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Yo! I'm a fairly simply guy who's in here due to my love of writing. I've never got into the swing of things on these forums due to other stuff, hence the massive difference from the time I joined to the number of posts I've made. I'm a big geek when it comes to all things anime, fiction and games. I can roleplay just about anything as long as it doesn't involve me using an actual person's picture. I usually lean on the anime style of RP's, but recently I've been branching out for the sake of gaining perspective. I don't inherently dislike any character tropes, I believe if the execution is right and the direction is clear then something of value can come out of that. I might be online in theory, but that might just be me leaving the tab open. If you wanna talk just go ahead! I don't bite... much.

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Towering Giant, Repose Until Nightfall...

@Noodles




And much like a spell, the thought metastasized into real form, the youth had approached the Tavern towards where the giant sat and even directed her greetings towards him. Upon closer inspection, the lass was indeed young, yet her hands and arms were battle-ridden in scars and bruises. Her finger, absent from delicacy and were like those of farmers yet the intricacies of the wound would show they were not gifted through the tending of the fields. Hafrbjǫrn had those due to wood working, field care and the smith. Her aura did not speak of that, the gentleness of her speak demonstrated air of nobility and her poise as she tread through the Tavern was refined and tempered, almost like a calculated machine or the hammer after clanging against ebony. She did not share the same origins as this mountain of a man by mere extension of sight, instead, these were the scars of a woman honing the blade. Did her gauntlet lack any sort of padding? Did the hilt lack any sort of leather? Did the pommel lack any sort of stability? The possibilities ran across his thoughts smudging his features into a lifted brow. His mead still dancing on the innards of his jug, while the sweat of condensation drip through its glass and stained the table underneath. Hafrbjǫrn took another swing before realizing that the bar's noise began to lessen, perhaps this is due to his mind trailing along so far into thought. It mattered not, thought the giant. Perhaps this could be seen as an opportunity, if so, he would take it. "Only bread, young knight?"

The thunder of his tone reverberated into words directed at the youth known as Selova. Her dress spoke too intricately of a sort of lifestyle which the giant thought of, yet her eating habits seemed mild and humble. Something he did not seem to understand in correlation. Perhaps her aura was that of nobility, but discipline of a warrior. "Perhaps a bit of meat would garner some strength for the journey ahead. I do not wish to impose, but if there is anything more dangerous than a man with a sword, is one with a hole in their stomach." He spoke absent-minded like. Almost as if he was regurgitating something he spoke many times, before, though the jade of his iris locked onto her's, she did not follow suit as of yet and focused entirely on her food. "I am called Hafrbjǫrn, young knight. I have also been offered the position as a guild mate, though I have yet to come to terms if I would join in or not."

Towering Giant, Repose Until Nightfall...





Even among the men and women of the guild, the tavern felt lonesome. The sounds of distant chatter fulled the emptiness, like how the wind blows through the cracks on a hollow valley, noise as such worked merely to rid itself of total silence. The giant had reluctantly allowed the Serim to slip through his fingers, although with only a warning at his behest. Nothing to show for it, but mead in his hand and a few bruises from treadling through a desert wasteland. He took a final glance at the hand which had been damaged, he felt all joints were working properly, the bones did not ache at the grip his hand formed whilst holding an imaginary axe in his grip. Yes, this would do... Though this silent mountain of a man, bringing once again the savoring taste of liquor to his lips. Naught to do but to wait, this is what this thought burning at him, but much to think about. Much to ponder and reach. Hafrbjǫrn had fallen back to his silence after last nights exchange, much had happened and all remained fresh in thought. To band together with strangers was one aspect, something temporary bound by contract, if any died at the miles of travel then the giant could rest surely that all he would feel would be an emptiness at his pockets. Yet this rule changed extensively when in groups, guilds were a mass of men and woman banding together under a similar banner to venture to unknowns. This thought did not please the giant, it only rose warnings of future struggles. if on the ruins he would've spoken abruptly and with earnest, then perhaps they would've saved themselves the need to fight against unnecessary of great potency, to be honest, they survived by the inch of their hairs.

Stroking his beard which stretched far enough that it would hide neck, the giant began to entertain the thought of joining the Irregulars. The thought was truly just one halved with skepticism. The Witch Doctor truly was the only one whom had any decency as to approach him, all shared equaled amount of animosity and fear towards his size. It not something he is proud of, it is merely how he was born. It was clear in their baited breath and distinctive seam of the eyes. They were intimidated to some degree, and not due mere size, but to the perceived notion that he was violent. And to be fair, he supposed it was fair to think that way. But nevertheless, it was not in his intentions to interact with something of passing nature. What could be an ally today, could certainly be a target tomorrow. Such was the certainty of being a sword-for-hire. It paid well enough, but faces were but paintings drawn upon stone, they would wither and cleans itself with passing. It was not eternal if another hand decided to meddle with it. And people of the sword were of similar nature, of similar hues. Their colors oh so different, but they were still colors. And predictable, when the nature of survival, jealousy, anger and or sadness is involved. People lose their sense of self, replace it with a sense of power, and reason is tossed out the window. Passion is indeed, a powerful weapon. Hafrbjǫrn knew this almost spiritually, after the loss of his son, he could almost sense the moment when he shifts between a smith and a warrior.

And so now, presented with a choice, Hafrbjǫrn only has a thought and some time. He began to gather the names he could remember and the impressions he had gathered. Firstly, there were more females than males on this guild, this speak highly of the Guild Master, but not in the means which he would gratify, in fact he questioned it rather dismissively at first. Why? the giant, thought but the answer always lead to the same conclusion. And so he decided to end it, before his would gather a sense of understanding that was merely an extension of disgust and extended embarrassment. He began to ponder, more and more, until his mind rose into a blank spot and as if his eyes were finding the answers in the Tavern, his eyes trailed towards the new blood. Three females, all of which held particular uniqueness to each. To be frank, their youth was something the giant noted immediately. Their bodies, although honed upon the veils of training and combat like finely tempered steel under a seething flame, youth's faculties of the mien remained strong and steady. Their eyes and flesh void from the wrinkles of age, softness of lip and flush of cheek with delivered the sympathy of youth's embrace. The softness of the brow which marked innocence to a degree of but a glistening shred of limited experience. There was another in the guild who shared the same, the Song Rogue, daughter of the head. She bared resemblance to stories of all, another victor of the spoils. Perhaps he could confront her, for the mere sense of conversation. As someone who was born on this atmosphere... Hafrbjǫrn was curious on her perspective on the world.

Next, the silver haired knight. Her eyes were a brilliant as her locks. Dancing around with soft motion at the behest of the air. Her name was Alleria, if the giant hear right. Her stature was large, woman of the size were hard to see in most cases. She stood above the rest of the girls by mere extension of stature. Her eyes did not speak of much, as though honed in an art of battle even this humble giant was foreign to. Perhaps instinct dictate that she would be no mere liability in the front line, if he joins as well, then this would surely be one of the people who would stand beside him in the front.

The other was blonde of gray iris's. Strange in a way, but it resembled a uniqueness in her self. Selova was her name, and she radiated a meek kindness in her stare. Hafrbjǫrn could not pinpoint the reasoning behind it, but there in her neutral state he could tell something about her was benevolent. Or perhaps this is merely an extension of witnessing the manner of which she uses her hair. It was different, it adorned her cheeks and flush in the lighting of the tavern's candles which gave her an aura of soothing calmness. Nevertheless, he moved the final and most interesting of the bunch.

This one was called Ehri. Although all held a particularity to them, he found this one to be of course one of the most peculiar, because she held with her two beast whom if found in the wild, the giant would've cleaved them in half already. A wolf and hawk that did not give themselves to their primal urges, instead, they toyed with the other as if they were siblings to a motherly figure. Of course, this huntress was master and commander, someone potent enough to win their respect and admiration. the Alpha in their odd creed. Indeed, she swelled of potency, but similarly of youth. And youth was dangerous, youth entailed many things, and not much good when inexperience is involved. Nevertheless, the giant finished his mead. And merely continued to be joined by lonesome and silence. He will not do what must be done, not until he has decided on whether to join or not.
@Lyla I'm terribly sorry to hear that. Please stay safe and feel better.

@HowlsOfWinter All right, I'll have a post up relatively soon - ish then!
I haven't posted not because I set myself up to be approached, but because I'm waiting until Howls gets her post up, no rush or anything Howls, I'm just clearing up any confusion.
@HowlsOfWinter ah don't worry about it. Take your time and stuff, I also understand the situation you're going through with the DS thing so I can wait lol

Towering Giant, Repose Until Nightfall...

@HowlsOfWinter





A prevalent silence loomed at the moment that question rose. Of course... she would figure it out. They stood out like a sore thumb and if she was there the whole time, she probably even heard. What to say? The old giant release a heavy sigh and rose his jug, ushering the barkeep to fill it up once more. To speak ill of the man was not something he'd accustomed, but more over, he didn't feel the need to filter his words in a moments repose. This young woman was kind enough to give him an ear, and so he would satiate her curiosity, even if was by means of extending a conversation that Hafrbjǫrn started. "Garrett seems indiscernible from the snake-men we fought. But even with my weary eyes I can tell, that even those snakes had honor." Vileness wreaked out of his tone with each syllable that he spoke regarding that man. Perhaps the giant shouldn't have been so foolish as to believe that whatever sum of money was offered was going to be a lie. The luxuries of the guild began to ring smoother tunes onto his thoughts. Yet he couldn't, he and his family were not one anymore, and to reunite in comfort when they still troubled in poverty. It reeked of disgrace, what to do in earnest? Hafrbjǫrn Could not come up with a straight answer as immediately as the guild master wanted, he couldn't do for the mere thought of living under someone that sees him only as another chess piece. After his jug had been brimmed with mead, he stood from his chair and sat opposite to Octavia, this time he could see all her features directly, from the eyes patch, to the hue of the eye lit under the subtle fire. She reminded him of a flower that grew prevalently on the waters of his home, Stor nøkkerose, she seemed delicate almost, yet rigid on some sections.

"You said this was your first journey." the giant spoke with a bit more suitableness than before. Unlike the former company, he could now enjoy good mead, with good conversation. Although he was not much to speak, he could enjoy the stories of another. "I could not see too clearly what had happened in the mix of that battle." The giant spoke as he took a swing of his mead "But I'm sure with polish, you'll gleam like finely tempered steel." He remained silent, but before she could speak he halted "But--" Something in him wanted to pry, yet this was uncalled for. No, he would leave it be, the young lass would be offended and he was just and old giant, alleviating what troubles had garnered in the midst with good company. "What do you think of the guild master? Do you enjoy your time in the Irregulars? As a smith and sell-sword, I am only accompanied by strangers and the chisel." A genuine nature formed at the pit of that question, his son... He was one that wanted to join a guild and had fallen because of it. Since then, the giant grew angry, lonesome and more over curious. What was that the boy found so intriguing in everything? In all this meddling with guilds, perhaps he can finally get some perspective from someone the giant felt could give him a genuine answer.



Dinner Time: Meeting the New Irregulars



New faces to add to the bunch. Truly, the guild master knew how to pick them. The giant had half a thought to believe that there might have been some ulterior motive when choosing the new mates. Of course, to him it could be all the different. They were all women, and all seemed to be around or under the age of 25. The giant did not feel too privy to conversation at the moment so he sat quietly at the corner, enjoying solitude and silence.



Nightime



The giant had awaited at the gate, witnessing the sneaking's of a rat in knight's clothing. Arms crossed, and sights at the target's behest, a small bullet of sweat dropped from his forehead to his neck the Serim was contemplating the foolishness of his decisions. "Did you not think I would be so privy to your escape, Serim?" Garrett remained silent, clenching teeth and blade in hand, prepared to unleashed his fury on the giant, one that this man would welcome with open arms, if it weren't for the circumstances that had presented itself prior to all. "What say you?" The Serim opened his mouth and began to clamor a thought, he murmured under his breath a plan, a strategy. He could sense death loom at the pit of his stomach and he could do nothing. At the gates, in this area at this time of night. Anything could happen, anything could end his life and at the hand of these massive titan of a man, who Garrett has witnessed first hand what his potency was... What could he do? Run? If that was an option he would've done it already, he couldn't all these possession would get left behind and his riches would be for naught. What bullshit, what utter madness!! "Curse you, giant! By the hands of the gods themselves, I will cut you down where you stand!!" Pulling his sword, the Serim charged with massive disdain and disregard for life. Hafrbjǫrn, extended his hands and clamped onto his face, lifting him off the earth and slamming the Serim onto the nearby wall. Garretts back slid the wall, pain coursing through him, trembling at his feet, a cough echoed through the seams of where they stood. And Hafrbjǫrn's cold, apathetic stare locked with the Serim's.

"I warned you... You aught yet to see what I am when I'm angry." The Serim attempted to stand, just to be met with Hafrbjǫrn's boot, pressing him against the wall. "You stay and hear first what I have to say." Garrett's breath was becoming more and more paused, coughing increased, his diaphragm couldn't expand properly, so breathing was becoming more and more like a fleeting luxury to the Serim. "The guild master has paid your debt, and offered me a stay in their home. I intend to take it. So you and mines business is concluded." He released Garrett, who was now furiously gasping and coughing up a storm. Enjoying the sweet delicacy that was oxigen. "I will not bring any more harm upon you. For now, have it etched into your skull however, Serim. That if I ever see you again, I will have your head and mount it up on my garden to scare the crows." He stepped away, as if allowing him the escape, Garrett took not moments hesitation and dashed off at full speed. Hafrbjǫrn witnessed the act of cowardice displayed by a man who couldn't even tell when he was cornered. A sigh escaped him, and so he returned to the Tavern, where all where at their beds. And soon would the giant join them.



The Morning After



He appeared again,like rustling roach that he could not shake off. The giant remained at his silence, not telling the events that transpired in the night. However, he would not accept just yet. Not until the Irregulars decided to venture once more to their home, then he will tell the leader his decision.
@HowlsOfWinter Jesus, that's some dedication and grit. Also, some messed up luck! I hope everything gets fixed soon so that you can return to normalcy lol

I also added to my last post concerning the proposal. It's not much, but it should help on the idea of what's happening. I'm gonna make a separate post concerning the events of what's transpired in the latest post some time later.
Oh i thought we might have more time. I'll add a few more lines to the last post later today so that it could all make sense in terms of continuity. But for the most part a lot is gonna remain the same :laugh

Towering Giant, Repose Until Nightfall...
@HowlsOfWinter





The mead was one of quality, one such that the giant ill had the luxury to partake upon regularly. His mind had wavered from what was once a unpleasant exchange to the sonorous rustle of voices that engulfed the tavern's lodgings. Trailing on thoughts of the earnings he would get, and what to do with them. He missed the forge, he privy'd a good anvil and chisel. But such needed to wait, the tremble of his fingers had vanished almost entirely. He could still sense the ache of the tendons with each long interval he didn't exercise them by clutching momentarily into a fist. His drink was finished, and he didn't feel too inclined to order a second as they weren't particularly inexpensive. Still, he sat there at his lonesome ruminating on the journey and what had transpired. His was at his forge, and these three soldiers had procured his presence for the sake of maintenance, he agreed as would any smithy would. Just a couple of swords, some needed refinement others needed a simple whetstone. But Hafrbjǫrn body and blood was made for the forge, so this was to like playing is to a child. In the midst of it all, the man known as Garrett had spoken to him of a proposal, something of great value. Hafrbjǫrn was skeptical at first, but what was paid upfront was enough to warrant his intrigue. Of course, the slyness which protruded from the Serim also reached him, coil at his throat like serpent clutching its pray. But Hafrbjǫrn decided to honor the binding, and travel once more to the unknown. Many have died at his behest, many had died at his carelessness. Much sacrifice was needed, and much energy too. That these Irregulars had any sense of weariness not protrude from their essence was indeed something that peak the giant's curiosity.

His fingers tightened around the bridge of his nose, pressing as if to ward whatever headache would arise at the mere thought of this summary. Garrett was not one that seemed to be full of tricks, he seems like a fool who's a bit too good at charisma, however. His silver tongue had lead them astray for instances which could've been avoided. But... He witnesses the small wealth he has, if it could even be called that. A lot was sent to his family, to a sister and to the parents. Their poverty was too, the giants concern. The first half should be enough to keep them stable for a good amount, with the rest he could give his ex-wife enough to rebuild the home. A sigh escaped him, maybe he should actually ask for another. A voice broke off his trance, it was none other than the guild head. His abrasive nature had already rubbed the giant the wrong way. His eyes trained on his and without much to retort, the giant heard the proposal that headed his way. The guild master seemed to wait for an answer, but one never came. The giant was torn between lifting the table and smacking him upside the head with it, or pushing him down the stairs. But regardless, he took restraint. It took real gumption to do what this man was doing right now, and more over to sully his honor in such a way. He did not see pass what was the warrior, he saw only the pawn which he could utilize on his game of chess. He had no front-liners? If persuasion was a needed factor for leadership, this man ha sunk its ship long before he tried to set sail upon it. Hafrbjǫrn's point seemed to have cemented itself within the guild master, and taking his silence as a means to an answer he stood an left the giant once again at his lonesome.

Or so he thought... a noise caught his attention, head turning it was one of the Irregulars. The victor of the spoils, and one that the witch doctor seemed particularly fond of. She was small, but to Hafrbjǫrn many were small. Her jet-black hair swayed across her features, delicately adorning a visage of tranquility. Perhaps she has found a moments rest, finally. Yet throughout the journey, she wore another facet which the giant found particularly strange. During battle, he couldn't discern her methods either, it as if she had strength of quickness, but not such of resilience. She did not seems meek in the slightest, yet... Somehow... He turned once again, drinking what's left of his mead and pondering some more.

What was her name again? His emerald eyes trained themselves on the ice which still were present on his jug. Before he opened his mouth and spoke to the girl "Octavia, correct?" He didn't turn, yet continue to speak. "You wear calmness in your mien, finally. I thought I sensed a tinge of worry during our travels. Is there something that is amiss, perhaps?"

I also vote for character stuff.

Dont be too intimidated to go and talk to Half though! He doesnt bite oftenly
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