Bastian

Fog of Torvelt

STUR

__________

Stur grunted an affirmative in response to the big bull's question. He had had to fight trolls several times before, unfortunately. Wild hill-trolls back in his own lands during his youth, and once, one of Torvelt's own trolls not that far outside of Koprust on one particularly bad job. Aye, it was true that they were big, and ugly, and dumb, but people often underestimated them. They were capable of playing some tricks - fair deadly ones, even. He was about to tell just that to Gentle when a pair of interruptions grabbed at his attention.

"Ahoy! Friend coming in!"

Stur turned briefly to scan the new arrival. Human, like himself, unless he missed his mark, but one of those from the lands far away from his own, to the west or south. She would have stuck out like a sore thumb in this place, slogging her way through the mud like that, only she seemed oddly comfortable doing it. There was no time to question her, though, as in the next moment the trolls broke though the brush, tearing straight towards their little battle line.

The suspicious woman, the bull, the dwarf with his loud challenges all faded into a slight background whisper. Stur could only hear the pounding of the trolls' footfalls against the sodden Earth. From this distance, they sounded a great deal like hooves, galloping at full tilt towards his position. A cold shiver ran down his spine briefly as he remembered.

These were not the regular variety of trolls. In fact, he had never seen abominations against the gods like these before. They almost seemed to be melting before his very eyes, and every step closer the smell of dead things grew stronger. They should not be alive - he knew it in his bones. Something was wrong here, very wrong.

In an instant, the trolls were on them, and the world returned to the mercenary all at once. They split off in front of the battle line, one grappling with Gentle and the other moving to strike out at the shield-bearing Aasimar lad.


"It's poison! Don't let them touch you!" Came the call from behind. Brynan and the dwarf moved into his field of vision, each moving off to attack one of the two trolls in their unprotected flanks. Without hesitating, Stur shifted his focus towards the troll attacking the Aasimar, and its excess of ugly heads. His anticipation and his old fears evaporated into anger, and with a wild war cry he brought the head of his axe down towards one of the bloated, infected necks filling his vision.

Fog of Torvelt

STUR

__________

Stur murmured a low oath as the first bone-chilling yell drifted over their surroundings. He knew that sound instinctively; he'd had to deal with many a troll, back in the day. It was never pretty. He cast a quick look back over his shoulder, trying to make eye contact with any of the more long-range inclined types that happened to be paying attention.

"They're faster than they look, and an arrow or two will probably only make 'em madder. Might want to stay behind us." He called tersely, us obviously indicating the sturdier members of the band.

As it happens, the mercenary managed to glance back at just the right time to see their fearless leader Nathaniel completely vanish while standing in plain sight.

"Fuckin' figures." He ground his teeth in frustration and swung back to keep his focus trained on the hill where the troll-cries were coming from, hefting his longaxe as he did so. Its worn haft thudded softly into the cold, yielding mud of the road. Couldn't rely on those gods-damned frilly casters to do anything useful when it came down to cold iron.

Star Wars: A New Batch - A Clone Squad RP [CLOSED]

8246 sat cross legged in his pod, the dim illumination strips of its enviro-lighting drowned out by the glow of the datapad in his hands. It was loaded with nothing more than the military education complex's standard learning modules, yet he had taken it with him to lights-out all the same. He had always enjoyed learning about other species, both to learn how to treat their wounds and to see how their customs differed from the Resol'nare he and his brothers had been carefully raised on by Instructor Harkin. If anything, the recent unusual activity around the 'plex only made him tear into the information he could find with more determination. He might have to put his skills to the test sooner than anyone in the squad thought. Even more than those tense moments where he found himself working in perfect sync with his squadmates in drills, 8246 loved the feeling of being relied on for what he did best. He was the last line of defense when it came to looking after his brothers.

The steady beeping of the alarms brought him back to the now, and his pod began to open with the slow hiss of hydraulics. Right. Time for drills.

__

8246 stood at attention with his brothers in front of the instructor. Preps for training amounted to the same mindless blur that it always was, but he was nothing if not comfortable with routine. Harkin seemed to expect something a little more out of them today, though. Probably wanting to show them off to the other drill sarges before... whatever it was, happened. Things had been slowly getting more urgent over the past few weeks. He moved in unison with his brothers up to the starting line, a tiny ghost of a smile blooming on his face as 7627 started his usual antics.

"Just try not to get tagged while you're showing that launcher off to us and everybody else in the Galaxy, Tooseven." He said, loading up his own Deece and trying to ready himself for anything.

Star Wars: A New Batch - A Clone Squad RP [CLOSED]

Trooper CT-8246

Clone Number: CT-8246

Army Rank/Role: Medic

Nickname: None yet

Personality/Bio:

Like each of his brothers, 8246 is a perfect likeness and near-exact approximation of Jango Fett's personality. Also like the other clones, he possesses some slight variations in character from the original template. During his growth and training on Kamino, he was noted by the Mandalorian instructors and the Kaminoans for his composure and inexpressive body language, leading to him being frequently called "stone-faced" or "cold." Though eager to participate in training exercises and excelling at working with his fellow clones as a team, he showed comparatively little ambition or competitive spirit, instead being content to simply do his part. Though this has gained him a reputation for being dispassionate, 8246 nevertheless has finely-honed physician's instincts and is fiercely protective of each of his brothers in Rawl Squad, as well as anyone that requires treatment under his vibroscalpel.

Weaponry:

DC-15s Blaster Carbine

Medical Satchel:

3x Vibroscalpel
1x Laser Cautery
5x High-dose Bacta Patches
Bandages
Bacta Flask and Injector
Handheld Medscanner
Antiradiation and Adrenaline Capsules

Fog of Torvelt

STUR

__________

Stur scratched a bit at his beard. He knew that by turning her back on him so pointedly, the half-elf was trying to wound his pride. Despite that particular bit of knowledge, he still felt himself rising to the bait, the words of an equally biting reply forming somewhere inside. Reluctantly, he clamped down on his tongue. The only thing that mattered right now was the mission, the the coin that came after. He needed that reward, needed it more than he needed life itself, and so couldn't afford to drag things out any more than they already were.

He let out a long breath, still watching the half-elf as she leaned threateningly toward their masked guide-to-be, dispelling both the eager banter on his lips and the last remaining bit of mirth he had in his system over the situation in the first place. The elf - Aoné - introducing herself as a barbarian nearly started him up again, but Stur held firm, his face once again carefully composed.

He listened to the introductions once more, names starting to become more familiar to him this time around. Solveig, Imalessa... the one that perpetually looked like she had swallowed a lemon was called Brynan. So she was in the king's employ, after all.

And there it is: the shame, the frustration... the helpless, hopeless anger. The aging mercenary was all too well acquainted with feelings like those. He nodded just slightly to himself - he couldn't bring himself to care much, but he felt like he understood a bit better now.

Gentle had moved off to talk directly to the huntress, Imalessa. Stur felt it was time to say his piece, again. He moved a bit to the front of the group, back in the vicinity of Nathaniel and Brynan.

"Stur Stonetalon. My business of late is mainly breaking stubborn heads. Though," a quick glance towards the bull and the dragonborn, "looks like I've got some decent competition there. Fortunately for us, I'm a bodyguard of sorts, just like our Royal Protector here. I can keep the less... sturdy among us out of harm's way, if need be."

That's not all he could do, of course. But that's all these few needed to know, for now.

Star Wars: A New Batch - A Clone Squad RP [CLOSED]

I'm all about some clones, and some OG Star Wars Expanded Universe. Definitely interested!

Fog of Torvelt

STUR

__________

The weathered mercenary pushed open the doors and emerged into the soon-to-be cramped sitting room. Internally, he winced at the thought of that huge bull-beast crushing him against the walls. The less said about the growing strangeness of their little band, the better. He had neither seen nor heard of whatever species this Gentle belonged to, he who looked like he could knock down a small building or two if presented with the slightest inconvenience. The others didn't exactly put him at ease, either. Though, there was something to be said about that full-blooded elf. Sorceress though she may be, she was the only one of the group that had professed to wanting to find a cure for the Fog. Stur had resolved to keep a closer watch over her than the others - someone with the guts and the brains to try to tackle that particular problem stood to help everyone in the entire country if they were successful, and they couldn't afford to be lose her by way of running some fool king's rescue mission.

That first half-elf was propped up against the stones right next to the doorway, looking everyone over with a studious eye. Stur returned her gesture in kind, carefully breaking down just what about her set off those faint alarums in his mind. The way she held herself seemed almost effortless, like every little motion was a part of some dance. He reckoned she was fast with those blades of hers. Too fast. Maybe five years back, he would have been able to match her blow for blow, but nowadays, if it came down to it, he figured he'd need to keep her at a distance, using his longer reach until he could wear her down and knock her on her back. Let her get in close, and he'd be dead before he hit the ground.

He didn't trust her one bit, neither her haughty expression nor her pair of sinuous swords.

Stur's train of thought was soundly interrupted by the introduction of the man in the strange mask, this Nathaniel. The mercenary grunted sourly; he knew of nobody that hid their face unless there was killing or stealing to be done. This one reeked of dishonesty, but then who that he had met today didn't? Lowlander hexers like this one were no small amount of trouble, though, it was true. He'd had to rough up one or two in his time; one of them had tried to turn him into a pigeon.

Things took a turn for the worse when that same haughty half-elf stepped right up and challenged their supposed guide. Stur rolled his eyes; so, the she-bitch was going to let her ego get in the way of the job now, too? By her words in the king's presence, she seemed like she was directly involved in his affairs before this. Had she somehow gone and gotten His Royal Backside lost in the first place, then? He had half a mind to say something before the situation got worse, but his job had taught him when to hold his tongue and when to-

The bull-man had stepped forward. Stur's eyes widened slightly as he proceeded, in his rumbling, implacable voice, to give the both of them the dressing-down they deserved. He listened in rapt silence until the words titanic cock reached his ears; his mouth twitched, and it was all he could do to stay silent until the talk had almost died down before the steely composure that he had been holding so valiantly abruptly cracked. The man doubled over, raucous laughter pouring out and bouncing off the stone walls.

He gasped a long breath, reaching up to wipe a moistened eye. "Ohh, ah, gods without," he managed, "he's got you both, there."

Academy of Noble Arms - The Golden Generation

Ope, I just posted on the interest check thread only to see you've set up the RP itself. Are you still accepting characters?

Academy of Noble Arms - The Golden Generation

Still interested, just got kind of busy the past few days. I've got a pretty good character idea and I'm working on my sheet.

Fog of Torvelt

Hmm, you raise a good point. I had him as Aragorn because of the leader in exile bit, but his virtues and vices are much more Boromir.