SillyGoy

Anyone for a Strike Witches based RP?

Strike Witches is one of my favorite anime. I'd love to join.

Ye Olde Coffee House

Raxacoricofallapatorius said
This is the most interesting thing I have read all day. Feel free to elaborate or tell us how it turns out.

I've already failed.

What Lies Below

There were adventurer bards playing music not for coin but just to show off, adventurer princes who put on their armor on with the wrong strap order and also showed off, but both of whom fell for the inflated prices of the goods the merchants showed off as apparently having superior quality, and bought them like they had a good bargain. Fools, Ernst thought, shaking his head, spoiled lads and lasses with too much coin to spare and wasting lots of it on one go. At the very least, the dried meats were at manageable prices, procuring a good five pounds of it for only twenty coppers after some fierce haggling and surprisingly learned discussion about the merits of the using the dry-salting method to preserve foodstuffs.

But he could not help at how strange the people were. Things were so different in the north, where furred hats and thick animal skins were the norm; but here, it was feathered hats and thin tunics. The people were not as engaging as Ernst would have expected from a quaint village, and one of his companions was just downright rude. Unfortunately, he had signed a contract, and now he had to endure it all. Of course, he was just fine with it, considering how good his employer was, and the gold too.

“Hey, you’re going to the Spire, aren’t you?”

The voice seemed to be directed at him. Ernst shifted his gaze to the side to see a blond-haired youth in full plate approaching him with a sort of smug look and an imperious posture.

“Why do you ask?” he said, rather quickly.

“Well,” the squire-looking lad, who was taller than Ernst by a few inches, gestured flamboyantly, hands at the up and sides like there was something majestic to present, as if he were a queer. “I just happened to see you buying some food for quite the long haul. You see, my group and I are headed there too.” he looked behind him, and there were figures silver-plated, akin to him. “We’re looking for more members. You look like you’re alone, and we could use a good archer. What do you say you join us? There’s good company and good honey mead to be had in this adventure. You only have a gambeson? We can buy you some mail. Or plate if you want. Archers need speed, right?”

His voice was quite high and his hips and feet swayed with every fantastic gesture. His eyes were bright blue and sparkled in the early morning sun. His golden hair was neatly combed, and his skin was fair and a symbol for his being well-bred. Needless to say that his plate armor, ornate with engravings and reliefs, shone white under the sun, too. Contrast this to Ernst, whose unkempt hair was a mere brown with stray locks all over the place; whose lazy step showed disinterest in fancy charm; whose eyes were too dark to sparkle and whose skin was too rough and calloused to be enjoyed by the nearby milkmaids who were admiring the squire and ignoring him completely.

“I’m sorry,” the woodsman, light green with disgust and envy, held up a hand, “but I’m already in a party.”

“Ah, that’s unfortunate.” Then the youth held out a hand. “Good luck to you, then. May we see you there in good health.”

Ernst eyed the hand suspiciously, but then shook it. “Of course. You as well. Hope you die horribly on the way there.”

“My,” the noble chuckled, and the two of them parted ways.

As he continued down the path to the fletcher (which, from afar, could already be seen as a particular gathering spot for elves), he could not help but voice his thoughts, a contemplative knuckle on his chin.

“He was a sure queer, but… he said he’d buy me armor. Brand new...”

What Lies Below

Should be hard not to trust someone after they've saved you from a particularly dangerous foe, am I right?

What Lies Below

Ah, two people who should be friends, but their personalities get in the way. They tried to get to know each other over that tense breakfast table, at least.

Ye Olde Coffee House

How was my day? Pretty okay, I guess. Persuaded by some online article, I've recently vowed not to view pornography nor do any sexual acts for two weeks straight, because apparently it raises up your testosterone level and that's a good thing.

Tabula Rasa Mark I

Give me a spot in Cradle East, boss.

What Lies Below

Ernst wouldn't dare hurt a sister-in-arms, even if she were a bitch. Kat, however, doesn't seem to have such moral qualms, having been street urchin instead of raised in a tight-knit community.

What Lies Below

"Hope she dies," Ernst mutters.

Not a very good thing, eh?

Edit: Huh, we had an entire page all to ourselves.

What Lies Below

“Yes, speed’s not important,” Ernst smiled, chewing on the last bits of pork. “Because if we get to that dragon and Tregon over here was about to be swallowed whole, then we fucked up something beforehand. Far as I know from what our captain’s said, there’s only one special way to kill a black dragon and none of us has it. So if something like that were to happen, then, well, shit, that’s tough luck. An arrow is a flying fist,” Ernst educated. “It hits with the fury of a god, not with a little cut. The more vital the body part and the more force on the arrow, the better the chance of felling.”

With an empty plate and a vacant bowl, and with a filled stomach, Ernst was finally done with his breakfast. Stuffed, but a little unhappy at having to entertain the little bitch who has done nothing but fling insult after insult his way, even when he was trying really hard to be nice despite it. Really and although he did not show it, he had already regretted his decision to give her a free drink.

“You know,” he said, rubbing his belly and coming to a final decision: “I don’t like you. I’m heading off to get supplies,” he stood up, “and to cool off a bit.”

Making his way to the counter and dropping off a handful of copper coins to the appreciative tavern keeper, Ernst then proceeded upstairs to don his gambeson and weaponry. As there was no point to it, seeing as the party was heading off at noon-time and it was still early in the morning, he opted not to wear his sallet helm and mail shirt. He descended down the stairs looking like a militiaman: bow on his back, quiver with bodkins and his arming sword at the side, and super-thick, protective pads of layered fabric patterned into diamonds covering him from his neck all the way to his knees.

Silently, he swung open the tavern door and exited into the village outside, muttering, “What a bitch. Hope she dies horribly,” before setting off for the local blacksmith and farmer’s market.