POOHEAD189

'Misthophoroi' - A Sci-Fi Mercenary RP

Virgil Bartholomew leaned against a clay wall at the edge of the square, smoke billowing from his cigar with every breath. He slipped two fingers around it, and removed the stick of tobacco for a moment. Eyes sharp as a hawk, he took note of the odd sight of a Valnaur planting itself practically at the center of town. He still had plenty of prejudice toward that particular race and empire, but the way it moved had him curious.

He slipped off the wall, and strode over further into the square. His face was a mask of shadow due to the wide brimmed hat he wore, and the light from the sun, beating down from above. Clad in a dark brown duster, his leather boots made audible noises of pressing into the dirt street as he approached, not uttering a word. He stopped before the emissary, and took a long drag of his cigar, staring at the alien with a dangerous gaze. A gaze that most Valnaur didn't live to see twice.

"Showing yourself on a human world," Virgil said rhetorically, smoke wafting from him. "You must be lost, or someone worth of note. Or you're looking for something. Or maybe someone..." He took another drag from the cigar, before he dropped it onto the ground. The heel of his boot crushed it into the dirt.

"I'm thinking if you're looking for something done, you're willing to pay a handsome price. Question is..." Virgil lifted his head a bit, allowing some of the sun to illuminate his face. He had a chiseled jaw, and an impressive handlebar mustache. "What's making you do it here, and not asking any of your own kind?"

To Cure a Curse

"Brogach!" Calanon called, leaping with his powerful legs to land ontop of an already bounding Elk. He grabbed an antler to keep himself steady as Brogach leaped straight into the dense foliage that the archers hid behind. There was only the barest hint of their passage, the Elk and Elf as used to thick woodlands as a fish was to water.

They nearly landed atop the first archer, Calanon's sword flashing and cutting into the startled man, his cry cut short. He fell, dropping his bow onto the ground. Calanon used his free hand to grab his shield that was still strapped to Brogach, and rode Brogach without holding onto his mount, using his Elven balance to keep him upright. They continued onward in the fashion, flanking the Promixtra brigands who had attempted to flank them.

Rayadell could hear startled cries from within the forest every now and then, and soon no more arrows were loosed from the woods. That is, until a strange, long arrow flew out of the underbrush and struck the Promixtra man atop the head. His helmet had blocked the piercing missile, but the metal rang and reverberated, briefly messing up the swordsman's vision.

The Elf ranger appeared out of the treeline, dragging a groaning archer along with him. He had his own recurve bow in his freehand. Brogach was behind him, walking out into the clear pass to stamp his feet in irritation at the action he'd just endured. "Sorry it took me awhile. There were more than I thought," Calanon said to Rayadell.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic didn't blush. He was more annoyed than anything, though he supposed the Witch Hunter hadn't seen all that had happened. Thankfully, while Cyrdic wasn't quite the actor that Camilla was, he was still quite used to being berated by a superior officer, and took the accusations with a stone faced visage.

He supposed Camilla's claim of her fainting and he helping her wasn't too far off the mark, but he'd need to tell her exactly what happened soon. Mostly to help her prepare for a next time, if they weren't burned at the stake beforehand that is.

The Osltlander almost snorted at his suspicion of the Witcher Hunter. He used to not question such men and their methods. Now he was the one in their sights. He guessed he figured if he remained a loyal sigmarite and soldier throughout his life, he'd not be targeted just like any truly good imperial.

"I am a Sigmarite, herr Koneinswald," he said. "I simply revere Ulric, as our Lord Sigmar did. And yes, we are free to discuss whatever you wish of us. If you please, me and my companion are quite famished. Shall we eat while we talk?" he asked. While that was the truth, he also wanted to make it seem like he and Camilla were not quite used to being treated like subordinates.

Matis von Koneinswald snorted, his nose in the air. He muttered something about impudence that Cyrdic didn't quite catch, but then conceded aloud.
@Penny

Warhammer Fantasy - Call of Chaos

@BCTheEntity Nah, you weren't pushy. Always good to make sure, anyhow.

Warhammer Fantasy - Call of Chaos

@BCTheEntityUm, I did read it. In fact it was the only one I've read, because you wished it reviewed the other day and Clocku wasn't around. And I conceded which is why I said I'd edit my post. It was my mistake, earlier.

Warhammer Fantasy - Call of Chaos

@BCTheEntity I'll edit the name, thank you for pointing that out. I'm thinking that it would be like the difference between Dragons and Chaos Dragons, here. Some aligned with the dark powers, others didn't.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic's heartbeat thumped in his ears, and his chest heaved from his yelling and blowing, but his world seemed to calm when Camilla opened her eyes. He thanked Ulric, Sigmar, and Taal, and all the Tilean Gods, even if he knew none of their names. Suddenly he remembered he was cupping her cheek, and he removed his hand to brush some hair out of her face. He also realized it felt very nice holding her like this. "You were..." He shook his head, her hand on his cheek a good reminder that he'd actually saved her. He placed his hand atop her hand, his eyes not leaving Camilla's. "It's hard to explain." He replied. "I'll-"

They were interrupted by someone whom Cyrdic recognized as a member of the Holy Order of the Templars of Sigmar. He'd learned the name, having it drilled into him when he was a soldier, to refer to such men. Though of course, Witcher Hunter was the more common term. Cyrdic's soft gaze steeled again after seeing the weapon, but he calmed himself. Cyrdic stood up, and held a hand down to help Camilla up as well.

Cyrdic reached into his coat, only for the Witch Hunter to aim his pistol dead in Cyrdic's face. Slowly, Cyrdic removed Boris Todbringer's seal. "I'm Reiner Wulfhofen, and this is my companion Vivvienne Du Couronne of Brettonia." He was not one for accents, but he couldn't tell if Camilla had been using hers when she had just spoken. "Guests of the Graf and adventurers. My coinpurse was stolen, and we pursued a thief, only for an affliction to fall on us for a moment. We heard someone utter the word Tz-"

He glanced at Camilla, clenching his jaw. "We heard someone utter the name of a Chaos God, Herr Templar. That way," Cyrdic said, pointing to the otherside of the building they had just crashed out of. "There's a vileness there, mein herr. We barely escaped with our lives."
@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.

From his experiences of the vastness that is the deep, Thurin the III decided he very much wished to see what was upon the surface as well, and was given leave to travel the lands as long as he sent back word to his father of useful places to colonize. The Blue Mountains and the Ered Luin, the Iron Hills, and even into Beleriand for a short period, his heart filled with yearning for treking into the unknown. He was gone for 23 years, and returned back with many great tales and more than a few scars. Once he had returned (age 97) he had gone back to his previous life of delving into the earth.

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, as his father claimed, 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 find the lost secrets of the silent colony.

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.

@POOHEAD189

Ok, done!

'Misthophoroi' - A Sci-Fi Mercenary RP

Gonna have a post up tomorrow or friday.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Cyrdic had tensed when he heard the word, and it had brought a terrible wariness to him. His breathing had grown shallow, and the Ostlander's fists clenched. Vaguely, he felt a pressure on his body, as if the warmth of everything wrong in the world was happening just down the alleyway on the otherside of the building. He'd felt this before, on the coast of Nordland. He could never forget it, and the insane visions it brought him.

Perhaps it was his anger that kept him less effected, or perhaps because he had dealt with it before. But other than visions flashing through his mind, those of torture and terrifying change, he felt able to move once he got a grip of himself. He gasped for air, and sweat beaded down his head. The man gripped the hilt of his sword, and instantly he felt more strong and sure of himself. Suddenly, the grip on his sword reached his mind.

Fjorlhaf.

The word had just entered his head. Was that the sword's name? He couldn't ponder it at the moment, seeing Camilla on the ground, continuing to mouth a word, and he saw the blood drip from her lips. Gods, her eyes are glazed over. His companion's seizure brought him back to reality like a Dwarf's punch, and he staggered over to her, lifting up Camilla's head. "Camilla," he breathed, patting her cheek. The blood oozed onto his hand, her lips barely moved, life leaving her from the lack of oxygen.

"Come on," he groaned, lifting her up. He held her cradled in his arms, nearly falling atop her when he stepped into the alleyway. "Camilla!" he called as loud as he dared. No one was around, but his mind wasn't on that right now. If she was gone, he'd truly be alone in the world. Oh, now you realize it.

His legs gave out, the last bit of his strength used to carry her not a dozen paces away. But he could no longer feel the intensity of the pressure of the warpstone, even without his sword. He breathed easier, and looked down at Camilla, who's eyes had rolled into the back of her head. Her chest didn't rise.

"Damn," he seethed, cupping her face and pressing his lips onto hers, breathing life into her lungs. "Come on!" He cried, and placed her on the ground, shoving his palm into her lower diaphragm before breathing into her again. "Thrice damn you, Camilla, just breathe," he growled, pressing into her lower chest again.
@Penny