Avatar of BurningCold
  • Last Seen: 2 yrs ago
  • Joined: 10 yrs ago
  • Posts: 1302 (0.37 / day)
  • VMs: 0
  • Username history
    1. BurningCold 10 yrs ago

Status

User has no status, yet

Bio

It's Fine But...
---

I just think it's funny how
all the people I used to know
that'd say things like
"I wish I lived in
more interesting times"
are awfully fucking quiet now.

Most Recent Posts

@Lauder Welcome, friend! I hope you're adequately prepared for the amazing adventure that awaits you.

I assure you, it's going to be the best gods damned adventure you've ever had.
@ROADWARRIOR Just a friendly heads up for you. From my experience on this platform, conversations will typically take place over the course of days and weeks. Not hours. Very rarely does it seem that you'll find people above the free section speed posting in ic or ooc.
Adamiir Thiich - The Deadlands - Reflecting on his Mortality


Two of their own dead, just like that. While Adamiir couldn’t claim to feel particular remorse for either Glenndus or the whiny bitch that soon followed him to the grave, it was a stark reminder of the survivors’ mortality. Specifically, of course, his mortality. He glanced nervously at those around him, then at the cluster of hellspawn ahead. “I suppose it wouldn’t do to run away now, then?” Apparantly not, as the words barely left his lips before the elven paladin, Orintur Graywatch, as he so loudly proclaimed, charged headfirst into the throng of demons, sparking the melee.

It wasn’t long before Adamiir found himself surrounded. Three hissing scamps, circling around him, barely kept at bay by the threat of magicka coursing within his veins. The smallest one charged first, a flurry of claws and teeth that Adamiir noticed, even as he prepared to evade the assault, were remarkably clean for a scamp. He dropped to the ground, thrusting his hands into the air as he did so, pouring as much electricity into the creature’s softer underbelly as he could manage. The scamp dropped to the ground just behind Adamiir with a thud, even as the last two scamps charged at his now prone form. The one from behind arrived first, sinking its teeth deep into Adamiir’s shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain from the breton, even as he released a lightning bolt into the chest of the final scamp; a last ditch effort to prolong his life. The monster behind him bit down harder, and he thought he could feel something about to tear. Pain and panic flooded Adamiir’s mind then, and there was no more room for spells or survival.

Veeza - The Deadlands - Saving a Life


Veeza saw the scamp’s jaws open wide as it lunged forward before the breton felt them, and already he was charging ahead. The scamp released its morsel as the clanking of Veeza’s armor drew nearer and nearer, turning to face this new threat as quickly as time would allow. Not fast enough, it seemed, as Veeza grabbed the scamp by a leg and an arm with a roar, lifting the creature high into the air, before forcing it down onto his fearsome scalp. The thing wailed and shrieked, twisting and struggling desperately, only succeeding in burrowing Veeza’s spikes deeper into its stomach. The scamp scratched at him furiously, a few blows scraping his face, leaving shallow cuts, while most scrabbled harmlessly off of his armor. With a heave, Veeza lifted the scamp once more, throwing it down to the ground. It twitched once, then twice, then it was dead.

Veeza approached Adamiir then, looking down at the mage clutching his shoulder, working some sort of healing magic. Veeza prodded him with a foot, extending his hand. Adamiir ended the spell, reaching for Veeza’s hand with his good arm. Even as the argonian lifted him to his feet, Adamiir still winced in pain. It would take more than a cursory healing spell before his right arm could be used without great effort “I thank you, large and fearsome lizard! If the need arises for me to repay the favor, it is probable that I will!” He turned then, to survey the state of the battlefield, gripping his pendant tightly. Behind him, Veeza nodded.

“We must remain united. I fear this gate, and what it implies.”
Roze and I are collaborating for our characters and we've both been a bit busy, but we'll get there!
@MiddleEarthRoze Yessir, will do!
At long last I have posted, now I can join in the hero-ing for fame and fortune. Huzzah
Rook gazed levelly at the massive walls before him, taking a characteristically long swig from his flask as he did so. The walls of Starkvale were, of course, an impressive sight to the gent rapidly approaching them, his shorter stature offset by long, brisk strides that seemed to propel him as though some unseen wind carried him forth. A plethora of smells assailed Rook’s nose as his increasingly agitated pace brought him nearer to the cobbled together village below Starkvale’s walls. The scents of sausages, stews, eggs, potatoes, and all manner of food in various states of doneness wafted straight to Rook from the cook fires scattered about the town, as if directly challenging the conspicuously empty state of his own stomach; The last of Rook’s rations had dwindled to naught the morning of the previous day, when he decided to prioritize reaching Starkvale over foraging for an extra meal.

What Rook could only hope, was that he would be able to find work with one of the guilds that he knew existed on the other side of those tall, looming walls. While Carver’s Bastion wasn’t entirely cut off from the world, the travelers Rook encountered whilst heading north had reported the formation of a new guild when inquired upon, shedding new light on Rook’s likely outdated information on the city. This new guild, which was as of yet unnamed, as far as he could tell, seemed as good a place to start as any. So, when Rook at least reached the gates beyond the infernal maze of breakfast before them, that’s exactly what he explained to the sergeant that would be his ticket into the city.

The sergeant, to his credit, made no indication beyond his genetically predisposed hatred of mercenaries that Rook appeared to be yet another drop in the endless tide of sellswords seeking access to Starkvale. “Work,” The man began slowly, as if tasting the word, before finally spitting it out harshly. Clearly he tasted something he found unsavory. “You’re a sellsword. Sellsword don’t work. Sellswords are government sanctioned criminals that don’t belong inside this city. However-”

“You’re going to let me in anyways?” Rook peered up at the ill-tempered sergeant, an eyebrow raised in boredom. “I didn’t come here to swap philosophies until we’re both blue in the face. I want to get into your fucking city so I can start calling it my fucking city. So where the hell’s my escort?” The sergeant’s eyes narrowed down at Rook as his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Welcome to Starkvale, now get the hell out of my sight!”

Once the pair of guardsmen and the “government sanctioned criminal” they were assigned to escort arrived at the guild hall, the former peeled away, likely to return to their posts at the gate. The latter, however, had other plans. Striding past the confused drabarian mucking about in the street, Rook approached the three figures standing just within the confines of the hall. He nodded respectfully at all three, a shorter woman beside what Rook considered to be a hulking man, and a bejeweled chap. Flitting his gaze easily between them as he spoke, Rook introduced himself. “Rook Lassa, new to Starkvale. I’m also new to mercenary work, but not to combat.”
@Norschtalen You ought to post your sheet in the characters tab, so everyone else has easy reference to it.
Thanks for the link buddy, looking forward to see more information on this! You can count me as interested, obviously.
I didn't forget, but it doesn't seem like I'm going to have the time for this anymore. Hope y'all have fun!
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet