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These jokes are just being made in the heat of the moment.
Khaylan looked at the stout woman, a strangely dead look in his eyes. "You're right... I wouldn't."
He turned, the dizziness still present and a pounding in his skull. It seemed a titanic effort to call the other two knights to his side and walk away, throwing a last look over his shoulder at Miranda. what have I done?
He trudged onwards, fighting back the urge to fall unconscious, at least until they could make it back to the horses near the village's tavern. As his brother knights followed at his side, he could almost hear the wheels turning in their minds as they surely began to plot against him. And to think, he had damned his soul to join their ranks. What irony.
Khaylan ran into something barring his path, nearly knocking him from his feet. The fog in his mind was pushed back by a wave of outrage that something was delaying his rest even further until he noticed that he had run into the outstretched arm of one of his companions. Looking past the arm, Khaylan noted a group of four men standing next to three large familiar looking horses. The new group of men all wore traveling cloaks, obscuring much of their forms, but Khaylan could see the scars of burns given to those who had been found guilty of robbery on more than one of their faces.
"Good evening gentlemen," one of them said, approaching Khaylan. "Am I right to assume these are your horses? Its your lucky day my friends, these horses were about to run off but we fine folk stepped in and held them for you"
The man grinned at Khaylan, already eyeing his sack of gold. Khaylan's strength was slowly returning, and with it came his anger for the witches... and his own... actions.
"Then we thank you noble sirs, if our horses had run off, we might have had to walk him throughands roving with outlaws," Khaylan said dryly, clearly not buying their stories. "It is such a bother to kill so many men just for a walk home. Unfortunately many only see our oversized coins and not our swords."
The man's companions shifted uncomfortably at Khaylan's words, no longer as certain as they once were. The man who approached him, however, seemed in control of the rest and was unfazed. He'd likely heard such boasts a thousand times before.
"Ah well, if my lord wishes, we will relieve him of the burden of so many coins then. After all, it is our civic duty to help those in need, is it not?" The man said, making a small gesture with his hands. His three companions drew their weapons, two appeared to be holding short swords, not a very big threat to a knight, but what made Khaylan shift uncomfortably in his armor was the contraption the third man held. A crossbow. At this range it would pierce his armor like paper.
Khaylan considered his next move carefully, then seemed to slump his shoulders in submission. He reached for the sack at his waist, untying it and holding it out for the other man to take. The outlaw grinned, victory in his eyes as he stepped forward and moved to take the bag.
Khaylan smiled, throwing the bag up into the air and drawing his sword in one smooth motion. The steel blade crashed through the sack of gold, splitting it open and spreading coins everywhere as it continued its arc, slicing deeply into the other man's forearm and bringing a shriek of pain and rage.
Swords clashed as his fellow knights rushed forward, Khaylan kicking his opponent in the chest and sending the man sprawling to the ground. Shouting a battle cry, he charged the man with the crossbow, nimbly ducking under a hastily aimed and panicked shot.
"You only had one shot and you wasted it friend," Khaylan growled as he closed the distance sword descending in an arc of fury for the outlaws neck. The man wisely abandoned the crossbow, throwing it at Khaylan and buying himself the half second he needed to draw a crudely made dagger from withinhis cloak. Steel rang on steel as the sword was barely deflected by the man's desperate defense. The outlaw stood no real chance however, not against a knight.
Khaylan laughed and cut downwards once more, this time anticipating the man's defense. As the dagger came up to catch the sword, Khaylan stepped closer, placing a leg behind his opponents and grabbing the mans shoulder with his free arm. Khaylan twisted throwing the man bodily over his hip and slamming the outlaw onto the ground. His sword followed a moment later, burying itself in the man's heart.
Khaylan stood, and a spear of pain inflamed his chest as an impact nearly spun him around, dropping him to his knees. He gasped in pain as a crossbow bolt seemed to sprout magically from his shoulder, blood pouring from the wound. He blinked in surprise, his mind trying desperately to catch up with what he was seeing as his lifeblood seep end from the rent in his armor....
He turned, the dizziness still present and a pounding in his skull. It seemed a titanic effort to call the other two knights to his side and walk away, throwing a last look over his shoulder at Miranda. what have I done?
He trudged onwards, fighting back the urge to fall unconscious, at least until they could make it back to the horses near the village's tavern. As his brother knights followed at his side, he could almost hear the wheels turning in their minds as they surely began to plot against him. And to think, he had damned his soul to join their ranks. What irony.
Khaylan ran into something barring his path, nearly knocking him from his feet. The fog in his mind was pushed back by a wave of outrage that something was delaying his rest even further until he noticed that he had run into the outstretched arm of one of his companions. Looking past the arm, Khaylan noted a group of four men standing next to three large familiar looking horses. The new group of men all wore traveling cloaks, obscuring much of their forms, but Khaylan could see the scars of burns given to those who had been found guilty of robbery on more than one of their faces.
"Good evening gentlemen," one of them said, approaching Khaylan. "Am I right to assume these are your horses? Its your lucky day my friends, these horses were about to run off but we fine folk stepped in and held them for you"
The man grinned at Khaylan, already eyeing his sack of gold. Khaylan's strength was slowly returning, and with it came his anger for the witches... and his own... actions.
"Then we thank you noble sirs, if our horses had run off, we might have had to walk him throughands roving with outlaws," Khaylan said dryly, clearly not buying their stories. "It is such a bother to kill so many men just for a walk home. Unfortunately many only see our oversized coins and not our swords."
The man's companions shifted uncomfortably at Khaylan's words, no longer as certain as they once were. The man who approached him, however, seemed in control of the rest and was unfazed. He'd likely heard such boasts a thousand times before.
"Ah well, if my lord wishes, we will relieve him of the burden of so many coins then. After all, it is our civic duty to help those in need, is it not?" The man said, making a small gesture with his hands. His three companions drew their weapons, two appeared to be holding short swords, not a very big threat to a knight, but what made Khaylan shift uncomfortably in his armor was the contraption the third man held. A crossbow. At this range it would pierce his armor like paper.
Khaylan considered his next move carefully, then seemed to slump his shoulders in submission. He reached for the sack at his waist, untying it and holding it out for the other man to take. The outlaw grinned, victory in his eyes as he stepped forward and moved to take the bag.
Khaylan smiled, throwing the bag up into the air and drawing his sword in one smooth motion. The steel blade crashed through the sack of gold, splitting it open and spreading coins everywhere as it continued its arc, slicing deeply into the other man's forearm and bringing a shriek of pain and rage.
Swords clashed as his fellow knights rushed forward, Khaylan kicking his opponent in the chest and sending the man sprawling to the ground. Shouting a battle cry, he charged the man with the crossbow, nimbly ducking under a hastily aimed and panicked shot.
"You only had one shot and you wasted it friend," Khaylan growled as he closed the distance sword descending in an arc of fury for the outlaws neck. The man wisely abandoned the crossbow, throwing it at Khaylan and buying himself the half second he needed to draw a crudely made dagger from withinhis cloak. Steel rang on steel as the sword was barely deflected by the man's desperate defense. The outlaw stood no real chance however, not against a knight.
Khaylan laughed and cut downwards once more, this time anticipating the man's defense. As the dagger came up to catch the sword, Khaylan stepped closer, placing a leg behind his opponents and grabbing the mans shoulder with his free arm. Khaylan twisted throwing the man bodily over his hip and slamming the outlaw onto the ground. His sword followed a moment later, burying itself in the man's heart.
Khaylan stood, and a spear of pain inflamed his chest as an impact nearly spun him around, dropping him to his knees. He gasped in pain as a crossbow bolt seemed to sprout magically from his shoulder, blood pouring from the wound. He blinked in surprise, his mind trying desperately to catch up with what he was seeing as his lifeblood seep end from the rent in his armor....
I think I can arrange something. *plots in an evil manner*
Interested. May want to be careful with the mages being able to boost power by consuming a crystal though. Could lead to god modding. Rest looks awesome though.
I'll send you a pm with some ideas. In general though I'm more of a reactionary role player. I can adapt to just about anything, but I don't come up with grand ideas for a character very well.
EDIT: also, first post on page three. I win again
EDIT: also, first post on page three. I win again
Alchemistic said
(Herald .. I am both disturbed .. and slightly aroused. Solid post. I liked the punishment for speaking ill of the ruling castle, though I would like it noted that it should be done when ill will and hate, or cursing, is said directly to his highness, for the hot coals. Anything else could constitute a solid beating (the guards will do that a lot)
Duly noted.
Men, I have a life too. Somewhere around here anyways.
Can really post a reply yet cause I'm at work, but where would you like to go next in the rp?
Can really post a reply yet cause I'm at work, but where would you like to go next in the rp?
Vaerun was tossed unceremoniously into his cell, the guards evidently having had more than enough of his smart mouth from the long walk to the dungeon. He rolled as he hit the ground, taking the impact on his shoulder and distributing the damage across his shoulderblades. He bit his cheek to stop himself from giving the guardsmen any satisfaction from a cry of pain, and instead began to look around what was likely to be his new home for the rest of his life.
It was dank. Dreary. Cold...
Everything a cell below the capitol building of Providence should be. The bars were over two inches thick, and ran ceiling to floor and were covered in rust, blood, and other substances best left to the imagination. He knew these cells harbored only the worst kinds of prisoners, the kind that the kingdom simply didn't trust without a virtual army living over their heads. As his eyes scanned the dark shadows of his cell, he noted several things, each more disheartening than the last.
The first was that although the bars were quite filthy with rust, evidence of several attempts to pry them apart was also present, with no signs of success. The second was that the bucket he could only assume was meant to be his bathroom, looked as though it hadn't been changed in several days and Vaerun could swear there was a splinter of three poking upwards from the rim. His bedding was in a similar condition, the filthy straw scattered about the cell and practically soaked in grime. All of that could be managed, what really made Vaerun's hair stand on end was one simple fact.
He wasn't alone in the cell.
A massive and overly muscled man leaned against the back wall of the cell, grinning at Vaerun with a look that was halfway between hunger and amusement. To either side of him were two less burly men, but each still likely had a good twenty five pounds or so on Vaerun. As they stared each other down, the guards began to laugh.
"We'll be back in a few minutes for you, traitor," one of them said between chuckles, "you'll have to wait and introduce yourselves later boys, but do give our friend here the best of your hospitality."
Vaerun smirked, "oh I'm sure we'll be the best of friends. I'm very sociable."
The guards departed, leaving the four men to glare at each other in silence for a few minutes. Vaerun had yet to move from where the guards had thrown him, save to stand up and dust himself off. Deciding that this was getting him nowhere fast, Vaerun approached the other group and held out his mind, smiling at the biggest of the three men.
"Good evening friends," Vaerun said, "let me guess....,"
He pointed to the biggest man "Alpha male...,"
The biggest man grinned again.
Vaerun looked at his companions, pointing at each of them in turn, "and his two bitches. Am I right?"
Both men stiffened, a look of pure rage crossing their features yet neither made a move to attack him. Vaerun guessed they wouldn't, not unless big boy here told them too. That was good, he liked dealing with people who couldn't think for themselves. "And I assume I'm supposed to be the new prison service boy, eh?"
The big man grinned again, and now that he was closer he noted the peculiar burn marks around the edges of his mouth. Someone had placed hot coals in his mouth, a common punishment for those who had spoken ill of the ruling caste. Small wonder he hadn't spoken yet. Scars were a good sign though, it meant he was either too slow, or too stupid to avoid getting caught.
"Well see that's just not going to work I'm afraid," Vaerun began, walking back to the bars, "you see my friend, I've become accustomed to doing things a certain way." He ran a hand down one of the cleaner area of the bar. Pure wrought iron.
"And one of those ways is not taking orders from men who look like they pound their face with a meat tenderizer every morning," Vaerun said, and the man's smirk disappeared, "what's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"
The man let out an unintelligible grunt of rage, likely attempting to threaten Vaerun with something nasty. He began to stomp forward, raising his fists when the guards returned. The man glanced sideways at the guardsmen then retreated to the back of his cell.
"That's right little doggie, the masters are here, time to tuck your tail and hide," Vaerun said, chuckling. The guardsmen entered the cell, tying Vaerun's hands together with rope and giving him a good bash in the stomach with a cudgel for good measure. Vaerun doubled over, coughing and trying to resist theurge to vomit as they hauled him down the corridors.
"Time to get your mark, scum," one of them said, "you'll bear it the rest of your miserable life. Don't worry though, that not like to be very long at all..."
It was dank. Dreary. Cold...
Everything a cell below the capitol building of Providence should be. The bars were over two inches thick, and ran ceiling to floor and were covered in rust, blood, and other substances best left to the imagination. He knew these cells harbored only the worst kinds of prisoners, the kind that the kingdom simply didn't trust without a virtual army living over their heads. As his eyes scanned the dark shadows of his cell, he noted several things, each more disheartening than the last.
The first was that although the bars were quite filthy with rust, evidence of several attempts to pry them apart was also present, with no signs of success. The second was that the bucket he could only assume was meant to be his bathroom, looked as though it hadn't been changed in several days and Vaerun could swear there was a splinter of three poking upwards from the rim. His bedding was in a similar condition, the filthy straw scattered about the cell and practically soaked in grime. All of that could be managed, what really made Vaerun's hair stand on end was one simple fact.
He wasn't alone in the cell.
A massive and overly muscled man leaned against the back wall of the cell, grinning at Vaerun with a look that was halfway between hunger and amusement. To either side of him were two less burly men, but each still likely had a good twenty five pounds or so on Vaerun. As they stared each other down, the guards began to laugh.
"We'll be back in a few minutes for you, traitor," one of them said between chuckles, "you'll have to wait and introduce yourselves later boys, but do give our friend here the best of your hospitality."
Vaerun smirked, "oh I'm sure we'll be the best of friends. I'm very sociable."
The guards departed, leaving the four men to glare at each other in silence for a few minutes. Vaerun had yet to move from where the guards had thrown him, save to stand up and dust himself off. Deciding that this was getting him nowhere fast, Vaerun approached the other group and held out his mind, smiling at the biggest of the three men.
"Good evening friends," Vaerun said, "let me guess....,"
He pointed to the biggest man "Alpha male...,"
The biggest man grinned again.
Vaerun looked at his companions, pointing at each of them in turn, "and his two bitches. Am I right?"
Both men stiffened, a look of pure rage crossing their features yet neither made a move to attack him. Vaerun guessed they wouldn't, not unless big boy here told them too. That was good, he liked dealing with people who couldn't think for themselves. "And I assume I'm supposed to be the new prison service boy, eh?"
The big man grinned again, and now that he was closer he noted the peculiar burn marks around the edges of his mouth. Someone had placed hot coals in his mouth, a common punishment for those who had spoken ill of the ruling caste. Small wonder he hadn't spoken yet. Scars were a good sign though, it meant he was either too slow, or too stupid to avoid getting caught.
"Well see that's just not going to work I'm afraid," Vaerun began, walking back to the bars, "you see my friend, I've become accustomed to doing things a certain way." He ran a hand down one of the cleaner area of the bar. Pure wrought iron.
"And one of those ways is not taking orders from men who look like they pound their face with a meat tenderizer every morning," Vaerun said, and the man's smirk disappeared, "what's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"
The man let out an unintelligible grunt of rage, likely attempting to threaten Vaerun with something nasty. He began to stomp forward, raising his fists when the guards returned. The man glanced sideways at the guardsmen then retreated to the back of his cell.
"That's right little doggie, the masters are here, time to tuck your tail and hide," Vaerun said, chuckling. The guardsmen entered the cell, tying Vaerun's hands together with rope and giving him a good bash in the stomach with a cudgel for good measure. Vaerun doubled over, coughing and trying to resist theurge to vomit as they hauled him down the corridors.
"Time to get your mark, scum," one of them said, "you'll bear it the rest of your miserable life. Don't worry though, that not like to be very long at all..."
Khaylan stirred, his whole body shuddering as though life was only just now returning to his form. He let out a grown of pain, his every nerve feeling as though it were burning. How did I end up on the street, Khaylan thought to himself, struggling to push himself off the ground. He managed to rise to his knees, then blinked repeatedly in confusion as he realized there was a sword next to him. His sword.
"What in all the nine accursed hells happened to me?," he muttered, reaching over and stifling a moan of pain as another wave of agony slid through his body. He seized his sword, returning it to its sheath. As the sword slid home, he felt two strong arms slide under his own and pull him to his feet. Looking to either side, he saw the faces of the two knights that had been accompanying him on his foray into the village. That was when the memories came flooding back.
He thrashed and shoved both knights away, his eyes scanning the area for the whereabouts of the witch. She seemed to have slipped away while he was unconscious, however. His subconscious began to wonder why she didn't simply kill him while he lay there helpless. Witches were not known for their mercy, and the thought that he might be worse off alive sent a shudder down his spine. He glanced at the two knights at his side, wondering how much they knew about his connection with the witch. He could always deny the words of the peasants, but an accussation from not one, but two brother knights would damn him almost instantaneously. If either of them knew anything, they weren't showing it. Instead, they seemed focused on the songstress and her companions.
One of the knights approached the other group, pointing an accussatory finger at Miranda. "You. You brought a witch into the village!"
Khaylan put his hand on the shoulder of the knight. "Be at ease. Now is not the time for this."
"What in all the nine accursed hells happened to me?," he muttered, reaching over and stifling a moan of pain as another wave of agony slid through his body. He seized his sword, returning it to its sheath. As the sword slid home, he felt two strong arms slide under his own and pull him to his feet. Looking to either side, he saw the faces of the two knights that had been accompanying him on his foray into the village. That was when the memories came flooding back.
He thrashed and shoved both knights away, his eyes scanning the area for the whereabouts of the witch. She seemed to have slipped away while he was unconscious, however. His subconscious began to wonder why she didn't simply kill him while he lay there helpless. Witches were not known for their mercy, and the thought that he might be worse off alive sent a shudder down his spine. He glanced at the two knights at his side, wondering how much they knew about his connection with the witch. He could always deny the words of the peasants, but an accussation from not one, but two brother knights would damn him almost instantaneously. If either of them knew anything, they weren't showing it. Instead, they seemed focused on the songstress and her companions.
One of the knights approached the other group, pointing an accussatory finger at Miranda. "You. You brought a witch into the village!"
Khaylan put his hand on the shoulder of the knight. "Be at ease. Now is not the time for this."
No worries. Real life comes first.
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