Shade

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

Combat Post - Loading Area. 3v3, 1 NPC hired blade dead or unconscious. 2 of the same active. Cario has arrived. Seki, Oprik & 'Man' opposing. @The Harbinger of Ferocity@Gentlemanvaultboy

Cario scaled the iron fence with the thick rope left by his hired arms. He landed with a thump on the flat stone of the landing area, extending his knees and stretching up to his full height, he stood in between his two men. Holding his sharp sword by his side, he picked the mace head from the floor and laughed, tossing it back to the steeped feet of the Orc who was sprawled on the floor.

"A crude Orcish weapon."

Cario, contrasting his personality and pale skin, was dress in a bright almost jester like uniform of scales. Crimson, sea blue, rich gold and snappy silver covered his body. His thick and long white hair softly touched his shoulders. With his black eyes he stared at those opposite him, frowning he thrust his sword forward and looked left and right to the men either side of him.

"Go on then."

The two men started forward, one of them throwing a Galatia ( two sided knife) at the latest addition to the opposite side, the weak looking man seemed an easy target. Then they both converged on the group, with a blade in each hand now, glinting in the morning sun. It seems their leader was a rallying point, these men are bolstered with confidence.

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

<Snipped quote by Shade>

It was interesting before and it just keeps on changing dynamics. We cannot let our only dwarven blacksmith get assassinated already this early in the game.

@The Harbinger of Ferocity

Is this a good thing, the changing?

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

@The Harbinger of Ferocity Ah, it seems our two most powerful combatants are about to join the feud.

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

@Gentlemanvaultboy

Combat Post - Loading Area. 2v2, 1 NPC hired blade dead or unconscious. 2 of the same active. Seki & Oprik opposing.

Oprik bore his sharp teeth and growled wildly as he stepped over his own trained feet, keep a steady gaze on both of the presumed men, although the garment flattered no cause to think more of one gender than the other. This stand still had been held for the best part of a minute and he was getting impatient, the floods of adrenaline were bashing against the stone dams of his sanity and soon he knew he would see red if he did not quench this thirst for triumph and blood.

Just as he leaped onto his padded left foot in the beginnings of what would have been a charge, he heard a high pitched whistling that passed his face and struck the slightly taller of the assailants square in the chest, a staff of sorts it seemed. Hindered by this unexpected help on briefly, he carried onward towards the other blade with great bounds and his mace above his head. Instead of striking downwards, Oprik swung his mace wide and came to a halt just before the reach of the hirelings arm, bringing the skull tip along in an arch to rest heavily on the jaw.

With a crack the target fell down to the ground, but it was not the crack of a jaw, rather the crack of his mace as their knife struck at its tip, reducing it to a baton as the head tumbled to the floor. Thus the falling to the ground confused Oprik, who was to late to see the sweeping kick beneath him and fell backwards onto the floor with baton in hand.

As he fell he saw a strangers rock knee connect with the other blades hidden face and they sprawled backwards. Both of the blades now distanced themselves from Oprik and the stranger as footsteps were heard from the alley way behind, someone or something else was coming it seemed.

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

@SouffleGirl123

"Excuse me sir, would you be so kind to move your wagon? You see I am in need to enter the store and the sides are currently blocked by other citizens and your horses."

Cario turned to see this female demanding, admittedly politely, that he move. Too busy to notice much more than her gender, he hopped from his wagon onto the cobbled street and took Bronte by her bridles. "Why of course." the words slipped from his tongue like a snake across a slimy log. He walked Bronte forward a few steps then gave her a pat on her white haired side to let her know to keep going, she knew the streets well enough.

With a nod to the female, he turned to the back of his wagon and peered inside. Searching for a few moments, his hand finally found his own sword in the darkness. Carefully he pulled it from its sheath and held it to the rising sun, it shone then, a bright yellow, a hint of magic about it. He also grasped a large black seed of some kind and pocketed it for later use.

Briskly he closed the creaking door to his wagon and followed the same familiar route his hirelings had taken, if he was not to conceal the gracious act of murder, he would commit the sin himself.

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

The Refinery and Forges

Behind the shop front and counter of any blacksmiths is a smoking land of fire and hammer, anvil and bucket. In such a land things were dim - the clanking, crashing and battering of future merchandise filled the air and mixed with the metallic aroma that hung there. Aiana's was a humble land, not small or large but the perfect size for everything to run efficiently.

Her workers numbered five, all strong and experienced at their jobs. Her three forge workers were all Dwarven, being short and strong respectively, they were able turn even the dullest blade into a capable edge with great detail in design and structure. Then there was the muscle, a large orc named Oprik and an equally large but slightly fatter human by the name Xence. It was Xence that worked the forges, shoveling the raw materials day in and day out, without him their would be no refined ores to work with.

The Orc Oprik was a lifter and carrier. He moved the shipments from the mines in the mountains inside for Xence to sort through and shifted any heavy goods that came his way. It was, unfortunately, he who was the first the three would be assassins came across. They had made their way over the iron fence that stood firmly between the alley way and the delivery area behind the smithy, and were now approaching the unsuspecting Orc.

Luckily for him Oprik was a swift worker and turned, iron ore filled sack in hand, to see their blades brandished. Instinctively he threw the sack forward with all his might onto the closest combatant, the immense weight buckling their comparatively frail body to the stone ground. Just as quickly as this happened he reached to his wide hip and took his Orcish bone mace from its holster.

They were wary to approach his hulking and now armed form, and so two circled one, or perhaps the one circled two, it would be hard to tell for any onlooker - a fluid dance of death. With a growl Oprik crashed his mace on the ground and roared with every ounce of breath he had, sending an almost visible ripple into the air as the deep thump and booming threat sounded over the roofs. He wasn't to fight alone against these cowardly hires.

Craning his thick neck to the door, one pale eye wavering on the grey clad blades, he shouted ferociously back into the smithy smoke hoping for assistance.

"TROUBLE!"

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

Indeed, such a fortune is more likely to be spent on fitting a royal elven gaurd with weapons and provisions. The Sharpening of a blade is the most basic of smithing skills.

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

GM CONTROLLED

Name: Wain The Vicious

Age: 756

Race: Undead Elf

Appearance: Wain was once a handsome fellow, with gleaming blonde hair and a strapping body to make the young ladies feel faint. Then he died, and that all changed. Now he has dank wet looking strands of grey with hidden lengths of deep green atop his head and what was once muscle has withered to skin and bone and the occasional blot of moss or fungi. He stands rather tall at exactly six feet, if his back were to be straight rather than the curved and stumped shape it is now, he would stand at least five inches taller.

He groans about this often.

Wain's face is all but gone and all that remains is the leftover flesh clinging to his skeletal face. Where his green eyes once were are two balls of obsidian that shift and look as eyes do. His teeth are sharp and black and his clothes are the deepest of blues. He wears a long mage robe and hood along with his old clanking chain boots.

Class/Station: Zombie Necromancer

Brief Background: Wain lived a normal life by elven standards, peaceful and delightful by all accounts. Now, at this present moment, he couldn't tell you what changed. One moment he was sat in the branches of his favourite apple tree and the next he was on the floor, surrounded by an aura of cold and death. He vaguely remembers a voice of some kind, deep and menacing, but only vaguely.

He now hates all living things with a passion, apart from rats. A passion however, that is forced beneath a façade whenever he must travel into such towns like Scaraw for supplies and the like.

Ten Word Personality: Lost, grouchy and plotting old undead elf.

Equipment:
Deep Blue robes with hood
Chain boots
Ancient dagger
Silver staff

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

Take heed of this character

---

Name: Wain The Vicious

Age: 756

Race: Undead Elf

Appearance: Wain was once a handsome fellow, with gleaming blonde hair and a strapping body to make the young ladies feel faint. Then he died, and that all changed. Now he has dank wet looking strands of grey with hidden lengths of deep green atop his head and what was once muscle has withered to skin and bone and the occasional blot of moss or fungi. He stands rather tall at exactly six feet, if his back were to be straight rather than the curved and stumped shape it is now, he would stand at least five inches taller.

He groans about this often.

Wain's face is all but gone and all that remains is the leftover flesh clinging to his skeletal face. Where his green eyes once were are two balls of obsidian that shift and look as eyes do. His teeth are sharp and black and his clothes are the deepest of blues. He wears a long mage robe and hood along with his old clanking chain boots.

Class/Station: Zombie Necromancer

Brief Background: Wain lived a normal life by elven standards, peaceful and delightful by all accounts. Now, at this present moment, he couldn't tell you what changed. One moment he was sat in the branches of his favourite apple tree and the next he was on the floor, surrounded by an aura of cold and death. He vaguely remembers a voice of some kind, deep and menacing, but only vaguely.

He now hates all living things with a passion, apart from rats. A passion however, that is forced beneath a façade whenever he must travel into such towns like Scaraw for supplies and the like.

Ten Word Personality: Lost, grouchy and plotting old undead elf.

Equipment:
Deep Blue robes with hood
Chain boots
Ancient dagger
Silver staff

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

The Blacksmiths

As the dawn broke across the town of Skaraw, the bustling around the Blacksmiths did not go unnoticed by those that would see Aiana's business fail. Not a stone throw away from her lively shop window and seemingly endless customers, Cario Seis the dark elf blade smith sat upon his trade wagon. It was a brightly coloured but worn thing, bright reds and piercing blues mixed with the wealthy shades of both gold and silver.

Cario had been selling his wares on the sea front from many a year, and this no good dwarf bitch was ruining his life. He had no care for the race at all, fat and bothersome bunch. Aiana though, he despised the most. Truly and honestly, it was green envy mixed with jealousy that filled his blue blooded veins, though he would never admit it to a living soul. Sitting there on top of his wagon, he whipped the leather lengths that sat in his hands and his trusty pull horse Bronte started forward.

On this day his wagon was less weighty than usual, for no weapons nor equipment was contained inside. Instead, three hirelings with blade and strength lurked within. All of his money was slowly draining and he would be damned if he was going to let it drain into the gutter of that foul wench! He drove on up to the Blacksmiths front and let his wagon meagrely conceal the shop.

The three hirelings, dress in dark grey with cowls around their faces, jumped from the back and plunged into the nearby alley, the back entrance to Aiana's smithy was the target here - easy access.