SyrianHamster Member
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- SyrianHamster 12 yrs ago
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11 yrs ago
The fishes aint biting like they used to.
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I really didn't see any other way this fight was going to end. Broding is a massive hulking giant with the memories of a thousand warriors. Lord Polvark is a brave amateur, but ultimately fragile and vulnerable in comparison.
Jacques felt ecstasy and sorrow in equal measure, as his body gorged itself on primal energy. Instincts had swamped his rationale, and it seemed to him that he had forsaken a lifetime commitment to peace and compassion for a bloody hour of battle; killing and dying for a cause he no longer savoured, for an Emperor he no longer favoured. The savage giant, riddled with injures as he was, came to Jacques in a speed that defied his stature.
"Why is mother crying, father?"
"You know why, you little shit, you ungrateful fucking demon spawn!"
"Father, I don'-"
"I SAW YOU, did you think I wouldn't find out?"
"What did you se-"
"To think, Frandalmir the Great, famed warrior and legendary commander, sprung from his manhood an afflicted brat. How the Old Gods mock me."
The giant's fist surged forwards as if carried by a tempest, and Jacques for the first time realised his peril. He was no warrior, he had floundered through this fight on a mixture of adrenaline and forlorn hope. His enemy, towering above him, and constructed from the souls of a thousand warriors like a patchwork quilt of fallen heroes, was going to kill him. There was nothing to be done. Jacques closed his eyes, and clenched the axe tightly with both hands. It would be over soon.
"Polvark! Polvark! Polvark!"
The crowds lined either side of the street, making way for an immaculate chariot of burnished steel and prized mares.
"Polvark! Polvark! Polvark!"
Pox ridden faces, with toothless mouths, yelled their applause to the man that had broken the Emperor's heavy taxes.
Jacques brought the axe up at the last second, and his enemy's fist, almost as large as his head, crashed into the weapon's shaft. The sheer force of impact was enough to send him flying several feet until the solid stone of the keep's wall broke his flight. He fell to the floor in a heap; his body surged with lightning, as his muscles and bones quickly registered the innumerable busted blood vessels and torn fibres.
"The Emperor will not take kindly to your popularity with the mob, he will see your charitable actions as an effort to undermine him."
"The Emperor is not as pitiful or as tyranical as you think, Wizard, he favours my actions, he has told me so."
"I have known that man since he was a child, if there is one thing he does not favour, it is someone whose name is shouted more than his."
"Enough. I have two more hospices to visit before the day is done, we will talk of this later."
Curse the Emperor. That aged, withered crone with half the mind worthy of his station. People could sing to the high heavens that it was the Emperor's Bane, that brought the Empire to its knees, but in truth it was all traceable back to that one miserable wretch. If only Jacques had been in a position of strength, if only he had seen the world for what it was those few years ago, then maybe he could have made a difference. Had his assignment to the Empire's frail frontiers been the result of his inaction?
The giant stalked towards him mockingly, stopping to show a hint of disappointment that Jacques had given up the fight too early. He struggled to his feet, and saw with dismay that the axe was out of his reach. He looked down at his fists, and clenched them.
"We fight as equals, barbarian, and the Gods will decide who is stronger," sneered Jacques. He spat blood and teeth onto the tiles beneath him, and stalked forwards.
The giant seemed almost amused at Jacques' suicidal proposition, though there was also something else in those evil eyes; respect maybe? He grunted, and moved to meet him. A large fist came down from above, and Jacques moved to avoid it, coming across on the giant's left and launching his own into the monster's rippling torso. They were good, strong hits, but they were ultimately ineffectual. Jacques scooted backwards, avoiding a clumsy counter jab. He noticed that the giant appeared to be tiring, and even his feet were starting to lag with the accumulation of his many injuries. Seizing the advantage, Jacques shot forwards, ducking another powerful but ill-coordinated swing, and brought his right hand up into the giant's chin.
The impact made an audible click, and the giant stumbled backwards. Jacques could hardly believe his luck, and for the first time since the fight had started, he saw a window for victory. It was narrow, and horribly blurred - but it was there. He moved in again, but this time the giant did not swing; instead he seized Polvark by the shoulder and lifted him off the floor with a snarling growl. Jacques fought desperately for release, and wailed on the giant's face with several hooks, but the iron grip did not ease - it only tightened.
"Why is mother crying, father?"
"You know why, you little shit, you ungrateful fucking demon spawn!"
"Father, I don'-"
"I SAW YOU, did you think I wouldn't find out?"
"What did you se-"
"To think, Frandalmir the Great, famed warrior and legendary commander, sprung from his manhood an afflicted brat. How the Old Gods mock me."
The giant's fist surged forwards as if carried by a tempest, and Jacques for the first time realised his peril. He was no warrior, he had floundered through this fight on a mixture of adrenaline and forlorn hope. His enemy, towering above him, and constructed from the souls of a thousand warriors like a patchwork quilt of fallen heroes, was going to kill him. There was nothing to be done. Jacques closed his eyes, and clenched the axe tightly with both hands. It would be over soon.
"Polvark! Polvark! Polvark!"
The crowds lined either side of the street, making way for an immaculate chariot of burnished steel and prized mares.
"Polvark! Polvark! Polvark!"
Pox ridden faces, with toothless mouths, yelled their applause to the man that had broken the Emperor's heavy taxes.
Jacques brought the axe up at the last second, and his enemy's fist, almost as large as his head, crashed into the weapon's shaft. The sheer force of impact was enough to send him flying several feet until the solid stone of the keep's wall broke his flight. He fell to the floor in a heap; his body surged with lightning, as his muscles and bones quickly registered the innumerable busted blood vessels and torn fibres.
"The Emperor will not take kindly to your popularity with the mob, he will see your charitable actions as an effort to undermine him."
"The Emperor is not as pitiful or as tyranical as you think, Wizard, he favours my actions, he has told me so."
"I have known that man since he was a child, if there is one thing he does not favour, it is someone whose name is shouted more than his."
"Enough. I have two more hospices to visit before the day is done, we will talk of this later."
Curse the Emperor. That aged, withered crone with half the mind worthy of his station. People could sing to the high heavens that it was the Emperor's Bane, that brought the Empire to its knees, but in truth it was all traceable back to that one miserable wretch. If only Jacques had been in a position of strength, if only he had seen the world for what it was those few years ago, then maybe he could have made a difference. Had his assignment to the Empire's frail frontiers been the result of his inaction?
The giant stalked towards him mockingly, stopping to show a hint of disappointment that Jacques had given up the fight too early. He struggled to his feet, and saw with dismay that the axe was out of his reach. He looked down at his fists, and clenched them.
"We fight as equals, barbarian, and the Gods will decide who is stronger," sneered Jacques. He spat blood and teeth onto the tiles beneath him, and stalked forwards.
The giant seemed almost amused at Jacques' suicidal proposition, though there was also something else in those evil eyes; respect maybe? He grunted, and moved to meet him. A large fist came down from above, and Jacques moved to avoid it, coming across on the giant's left and launching his own into the monster's rippling torso. They were good, strong hits, but they were ultimately ineffectual. Jacques scooted backwards, avoiding a clumsy counter jab. He noticed that the giant appeared to be tiring, and even his feet were starting to lag with the accumulation of his many injuries. Seizing the advantage, Jacques shot forwards, ducking another powerful but ill-coordinated swing, and brought his right hand up into the giant's chin.
The impact made an audible click, and the giant stumbled backwards. Jacques could hardly believe his luck, and for the first time since the fight had started, he saw a window for victory. It was narrow, and horribly blurred - but it was there. He moved in again, but this time the giant did not swing; instead he seized Polvark by the shoulder and lifted him off the floor with a snarling growl. Jacques fought desperately for release, and wailed on the giant's face with several hooks, but the iron grip did not ease - it only tightened.
Daemyn Sterk said
Hey all of you, I'm gonna have to drop out of this roleplay. I'm sorry that I wasted your time by making an app, but now I just don't feel up for much roleplaying.
That's a shame, yours was truly a unique character.
I'll leave your character up there, in case you wish to return at any point.
Tick said
A quick warning, I'll be contributing to the IC at night (now), at least the first half of the week. Got family and work keeping me from 8AM-10PM. Won't be able to respond mid-day most-like.EDIT: Also, we're at the start and we have enough people, and enough going on, that players/characters might not get notice. if someone's getting ignored, bring it up. If no one else, I'll make sure to remedy the problem. :]
Timings never really seem to be a problem, I wouldn't worry about it. I'm from the UK myself, which puts me topsy-turvy with some of you time-wise. So long as people are fairly frequent, i.e 1 post a day if possible, then nothing should grind to a halt.
So, just checking in, are we any closer to launch than we were a week ago? Or we still mulling around?
I left it vague as to who was in the cell, but I originally imagined just one large open room with chains and nasty torture contraptions. However, if people wanna be in a cell across the hall, or elsewhere, then that's all fine with me. I thought if we were all over the place then no one would interact but I'm not bothered :)
EDIT: I like how everyone has automatically copied my character summary hider. I thought it'd be useful if everyone knew where everyone was; especially when we get out and start doing stuff.
EDIT: I like how everyone has automatically copied my character summary hider. I thought it'd be useful if everyone knew where everyone was; especially when we get out and start doing stuff.
thewizardguy said
I was planning to have Broding not use his weapon, to make it a fair match. With his strenght behind it, each swing would be unblockable, and the massive reach would make it nearly impossible for Polvark to get close enough to deal a hit. And I already have this one planned out. Hopefully, I can turn this into an epic moment.
Ah my bad. I prolly shoulda PM'd you for clarity.
I'll edit out the mentions of the lance.
Stefan0620 said
I just need someone to interact with Kyrtaar and untie him. Or our pointy-er friends can just cut the ropes. If we didn't want to go direct break out route, sorry, I can redo my whole post.
Whatever man, it's freeform in many respects. If someone wants to blast their way out of the cells, then I guess the rest of us have to adapt. Y'all better ready for a fight though, I doubt there's only a few guards.
Some of us could probably sneak out *looks at the rogue and assassin*, but others will need to find another way. Maybe a sewer system or something? Hidden passages? There's loads of possibilities I guess when you think about it.
Nice post anyways.
Steel fist said
Shorus
I'm accepting you because you was in the interest thread. Oh, add something about your guy being physically slow, to counterbalance his many abilities - you know, big hulking strong warrior type that can remove doorways with his left hand, but would struggle to catch a chicken.
Any other entries will have to wait until we've escaped the dungeon.
Go Polvark, go!
I wasn't sure if Broding was supposed to be using his weapon or not, because he planted it in the ground. You know, measly human with an axe vs giant with fists? But in the end, I thought it'd be better to just have 'em go at it.
Polvark's strength is in his lack of training; his moves are random and sporadic, working to counterbalance Broding's extensive knowledge of combat.
Though he's just a man, fallible and flawed, so you can ground him into the dust if you want. Whatever makes for the better story I say!
I wasn't sure if Broding was supposed to be using his weapon or not, because he planted it in the ground. You know, measly human with an axe vs giant with fists? But in the end, I thought it'd be better to just have 'em go at it.
Polvark's strength is in his lack of training; his moves are random and sporadic, working to counterbalance Broding's extensive knowledge of combat.
Though he's just a man, fallible and flawed, so you can ground him into the dust if you want. Whatever makes for the better story I say!
Lord Polvark let free a long lasting sigh, and his heart sunk into the deepest depths of his stomach. He had gambled on the savages being open to reason, and romantic notions of honour; he had failed pitifully, in such a way that would justify his father's scorn. To fight and die, allowing his men to be slaughtered like lambs - even though each was a lion - or to submit and die, with likewise results for those he hoped to save.
"To the Fire with it," he grunted at last. Looking up at his killer, Jacques managed a weak smile. "You remind me much of my father; you two would have gotten along famously."
With a shrug, his backplate clattered to the ground.
"My name is Jacques Polvark, son of Frandalmir the Great," he said; his voice growing bolder. He unfastened the buckles on his wrist guards, and let them slip from him. "Late Lord of Castle Rivergate, former Civil Minister to the Emperor, and once beloved by many of the common man."
He knelt low, and went about removing his shin guards. In a form of hysteria, he chuckled to himself, in an attempt to bludgeon the creeping sense of dread taking over his body. He didn't want to die, though he often wished for it, and now as the Ferryman was staring him down, he wanted more than anything to survive; to flee his sacred Imperial duty, to find his mother and apologise for what his sinful affliction had put her through. To find the tomb of his father, and offer his forgiveness to a man who only knew strength.
"My name is Jacques Polvark. The Afflicted. The Man-Lover. Shame of Frandalmir the Great, disgraced of the Emperor's favoured," he continued with growing delusion, as he finished loosening his shin guards. "I have fought tirelessly to achieve in a world riddled with adversity, with death, dishonour and corruption."
Standing to full height, Jaques looked the giant in the eyes with an expression of the hardiest iron. "My name is Jacques Polvark, and were it not for people like you , like the Emperor or like my father, then people like me could forge a better world."
Flexing his lanky form, the Late Lord of Castle Rivergate clicked his neck from side to side. His dread had rescinded; there was a beautiful poetry in the words of his adversary. He would die a man, in a world that had sickened him from the moment he crawled from between his mother's legs. He bent low, and grabbed the axe in one hand. It was heavy - the years he should have spent in the drill yards, he had spent sneaking around his father's estate, embroiling himself in explosive love affairs with any who would have him. Though Jacques was a clever man.
He had removed his torso armour, because it constricted his shoulders.
"I am Jacques Polvark," he said, hefting the axe.
He had removed his wrist guards, because they would have slowed his swing.
"I have lived a sad life, though no sadder than most," he continued.
He had removed his shin guards, because they would have stifled his speed.
"For all the widows, for the children who grow up without parents; for the common man, who is restrained whilst his loved ones are butchered by those with weapons. For those who gave their last for a better world, and for those," he paused, and pointed the axe at the giant. "For those whose memories and souls you have devoured and defiled. For those and many more, I fight."
Jacques, cold and indifferent to everything around him, charged forwards. He stopped abruptly, then jumped left, then right, zig zagging his way towards the giant in an almost clumsy fashion. As he brought the axe to bear, his enemy shoved a meaty arms-worth of death at him. Jacques ducked low, and rolled, coming up to shove the head of his axe into the giant's shin. Stepping back, the tip of the giant's knuckles grazed his nose, but Jacques resumed his offensive immediately after a brief stumble. He brought the axe high, catching the giant's forearm. A great fist caught him in his unprotected face; splintering his eye socket, and reducing his already injured nose to a bloody pulp.
Blinded by stars, Jacques jumped backwards and snarled at his enemy through bloodied vision. His lungs heaved with effort, and the pain in his face was almost overpowering, but somehow, the Late Lord of Castlegate was not cowed.
"Come at me, monster, come at me and let's end this," he spat, "I've enough left to reap your evil from this world."
"To the Fire with it," he grunted at last. Looking up at his killer, Jacques managed a weak smile. "You remind me much of my father; you two would have gotten along famously."
With a shrug, his backplate clattered to the ground.
"My name is Jacques Polvark, son of Frandalmir the Great," he said; his voice growing bolder. He unfastened the buckles on his wrist guards, and let them slip from him. "Late Lord of Castle Rivergate, former Civil Minister to the Emperor, and once beloved by many of the common man."
He knelt low, and went about removing his shin guards. In a form of hysteria, he chuckled to himself, in an attempt to bludgeon the creeping sense of dread taking over his body. He didn't want to die, though he often wished for it, and now as the Ferryman was staring him down, he wanted more than anything to survive; to flee his sacred Imperial duty, to find his mother and apologise for what his sinful affliction had put her through. To find the tomb of his father, and offer his forgiveness to a man who only knew strength.
"My name is Jacques Polvark. The Afflicted. The Man-Lover. Shame of Frandalmir the Great, disgraced of the Emperor's favoured," he continued with growing delusion, as he finished loosening his shin guards. "I have fought tirelessly to achieve in a world riddled with adversity, with death, dishonour and corruption."
Standing to full height, Jaques looked the giant in the eyes with an expression of the hardiest iron. "My name is Jacques Polvark, and were it not for people like you , like the Emperor or like my father, then people like me could forge a better world."
Flexing his lanky form, the Late Lord of Castle Rivergate clicked his neck from side to side. His dread had rescinded; there was a beautiful poetry in the words of his adversary. He would die a man, in a world that had sickened him from the moment he crawled from between his mother's legs. He bent low, and grabbed the axe in one hand. It was heavy - the years he should have spent in the drill yards, he had spent sneaking around his father's estate, embroiling himself in explosive love affairs with any who would have him. Though Jacques was a clever man.
He had removed his torso armour, because it constricted his shoulders.
"I am Jacques Polvark," he said, hefting the axe.
He had removed his wrist guards, because they would have slowed his swing.
"I have lived a sad life, though no sadder than most," he continued.
He had removed his shin guards, because they would have stifled his speed.
"For all the widows, for the children who grow up without parents; for the common man, who is restrained whilst his loved ones are butchered by those with weapons. For those who gave their last for a better world, and for those," he paused, and pointed the axe at the giant. "For those whose memories and souls you have devoured and defiled. For those and many more, I fight."
Jacques, cold and indifferent to everything around him, charged forwards. He stopped abruptly, then jumped left, then right, zig zagging his way towards the giant in an almost clumsy fashion. As he brought the axe to bear, his enemy shoved a meaty arms-worth of death at him. Jacques ducked low, and rolled, coming up to shove the head of his axe into the giant's shin. Stepping back, the tip of the giant's knuckles grazed his nose, but Jacques resumed his offensive immediately after a brief stumble. He brought the axe high, catching the giant's forearm. A great fist caught him in his unprotected face; splintering his eye socket, and reducing his already injured nose to a bloody pulp.
Blinded by stars, Jacques jumped backwards and snarled at his enemy through bloodied vision. His lungs heaved with effort, and the pain in his face was almost overpowering, but somehow, the Late Lord of Castlegate was not cowed.
"Come at me, monster, come at me and let's end this," he spat, "I've enough left to reap your evil from this world."
Aaaaaaaaand we're off :)
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