A5G

Through a Wayward Glimmer -- to a Faraway Place [Closed]

Volkhart was among the latter to arrive, the old man entering with a bit more spring to his steps compared to his previous day's form. A light sheen of water still clung to his hair and recently-trimmed mustache, his sleeves slightly damper than the rest of his attire. Whether the morning wash would kept him invigorated through the day or fade within minutes was up to debate, but for the moment not even creaking joints could dampen his mood. After all, adventure awaited! Possibly his last one, but not something he'd bet over.

He had went on several of these "last adventures" after all. None quite stick as the last.

His name signed with a flourish, an immaculately flowing script simply denoting "Volkhart" on the paper. The elder skipped past the provided equpiment, barely hiding his distaste at the mass-produced gears. His own was plain better, still in good shape despite evidently having existed and in use for much longer. It even looked better too, the old man easily blending into any city's uptown district if not for the sturdy supply backpack and the partisan he wielded.

Hanging along at the periphery of the crowd, Volkhart closed his eye and inwardly counted down for the departure time. There'll be much walking, but such drudgery was an unavoidable part of the journey. He just had to keep up, one step at a time. Eventually a source of excitement will bring itself to the forefront.

Through a Wayward Glimmer -- to a Faraway Place [Closed]

The elderly Volkhart stood near the front, impeccably dressed and would've fit right in if not for the grey on his features and the cane he leaned on. The oldguard very much preferred being at the edge where he could observe the room, yet alas his hearing wasn't what it once was. He had to be this close to properly catch the captain's thinly veiled distrust, not like the briefing was anything particularly enlightening. Much could already be surmised from the initial notice, and it's readily apparent that the captain himself didn't know too much about the situation.

Hence the notice bringing all sort of individuals, hoping that perhaps some had the unique expertise that fits the situation. Volkhard had to suppress a chuckle at the thought. It's just like the good old times.

As for why he's here among them, well, he tried retirement. He really did. It didn't work out, and off he go to relive the past. One last adventure before his body fails.

Some of the fellows were inquisitive. Some distantly individualistic. There's one that reminded him of Dilbert the quartermaster, droll enough to drive anyone insane within minutes yet worked with the efficiency of a full team with just a notebook and a quill.

...ah, his mind wandered again. It's been happening more and more lately. Shaking the fugue out, old bones creaked as the elderly blademaster refocused onto the captain's response. Many good points were brought up here, and thought he had enough wealth to not care much about the reward Volkhart wouldn't want to miss critical details of the adventure.

Through a Wayward Glimmer -- to a Faraway Place [Closed]

Name: Volkhart the Elder
Age: 62
Appearance: Tall and wiry with grey creeping into his aging countenance. Wears an eyepatch over the left eye, and his left hand is missing the pinky and ring fingers.

Click me!

Additional Info / Bio:

Volkhart the Reaper was a legendary title some four decades back, telling the story of an unstoppable one-man force of nature who travel the realm seeking its greatest battle and leaving broken monsters and champions in his wake before disappearing just as abruptly as his appearance. A thousand stories shrouded the man, facts and myths intertwining until it all blurred into one indistinguishable mass. Some said that he was once trapped in sea for three hundred days, learning how to balance on a piece of flotsam before taking the footwork back into land. Others said that he was trained by a one-armed father, and by the time he learned to use both arms he's already capable of slaying most men with one. Even more outlandish tells tale of a god of war taking the form of man, descending to experience the finest the mortal world had to offer.

His disappearance fueled the rumor mill with even more stories. Many tells of an eventual tragic defeat, with an endless wave of individuals claiming to have done the deed. Others strongly believe that the legend had fought everything the land could offer, and already moved on to foreign soil in search for more. Even the pious chipped in, convinced that the divines took interest of his feat and welcomed him among their ranks.

Whatever's the truth, or whether the man even existed at all, it had long since buried under the sands of time.

If anyone brings up such stories to one old man Volkhart, he'll only smile wryly and wave it off with a three-fingered hand. Whether the legendary master in person or an impersonator, it's quite impossible to verify. He certainly wouldn't confirm it, even if he do there's no evidence to support it. While he could move with springing grace belying his age, one could well find him leaning onto a cane for support not long after.

An old legend, or a particularly good fake? Whatever the case, he's present for the quest.

Notable Equipment:
-An old travel trunk filled with daily necessities
-A heavy hardwood cane, the bronze handle worn and shiny from use
-A set of hardened leather armor supported by thin metal lamellar underneath. Light to wear but sufficiently sturdy
-A partizan tightly bound in cloth and a simple leather sheath

Trivia:
-Impeccable spatial sense and balance. Body struggles to keep up.
-Carries plenty of scars, most prominently one that goes from the left hand to the elbow. The limb couldn't quite flex entirely.
-Restless and twitchy, yet with a hint of fraility that comes from age and old injuries.
-Able to wield simple physical empowerment magic. Doesn't use it much these days, the bones hurt.

Through a Wayward Glimmer -- to a Faraway Place [Closed]

Name: Volkhart the Elder
Age: 62
Appearance: Tall and wiry with grey creeping into his aging countenance. Wears an eyepatch over the left eye, and his left hand is missing the pinky and ring fingers.

Click me!

Additional Info / Bio:

Volkhart the Reaper was a legendary title some four decades back, telling the story of an unstoppable one-man force of nature who travel the realm seeking its greatest battle and leaving broken monsters and champions in his wake before disappearing just as abruptly as his appearance. A thousand stories shrouded the man, facts and myths intertwining until it all blurred into one indistinguishable mass. Some said that he was once trapped in sea for three hundred days, learning how to balance on a piece of flotsam before taking the footwork back into land. Others said that he was trained by a one-armed father, and by the time he learned to use both arms he's already capable of slaying most men with one. Even more outlandish tells tale of a god of war taking the form of man, descending to experience the finest the mortal world had to offer.

His disappearance fueled the rumor mill with even more stories. Many tells of an eventual tragic defeat, with an endless wave of individuals claiming to have done the deed. Others strongly believe that the legend had fought everything the land could offer, and already moved on to foreign soil in search for more. Even the pious chipped in, convinced that the divines took interest of his feat and welcomed him among their ranks.

Whatever's the truth, or whether the man even existed at all, it had long since buried under the sands of time.

If anyone brings up such stories to one old man Volkhart, he'll only smile wryly and wave it off with a three-fingered hand. Whether the legendary master in person or an impersonator, it's quite impossible to verify. He certainly wouldn't confirm it, even if he do there's no evidence to support it. While he could move with springing grace belying his age, one could well find him leaning onto a cane for support not long after.

An old legend, or a particularly good fake? Whatever the case, he's present for the quest.

Notable Equipment:
-An old travel trunk filled with daily necessities
-A heavy hardwood cane, the bronze handle worn and shiny from use
-A set of hardened leather armor supported by thin metal lamellar underneath. Light to wear but sufficiently sturdy
-A partizan tightly bound in cloth and a simple leather sheath

Trivia:
-Impeccable spatial sense and balance. Body struggles to keep up.
-Carries plenty of scars, most prominently one that goes from the left hand to the elbow. The limb couldn't quite flex entirely.
-Restless and twitchy, yet with a hint of fraility that comes from age and old injuries.
-Able to wield simple physical empowerment magic. Doesn't use it much these days, the bones hurt.

Absolved Will Be the Saviors

The fire was a bit further away now, but they're not out of the figurative pan yet. It served as a bright backdrop to the chaotic battle, the crackling of the outpost burning down mixing with the cacophony of the fighting and dying. Stench of blood and ash intermingled across the camp, seemingly trapped within the burning walls, the heat creeping through the air to lick at her skin.

Mirielle didn't slow her sprint, sparing only a worried glance at little Lin before continuing her sprint full-force toward the enemies building up toward the gate. The others got the downed mage covered, but someone need to make sure that their exit remained open.

"Come on, move it!"

Past Carmen, the ex-inquisitor lunged at the closest soldiers as she took advantage of her immolating aura to shock and pierce through the opening. Cleaving and hewing in a manner more similar to a halberd than a traditional spear, Mirielle gritted her teeth to banish the budding headache from her divine power drying out. Three major miracles a day already pressed on her, mental exhaustion will claim its due sooner or later.

But the work was not yet done. She can collapse later when everyone's safe, and not one second sooner.

Absolved Will Be the Saviors

"Creator above, what is she DOING?!"

They were in a good spot. Amaris was holding the foes from taking over the entrance well enough, all it took was for Mirielle and Carnatia to reach it before making their exit from the rapidly burning garrison. But in a feat of needless recklessy Thomas' niece charged in as if she's an armored cataphract, riding straight into the enemy mob for reasons she couldn't really perceive.

And predictably, the untrained horse lost its steam too quickly. Then the enemies were on her from all sides.

"That girl is getting an earful later!" With a yell the ex-inquisitor ran ahead, steps fueled by urgent purpose. The rescue wasn't up to her, the distance beyond what Mirielle could reasonably affect, but perhaps she can get there fast enough to make a difference.

Right after their healer deserted too. Damn it all.

Absolved Will Be the Saviors

After ascertaining that she wouldn't accidentally impale Carnatia, Mirielle quickly tear the new opening wider for the redhead to make through. Raising an eyebrow but otherwise nodding at the unusual cask, she shook the ringing out of her ears before returning her attention to the other two trying to break through the front line. Trouble seemed to brew that direction, for the rest of the outpost started to rally and head to the only visible intruders. Namely their merry little group.

"Yeah, lets-" Coughing from the smoke, the ex-inquisitor spared one last glance to the roaring oil fire behind them. A shudder was suppressed, Mirielle decisively heading the opposite direction. Mortal soldiers were much preferable to the burn. Besides, sticking together was important. "-urrh, lets get out of here before we all cook."

Absolved Will Be the Saviors

It's hard to imagine that such torturous experience from a mere graze could be fielded from mundane means... well, at least not in this manner. A substance that was effective even at a minor graze, can be procured in sufficient number that the musketeers in this backwater place can peruse freely, whipe being safe enough to handle without contamination risk? She never heard of any.

Mirielle shook the errant thought away. That was a line of thoughts better suited to smarter people. For now, they needed to get the hell out of this place.

"Wait, Carnatia-" The ex-inquisitor started as Carmen went off, but her words were interrupted by a fiery explosion that crumpled the dead commander's tent. She braced with her left side as the heat washed over, bits of wooden debris bouncing off the armored side. Yellow eyes flickered with newfound urgency, looking at the few remaining Carnatias standing in place looking ready for a fight.

Her heart sank as none of them reacted like a normal human would. Turning back and forth from the exit and the now ruined tent, it didn't take long for Mirielle to come into a decision as a newfound sense of urgency filled her voice.

"Carnatia's still in there!" She went into a jog before breaking into a sprint, shouting to fight against the ringing in her ears. "Cover each other and get out, I'll catch up! You both better stay alive!"

She didn't wait for a reply, quickly reaching the tent that had collapsed in the most spectacular fashion. At least it wasn't on fire, but the promise of immolation wasn't far with how the hot wind licked her skin. And then there's the telltale stink of some sort of whale oil, earning the quartermaster of this place a severe mental scolding. Who even thought that it's a good idea to place such volatile stuff there?

Taking a deep breath, lungs protesting at the acrid warm air, Mirielle suppressed a cough as she yelled at the heap. "Carnatia! You alive in there?!"

Taking measured aim, she poked at the canvas heap with her spear to test the waters and, feeling no resistance, carefully cut open a new entrance.

Absolved Will Be the Saviors

Mirielle gasped for air, tension bleeding out of her form as the brief exchange ended with the commander felled by flanking maneuver. One that wouldn't have been necessary had she committed into a killing blow from the get go, instead it almost ended with her innards painting the packed dirt of the outpost.

A lesson in the danger of overconfidence. And greed.

"...ah. Carmen!" Sparing a short moment to retrieve her spear, the ex-inquisitor immediately jogged over to the previously downed captain. Carmen looked like he's doing better, but that's likely a mix of adrenaline and her own aura keeping him up. The cut still bled into his eye, and it needed bandaging soon. And then there's the information they gotta grab from the commander's tent before the fire beat them to it, and then getting out before said fire overwhelmed their position.

She gritted her teeth. This wasn't over yet.

"Amaris, clear those soldiers out! Carnatia, grab what documents you can from the commander's tent!" Mirielle barked at the other two, hoping that they'll listen despite her lack of rank to pull. Keeping her spear ready, she fished some bandage from her satchel and pressed it onto Carmen's wound. "Stay bloody still and keep the pressure, I'll hold this position. And Creator's sake, if there's some magical crap causing that pain you should have cleansed it already."

Absolved Will Be the Saviors

The initial exchange revealed that Mirielle was utterly outmatched, at least when it comes to strength and durability. Her strike impacted what felt like iron bars, the jarring rattle spreading up her arms, and the spear was caught before it even had the chance to slide off with the momentum. Even though she draw first blood it didn't even felt like a win with how the easterner seemingly ignored the wound.

Fucking physical enhancers.

Carmen said something, but she was a bit too busy not getting smeared on the ground to properly pay attention. Much less replying. In a not unexpected but still entirely unwelcome feat of strength her foe yanked at her weapon, intent on dragging her straight toward an incoming blow. She loosened her grip at her spear, footwork rapidly shifting as the engraved shaft scraped and heated her gloves from the friction, grabbing and twisting herself at the last second to swirl out of the hammerhead trajectory. Her hair fluttered from the crackling shockwave of the maul's passing, leaving no illusion that had it been a direct hit it would've knocked her halfway into the grave, armor be damned.

Fucking physical enhancers.

Hobnailed boots dug furrows into the ground, the ex-inquisitor still holding onto the spear locked in place by tyrranical might. In a few seconds the commander will reset his stance at which point she had to let go or suffer dire consequences, but Mirielle loathe to give up on her symbol of justice. Her evasion had brought her a short respite for one last ditch effort. It'll have to do.

Divine energy pulsed from her dwindling reserve, leaving just about a quarter after the miracles expended through the day. It coursed from her core into her arms, entering the spear which immediately set aglow with blazing gold. An illusory spear overlaid the material, its radiant warmth resembling a midday sun to all but the garrison commander who should suffer the full wrath of the sun's fury.

Mirielle disengaged backward as the holy lance discharged, retrieving her spear with her if her foe let go from the heat. The divine projectile seemingly launched into the distance at first, but it'll curve up before coming back to crash onto the commander from above. A smiting well-deserved, and let none ever say otherwise.