Guy0fV4lor

The Storm Cycle: Reclamation

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@Rune_Alchemist@Crimson Paladin@Cu Chulainn

Reinhardt stared at the pair of guards in utter befuddlement. While he knew full well that the Queen he'd taken oath under was bound to have her detractors-- this was the first time in the young Knight's entire he had ever witnessed such nonchalant slander in person; let alone as it's target. Even if Sorcha was looked upon poorly by the people of Redwater... What of his house? Did his own family's service; their countless years of struggle and sacrifice for the safety of all the land, mean so little to them?

Had the proud and noble legacy of Sigurd fallen so low in the eyes of Albion's people?

Reinhardt's eyes fell to the ground; his mouth opening to respond-- but not a syllable would pass his lips before a dark and twisted creature would strike in a flash of frenzied movements, mauling one of the men to death in a instant! Casting the broken body of it's first victim to the side, it sought it's second with a malign cackle-- a second flash of movement quickly succeeding the first.

The ripping of flesh. A fearful scream. The sickly crunch of bone. The sheer visceral brutality of the moment permeated the air itself-- as a plated boot slammed into the Fomorian's chest, intercepting it's lunge!

And as the corpse would sail into the distance, Reinhardt would place himself between the remaining guard and the oncoming creatures; one of his many blades drawn and chest alight with fearsome glow! Turning his head only slightly, the Knight had only a single thing to say to the guard, "Take shelter or stay behind me. My fellow knights and I will end this swiftly."

Not even waiting for reply, Reinhardt swiftly advanced on the incoming Fomorians; his eyes darting about the surrounding area as he estimated the number of enemy combatants. Based on the ones he could see, and the different sadistic cries of glee that carried forth from the other areas of town-- it seemed to be less than twenty, but certainly more than ten. "Roughly fifteen then-- five of which are on me..." Reinhardt muttered; his left hand dipping into his new beltpouch.

Five Fomorians focused on him alone meant an entire third of the enemy's offensive power was diverted away from potentially harming civilians. Less fortunate was the fact that facing five Fomorians head-on by oneself was suicide for the average Knight... But Elias was of House Reinhardt; decended from the blood of Sigurd himself. Though each of these creatures were far faster and stronger than a human-- Reinhardt's strength was even greater, and speed meant little when trying to use rudimentary weapons against full plate.

The only advantage these creatures had were numbers...

An advantage Elias would not allow them for long.

As the Knight's hand returned from the pouch-- his arm jerked forward; wrist snapping in a swift motion, hurling a small stone with his grotesque strength toward the Fomorian, the object quickly finding it's mark. The first of the five creatures fell, a bloody hole suddenly in place of it's left eye. Reinhardt retrieved another stone from the pouch; this time crushing it in his hand as he drew within striking distance, slinging the resulting gravel into the eyes of two of the remaining Fomorians; blinding them as he'd whirl to face the others that remained. A single motion with his blade beheaded the second as he used his vambrace to block the third's knife from reaching his throat. Reinhardt countered mercilessly; his hand darting forward and promptly crushing the creature's skull in his hand. Without a moment's hesitation he continued his onslaught, thrusting his quickly wearing blade straight through the shoddy armor of the forth; causing the weapon to snap at the middle, before he would ram whatever remained of his weapon into the throat of the fifth-- leaving it there.

Elais stood over the pile of corpses; just long enough to ensure the creatures were all well and truly dead, before he drew another of his blades and made haste toward the nearest screams!

The Storm Cycle: Reclamation

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@Rune_Alchemist@A Lowly Wretch@Crimson Paladin

Reinhardt would spend a majority of the journey quietly, only speaking when issuing orders to his fellows or making callouts regarding any movement he spotted ahead of the party. Truthfully, he'd expected to encounter a bit more trouble than a few Unseelie and a single Fomorian hunting party... But perhaps that was just his upbringing in the Laughing Wood causing him to expect as much.

It was still admittedly troubling that Fomorians were increasing their activity so near to yet another settlement.

Was it perhaps linked to the Midnight-Skinned Fomorian?

"The information is appreciated. Thank you." Reinhardt replied to the guard as the trio would enter the town. Dismounting his horse, he'd offer his steed's reigns to Ethelred, alongside a small pouch of coinage. "The two of you can spend your time here as you like, but remember that we wont be staying long and keep your ear to the ground for anything regarding current happenings. Ethelred-- I want you to put our horses up at The Soggy Pumpkin, and purchase us some provisions from the market with these funds... In the meantime I'm going to see if the Mayor has any recent information on Elnith or the Midnight-Skinned Fomorian. I'll find the both of you when it's time to leave."

Before he'd separate from the others Reinhardt awaited any responses or questions the two may have had-- then the young knight would make his way toward the Mayor's estate. As Reinhardt would approach the stone building, he would notice that although there weren't any gates or walls around the property, the town's Mayor was at least cautious enough to have a few guards patrolling the perimeter of the property-- two of which immediately moving to intercept the heavily armed stranger walking toward the Mayor's residence...

And thus, an introduction was in order.

"Good morning gentlemen-- I am Sir Elias von Reinhardt of her Majesty Sorcha's Royal Knights... Is the Mayor available? I'd like to speak with him."

The Storm Cycle: Reclamation

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@Rune_Alchemist@A Lowly Wretch@Pyromania99@Crimson Paladin@VitaVitaAR

Reinhart itched his nose with the back of his hand as the queen entered the strategy room. There it was again-- that oddly familiar smell... Neither unpleasant nor particularly overpowering; but hard not to notice in such a small and poorly-ventilated room. Though the Knight was unsure of the fragrance's origin; be it some form of perfume or otherwise, it caused the vaguest feeling that he was failing to recall something...

Reinhardt snapped his attention back to the task at hand-- he'd have plenty of time to ponder such things later. Crossing his arms and shifting his weight slightly, the Knight would listen intently what information the Queen offered. By the time the briefing had concluded, Reinhardt had already taken up his helmet once more and presented the Queen with a well-disciplined chest salute.

"Though I find my assignment as leader of the operation to retrieve Elnith unexpected-- I will not betray your expectations my Queen. Rest assured, she shall be returned safely."

With time being of the essence; and daylight being of limited supply, Reinhardt promptly turned to exit the room, stopping only briefly to address the two he'd soon have under his command. "Od. Ethelred. Conclude any business you need to attend to quickly, we'll be departing from the North gate within the hour."

With that-- Reinhardt would hurriedly exit, wasting not a single moment more to begin preparations for departure.

---

Before long, Reinhardt stood at the Northern gate-- holding the reigns of two horses. In the hour he'd allotted to the others, he'd had his Aketon mended, bought a small beltpouch, scavenged no less than seven blades (and a handax) from what remained of the morning's raiding party, plotted the course he and the others would take, and gathered the supplies necessary for the upcoming journey. The planned route was simple-- the Knights were to hug the coastline East past Hrelskins' Fall, stopping briefly at Redwater Point for rest and resupply, before heading Northeast to the ruins of the most recently attacked settlement; where Elnith likely started her hunt.

Hopefully-- they'd be able to track her from there.

The Storm Cycle: Reclamation

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@Rune_Alchemist@A Lowly Wretch

The soft clatter of wood upon wood drew Reinhardt's attention once more to the map upon the strategy room's table. Leaning forward in his seat, the Knight carefully scrutinizing the locations Vyrell had marked thus far. Reinhardt's eyes narrowed slightly; a finger roughly tracing a path in the air, his head tilting slightly as the edge of his lips would curl into a stiff frown. Looking up from the map he glanced toward Od, his mouth opening as if to say something-- but he shook his head, seeming to dismiss whatever thought had come to mind.

Instead, his attention turned to Vyrell, "Do you have dates of when the Fomorian attacked each settlement? Evidence it was targeting anything specific in each attack? Information whether the more central areas that were seemingly untouched ever spotted it's movements?"

Reinhardt slowly grit his teeth as he looked back down at the map, awaiting Vyrell's answer. Though he had yet to voice his thoughts, this fomorian's attack pattern reeked of suspicion.

But before he'd voice his own thoughts, he needed to be sure he'd gotten the bigger picture-- lest his initial presumptions taint any future inquiries.

The Storm Cycle: Reclamation

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@Rune_Alchemist@A Lowly Wretch

Reinhardt followed behind Vyrell silently; his left canines firmly clenched on the soft flesh of his inner lip as he'd mull over the half-elf's intuitions. Nodding in acknowledgement of Vyrell's assertions, the Knight of House Reinhardt took his place at the strategy room's table; setting his helm down at the table's edge. The knight leaned forward over the map, his eyes scanning across it's varied details; his usual stoic expression betraying little of what was on his mind, as his plated fingertips rapped softly against the wooden surface.

Even as Od spoke with Vyrell, Reinhardt payed the two no mind; making only a single click of his tongue as he noted that the aforementioned villages that Elnith had been dispatched in aid of had yet to be marked.

The knight at last settled into his chair; his arms crossed and eyes drifting toward the ceiling. While it was certainly annoying that nothing had been marked ahead of the meeting, it was likely intentional; the Queen likely wanting to brief the entire Cadre of her elite knights all at once... Or she'd just been drinking too much and forgot.

Whatever the case, it didn't make much difference now.

Reinhardt sighed quietly as he stared up at the ceiling; his eyes closing as his hand idly seeking the gap in his armor once more. Armored fingers probed carefully between the plates; gently appraising the damage to the Aketon beneath. The Knight's tongue clicked once again-- assuming the next assignment would be related to Elnith's recent lack of communication, he would more than likely need to have the garment repaired before departing...

But for now?

He was content to await the meeting's start, the Aketon's repair would come later.

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

Whaaaaaaaaat? No 5headedness here. Definitely not.

But regardless, despite not making the cut-- thanks for at least letting me give it the old college try.

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

Forgot to tag you but here it is @Rune_Alchemist!

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

The Lost Apostle

Name: Finnegan Connors
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:

Finnegan is a 5'11" light-skinned Man of twenty years with dark hair and lustrous hazel eyes. His build is relatively slim with just enough muscle to be considered suitable as a Soldier. Strangely, he lacks any scars save for a deep, hard-edged burn upon his right palm in the shape of a gear.

The Lost Soldier

Born as an unwanted middle child to struggling farmfolk in a Village just West of Aventhrone; Finnegan's youth was anything but pleasant. Often the child would be blamed for any misfortune that would befall the family farm-- and the fact he didn't share the same burly nature as his father or siblings only made it all the worse. Had a farm animal escaped it's pen and run off? Finnegan must've forgotten to shut the gate. Stored goods ruined by a rainstorm? Finnegan had to be the one who'd left it all uncovered. Money missing from the emergency fund hidden in the pantry? Undoubtedly Finnegan who stole from it. Were the Winter food stores running low? The little bastard Finn must be sneaking food in the night!

Even despite this treatment, despite the blame, the young boy did all he could to try and escape the scapegoat role he'd been born into. From feeding the livestock at first light, to shoveling shit from the pens, to even skipping meals to help save what food the family had. Day after day after day the boy ran himself ragged trying to prove himself to his family; to be good enough in his parents' eyes that he could at least feel wanted. To at least let him feel needed, if only slightly. Sixteen years he toiled, not once asking his parents to recognize his efforts; waiting for his mother or father to notice it themselves.

How naïve.

Rather than recognize Finnegan's efforts, all the lad's efforts were instead attributed to his elder brother; the pride of the household, and his younger brother; whom his parents doted on. After a season of especially bad harvest... Finn was thrown to the streets; deemed to be far more of a burden than he was worth. Already malnourished and in poor health-- the young man barely managed to survive. As far as the wider community was concerned-- he was nothing more than a simple pest; surviving off food stolen from composting piles, that wouldn't survive the end of winter...

But, as fate would have it-- the people of Finnegan's humble village were proven wrong.

It was when the lad lay nearly starved to death on the roadside, that a stranger thrust a small loaf of bread into the young man's hands; and made an offer that sounded nigh too good to be true. The stranger's name was Gaelan; an Apostle Missionary traveling the region to recruit new members to the order. The Apostles offered food, shelter, camaraderie, faith, and most important of all-- purpose. Without so much as a second thought Finnegan took Gaelan's hand readily, thrilled to know he was finally wanted somewhere.

Of all the new recruits to walk the ancient halls of Aventhrone that year-- Finnegan was by far the worst off. Despite having all the food and drink and shelter he could possibly need, undoing the damage of the years he'd suffered was a slow process. From the first days of his training, Finn's emaciated body struggled to keep up with the physical ability of his peers. Day after day his fellow recruits made leaps and bounds of progress, where his own was more akin to a crawl... Eventually, a majority of the Drill Instructors had all but given up on providing the boy with instruction-- save for one man.

Finnegan's first encounter with Drill Marshal Dearan was in his third week of training. The recruits had been training with spears; the staple weapon of the Apostle Militia forces, when the thick head of a cane would strike young Finn in the back. From that day forward-- the grizzled old Drill Marshal watched the boy like a hawk, his cane making swift correction to even the smallest of mistakes. Often the Drill Marshal would even keep Finnegan late after the trainings to further beat the lessons into the poor boy.

Day. After day. After day.

Come week six, the boy that had nearly failed out of the program entirely was able to keep pace with the other recruits. On the day of graduation-- Finnegan would be stopped by Drill Marshal Dearan for the last time, not for another beating; but rather to commend the unceasing efforts and focus the boy had displayed. With a wide grin, the former knight wished the boy luck in his future within the Apostles; forcing the lad to promise that he wouldn't forget the lessons he'd been taught before finally releasing him to join the rest of his class.

For many in that class of recruits, it was the first step into whatever grand adventure awaited them--

But not for Finnegan.

Whereas many of his peers would be sent off on various deployments and expeditions to fight against Raam, Bastelian slavers, beasts, and the like, Finnegan was given guard duty. For the next four long years, Finnegan would remain a Gatekeeper at Aventhrone. Though he'd get to overhear all about the various expeditions and journeys of those that came and went from the ancient Cathedral-- there was often little to do, and even less to report at the end of the day.

Until the fateful day a small expedition team's porter took ill from food poisoning just as the group exited the front gate. With little time to find suitable replacement, and unable to wait for the man's condition to improve... The Martial leading the expedition; an officer within 'The Serpent's Fang', pointed at the the on-duty gatekeeper and ordered that he would come in place of the original porter. In no place to refuse such an order, and more than willing to comply-- Finnegan Connors would join the trek to the North, and at long last, he'd finally have a chance to prove himself...

Or so he thought.

Fragments

A deep cave.

Deep. Down. Dark.

A frozen river. A shimmering light.

A grasping hand. Shouting. Crackling.

Cold. Darkness. Cant breathe. Drowning.

Grasping. Clawing. Anything. Don't sink deeper.

Cold. Freezing. Dying. FIGHT!

Holding something warm. Comforting.

Cold gone. Pain gone. Peace.

Odd noises. Ticking? See something. What? Echoes. Who? Saying what?

One voice. Clear. Can hear.

Fading. Quieter.

Silence.

A drenched body upon the Icewind's shore...

Goals:

Purpose; a reason to exist, to be needed. For most of his life, Finn lacked any real purpose from day to day. But since receiving his God's revelation-- he has at long last found a purpose to call his own; to use his newfound blessings to help as many of his fellow man as he possibly can whilst he seeks further revelation from his God.

Skills

[Adaptability]

_{Humans, while they bear no special natural born talents, their limit for growth and power is near infinite should they choose to cultivate said power. They, in their finite lives will find it easier to learn new skills and adapt to new situations if they put their mind to it.}

[Basic Spearmanship]

_{The Apostles' Drill Corps has seen to it that even the most lacking of Apostle recruits can display basic competency with a weapon. Though lacking any measure of talent when it comes weapons or fighting, Finnegan was held to no less a standard than any of his peers; quickly earning him the 'special attention' of one Drill Corps member in particular... Rest assured-- the basic handling of a spear has been t h o r o u g h l y beaten into the lad.}

Who the FUCK taught you to hold a spear like that!?! I'd better see that hand placement fixed and that horrific FUCKING stance tightened up before I come over there and put my boot up your ass!

Drill Marshal Dearan

[A Nameless Revelation (Renewal)]

A glimpse taken into The Nameless God's unfathomable and ancient divinity-- granting; in small part, an innate understanding of one of his domains! By calling upon the wisdoms bestowed by his revelation, Finnegan is able to cast miracles of Renewal! These miracles typically function similarly to various healing magics, but who's to say what other uses they may hold?

Only with time, shall answers come.

--and from it's end, the world anew is born! Risen from the ash of what hath come before!

Ancient Whisperings

Inventory:

• Gatekeeper's Horn.
• Gambeson
• Expedition pack
• Waterlogged Rations
• Hunting Knife
• Tabard (Apostle Heraldry)
• Iron spear {LOST}

The Storm Cycle: Reclamation

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@Rune_Alchemist

Reinhardt removed his helm; tucking it neatly under his arm as he'd walk alongside Vyrell through the town, his face held firmly in his usual cold neutrality. "Spare me the hollow praise Vyrell. I simply performed as required in the situation. Nothing more." the knight responded bluntly as his gaze swept over the hustle and bustle of the townsfolk as they gradually returned to their usual routines, "While I likely could've handled the beast myself, our fortifications or more importantly; the settlement itself, would've sustained an unacceptable level of damage from the engagement... Fortunately the others; despite any shortcomings of temperament or otherwise, have proven adequate thus far in dispatching any threats that come our way."

From there the two continued in silence until arriving upon the steps of the keep, where Vyrell would speak once more-- causing Reinhardt's deliberate gait to abruptly halt. "No-" the knight replied; his jaw tightly clenched as his gaze fell to the ground, "I have not heard from her."

Elias' head turned slighty; just enough to keep the half-elf in his periphery as he'd then ask a question of his own, "And what of your own assessment? Do you think she's in danger? Or..." the man paused, almost hesitating to even entertain the idea he was about to mention, "Has her Curse claimed her sanity?"

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

Firstly I hereby brand @Cu Chulainn a beta cuck.

And promptly declare myself the second one in.