Once his body had relaxed, he'd felt much better. But all of the running and fighting had made his muscles more sore than he cared to admit. He hopped up onto his feet behind her, strapping on his leather belt about his lean waist, his Ulrican sword sheathed along with it. He'd need to find out if the blade had a name. Perhaps the sorceress could tell him, if he ever had the misfortune of running into her again.

"I've no idea why he would contact us. Or I've many ideas, I should say. And none are an obvious right answer," As he finished his last sentence, he stretched and groaned audibly. He needed to be limber just in case there was trouble. "I say we try our luck on selling our treasures first. Once we're out and about, we'll see if there's any leads we can find. If not, I'm sure we can ask a local about the town, or find a map. I believe the Old section of the city is to the north."

He made it to the door, and placed his hand on the door knob. "Whatever we do, let's do it quickly. After the ball, I'm planning on us being much further south, if we can help it." he told her. "Let's begin at the marketplace."
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic's incredulous face was comical when he noticed Camilla miles away when they were discussing what could shape the fate of Middenheim. He waited for the Chamberlain to be gone before he closed the door, and locked it. Her next question had him give a less than excited expression, and he sat Camilla down on the bed.

He tried to put it into words. He honestly knew very little himself, other than it was the last thing anyone not a servant of chaos ever wanted to be near. "It's..." he gestured with his callused hands. "The very raw stuff of chaos, made into a solid form." He explained, looking at the Tilean woman in the eyes. "I've seen it, once. A Norscan shaman had a staff with a rock of warpstone embedded atop it. It took good men and twisted them into mutants before my eyes. I'll never forget it."

Cyrdic seemed troubled just recalling it, but then he breathed out to calm himself. The normally ruddy, handsome face had seemed lined with experience for but a moment, but it was gone. He hardly let it show, but the young sergeant had been through much in his military service. "We'll search around the city. Maybe we can ask the city's layout from someone." In all honesty, Cyrdic was thinking of asking the maid. She seemed like she would be helpful, at least to him.

"I've never been to a ball before," he admitted. "I don't know how to dance, and I don't know how to, um, mingle."
@Penny

Warhammer Fantasy - Call of Chaos

Alright lads! Post your opening posts!

Warhammer Fantasy - Call of Chaos

Chapter One

The Norscan's decapitated skull dripped blood lazily from its neck, as Hrothgar lifted it before his hellmetal helm. Staring into the fellow champion's dead eyes, Hrothgar said not a word, and tossed the skull into the pile beside his dark, ornate throne. The Norscan chieftan had arrogantly questioned Hrothgar's battle plan, and had paid for it with his life. The once mighty leader, now merely another skull to sate Khorne's lust for blood.

The other Chieftans and Chosen warlords had gathered, all bending the knee in awe of Hrothgar's splendor. Chosen of Khorne, Tzeentch, Slaneesh, and Nurgle. A great Beastman Lord stood behind them, kneeling next to a Chaos-warped Dragon-Ogre Chieftan, and his retinue of Plague Ogres. Atop the spire above them, Galrauch, the Great Drake of Chaos, perched. Hrothgar stood before all of them, fierce in his chaos plate, eyes blazing with the power of all of the Chaos Gods. Upon his neck was a collar of Khorne, capable of defeating any magics that would assail him. To his left, the Chaos sorcerer Velamas prostrated himself. Once he was a rival of Hrothgar's for the Chaos God's affections. Now, he served him as all else did.

Above Kislev, within the vast north of the wastelands, a horde was forming. A horde unlike any other. Vast as the sea and as powerful as the very Gods that commanded it. Energy, warped and twisted, now permeated the southern lands. Mutants were on the rise, and Beastman filled the forests with savage, beastial glee. Morrslieb loomed above the night sky closer than any other time in recorded history.

It was a time of woes, and change. A time of violence and perversion. Hrothgar sent out word that it was time to march. It was a call of Chaos.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic had finally had a chance to relax his weary muscles, and clean his scars. Not only that, but his shoulder length brown hair was now clean, something he'd been meaning to do for quite awhile. Along with his new clothing he had washed from Talabecland, he looked the epitome of a Middenland duke. A hint of uncouth northerner, yet an intense noble quality about his heroic frame and rugged features.

The plump, comely waitress had just left their table, her hips swaying for Cyrdic could admire, though for some strange reason Cyrdic felt a bit odd gazing with Camilla around. Still, his attention was immediately transfixed upon Osfurth, and he nodded to the man when asked to speak to he and Camilla privately. "Certainly," Cyrdic said, escorting him to their private room as if he were merely an old friend.

Once they closed the door, Cyrdic stood at the ready while the Chamberlain sat down. He removed the hood of his cloak, and gave them a helpless smile. "I do certainly hope you two have enjoyed yourselves here," he said. "I say, it's very few and far between when I see such good and trustworthy folk as you. I want you to understand that I do not come and ask things of you lightly..."

"We understand," Cyrdic said, gesturing for him to continue. "Yes, well...I have something very dangerous, yet important to ask of you two...You see, I do not want it broadcast to the city, nor even to Graf Boris just yet. I am hoping to rectify a terrible tragedy before it is known but...a month ago, our Knights discovered a cult of vile chaos worshipers within one of the old buildings uptown. They had a very large amount of that most vile substance."

"Warpstone?" Cyrdic asked, making the sign of the hammer. The Chamberlain nodded. "Yes, the Warpstone we discovered had seemingly come out of nowhere. And we took it into custody for our mages and priests to contain it within one of the Palace cellars. Only...now it is missing."

The edge of Osfurth's words had Cyrdic gripping his sword hilt until his knuckles were white. "And why do you come to us? What can we do?"

"You can look without scrutiny, unlike our guards and Knights. I realize this is a harrowing task I give to you. But I have nowhere else to turn."

"Ah yes, how forgetful of me. But here," he said, sliding his hand into his cloak and producing a letter. "You are invited to the Graf's ball in a matter of days. I don't know why the Graf throws them. He hardly shows his face. But there it is."
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic ate his fill. He wasn't used to eating in the manner of polite company, but he did not fling food around like some barbarian either, and realize there were two rather attractive looking women close to him. He placed a closed fist to his broad chest and bumped it a bit to help the food ease down. He guessed he had eaten a bit fast, but he hadn't truly been served food in a very long time.

The ale was fine, if a bit hearty. Though truth be told, that was just how he enjoyed his ale. Perhaps the two outlaws could actually relax without worry. He was certainly feeling much more sore after the long road, and the hike up the mountain. Even he had to rest sometime. The maid strode back and forth, always seeming to be just next to Cyrdic whenever he turned his head. Of course Cyrdic was a bit dense when it came to such things, so he simply though the service here was very good.

Though when she fluttered her lashes, he couldn't help but notice. He'd been so focused on the food, after all. Oh well, nothing usually comes of such things, he told himself. "Yes, I'd love a bath," he said. "If you could heat the water as well, that would be very fine." He told her, and placed a silver crown on the table for her as a tip.
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic gave a bow to both Boris and the Wizard. He was very much suspicious of magic, but he was also very much perturbed by the appraising way the woman looked at him, and the off putting way she gazed at Camilla. He felt as if she would use him for one of her experiments, and she'd unleashed it upon his companion. Though he supposed he needn't fear her. A man like Boris Todbringer wouldn't have her on his staff if she was not somewhat trustworthy. But then he trusted me, as well. That thought brought a twist to his stomach.

Cyrdic and Camilla were escorted out of the Palace by Knights of the White Wolf, being taken through a far less grand entrance as most of the other distinguished guests. Cyrdic was not certain if that was so because they had not been expected, or if Boris did not wish to announce to anyone that his family was often vulnerable on the road.

The Chamberlain halted them at the edge of the Konigsgarten, giving them his elderly smile. "The Boar's Head is merely three streets eastward of the Palace. It's quite a nice Inn," he told them, and handed Cyrdic and Camilla two pendants, wrought in the likeness of a Wolf's head. "Show these to the Innkeeper, and he will know you have the Graf's favor and protection. Food, drink, rooms, are paid for. We will contact you when next we wish to speak to you."

With that, the duo was subsequently dumped into the street as it were. It seemed there was little time for ceremony in Middenland. Cyrdic did not particularly mind. "That could have gone worse," Cyrdic said to Camilla as they began to walk through the city streets. The stone roads led both of them through a marketplace, where men haggled and traded for all manners of pelts, spices, trinkets, and foodstuffs. Vendors of various trades occupied the lanes, ranging from apothecaries to armor smiths. A man juggled balls lit on fire, and a woman stood upon two fingers, her legs posed above her head. One man hailed Camilla with a necklace Cyrdic suspected was fake, claiming her beauty needed such jewelry to be accentuated.

Merry music played and lingered in the air as the two of them passed into the next street, where brothels and taverns filled the ways with all manners of leisure and pleasure. Cyrdic didn't even look when a few heavily rogued women called for him to join them, and they passed by an uproarious tavern where a Dwarf bouncer threw out a lanky, bleeding man.

When they turned the corner to the final street, there were a few lesser Inns that clung to the Boar's Head. It was quite a large establishment, with a statue of Ulric standing at its fore, fully thrice the height of a man and wrought of iron. The Boar's Head was three stories, with men and women milling about and speaking among themselves at its archway.

"I feel as if it would be better for a single room, and I'll sleep on the floor again. I'd rather private quarters so we can speak among ourselves," He breathed to Camilla. "Though I won't blame you if you want privacy."

They entered the archway, passing courtly gentlemen and posh ladies. Even an Elf mingled with the crowd, laughing whimsically. "All I ask is we get a drink and some food while we speak to the Inn keeper." He said, a bit louder. Cyrdic gave her a grin. "Perhaps they have some Tilean Ale, eh?"
@Penny

The Lord of the Rings: The Age of Men

Dwarf

Name: Thurin Stonewrought III

Age: 112

Race: Dwarf

Sex: Male

Personality: Adventurous and passionate, Thurin's delved deeper and traveled further than any Dwarf in recent memory. He truly enjoys new lands and places to explore, and new foes to fight are always an exciting challenge. Of course, he's gruff and pragmatic, and shares his races stoic nature. He's fought against Orcs and Trolls in minor skirmishes, and has a soldier's outlook and manner, when the situation calls for seriousness. During his leisure time, he'll not shy himself from a story or a song.

Appearance: He's a tough and muscled Dwarf, with dark eyes to match his hair. Thurin's Beard reaches down past his belt, unbraided, though he has bronze fixings framing his beard to keep it a tad shorter so he could fight easier. His broad bladed Axe is finely crafted Steel, used as both a walking stick and his main heavy weapon. He had four throwing axes he can use as shorter weapons as well, if need be. His armor is made for light travel, though that still means he is clad in masterwork chainmail and half plate armor on certain areas of his body.

Backstory: Thurin III was born in Khazad Dum, one hundred and twelve years ago. His father was Thurin the II, one of the initial reclaimers of Khazad-Dum, who led one of the contingents of Dwarves into the deep as they slew the foul Orcs that infested the mines. Thurin I, his grandfather, fought in the Battle of the Five Armies as a young lad, having made an acquaintance of one Biblo Baggins, and later served in the War of the North. Thurin was born in a line of proud and admirable Dwarves, and he does not intend to besmirch their legacy.

When he came of age, he took to the Axe and tried his hand at exploration to aid in the Dwarves as they delved deeper into the earth. Ever reaching for veins of precious metals, Thurin was given the task of leading a few incursions into the lesser known roads of the underworld. At times they found nothing, having to come back empty handed other than fixing the ever increasing maps with dead ends. Other times, they found veins of ore. Mostly Iron and Silver, though they did find a Golden vein at one point. Thrice, they came upon pockets of Orcs in the deep places of the world, fighting their way in and slaughtering the foul Goblins with their finely crafted weapons. And indeed, there was one instance where they found a beast they had not seen before. A nameless creature they merely caught glimpses of, and decided to delve no further, for its bulk was massive and its very presence befouled the air, having become rank with Dwarven fear. It raked into solid rock as if it were dirt, and screeched as it fed on slain Goblins.

In between his expeditions, he would go back to mining, for he had worked as a miner as a mere Beardling to hone his muscles and teach him a good work ethic. He tried smithing a time or two, and while no slouch, it wasn't his calling. His greatest love was adventuring, and because of his successes at finding minerals and new realms to conquer, as well as his family lineage, he was chosen among a throng of Dwarves to be at this new council to decide the fate of Middle Earth once more.

Reason for investigating the silent colony?: Thurin's second cousin, Thorgig, was one of the Dwarves who oversaw much of the preparation of Dôr-min-Taur. When the colony went silent, Thurin's ageing father sent his son the adventurer to investigate the disappearance of their cousin, and the wealth that had once flowed from there.

Other:

All I need to do is add a reason for his investigating, I think. I'll look him over again soon.

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

<Snipped quote by POOHEAD189>

Ehh. I mean I know in context this means something different, so maybe I'm being too touchy. But Patriotism, doesn't necessarily equal believing you believe your population itself is better. (even if that patriotism is strong, it's still mostly focused on the actual country vs the people.) Maybe their culture and their ideals. But I don't think someone being proud of their country, even has to be happy with certain people in that country...

@SleepingSilence

I was asking him about Nationalism, not Patriotism.