POOHEAD189

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

@BCTheEntity Yessiree bob.

Middle-Earth: The Fifth Age

Like I said, next week is the earliest. Going to bed early tonight, little brother graduation tomorrow, and then I'm driving to Tennessee on a trip and will be gone until next week.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

The howls of the approaching Worgs drew closer and closer, as well as the filthy chittering of the Rogs. It was apparent they had breached through the ruined townscape, searching through the buildings and alleyways for prey. From the screams, it seemed one or two townsfolk had hidden from whatever had destroyed the town, only to be found by the Rogs. Beren flexed his hands, as if he was getting ready to strangle or grapple any foe that came near, though he looked a bit confused by Ursaren. "What are you talking about?"

Beside them in the street, Argon and Geradin made ready. The Lizardman hefted his shield and large bastard sword, roaring a challenge at the approaching monsters. Geradin in turn began a prayer, his words were deep and seemed to echo far more than they should have. His hammer began to glow with a brilliant ray of light much like the sun's. The two stood shoulder to hip with Beren and Ursaren, and anyone else who had joined them to hold the street. Luckily they didn't need to worry too much on alleyways, with only two close by and both led behind them from where the Rogs were not attacking from.

Suddenly, a nearly crumpled building finally collapsed down the street from some unseen blow of incredible proportions. A Troll waded into the street as the dust billowed, crying out a roar as it dragged a collapsed tree as a club. Moments later, Rogs streamed out of the streets from behind it. The creatures were slightly shorter than a man, but still quite dangerous. Their armor was splint mail and leather, and they wielded notched and jagged scimitars and axes, with a few short spears about the height of An-Hasst.

Roughly half a dozen Rogs, and two Worgs the size of large dogs made it ahead of the rest of the horde, charging at the adventurers holding the street. Two arrows flew at Alice, though they flew past her harmlessly. Perhaps they will be better shots next time, however... The Troll stepped ontop of a Rog, crushing the humanoid as it waded forward recklessly. It was a stooped beast, only a small bit taller than An-Hasst and Argon from eye level. Of course, if it stood to its full height it would be easily a head taller than either.

Luckily for Mags, the adventurers out her door were keeping the Rogs occupied, allowing her to give some sort of surprised attack. If she played her cards right, of course.
@The Fated Fallen@Sypherkhode822@BCTheEntity@Banana@Fetzen

Into The Dark: Mercenaries (Heroes of Fame and Fortune)

Ok everyone, I'll be posting this next monday. I have a trip to go to this weekend, and Monday will be the time to post. It'll give Roze some time to get a post up as well. After I post, you have 10 days to reply since it's taken us a bit to get through this round.

Also @rush99999 I should have said this days ago, but thanks for stepping up. I look forward to your next post. As long as people do their best, it's all I can ask for.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

Yaaayyy. Will post tomorrow when I can!

Back in the Saddle Again

Welcome back!

The Valencia - [High Fantasy, Pirates]

I am exceptionally busy this week and will be through the weekend, but after that I should be able to make a character.

Middle-Earth: The Fifth Age

This is a busy week for me, so I'll be a bit late with my Dwarf. But I'll get to it!

Into The Dark: Harbingers of Ruin

The sun gave a clear view of the Marches from this high up, but the travelers were weary and laden with burdens and tragedy. Unfortunately, the two colorful commoners who had been playing the merry tune had just halted their revelry to take a break for lunch. They'd received enough coin from passersby to garner some food for themselves, and they saw fit to head over to the man selling skins, to see if he had some jerky.

The Dwarf soldier had halted his blade sharpening, appraising his broadsword with a practiced eye. He raised an eyebrow to the other bare-chested Dwarf, who seemed lost in thought as he smoked his pipeweed. That is, until the soldier Dwarf elbowed him. "Seems we have a crowd," he said, gesturing to the two women who'd sat close to their firepit, as well as Talos who had planted a bit further away.
"So, what do you want me to do about it?" (Wot do ye want meh tae do aboot it?). The other one snorted. "Stop your concocting and get to something useful, like the hurdy-gurdy. I'm gonna let out some oamn's."

"Aye, I suppose I've been smoking a bit too much to be the one singing." The mohawk Dwarf said with a grin, revealing two or three missing teeth, with the rest looking positively un-cared for. He reached back, and to those who looked, his missing arm had been replaced with what looked like a tool of some kind. With his good hand, he grabbed an odd, multi-layered stringed instrument. He began to play a slow tune, broad and low in its sound, yet high enough to be heard above the murmur of conversation. The other Dwarf began a song through the tune.

"The miners pick, and the blacksmiths hammer!" he began. "Our. King's. throne. of. Gold!" His voice rose at Gold. "The Brewmaster's Ale and the Soldier's banner, Glory to the Gods of Old!"
It began again.
"The farmer's hoe and the ranger's crossbow, the inventor's engine of brass!" He cried. "If you think the Dwarves are will take your shit, you can kiss our hairy ass!"

There was uproarious laughter among the two Dwarves, though they continued through the lyrics, the song taking a more glory-filled tone as it progressed. While the Dwarf's voice was grating, he was obviously used to singing the song and it flowed well, if songs fit for Mountainhall barrooms was your style of music.

As the song played, another came into the Cairn for rest and refitting. He looked to be twenty six, give or take a year. He had on dark leather fitting over chainmail, and a blue jacket atop that. His hair was dark, as were his eyes. He wore a sidesword at his hip, the sword's hilt a knuckle guard and tapers to give more hand protection to the wielder. This coupled with his jacket made it clear he had either been a sailor or a duelist. He made his way up and over to the blacksmith, handing him his dagger that looked quite corroded for some reason.

The Drabarian walked over to the firepit, setting its Halberd down and listening to the Dwarves as he began to eat what looked to be an entire chicken, cooked. It chewed with the laziness of a lesser Dragon gnawing on the remains of a kill, leisurely. Still, there was an intelligence to its eyes, the Drabarian's broad shoulders heaving as it raised the chicken to its mouth. Near Talos, the hooded woman peeked out of her cowl. She was Praelian, it seemed. A vixen beauty who gazed at her surroundings with eyes of midnight brown. She locked eyes with Talos for a moment, before her eyes fell upon the fortune teller. She lifted herself up, and glided over there to meet her.

The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion - Crimson Skies

<Snipped quote by MacabreFox>

201. 3rd Era ended at the conclusion of the Oblivion Crisis/ end of the Septim Dynasty, so the calendar started over.


^ As seen in this documentary.

<Snipped quote by MacabreFox>

@Dervish

Poohead's journal. April 25th, 2017. A Dervish posted in the thread. Sometimes the night is kind to me.