POOHEAD189

Into the Shadow

It was all he could do to keep the Draugr's claws from trying to tear chunks off of him. His armor would protect him from the brunt of it, but time wasn't on his side. The harsh, guttural screeching of the undead thing filled Roland's ear, and he growled back, his eyes moving from the horrid zombified corpse to Iseldis in an even worse situation.

With the strength of desperation, he shoved into the Draugr again, snapping one of its legs and causing its body to lurch over the table, spilling letters and an unlit candle onto the floor. His fingers closed tighter around the hilt of his blade, and stepping back, with the Draugr retching at him as it nearly tumbled off the table, he hacked into its chest. The blade hit gnarled flesh and bone, and he had to hack at the thing another time to sever the spinal cord and run through the ribcage.

It collapsed into a heap, its head still screeching, albeit more quietly as the blue grew dimmer in its eyes. Roland wasn't sure if it was dying or simply weakened. He didn't give it much thought, instead rushing toward his partner to give aid. He hadn't known her for much more than a conversation, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to keep her alive. The Forged had a code of honor as every other Order did, and he'd see it upheld.

He wished he could slay the thing in one fell sweep, but she was too tightly locked with the monster. He dropped his shield and half-sworded, holding onto the blade near the halfway point with his offhand, and he cut into the thing's arm, severing it. Unfortunately, the hand that had enclosed around Iseldis' throat still squeezed of its own accord, and the Draugr, now free, struck Roland in the face, cutting his cheek and sending him staggering.

It was by instinct that he lashed out with his blade, cracking its left knee and sending it falling onto its face. He didn't question good fortune, and stabbed downward into its skull, cracking the bone but not quite getting his swordpoint through onto the floor. The creature died all the same, the light fading from its eyes, and the bony hand that held Isaeldis' neck let go, falling to the floor limply.

Roland breathed heavily, reaching up to wipe the blood pouring down his cheek with his forearm. "Are you ok?" he asked her, feeling the warmth of the liquid drip down his neck a bit.

Winx Club Universe 2 RP (Open)

@Elite Gamer You didn't. It was just a reminder just in case. There is no penalty or official warning. All good :)

Winx Club Universe 2 RP (Open)

Remember everyone, always fade to black in smut unless it's through PM. Thank you!

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

I think I'll soon give you guys something to do other than talk, since the others have been out awhile. But for now, I think introducing yourself to Pezz's character after making your way back into the tavern is good.
@IcePezz@BCTheEntity@Stormflyx@Fetzen@Gardevoiran

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

The Stone Giant, for that indeed is what it was, gazed at the newcomers with pupil-less eyes. They looked almost like perfectly carved orbs of soft stone, a lighter shade of brown than the rest of his body, where there was no grey at least. It flexed its hands, and took a slow step forward. The rock that had been crowded about its feet crumbled lightly, as if it had been dirt that had clung to the Giant's skin.

Argon's roar was abruptly cut off by Ann-Hasst and Alice's call for silence, and he seemed like an alligator basking in the sun with his mouth open and no sound escaping his gaping maw. However, his eyes looked more like a dog's when you grabbed its mouth and held it shut, wide open and curious as to why you were making him be quiet.

"Trespassers?" The Giant said, slowly. As if it weighed ever syllable. Its voice was as heavy as a fallen tombstone, or an ancient stone door slamming shut. Every word had a finality to it that was jarring to the ear. "You are not welcome here, but you may go in peace." Its words slowed when he heard another of their band had ventured forth further in. Blinking, it grumbled, its throat sounding like the grinding of rocks. It squared its slab of a jaw.

"The others will not like having their game interrupted." it said. It breathed through its nose, and dust billowed out of its nostrils. "My kinsmen take great pride in their game of... Hide and Seek."

---

Despite himself, Beren smiled. He had a boyish charm, even with his broad shoulders and warrior physique. He often spoke in a casual manner, but he had tried to speak in the scholar's way when this pretty lass approached to appear official. If nothing else, he felt somewhat responsible for this fortified hamlet of a town. But her manner of speech... she reminded him of how the Dwarven women spoke back at Thundrim Kadrin, and it was actually very endearing to him. That, and he'd be a fool to not think she was dangerously cute.

"I think we can help you with that," he said, referring to the whiskey. "Right lads?" His powerful voice carried to the guards who had been, as of moments ago, standing nervously with their spears pointed her way just in case. They jumped at the sound of his voice, nodding.

"Aye, we can fetch some." the one on the left said.

"Right, I think ol' Bolger has some in his cupboard back at the tavern, right?"

"Thanks, fellas. I-" Beren began glancing back, before it was his turn to jump. A slim Elf of Dorcha blood poked her head out from behind Beren's statuesque frame, eyeing the woman a few paces behind. It was clear she was a bit tipsy, but that didn't give the caramel-skinned monk pause. It was the fact the newcomer would see a Dark Elf out in the open sun without warning. To most people that wouldn't be normal. But perhaps she would be tempered by a priest guiding her, looking comically serious, and a Dwarf standing among the background, acting as if all was good.

Well...Geradin didn't seem pleased, but most Dwarves had a grim way about them. Beren was thanking the EverGod when he saw their oldest group member. "Ursaren!" he called to him, waving him over. The 'bear' of a man and the other oddities in the party probably lowered the sense of strangeness Aeryn's heritage might bring. "Come here!" Beren stepped halfway to him, meeting him in the middle and whispering to him.

"You think you can whip up some herbs to help with any hangover some might have later?" he said softly, inclining his head toward Aeryn and the new girl.

Within a minute, they'd find themselves in the tavern again, though with less people. It seemed the amount of commotion was too much for one day. They decided to go find shade in a room not lit by candles. Luckily there was plenty of aircooled water within. Beren saw fit to grab a few pitchers of it for them all. He made sure to get the two ladies extra large pitchers (along with whatever they would order from the bar keep). Aeryn needed water from drinking and Lynn obviously would from having traveled through the tropical jungle for however long.

At the center of the quaint tavern, there was a larger round table that could seat the lot of them.
@IcePezz@BCTheEntity@Stormflyx@Fetzen@Mortarion@Gardevoiran@The Fated Fallen

Invasion and Intrigue: A tale of upheaval and ruin.

Hello! You've probably seen my around the forum, mostly moderating or GM a few larger RPs. I generally don't reach out for people for a 1x1 but I decided to make this interest check. Now, before I give the big premise, I want to say that I am quite picky, because my time is limited these days. I'm working a regular job, and also working on many numerous projects, one of them being a very new author. So, just know that if you contact me on this, and I am not satisfied on your efforts/posting style/ or I just don't think our characters will mesh well together, then it is nothing personal but I'll need to end it. I hate disappointing people but I will likely be very picky. Also, there will be dark themes, there will be plenty of backstabbing and warfare, and though it is a low fantasy setting, I expect there to be fell magic and horrible beasts at some point.
Anyway...

Abra-Romali: City of Princes

The Northern Realm is at war, with many great nations at one another's throats. Each seeks to gain power through violence, or religious support from the Archdeacon of Rumei. Meanwhile, the Kingdom of Volasi, the one Kingdom separating the Northern realm from the advancing southern Osmanli Empire, has been partitioned and quartered off into smaller Duchies, Baronies, and Counties. The Kingdom of Romali, the last true heirs to the wider Kingdom of Volasi, has suddenly lost its King, and his successor now rides from border skirmishes back to the capital, to take defend his claim to the throne. As the Baron's and Duke's gather, your character joins them, and is an unlikely ally to the Prince.

Note: This will be a low fantasy setting with 15th century tech.

Suggestions for the interested Ladies

Are you the heiress to a bountiful hinterland within the small Kingdom, wishing to protect your people?
Are you a dark sorceress who wishes to aid him as an advisor?
Are you a cutthroat, ambitious socialite that seeks to gain power through marriage?
None of the above? Get creative!

Suggestions for the Dudes

Are you an ally come to fulfill an old vow?
Are you a mercenary captain come to find coin in fighting the Osmanli?
Are you a crusader King come to aid Romali in it's time of impending attack?
None of the above? Get creative!

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

@IcePezz hello!

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Early the next morning, Cyrdic and Hermman rode out of Clermount, the Ostlander reluctantly riding the only other horse in the hamlet, given to him by a farmer that owed Hermman a debt of unknown importance. Cyrdic would have gladly let the man keep his steed, but Hermman had insisted. The man said he might have a way to find out just what was happening with Cyrdic's body, but they needed to make it to Bordeleaux where the mage had a few friends he could call favors on. Cyrdic had wanted to thank him, but the mercenary had a feeling the man's curiosity and desire to 'dissect' Cyrdic's state was enough reward. He wished he had his sword with him. Even if the man had not been threatening to him, he'd rather have a familiar blade near him just in case.

As they rode through the mud laden path, the small wood opened up into the wide, beautiful countryside of Aquitaine. Many who lived here felt the rolling hills of arable land boring, but Cyrdic could still appreciate it. He wished he could say the same for himself. He had cut his hair in the Imperial, soldierly fashion. Close cropped and professional, keeping a small goatee on his chin and upper lip, but somehow he still felt too hairy, and his blazing golden eyes unnerved him. What's more, his memories continued to creep back into his head.

He had murdered the Baron D'Epee and had assaulted his squire. He couldn't remember why. The thought still egged him, and the harder he tried to remember, the more elusive the memory. He felt it took all of his power to recall who he was as a person, much less his recent reasoning for violence. He needed to concentrate.

He enjoyed hard liquor and the occasional wry joke. He would rather earn his money by plying his trade than have it be handed to him, and not just because he still enjoyed fighting and war a bit more than he should. He disliked riding horses and speaking to Lordly company, and to soldiers he knew how to lead charismatically, and by example. He remembered helping his father in the fields when he was a boy, and enjoyed listening to the soft tunes of his mother as he drifted off to sleep.

He remembered all too well the bloodlust he felt in combat, and his days training in the Ostland army. He remembered rescuing Camilla and his exile, and he remembered the dangers they faced. One after another. The faces of the companions they had gained and lost. He also remembered falling in love with her, and she with him. The nights of passion mixed with the heated yet obviously heart-felt arguments they would have, and the cute way her lips snarled when she hacked apart the brain of a beastman or told off an arrogant Lord, and her skill as an actress that boggled his mind.

He missed her. But it was for the best she was Ulric-knows-where, probably thousands of miles from here. He couldn't trust himself anymore. Even now he could feel the wolf that had taken over his body lurking at the edges of his consciousness, as if waiting for his mind to be caught off guard to then pounce and do violence once again. Even when he had inhaled the entire chicken Remy had given him, he could barely contain his hunger. She was better off without him.

"How far is Bordeleaux?" Cyrdic asked the wizard.

"Fret not my bestial friend. We'll make for the River Morceaux and then the forest of Chalons. After that we'll make for the western road." he replied. "Have you ever had the wine of the Morceaux valley? Said to be the most delectable in the world."

"Tremendous." Cyrdic remarked, using the nuance of the word Camilla had taught him. It had baffled him that even though he had learned to read and write, there were still extra layers in Reikspeil to speak properly. He would never understand the pomp.
@Penny

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

Ok, Morty said he'd sit this one out. So I'll give an update soon!

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Hermann Vulfgang slowed his steed to a trot, the darkened blue cloak he had clad upon him still damp from the rain he had ridden through on his travels. The forest path he now rode upon was all too familiar, and even the grime on his boots and the constant wet did not sour his mood, as he knew he was reaching his destination. Clermount was a quaint little hamlet in Aquitaine, one he had taken up residence in from time to time.

The Dukes and Barons of Brettonia did not trust the mages of the empire, so he preferred his travels were not widely known. He brought healing salves and some food to the serfs of Clermount, and in exchange they allowed him shelter so he could perform various experiments in the woods, without the pesky Witch Hunters sticking their long, pointed noses where they didn't belong. The serfs would be too frightened of his 'wtichcraft' or too grateful for his aid to go and tell their overlords of his presence.

Trotting into the muddy village, he heeled his brown mare, dismounting carefully to not stain his robes. One of the village maidens rushed up to him, grabbing the horses reins. She spoke quickly in Brettonian.

"Yes, good to be back. How have things bee-"

"Errone!" she exclaimed, catching her breath for a moment. "Un grand homme loup est ici, chez Remy!"

"What!?" The Gold wizard swiftly, ushered her off and made his way through the mudcaked road, heeding the ground very little. He tried to think of his best offensive spells, his mind whirring with different incantations on how best to deal with a wolfman. Sigmar, what was such a foul beast of Norsca doing here in Brettonia? Did the dark powers find him? Did his journey to rid the world of foul chaos bring their attention, and this village suffered for it!?

The lock on Remy's door melted by the hinges as if it was so much snow in high summer, and the less than physical mage booted the door in as best he could, cloaked in power to find...a very muscular man eating a whole cooked chicken. The man didn't look too surprised to see him, though he did flinch when the door had been caved in. Needless to say, Hermann felt a bit awkward at that particular moment, not to mention Remy nearly falling out of his chair seeing Hermann breaking his door. "Ma porte! Pourquoi voudriez-vous le détruire!" he cried in dismay.

Hermann gave a quick apology in Brettonian, but his magesight caught his attention. "Who are you?" he asked in Reikspiel, though he felt speaking in his native tongue was a mistake until the... 'man' spoke back in the same language. He looked far too strong and powerful for a normal man, but he couldn't exactly call him anything else. The term 'wolf' had been apt, but it was not the mark of chaos on him that seemed to have him in such a state.

"Cyrdic Becker." he replied, glaring at the Wizard as if the mage would contest the claim. When he didn't, Cyrdic continued. "Of the 9th Ostland."

Hermann did not know where to begin with his questioning. He supposed he'd start at the beginning. "How did you get here, herr Becker?"

"I woke up in the forest, after being a guest in Chateu D'Epee."

"D'Epee..." Hermann echoed, considering. "Interesting. And, would it be rude to ask 'what' you are?"

"How do you mean?" Cyrdic asked, his striking golden eyes glinting with confusion and defensiveness. He stood up, the small chair pushing back against the wall. Hermann realized if the man was wearing armor and no one could see his eyes, perhaps give him a haircut, he could pass as an exceptionally powerful and handsome, even kingly man. But as he was now, he seemed more wild beast than civilized man of the empire, even a province as rough as Ostland.

Cyrdic looked at Remy, and the peasant looked just as confused as he, probably because he spoke very little reikspeil. Hermann sighed, and produced a small mirror from his robe pocket, handing it to Cyrdic who took it slowly. He gazed at his reflection, a hint of shock in his face at the transformation. He had been a strong man before, but now...

"Would you be surprised to learn that you're not the strangest story I heard of today?" Herman told him.

---

Camilla and her retinue galloped at a leisurely pace, at least compared to the hard riding they done these past few weeks. The day was aging, and the forest of Chalons, while in the middle of the country, was still not the safest place to be. Bandits and the occassional beastmen lurked deeper within the woods, as well as hedge witches the serfs whispered of. Though compared to the Drakwald of the Empire, it was fairly tame.

Beaumont held himself at the ready, lance in the air and his eyes like a hawks. Despite feeling far less honorable this past month before granting his service to Camilla, he still saw it was his duty to protect her, no matter how troublesome she was. The peasants and what Knights were in her service felt a similar way of her, some duty bound to protect her, others smitten, and many were glad to be protected by her, and wished to return the favor.

Within minutes, they made it to their camp. A small patch of ruins atop a forest hill, cleared as a glade save for the stonework. Small cairns were erected at the treeline, small wards given by the more superstitious of the band to keep out the forest spirits that they say dwelled within the deep woods. However, they did not ward against men, and to their surprise, a small band of Knights stood dismounted from their horses at the entrance. Some of them drew themselves up, having just finished eating at Camilla and Beaumont's cookfire.

Camilla had two pistols cocked and aimed at the two men who seemed to be the most kenowned, if their coat of arms and manner were anything to go by. The serfs, emboldened by their recent victory, still did not seem keen on facing the armed Knights. Even Beaumont seemed perturbed by them, and on closer inspection, the left man had an air about him that made him stand head and shoulders above the men that flanked him. In fact, he radiated power. Camilla suddenly knew that even were this man standing stark naked before her, her bullets would not harm him or his steed, a more powerful and noble horse she had never seen in all of her days serving the elector count of Ostland.

"A grail Knight," Beaumont breathed, inclining his head to give the senior Cavalier his due respect. Rather than return it, the Grail Knight did the last thing anyone would have thought possible.

He knelt, placing his glowing sword, alight in his mailed hands, before him. "I have traveled far of late. My dreams have haunted me, and my brothers do not believe the visions the Lady has given me. But now that I stand before you, I have no doubts in my mind. I pledge my life and my sword to you, Contessa De La Trantio. The new Fey Enchantress."
@Penny