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  • Last Seen: 5 mos ago
  • Old Guild Username: Aristocrap
  • Joined: 11 yrs ago
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6 yrs ago
Not my own words, but: "Enjoy memes and have a good time online, but develop a solid sense of self-worth that is rooted in a reality that doesn't disappear when the battery charge is empty."
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6 yrs ago
The spam. It hurts.
1 like
6 yrs ago
Yeah, and you're under arrest, pal.
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@Aristo Not enough evidence, I imagine. You can't convict without that.


I suppose not, but it does state that the church knew he did it. They could have gone public with that information; religious authority would certainly lend weight to their credibility - assuming religion is an important facet of life in the Empire.
@DrinkySince you play a religious fanatic, I figured you're the person to ask - what exactly is the cosmology/religious makeup of the setting?

Also, how did Adjantis escape conviction after the church publicly decried him? He seems like he should be behind bars!
I saw the IntCheck the other day and have been considering jumping into the RP in-between my other projects. I'm assuming I'm not too late, since this IC just got underway?

Not wholly sure what kind of character to make; I still have to read all the sheets.
Volksingen Proper, Vlaanburg Electorates

Olov Klauser tapped a taloned finger to his temple as he read over the parchment. A scrawny messenger stood in the doorframe, kneading his hat in his hands. The Elector’s furnishings were antiquated, out of fashion compared to those that sat in the halls of men - normal men. But they were still grand displays of wealth and appeared older than the messenger cared to guess. His eyes lingered on a large wooden basin towards the back of the room, finely detailed and finished in a rich brown. The inside, or what the boy could see of it, was quilted with velvet. A rectangular slab of stone lay ajar to the basin. He didn’t have to guess to know what Olov used it for.

“I don’t like the sound of this, not at all.” Olov stood up from his desk, setting the note down. “Unrest will reflect poorly on Volksingen, if this is allowed to pass.”

The messenger nodded uncertaintly at this.

“Oh. You’re dismissed. My chamberlain will see you rested and fed. Have no fear, I’ll dispatch an agent of mine to Brent to deal with the matter.”

The boy looked up, puzzled. “Just one man, sir?”

Olov returned to his seat, flashing the lad a toothy smile. “He’s not just any man.”

~~~~

Town of Brent, Volksingen Canton, Vlaanburg Electorates

Some time later…

Night’s veil was lifting, chased away by the sliver of sun that now rose just over the treetops. Dietrich could see them more clearly now - the army arrayed outside of Brent’s wall. They carried no cantonal banner, nor did they wear unifying colors. Yet they were outfitted in gleaming, new armor and carried polearms; a little too well-armed for the average conscript. They had brought ladders with them.

“Spyglass,” Dietrich said, holding out a hand to an adjunct. They were atop the wall, Dietrich hastily armored in gambeson and mail. The buttons on his neck and sleeves were still undone and his helmet sat unfastened on his head. Once it was in his hand, he brought the spyglass to his eye, picking out the ringleader. He didn’t look familiar. By what means did he assemble and arm this crew? And what did they want of Brent?

Most of those assembled did not look like fighting men. Weapons sagged in their hands, and they carried themselves with weak postures. A few of them were more hardened. These few echoed the cries of a sandy-haired fellow at the head of the formation. The closer they got to Brent, the clearer Dietrich could make out the words: “Down with the Archon! Down with the bloodsuckers!”. Rebels - that was clear now.

“Crossbows at the ready!” Dietrich commanded. His men complied, knocking back strings and loading bolts. He wasn’t going to take chances, even if these men had just a fraction of their leader’s conviction. The rebels continued until they were meters away from the wall. They stopped, save for their leader, who stalked forward several paces, eyes to the ramparts.

“You there! Open the gate and join us, or we’ll be forced to sack the town!”

“This a rebellion?” Dietrich shouted back. “You’ll be drawn and quartered once the Elector hears of this. It’s treason!” A few of the rebels shifted uncomfortably on their feet at this.

“Piss on the Elector! The bloodsuckers have been in charge too long. It’s time for men to run things around here!”

“Idiot! Thanks to the Electors, you’re not a subject of Lynnfaire! I’d sooner follow the Archon than a common welp! What do you say to that?”

The rebel ringleader fumed, stepping back into formation. “I say we’ve got nothing left to talk about. Men - attack!”

The front ranks of the rebels surged forward, swinging their ladders to the ramparts. Dietrich bellowed and his men loosed their first volley. Bolts peppered the rebels, dancing off breastplates and helmets. A handful of men went down - not enough to slow their advance.

“The ladders!” Dietrich scrambled to the rampart’s edge. Using the edge of his halberd, he pushed the nearest ladder - and the rebel climbing it - from the wall. Yet more swung to the edge all along the wall’s length. Below, the rebels’ leader was shouting for more bodies on the wall.

Dietrich cursed, grabbing a discarded crossbow from the ground. He wound back the string as quickly as he could, slapping a bolt into the nut and taking aim. He found his mark, lining up a shot at the rebel. His finger tensed below the trigger, anticipating the perfect moment. It came.

A dark shape flashed overhead. With a whoosh and a bloodcurling scream that sent shivers down Dietrich’s spine, the rebel leader all but vanished. In his place, Dietrich’s quarrel had struck the ground.

Perplexed, Dietrich turned to the sky, and there he saw an enormous winged shape flying away - with a sandy-haired man kicking and screaming in its grip.
@YurneroYou should join the Discord chat, where the vast majority of OOC talk takes place!
Artur, you rat bastard!
Town of Brent, Volksingen Canton, Vlaanburg Electorates

“So there you have it, Haans - the story of the great sky-bulls, Tauros Major and Tauros Minor.”
Dietrich stared up into the heavens at the pair of constellations. The stars formed two mighty bulls, a male and his mate, that once charged across the earth, paving the land into fields and clearing the forests for the first inhabitants of Askor. It was a story his father told him, and his father before him, and now he passed it along to his son, not yet into his tenth year.

“And what is that one called, father?” Haans asked, pointing up to another cluster.
“That one is Lucca, the trickster mink. Do you know why women love mink coats?”
“No?”
“Because according to legend, Lucca was so insufferable that the Primordials made him into a hat! Nobody wanted to trust the minks after that, so we stuff and wear them for good measure. Ha!”

The two of them shared a laugh until their bellies stopped heaving, and Dietrich settled on the grass, lying on his back. On nights like these, his father would take him out to see the stars, or he’d sneak out under his mother’s watch if he were away on business. Perhaps it wasn’t much, just children’s tales to keep the mind sharp and eyes alert. But they meant more to Dietrich than that. These were Vlaanburgian legends - the culture of an entire people lay with them. He hoped Haans would feel the same once he became a man, to pass the torch, so to speak.

“Father, those are strange stars,” Haan said suddenly. “What are those?”
Dietrich perked up, following his son’s gaze. Sure enough, a cluster of lights danced on the ridge beyond the valley, flickering orange and yellow. Alongside them shimmered metallic hints, like the rim of a helmet, or edge of a halberd.

“Saint Karlus,” Dietrich swore. “Back to the town, Haans, now!”
He pulled Haans from the grass and took off into a run, as fast as Haans’s little legs could manage. What the devil was happening? An army outside of Brent? There had been no calls for muster. Even with night’s pitch, Dietrich had seen no banner. The two of them ran, down the emerald slopes, across the Taan River bridge, into Fey’s Acre and then down the paved dirt road of Brent proper.

“Haans, go straight home to mum. Let me deal with this.”
“But father, I-”
“No buts!” Dietrich knelt down to place his hands on either side of the boy’s face. “What does Deacon Rudolph always say?”
“That children who obey their parents grow to be the most serene of all,” Haans mumbled.
“That’s right! Now go!”

Dejected but alert, Haans made for home. Alone, Dietrich hurried to the town garrison, a meagre thing, but Brent had no need for a grand armory. Inside, a pair of drowsy militamen watched him enter with puzzled faces.

“‘Ey, Deet,” one slurred. “What’s all the rush?”
“It’s an army! An army on the fields!” Dietrich shouted, grabbing hold of the garrison’s bell rope. “Wake the entire guard, get the guildmasters and the deacon! Get a messenger to the Elector!”

The men sputtered their drink, and clambered to their feet. With a hasty “Yes sir!” they hurried out the door. Dietrich yanked on the rope and the alarm bell shrieked. Soon the entire town would be on its feet.
Are they going to have an insane sexual dimorphism in which the males are ugly ad brutish and the females are all sexy?

<Snipped quote by Sigma>

Mines are more like Orc Pygmies, really short with big hammers.


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