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    1. Klomster 10 yrs ago

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10 yrs ago
Current I am Klomster, i have no status.

Bio

Known primarily as Klomster, both on the net and on real life.

I really enjoy roleplaying and do so every weak, preferably twice in two different campaigns. Sometimes even more.

From time to time i've done some forum roleplaying with mixed success. I've tried GM-ing with even more mixed success and all in all, i find forum rp's enjoyable. Hence why i joined, hoping to play some forum rp's and OWN at it. (Or something.)

I have an erratic thought pattern so my posts can appear as incoherent, if you notice you can just mention it if i should clarify anything.
Other than that, hey there fellas.

Most Recent Posts

Is Markon gonna have a character sheet?

Don't really know what "Affiliation to the world" is, so i'll just wing it.

So anyway, here's a draft of my character.



@Goldeagle1221 Sup.
I have nothing against helping you out.

I'm probably in another timezone though.
Wanting really bad to play a god RP, i think this has potential.

However, it's not much to go on in terms of story.
I suppose god players would create their own gods, of roughly the same power as Markon? Correct?
Or is he supposed to be some sort of lord of heaven type of fella?

How powerful is the avatar form?
How does heaven look like? I suppose we have parts of it that is our domain?

Anyway, i will link the concept i'd like to play.
It's not finished since i'd need to tweak it to fit this world.
roleplayerguild.com/posts/4263937
So please give your thoughts upon my character.
Cool post.

I'd love to see a scene where Claus met Andrew again.
But alas, i don't see a way that would make sense in a long time.
Collab done by @Klomster @Sundered Echo @Fallenreaper

_______________________________________________

Reunion Among the Riots


Starring: Dyril, Lanaya and Claus
Plus some charming fellows.

Time: Night (peak of riot)

Location: Little Reed Inn




Dyril listened to the scritch-scratching of her quill along the rough parchment. Her eyes studied the small list of things. Occasionally she drew a line through a name. Noting the faded end, she paused long enough to dip the tip into the inkwell. As she resumed, little number notes were written at the ends. All were left marked.

She added them together at the bottom indicating the sum of her sells made in Nyhem. In the Elven Imperium, any merchant would've considered the amount excellent.

It seemed magic was highly valued in Formaroth than the Elven lands. Possibly since it was far less common here.

Dyril sighed then placed her quill back into its bottle. She leaned back in her chair as she thought about her progress. More specifically, how to convince her family that this endeavor had potential. Her eyes darted to the letter she had yet to write.

The most difficult part to deliver was the prospect she acquired. Yes, it held some risk but most business opportunities did in the beginning.

Unable to phrase things properly in her head, Dyril stood upright. Her hands reached to put away the disorganized mess.

A dim, yellow-orange light poured in through the window. It engulfed her table then spread throughout the whole room. Surprised by it, Dyril’s eyes scrunched in thought. Surely it wasn't morning already. There had been several times she had worked up until the early hours of the day, but something was off. The light usually took minutes, not seconds to fully envelop her room. It also flickered like torchlight. Her attention turned to the window.

As she walked toward it, her ears caught the muffled screams and crackling sounds. Her hands extended to grasp the handles. With a slight pause, she collected her bravery. She gave the panels a sharp shove.

Her eyes widened in shock.

Fire engulfed the building across the street. Below her window's view, crowds of people rushed about. Some brought buckets to put out the fires while others ran off in their panic.

Deep down, Dyril hoped Kiseo wasn't caught up in the utter chaos below.

A small knot of men with torches stood out like rocks in a river from the chaos. One spotted her, pointing directly at her, causing them to raise their heads. Even this far away she could feel their wolfish gazes before they began whispering among themselves. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had instigated this hellish nightmare. Now their sights were set on her.

Acting swiftly, Dyril ducked back into the room. Her eyes shot to the door when she heard a woman holler in the main room. Possibly the inn owner trying to save her small establishment. Any further conversation ceased when the woman screamed. Then followed by sounds of a scuffle. Dyril’s heart froze in her chest.

Oh...shit...oh shit.

The words sounded in her head when she frantically glanced around. As the brawl died down she caught footfalls making their way up the stairs toward her. Her panic increased tenfold. Dyril’s eyes fell onto the window. Before she could race to it, she caught the click of the door handle slowly turning.

The door flew open. Kicked from the other side as the man lowered his foot, the torch raised to search the room. Cautiously, he entered. He snorted in frustration when he found no one. Soon, the squarish man was joined by two others. One a rather thin and weasel-like individual with a long face. The other was average in appearance, his front covered in a butcher’s smock stained with fresh blood.

“Oi, where de lil blue witch git to?” Asked the door kicker, his broad figure edged deeper into the room’s center.

His feet kicked the modest rug toward the bed. He continued to growl under his breath as his eyes noted the open window, drawn to it.

“She couldn’t have gotten very far.”

The second answered as he moved to the corner. His hands ripped open the cabinet doors. He started to rummage through the small selection, tossing dresses into a hasty pile. The smallest of the three spied the papers on the desk. He snorted at the scribbles as he helped his companions search.

Underneath the bed, Dyril watched the feet scramble about. Sounds of her room being violated made her heart pound, her pulse thundering in her ears. She couldn’t stay here long. Only a matter of time before they discovered her. Then only the gods knew what they would do to her if they did.

Driven by the thought, the half-elven woman cautiously began to slide herself out. All three thugs had collected over by the open window now. It was the only obvious exit, aside from the door, giving her the perfect opportunity to escape.

While she nervously navigated the wrecked scene, she continued to eye the distracted thugs. Silently she prayed they didn’t turn around.

So focused on them, Dyril didn’t watch where she stepped. A board squeaked under the weight of her step.

Betrayed by the sound, she tossed caution to the wind and bolted. She felt the thugs’ eyes rake her back just after she disappeared around the corner. Desperate to get away, she took the steps two at a time when her ears caught one of them shout.

“Git ‘er!”

Not wanting to stick around, Dyril sought the inn's exit. Upon reaching the bottom, she found herself unable to ignore the scene.

Signs of a struggle were all over the place. From toppled tables to fallen bodies, Dyril averted her eyes. She couldn’t face the possibility she might end up like these unfortunate souls. The thought brought a sour bile to her throat, forcing her to swallow it.

“Well, lookie ‘ere at wot I found.”

Dyril’s eyes snapped to the speaker’s direction. It was a mistake to assume all thugs were upstairs.

A grimy, smallish man leaned against the doorway. In his hand was a club. He tapped it against his other palm casually, eyeing her up. A rhythmic beat that silently threatened her.

Dyril’s right foot retreated backward but stopped in her tracks. Her other visitors had come down during her distraction.

Amused by her predicament, the fourth man pushed himself off the frame.

“Now, ye elven 'ore… we're gonna to kill ye nice an' slow.” The man’s tone was a polite mockery.

At the camp of the Steel fist.

-"Alright fellas, that will do for a break." Claus stood up and clapped his hands twice to get his men going, it wasn't really a motivated rise, more like barely wanting to stand up and then forcing oneself up, just like getting up in the morning.

But the Steel fist began to move out, darkness had fallen during the hours that had passed since they began the riot suppression. A warm meal was a welcome sight for his men as they returned to camp for a break. And to lock up a bunch more people of course.

They were rather many at the moment, but the new guys were keeping an eye on them. Also the prisoners while only sitting on an harvested field, didn't really feel like trying something when they had their hands tied and being surrounded by scores of skilled and heavily armed mercenaries.

Then again, one or two had tried to make a run for it. One got tackled to the ground by a shield bearing soldier, another got shot in the right calf with a bow, that put a stop to that guy.
Even if it wasn't overly clean way of stopping him, it worked.

Some of the fists barber surgeons were checking the prisoners, while not receiving first class medical treatment, getting a wound cleaned and bandaged was all that was needed for the few that had real injuries.

For those that had a bad bruise, they were told to sucker up. This aint a fancy inn, so be glad you're not worse off.

The Steel fist got into formation and was ready to move out, Claus on his way to the front row and was joined by Roogel along the way.

Before any orders could be given however, a Falcon with a decidedly unusual band of orange plumage about its neck swooped down and perched in front of the mercenary Captain. It turned an eye to gaze at him for a moment, then, in a surge of witchlight, it disappeared - only to be replaced by a copper haired women wearing an elegant green dress very much not suited for the outdoors. There was a rather noticeable bruise on the side of her face. It looked quite out of place compared to the rest of her otherwise immaculate attire and presentation.

"Claus, leader of the Steel Fist?" She asked expectantly of the men. She did not wait for an answer before continuing however, some degree of disdain evident in her voice. "I am Magister Dionisa and I bring orders for your company directly from the King."

Not really used to magics like this, most of the corps-men were a bit taken aback, however Claus himself stepped forth looking like this was part of every days routine. Which it was not, and even he himself was impressed with how confident he appeared.

-"Greetings magister, from the king ey? What does our dear snake want?" He spoke as he closed, stopping two yards or so from Lanya stretching out a hand either for a handshake or a letter, he cared not.

He cought himself staring at the bruise that was clearly visible on the otherwise spotless and rather comely appearance. He forced himself to look at her eyes as he noticed, but it was evident that he was curious as to how it happened.

Lana cast a haughty glance at the mercenaries offered hand. She wasn't here for meet and greet with her lessers. Normally she might also have corrected him on refering to the king as the snake, but at this moment she was very close to joining him in use of that term.

It was then she noticed that he, and his approaching second, seemed to be staring rather pointedly at the side of her face - certainly not where she expected such brutish men to focus their gaze. She glanced surreptitiously towards the shiny polished breastplate of Claus's second... And was shocked at the reflection she saw. There was an ugly purple bruise marring one side of her face. She couldn't help but blush as she mentally chastised herself for failing to realise that would happen and covering it up. She then took a moment before replying to quickly weave an illusion over it, that she might appear her usual beautiful self.

All the mercs would see of it, of course, was that one moment she was bruised, and the next she looked perfect. Only then did she reply.

"The King would have you and your men focus on securing the Garden District. The rioters there are not as concerned with heresy as they are with railing against the nobility for their wealth. Once you have done that, he wishes you to go to the Bazaar and secure it against further looting from the populous."

Claus kept a good eye on the woman before him, especially when she began to cast magics without warning. Luckily, it was just some healing spell or illusion or shapeshifting effect that took away her ugly blemish.

Roogel eyed Lanaya with hungry eyes as he saw her blush after looking at him, completely missing the whole reason behind it.

-"Alright, give the fellas at Garden district a good spanking followed with the bazaar." Claus acknowledged and took the oppurtunity to take in the form of the mage in front of him. After all, most of the people in the Steel fist were men and of those most weren't the prettiest sort usually, so a nice view to keep the boredom at bay did no harm to anyone.
He didn't stare like Roogel though and turned to him and jokingly reprimanded him.

-"Roogel, be careful your eyes don't pop out with ya staring like that, especially when it's a mage. Also.... you can easily get finer women than her anytime."
Roogel was taken out of his trance and grinned broadly.
-"Sorry boss, an' milady." He turned to Claus.
-"And yeah sure i can find finer women." Roogel questioned Claus while not so sneakily throwing a wink at Lanaya hoping for the best.

Lana listened to the exchange without much care until the line about 'finer women.' What a foolish man Claus was. And what made it even more ironic was warning about the dangers of a sorceress in the same sentence.

Subtly, she layered on more illusions, a faint glow and an ever so slight accentuation of color and other features that men seemed to find most attractive. Then she stepped towards Roogel looking very sweet and, raising onto the tips of her toes, lightly kissed his cheek.

In one fluid motion as she came down, she turned and cast a deathly stare at Claus. If looks alone could kill, this one most certainly would. With that, she turned and strode away, shape shifting back into a bird mid stride.

Claus looked at Roogel who was looking possibly beaming with joy as Claus made a grimace and shook his head.

As Lanaya was moving Claus wasted no time, barking orders and informing of the next location of work, the weird exchange put everyone on a good mood though so a few smiles and grins were visible here and there and the spirits were high.

Close to Little Reed Inn.

The whole ordeal with Lanaya and the food break meant that darkness was setting over Nyhem, Claus procured lanterns to ensure that he had good vision as he kept on working into the night.

He'd decided to make a good impression and work until midnight. Which just happened to be how long he expected to be able to have his men work, have time to return to camp and then get to bed before he himself and his men getting cranky.

Dyril’s eyes desperately flipped through the inn’s remnants. There was so little at her disposal. Most of the furniture was in pieces causing her heart to abuse her ribs, a panicked and frightened bird trapped in a cage. A broken table leg was certainly not going to be effective against the four that had gotten the drop on her. Not with her pitiful strength.

Mentally she cursed her earlier foresight. In past days, she had placed all her magical items into storage when she should’ve kept one or two for her own protection. Now she was faced with a life or death situation. There was little chance of her coming out unscarred, let alone alive, from this predicament.

As if to remind her of their presence, there was movement behind her. Her head tilted over her shoulder to spot a thug’s hand reached for her.

In a thoughtless motion, Dyril’s heel stepped back. It stomped down hard on the owner’s toes. The man blinked then chuckled, unaffected by her efforts. So much for that idea, she mentally chided her ‘brilliance’.

Just when his fingertips finished curling at the sleeve of her dress, the half-Elven woman jerked away to the side. Riiiip. The seams easily gave away from the stress. The man snarled in frustration and glared accusingly at her.

“Stay away from me!” Dyril demanded, surprised she could speak at all.

Suddenly a fist curved into her peripheral vision. The largest of the four had bolted forward, a blow aimed at her cheek. It landed instantly. A loud yelp escaped her lips. Pain erupted from the contact point then spread to the side of her face, numbed by the painful shock. It was enough to disrupt her balance. Her right foot tangled with her left, toppling her into the ground.

With a surprised jerk, Claus stopped in his tracks. He was sure he heard someone he'd met before.
-"What's wrong?" Roogels deep voice was wondering, Claus only answered with.
-"I'm gonna check a thing, think i heard a scream." With that the steelhead jogged off through an alleyway, out upon a street littered with broken things along with the door shutters for the inn he was standing next to. The entire scene was lit with the fire of a burning building from the other side of the street.

The sign with a reed upon was dangling in only one of its chains and from inside he could hear a commotion.

With his iron shod staff in his right hand, he opened the door to the little reed inn, the fires light from outside accross the street showing only the contours of his armoured form. To those inside one could for a moment mistake him for some sort of ghostly avenger here to claim those who fled from battle.

The gloomy inn was a scary sight, broken things, blood, possibly even dead bodies and in the middle of it all, some brutes preparing to do some rather unethical things to a woman.

-"Who do' fo'k are u' suppos'd to be?" One of the brutes called out to Claus, whom were just going to answer as another thug hit claus in the head with a sturdy stick, possibly a stools leg.

This put Claus off balance, he stumbled a bit, jarred his head and gripped the staff tightly.
The blow had put Claus in a groggy state, and when that happened one of two things were happening. Either he was drunk, and all was fine.

Or it was a battle, and all restraints and thinking would need to go. Since thinking got you killed in battle, groggyness got you killed. Instinct and instinct alone kept you alive and it was in that millisecond that he gripped his staff that instinct took over.

With a quick motion, he let his left hand grip the staff as he struck his assailant over the back, he sunk low heaved with all his body and actually flung the man across the room into another thug with enough force a bunch of tables and stools were broken from the impact.
As the thugs stared in awe they didn't see Claus move in, the closest barely had time to react as the steel clad warrior had closed the distance and swung the staff two-handedly, more akin to a sword-strike which hit the jaw of the man with such force that the lower jaw splintered into pieces and the neck was twisted and broken with a loud crack.

Two of the people charged in with a knife and a fire poker, with expert ranging, Claus feigned a strike, which had the guy with the knife dodge prematurely which let Claus put his entire strength into the downward blow which crushed the skull of the man.

As the staff hit he let go with his right hand and simply punched the other guy with his armoured fist, teeth, blood and saliva flew and glittered in the fire-light from outside as Claus drove the nose bone into the mans brain.

It would take Claus several seconds of just standing there to realize what had happened, to figure out what he had done. Another man might have broken down, but so many battles and deaths had jaded him so he didn't know what to think.

He finally managed to look upon the woman in front of him on the floor.

Dyril felt like throwing up. The ground churned underneath, moved an invisible wave, as her mind trying to gather itself up. Even the air around her cheek inflamed it. Gently she rubbed it, caressing the bit swollen muscle. Mentally she knew it would bruise later. However, the hybrid was lucky she was alive.

Every joint in her bones ached with a new vengeance as she cautiously pushed off the ground. Her legs curled under her then forced her to stand upright. Not recognizing Claus’ image, she began to praise his intervention.

“Thank you, I thought I was seriously going to die.”

She twisted on the heel of her foot to face Claus.

Even as it took a few seconds before he recognized the voice and could properly place it, it was rather quick considering that he never expected to meet her again, even less so in Formaroth.

-"Dyril? Is that you?" Claus asked with a surprised sound.

Dyril’s eyes examined him for a moment. Her mind struggled until a hazy, old memory surfaced into her attention. He was much younger back then.

“I was about to ask the same thing about you. I’ve forgotten how quickly humans age.”

-"HA! You calling me old?" He did one of his telltale smirks.

Dyril’s head swiveled from side to side, ensuring they were alone. Suddenly her posture shifted. Hands rested on her hips, cocking to apply weight to one side. Her torso leaned forward and her lips curled into an obvious smirk. For a moment, she barely resembled the refined woman who arrived in Nyhem on business.

“Yes, you’re old. Do I really need to give you a biology lesson over an Elf’s superior lifespan? Those lessons were boring enough to receive so I dread giving them.” Her tone was light-hearted, teasing and welcoming for the old familiarity of Claus’ face.

Claus however regained his bearings on the situation.

-"However. This is no place for a get together though. We should get out of here. Safest place is probably my camp outside town." Claus informed with a hint of urgency in his voice, pointing outside.

When his expression becomes serious, she straightened her stance back into the puppet. One trained and forced on display to purely save face.

“I agree, lead on. I’m pretty sure a half-Elven merchant makes a good target from the last encounter.”

The two exited the sad looking inn and went out in the street, fire light still basking the area in its warm glow.

Claus reached for his signal horn and gave a four note signal and shortly after two Steel fist corps-men could be seen joggin to their position in the distance.

-"You still got that slave, Shini was it?" Claus asked.

“Shinx,” Dyril’s tone became defensive over Claus’ mispronunciation of her first slave’s name.

Her eyes avoided his gaze, if he looked, as she inhaled. Placing a mask over her facial features to hide the pain, she answered in a blank tone.

“No, she died before we arrived. Discarded by a mysterious killer while running one last errand for me. Her daughter, Kiseo, is currently serving in her place and arrived with me.”

As she began to step past Claus, she paused long enough to add one last request.

“Keep an eye out for her. She was the last one to leave the docks before this all happened and I worry something might’ve happened.”

-"Huh, i see... sorry about that." Claus felt a bit stupid for getting it wrong now.
But he had other things to focus on and kept going.
-"Oh well, these two will escort you to camp. There you will be given room in a tent. Possibly mine, it's large enough for two or three. An extra bedroll can easily be arranged by Katrina. Alright, see you later." He notioned to all present before making the most half arsed salute this century and then moved off.

As the half elf disappeared around a corner Claus let a glance stay with her a bit longer than planned. Now was not the time to get stuck with memories. Now was time for work.
Sure i'll keep an eye out for Kiseo. He doubted he would get which one incorrect, seeing there probably is about one mao in the entirety of Formaroth.
He returned to his formation, the garden district awaits. Followed by the Bazaar.
There would be many heads being knocked before this night was over.
@Wraithblade6 Noooooo! I need to have a drink with Eclipse!

Anyway, i heard here that you're leaving, and in Discord that you're staying so i hope you stay.
@Fallenreaper Ok, so where, when, how?

I suggest the living room, at noon, general Mustard with a spoon.
Righteyoo, i've made a post :D

If anyone want anything changed, just give me a call.
Fallen, i can easily go back into the city to get the scene you wanted in ;)

Collab? Or just posts?
The after-math of the battle.


The battle had been immense, dead everywhere, corpses laid in massive piles and mass graves being dug just to get rid of all the corpses.
War was a bloody business, but a lucrative business. Claus knew this full well as he strolled around in his makeshift encampment where his men were doing all sorts of things. Some were peeling potatoes, some were carrying firewood, others carried bags of loot. But Claus didn't see that.
He however bumped a trooper so that he was made aware that his captain was eying him, and got the hint.
The Steel fist doesn't loot.... officially.
Meaning all looting is to be kept professional, no obvious things.

In the distance Claus saw the multitudes of covered wagons comprising Manshrews baggage train, they were being prepared to be sent to the Concord baggage train and Katrina was hard at work taking inventory and making sure the right amount of things were sent off.
Claus had also had a talk with her about how things were done in the company, she had been slightly taken back by it all but in the end accepted it.
After all, no one really got hurt by it and the dead weren't mocked, regardless of origin.

Seeing the covered wagons also reminded Claus of the jackpot this whole battle had yielded.
Running straight into the Manshrew rear, nabbing basically the whole baggage train, massive amounts of food, weapons, horses and last but
not least.... money.
Being the frugal individual he was, the food and weapons were dutifully given to the concord, along with the Manshrew warchest.
It would be long after the battle, perhaps even the war until some coinpushing scribe with inky fingers figured out that three fourths of the money had disappeared. Along with the better looking swords and armours from the wagons.
Right into the pockets of the Steel fist, oh how they would rejoice after they got home.
Something else he noticed was that as darkness fell, his troops were beginning to show signs of inebriation. This was something that fascinated Claus, drinking on duty is prohibited to a single mug of light ale or cider per meal, water could be drunk in any quantity. Yet somehow the men always managed to find, get or otherwise smuggle with them enough drinks to have a party after almost every victory.
He shook his head, at least they were not singing drinking songs loudly...... wait, scratch that. Claus thought as he heard the bawls of some troopers from up left.
He ignored this as he moved to where his prisoner would be, some Evennis person would come and execute the poor sod apparently. Too bad Claus thought, that meant he wouldn't be getting his ransom, he had dutifully acknowledged Patrik De'Reimers descision in the matter.
Now he just wanted to see the mess left after it.
On the walk he thought of the other mercenaries, they would have to learn proper Steel fist conduct if they accepted his offer tomorrow. The Steel fist is the mercenary company with the highest standard of drill, equipment and individual skill in the whole of Formaroth, rules were never broken and orders were followed without hesitation....
Well, a few rules were a bit vague on purpose, others the captains had a tendency to 'miss noticing' as they were broken.

As Claus reached the prison area he noticed a lack of both guards and prisoners. Both alive and dead.
After a quick search he found his guard rummaging through a chest, apparently trying to find a new left glove. Claus called out to him.
-"Where's the prisoner?"
-"The paladin? Wasn't he ransomed?" The soldier answered with a question with a genuine surprise.
-"Nope, excecuted. Looking for the corpse, he had a fancy armour and sword after all." Claus was starting to look here and there, the soldier joined in as he noted.
-"No idea then, perhaps George knows. GEORGE!!!"
-"What?" A slightly sleep drunk voice replied.
Claus went to the source and found George in a pile of clothes with a bottle of wine. Claus took said wine and asked.
-"Where's the prisoner."
First George looked annoyed, then realized it was the captain that took the wine. Making a pathetic attempt at straightening up he slurred.
-"Strange, this fancy concord guy came and they left. I thought it was to pick him up for ransom. They went that way."
As he pointed he passed out, Claus shook his head as he took the wine with him, sipping it to calm his nerves.
He walked in the direction George had pointed out. It took Claus out into the tree line, the lights and the noises was easily made out from the distant camp a few hundred yards away.
There was no blood, no grave, no secret meeting. Just a few bent branches and a suspicious amount of flattened grass.

Did he escape? Was he taken? Released? The blood cleaned up? Or killed with poison?
Scratching his chin, he pondered for a while before realizing that no matter what, Eclipse wasn't here. Nor this Evennis type.
Taking a large gulp of wine, he exhaled strongly baring his teeth before tossing the bottle and returning to camp.

Next day.


The following morning Claus brought some of his vanguard and moved to the encampment of the other mercenaries. He spoke to their captain and arranged a meeting where most of the troops would hear out what Claus had to say.
-"Hello again troopers, i am sure you remember me. I worked my ass off so that not everyone died in the first battle against the alliance." The response was some nods and murmurs. He wasn't lying.
-"Seeing i got most of you through that one, and sent you to support this army, ensuring its victory, i'd say i've shown you i'm at least a decent commander.
So my proposition is simple. Anyone here who wants are encouraged to join the Steel fist. Since i see you all as damn fine troops." He made a dramatic pause.
-"But do remember, the fist is the toughest merc company around, the work is hard and the drill is harsh but the pay is high. So what say you?"
-"If you feel like joining up, we'll be moving out later today. We'll return to Nyhem. There we'll deck you out in the proper gear and you'll work your ass off training.... after the victory party that is." Claus finished with one of his telltale smirks, he got a few jeers and cheers.
-"So if you feel like it, just come by the Steel fist camp. It's up north. If you don't want to join, i'll think no less of you. Now i'll bid you farewell."

With that Claus stepped down from the makeshift speakers podium made from a crate, a few followed there and then, a bunch more would come around during the day.
This was all good and fine, but Claus knew that this was a drastic measure. The Steel fist had almost been halved, perhaps more during this conflict. He was in desperate need of reinforcements and he had no time to train some poor sods from the ground up.

As he was returning to his own encampment, he noticed a procession of men carrying a casket with a beautiful banner covering it, followed by other dead in a grave procession.
Looking at the colours, the heraldry, he realized it was Blackwell troops.
Curious about the fancy chest, he moved up to some blackwell soldiers who stood with no helms but with heads straight in respect of the fallen.
Claus took off his own helmet and joined in, just now noticing the old man Blackwell himself at the fore of the procession.
Makins sure to not disturb the grand picture, Claus dared to whisper to a soldier a question.
-"Sorry for asking, but did someone of the Blackwells die in the battle?" The soldier at first didn't answer, but as Claus was about to give up he got a truly melancholic but not depressed answer.
-"Lady Beatrice Blackwell, died fighting the Manshrew bastard Andrew in personal combat. May he die the most gruesome death at the hand of lord Giles."
Claus thought for a moment, then remembered the name, the war maiden, the mysterious warrior princess with the wooden sword. He felt honestly sad that she had died before they could have had a sparring match and a good drink.
-"Damn sad, she said we should have a drink sometime unless we have to fight each other in the war. I was looking forward to that one... she seemed like a woman worth hanging out with." Claus said silently with a heartfelt melancholy.
-"Yeah, she was." The man spoke with reverence.
-"I'll have to drink one toast for her memory then... 'death comes for us all' was it? Your saying?" Claus tried to remember the Blackwell motto.
-"Death's no stranger." The soldier corrected him without looking.
-"Ah, sorry... death's no stranger." Claus said with an honest feel, it was a good saying, it fit well with his own company as well.
He staid for a while to pay respect to the fallen, then returned to other duties.

A bunch of troops, new recruits and several wagons moved out in that afternoon. Claus had made sure every single one brought a horse, so the entire company was actually mounted at the moment. Something that no one was sure had ever happened in Steel fist history before.
They took a detour past the landing camp set up near the shore when Claus first arrived in Telmarion.
Picking up some of the things, a few tents and cettles. Surprisingly, not much had been taken. Manshrew apparently didn't loot, or he saw no need for tents and cooking utensils.

The trip went west, to where Patrik De'Reimer had prepared ships that would take the Steel fist back to Sypius plains.

Arrival at the capitol.


The trip across the Inan sea was uneventful, soon the Steel fist disembarked and marched upon Nyhem. Some of the scouts were sent beforehand to warn the city about their arrival, something the nice city folk apparently appreciated, somehow they don't like a large portion of elite troops randomly arriving and taking over their taverns and inns.
Something that was worrying though was the columns of smoke that could be seen in the distance, it only became clear that something was really wrong as they came within a miles range and the scouts returned.
-"The city is in riot sir, apparently religious." The head scout reported to Claus, whom found the situation troubling.

A large uprising in Nyhem, wars all over Formaroth. These were dark times indeed.
Claus was beginning to set up camp outside Nyhem when a royal messenger arrived, with his nice yellow jacket, with the green beret adorned with a red feather fastened with a silver brooch.
He had a slight fatigue to his voice but rigorous etiquette and proper conduct training made it barely noticeable.
-"Message for the captain of the Steel fist." His voice was heard almost as well as Claus own, the steelhead moved up to the messenger and took the letter he held out for him.

Claus read quickly and murmured 'i see' close to the end. After finishing he turned to the messenger and said.
-"Tell the good king he got himself an expert riot suppression force." The messenger gave a sharp nod and then with with a 'hiyaa' spurred his horse into a fast ride towards Nyhem.
Claus wasted no time and began to bark orders.
-"Alright men, there's a riot in Nyhem, that letter offered me the job of stopping it which i have accepted. Go bring the cudgels and the training polearms, this operation is to be made with as few deaths as possible... on both sides. NOW MOVE IT!!!" Claus boomed out and was answered with salutes and yes sirs.
-"Katrina, you're in charge of setting up camp, use the new guys since we haven't got their kit yet. Roogel, you're with me." The two acknowledged him from where they stood and quickly moved out.

It didn't take long until the Steel fist was set up in their usual spear wall formation, ever with the perfect ranks of drilled soldiers. The look was however a bit odd seeing they were armed with staffs with wooden striking heads with a layer of thick leather around. Simulating roughly the weight of one of the halberds, along with cudgels in their belts.
Claus and Roogel got hold of a sturdy battle staff each and set out to lead the excursion into the city, a horn call was made to the gate guards who opened the gates seeing the Steel fist banners.
-"Right Roogel, time to go to work." Claus told his old friend, who nodded in response and spoke.
-"Yeah, it'll be like a right 'ol bar fight, except even more fun." He was grinning, Claus shook his head, Roogels love for friendly bar fights was legendary and this would surely be a right good stomping. Poor sods he thought as he envisioned the city folk trying to fight his soldiers. He knew how much more skilled they were than militia, and militia at least had some training.
Good thing he had ordered training weapons only, otherwise it would be a massacre.

"Bar fight".


The last time they had arrive in Nyhem it had been with great fanfare and joyous music, this time was massively different.
The city was even more mellow than last time, instead of banners raised halfway to grieve a dead monarch, several of the churches and houses were on fire and scores of people were rampaging through the streets.
-"Roogel, i'm starting to think there's something wrong with this place. Seems they can't keep a good mood even for a second." Claus shouted so that everyone present including the closest rioting mob could hear.
His answer was a shuckle from his lieutenant and several of the troops, the company a strange sight. Perfectly arrayed halberds and synched footfalls, laughing at a silly joke made in the most unsuitable of moments.

-"It's you guys! The iron fists!" A peasant shouted and pointed with an actual falchion he had managed to get hold of at Claus whom was in front of his formation. Claus was annoyed and sort of growled as he stretched his neck.
-"That's STEEL FIST you ignorant fool. Now stand down, drop the weapons and we can all go home without you getting horribly beaten and thrown in jail."
-"HA! We outnumber you, you're just merc scum! We can take you on! Come on lads!" The man shouted and managed to rile up the mob enough to approach the steel fist formation in a menacing way.
Had he been a drunk ganger, alone in an alleyway, this might have been intimidating, Claus however was sorely impressed and simply raised his fist and shouted once. The troops behind him with a simultaneous shout went into a perfect wall of arrayed training halberds.
-"Final warning, one more step and you are dead." Claus shouted, one or two here and there in the mob actually broke off now to hide, but many more were far to angry to stop.
-"You are just here as the snakes lap dog! We don't fear him!" This and other shouts and jeers were made, it was obvious these people felt betrayed.
These guys weren't religious fanatics though, which slightly confused Claus for a second but he quickly dismissed the thought.
-"Ver well then, MEN, READY!" Claus ordered and stepped back a step and thus was within the arrayed shafts of weapons, as did Roogel.

The mob charged in, tossing things and trying to smash the corpsmen with all manners of weapons and some even their fists. The effectiveness however was a lot like a child tossing eggs at the walls of Clarm. The spear wall making a perfect job of keeping the rioters at a distance.
-"STEP!" Claus boomed out and was hailed with a shout as the formation pushed forward a step with such force that the rioters were pushed back.
Every three or so seconds Claus repeated the order, and every step pushed the mob backwards.
The mob soon routed, Claus and Roogel ran in and felled and knocked down several of the fleeing while some crossbowmen tied the hands of the downed, both in front of and behind the line.

With ruthless efficiency, brutality and imposing presence and commands, Claus went around and took out all major groupings of rioters he came upon. Many fled as soon as they saw his force, many met the same fate as the first group, clobbered and beaten.
At one point the fist was ambushed, at one point they were stuck in a schiltrom and assaulted from five sides. But overall the fist once again showed its skill and efficiency.

They detained many, and to Claus's great pride, there wasn't many deaths, just two. And none even went down in the fist. Sure many were bruised and battered but the armour and skill of the corpsmen made sure they were fit for fight still.

But several hours later, Claus retreated back outside bringing his men with him. Along with a bunch of prisoners.
Who were sat down and guarded by the regular mercs while the steel fist rested.
Hard work, gruesome hard work. No one really liked it, but it was better than going in and killing people. Especially when it was civilians.
I'm working on mine.
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