Jotunn Draugr

U N I V E R S A L ™ (Accepting New Players!)

Um... Blink 182 has split up a time or two but last I checked they were a band again.

@The Kid Lantern

I stand by my statement ;)

Time's a Changing - a Steampunk NRP set in a Psuedo-Earth

@Jotunn Draugr thank you so much for suggesting I involve you in my post. You've managed to make my story so much more interesting! Also, for some reason the bold and underline tools aren't working, do you know why?

@Clockwork giant

Huh, could have something to do with the servers. They're planning on taking the site down for some upgrades/maintenance soonish.

And no problem! I'll try to get a response up in the next day or so.

Google Picture War

@Framing A Moose

U N I V E R S A L ™ (Accepting New Players!)

Edit: I know, one of you old sacks of hay are gonna come here and say "I have been Roleplaying since there was an East Germany".

@Hillan

Dude, I have been Roleplaying since there was a Blink 182.

The Fall of Lordaeron [Warcraft RP]

Post up! Looking to see this story develop.

The Fall of Lordaeron [Warcraft RP]

The deep bellow of a not-so-distant trumpet rang through the rafters of Tilson's room. Dust danced through the air, settling upon his disheveled form, as it lay upon an unwashed straw mattress. With a congested snort, the retired knight awoke.

"Augh blazes", he groaned to himself, slowly rolling out of bed. "What madman blows a trumpet at this hour?"

Slowly lowering his feet to the ground, Tilson clasped his forehead in severe discomfort. The countless flagons of strong drink, from earlier in the day, clung just as heavily on his mind as they were on his breath. Shambling to his feet, he made his way over to the bedroom's window, looking to judge the time of day. It was indeed late into the night, and the rain was merciless.

"Ugh, what's wrong?" inquired a feminine voice, from beneath the bed's blankets.

"Some loon, making a ruckus in the town square." Tilson responded. "I've half a mind to go straighten him out."

The maiden chuckled at the idea, gesturing that he should come back to bed instead. Responding with a playful smirk, Tilson accepted, drunkenly making his way back to the bed. As he hoisted himself back upon the bed, a shrill shriek rang trough the bedroom door. With a look of severe disappointment, Tilson again left his comfortable perch.

"Dear", the woman exclaimed worriedly.

"Aye, just a moment. I'll be right back." Tilson reassured his companion, clumsily slipping his pants on. Making his way toward the door, he grabbed his sword from off the dresser, and slung its belt across his chest.

Tilson burst through the door, into a dark, calm hallway. Pausing to listen for movement, he heard rustling and scraping coming from the staircase. With one hand around his scabbard, and the other around the grip of his sword, he slowly made his way down the steps. As he reached the bottom step, entering into the tavern's bar, a scene of pure horror was laid before him. The innkeeper, Mistress Hilde, lay dead, disemboweled upon the counter. Slouched over here was a hideous, half-rotted corpse, one hand plunged deep into the victim's abdomen. In a fearful rage, Tilson drew his sword and began swinging wildly at the creature. Piece by piece, it fell to the floor, dead once again, leaving a scene of unspeakable gore. Tilson lurched, vomiting where he stood.
As he wallowed in his sickened state, more scratching met his ears, as another bloodthirsty corpse shambled through the front door. Shaking himself awake, Tilson charged at the beast, and smashed it to the floor with one hearty strike. Quickly, he turned and ran for the staircase. Barging back into his room, he began rummaging through his closet, attempting to assemble his old set of armour.

"What happened?" the maiden inquired. "Is that... blood on your sword?"

"The undead are here, Gunna! I'm going to slay the bastards! Now, I need you to lock the door behind me, and slide the dresser against it, if you can. Do you understand?"

"I-... ye-... yes.", she responded, swiftly going white in the face. "Don't die, okay?"

"Not a damn chance", Tilson bellowed, tightening the straps on his vambraces.

When fully equipped, looking like a traditional Lordaeron knight once again, Sir Stonehelm marched out of the bedroom. He paused for a moment, to hear Gunna lock the door behind him, and then broke into full sprint. He thundered toward the front door, tossing tables and chairs aside as he ran. Bursting through the open doorway, into the blistering rain, he saw the raging battle. Only a couple remained alive, as the endless hordes of undead flowed into them. A sense of duty ignited within Tilson, like a jolt of lightening, and he charged forward to their aid.

"For Lordaeron!", he roared instinctually.

UNIVERSAL ™ iCheck [OC superhero Build-A-Universe]

<Snipped quote by The Kid Lantern>

That's just cold.

@knighthawk

Hey man, chill out.

The Fall of Lordaeron [Warcraft RP]

Stonehelm

Name: Sir Tilson Stonehelm of Strahnbrad

Age: 36

Race: Human

Physical Description:
A stout man, standing roughy 5'9", but heavily built, with large, muscular arms, legs, and shoulders. When clad in armour, he gives off the appearance of being almost as wide as he is tall. He keeps his rusty beard well trimmed, and is often seen clad in a simple brown tunic, with the sleeves removed ("bait for tavern maidens", he claims). When in battle, he is clad head-to-toe in traditional Lordaeron plate-armour. His personal set of armour stands out, however, due to the numerous chips, scratches, and discolourations in it.

Personality:
A grumbling, weathered individual, who carries himself as though he were a much older man. He drinks heavily at every opportunity, and is slow to accept a task of any description. He also walks with a mild limp, although not enough of one to seriously impede him. Nonetheless, his skill on the battlefield is notable, and during battle he handles himself like a proper knight of the realm. When responsibility is cast upon him, he upholds himself to a high standard of professionalism. When his duties are fulfilled, he descends into a slump of depression. Simply put, Tilson is a man who's lost the will to live, and only finds fulfillment when the goal is immediately before him.

Background:
Tilson was once one of the youngest, and most promising knights of the order, a personal favourite of King Terenas himself. Having proven himself as an exceptional soldier for the kingdom, the king granted him the opportunity to choose his own station. To look after his family, Sir Stonehelm asked to be put in charge of the town-guard of Strahnbrad, his home town. Merely two years into this position, the town was invaded by the Blackrock Clan of orcs, who overwhelmed Stonehelm's forces through numbers alone. As the village burned, Stonehelm sent out two of his men out, to request aid from the crown. In response, the Silver Hand was sent. By the time they arrived, the town was in ruins, and villagers, including Stonehelm's own family, were being sacrificed in demonic rituals. Still, they set about purging the city of the monstrous orcs that had laid waste to it. When the battle was over, Stonehelm was found gravely wounded, slumped against what remained of his own house. The Knights of the Silver Hand were able to heal his injuries, and Tilson pledged himself to their service. There was nothing left for him in Strahnbrad anyway.
A slight silver lining, Tilson found that he was able to bury his sadness with wonder, as he now served under the legendary Uther the Lightbringer, and even the crown prince himself. Sadly, even this was too good to be true. After a bloody, draining campaign against a new incursion of undead monstrosities, Tilson's will to live finally broke in the town of Andorhal, where he saw innocent people be twisted into horrific undead creatures, just as they stood. Sinking further and further into sadness, Stonehelm marched with the order to the city of Stratholme. When the crown prince gave the order to massacre the entire city, and even Lord Uther turned away, a great many soldiers defected. Among them, was young Tilson, who slowly wandered his way southwestward, spending a night at every tavern along the way. As he wandered, be pawned off his horse, his shield, and his tabard. Eventually, when he had walked far enough, that the stench of death left his nostrils, and the horrors of war began to fade from his mind, he found himself in the small, untouched village of Brittlepond. For the first time, in quite a long time, he was at peace again. Using what money he had remaining, he purchased a room at the Brittlepond tavern, and filled the missing role of being the town-drunk.
Then came the news, that the crown prince had returned only to kill his own father, and the capital city had fallen into chaos. As the madness in the young prince's eyes flashed through Tilson's memory, he simply slumped over, and drunkenly mumbled "Ie knew itt", into his mug of beer.

The Fall of Lordaeron [Warcraft RP]

@Jotunn Draugr Looks good! I'm sure Tilson and Winston will get along well. He's accepted; feel free to move his CS over.

@Kingfisher

haha awesome! Thanks Kingfisher!

The Fall of Lordaeron [Warcraft RP]

Name: Sir Tilson Stonehelm of Strahnbrad

Age: 36

Race: Human

Physical Description:
A stout man, standing roughy 5'9", but heavily built, with large, muscular arms, legs, and shoulders. When clad in armour, he gives off the appearance of being almost as wide as he is tall. He keeps his rusty beard well trimmed, and is often seen clad in a simple brown tunic, with the sleeves removed ("bait for tavern maidens", he claims). When in battle, he is clad head-to-toe in traditional Lordaeron plate-armour. His personal set of armour stands out, however, due to the numerous chips, scratches, and discolourations in it.

Personality:
A grumbling, weathered individual, who carries himself as though he were a much older man. He drinks heavily at every opportunity, and is slow to accept a task of any description. He also walks with a mild limp, although not enough of one to seriously impede him. Nonetheless, his skill on the battlefield is notable, and during battle he handles himself like a proper knight of the realm. When responsibility is cast upon him, he upholds himself to a high standard of professionalism. When his duties are fulfilled, he descends into a slump of depression. Simply put, Tilson is a man who's lost the will to live, and only finds fulfillment when the goal is immediately before him.

Background:
Tilson was once one of the youngest, and most promising knights of the order, a personal favourite of King Terenas himself. Having proven himself as an exceptional soldier for the kingdom, the king granted him the opportunity to choose his own station. To look after his family, Sir Stonehelm asked to be put in charge of the town-guard of Strahnbrad, his home town. Merely two years into this position, the town was invaded by the Blackrock Clan of orcs, who overwhelmed Stonehelm's forces through numbers alone. As the village burned, Stonehelm sent out two of his men out, to request aid from the crown. In response, the Silver Hand was sent. By the time they arrived, the town was in ruins, and villagers, including Stonehelm's own family, were being sacrificed in demonic rituals. Still, they set about purging the city of the monstrous orcs that had laid waste to it. When the battle was over, Stonehelm was found gravely wounded, slumped against what remained of his own house. The Knights of the Silver Hand were able to heal his injuries, and Tilson pledged himself to their service. There was nothing left for him in Strahnbrad anyway.
A slight silver lining, Tilson found that he was able to bury his sadness with wonder, as he now served under the legendary Uther the Lightbringer, and even the crown prince himself. Sadly, even this was too good to be true. After a bloody, draining campaign against a new incursion of undead monstrosities, Tilson's will to live finally broke in the town of Andorhal, where he saw innocent people be twisted into horrific undead creatures, just as they stood. Sinking further and further into sadness, Stonehelm marched with the order to the city of Stratholme. When the crown prince gave the order to massacre the entire city, and even Lord Uther turned away, a great many soldiers defected. Among them, was young Tilson, who slowly wandered his way southwestward, spending a night at every tavern along the way. As he wandered, be pawned off his horse, his shield, and his tabard. Eventually, when he had walked far enough, that the stench of death left his nostrils, and the horrors of war began to fade from his mind, he found himself in the small, untouched village of Brittlepond. For the first time, in quite a long time, he was at peace again. Using what money he had remaining, he purchased a room at the Brittlepond tavern, and filled the missing role of being the town-drunk.
Then came the news, that the crown prince had returned only to kill his own father, and the capital city had fallen into chaos. As the madness in the young prince's eyes flashed through Tilson's memory, he simply slumped over, and drunkenly mumbled "Ie knew itt", into his mug of beer.