Whenever this has an opening, let me know.
WestWall Member
STATUS: Any interest in a WW2 Casual roleplay about dogfighting pilots? I am itching for something fiery and full of explosions. 7 yrs ago
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- WestWall 7 yrs ago
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Any interest in a WW2 Casual roleplay about dogfighting pilots? I am itching for something fiery and full of explosions.
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I actually did not think of that.
For the Americans here, have a good Thanksgiving.
Er, bump?
No character sheets as of yet.
No character sheets as of yet.
Liking what we have so far fellas. Looking to be a great game.
Bang
Bang
Bang
A large tent near the center of the camp was always filled with both light and movement. Wulfric never seemed to sleep long, always up early and to bed late. His hammer was an extension of himself at this point, and if he wasn't pounding out metal or quenching a group of longswords, he was asleep. Ironically, most of the mercenaries that lived around his tent grumbled for the first few days, as most would cast lots to not have to sleep near the iron forge and its blacksmith. Towards the end of a week however, most of them claimed the banging became natural. That when the hammer finally quieted, that was when they woke from their sleep. Wulfric knew he could not stay up the entire day, and the aforementioned captain, heaven rest his soul, had chided him for it in the past.
Today was different however. Wulfric was hard at work early in the morning, and had heard of the captain's death through the rumors and the murmurs of the different mercenaries that lived near the captain's tent. Wulfric did not know the captain well, only talking with him when it came to orders and the like. The captain knew Wulfric's story, and thankfully had allowed him access to the Band of Fools. Most would not have bothered taking in Wulfric, but the captain took pity on the man. Actually, Wulfric was unsure of the major reason the captain allowed him to smith for the camp. Was it pity or just plain desperation?
Regardless of the reasoning, Wulfric had been known to many throughout the camp. Being the camp blacksmith meant being a doctor of sorts, repairing those items that soldiers found important. Most of the time, though a miracle of his hands, Wulfric could fix their weapons and armor. Today however, Wulfric's orders were apparent. Arrowheads, swords, helmets and even armor needed to be made and Wulfric was already behind schedule. A pitched battle could happen at any moment, as the entire country seems to be boiling into war. Conflict had a habit of restricting metals, and Wulfric knew how difficult it would be to find equipment in the future.
Once the equipment was finished, Wulfric would make sure to aid the masons in the rebuilding and fortification of Tradeforth. Simple crafting like stakes and the like were easy enough to carve, and Wulfric knew that doing that would be more helpful then anything else he could do. Continuing to strike the anvil over and over again, Wulfric's face twisted as the embers rose from the sword he was shaping. The heat and rose color made the scars in his face leap out to those around him, and his determination in crafting seemed undeterred by anything else in the camp. Squires and other soldiers that asked him questions were given their answers and nothing more. His work was his pride, and nothing would stop him for now.
Bang
Bang
A large tent near the center of the camp was always filled with both light and movement. Wulfric never seemed to sleep long, always up early and to bed late. His hammer was an extension of himself at this point, and if he wasn't pounding out metal or quenching a group of longswords, he was asleep. Ironically, most of the mercenaries that lived around his tent grumbled for the first few days, as most would cast lots to not have to sleep near the iron forge and its blacksmith. Towards the end of a week however, most of them claimed the banging became natural. That when the hammer finally quieted, that was when they woke from their sleep. Wulfric knew he could not stay up the entire day, and the aforementioned captain, heaven rest his soul, had chided him for it in the past.
Today was different however. Wulfric was hard at work early in the morning, and had heard of the captain's death through the rumors and the murmurs of the different mercenaries that lived near the captain's tent. Wulfric did not know the captain well, only talking with him when it came to orders and the like. The captain knew Wulfric's story, and thankfully had allowed him access to the Band of Fools. Most would not have bothered taking in Wulfric, but the captain took pity on the man. Actually, Wulfric was unsure of the major reason the captain allowed him to smith for the camp. Was it pity or just plain desperation?
Regardless of the reasoning, Wulfric had been known to many throughout the camp. Being the camp blacksmith meant being a doctor of sorts, repairing those items that soldiers found important. Most of the time, though a miracle of his hands, Wulfric could fix their weapons and armor. Today however, Wulfric's orders were apparent. Arrowheads, swords, helmets and even armor needed to be made and Wulfric was already behind schedule. A pitched battle could happen at any moment, as the entire country seems to be boiling into war. Conflict had a habit of restricting metals, and Wulfric knew how difficult it would be to find equipment in the future.
Once the equipment was finished, Wulfric would make sure to aid the masons in the rebuilding and fortification of Tradeforth. Simple crafting like stakes and the like were easy enough to carve, and Wulfric knew that doing that would be more helpful then anything else he could do. Continuing to strike the anvil over and over again, Wulfric's face twisted as the embers rose from the sword he was shaping. The heat and rose color made the scars in his face leap out to those around him, and his determination in crafting seemed undeterred by anything else in the camp. Squires and other soldiers that asked him questions were given their answers and nothing more. His work was his pride, and nothing would stop him for now.
@Sierra
While it is a fantastically cool idea, I'm not sure it is the way you want to go with this. It would make you completely different then the others, which wouldn't make much sense, and it would disadvantage you compared to the rest.
Still getting the OOC together folks. Almost finished.
While it is a fantastically cool idea, I'm not sure it is the way you want to go with this. It would make you completely different then the others, which wouldn't make much sense, and it would disadvantage you compared to the rest.
Still getting the OOC together folks. Almost finished.
I may or may not have gone down the pub last night...
I am not mad.
Just disappointed.
<Snipped quote by Mattchstick>
If troops aren't bitching then there is something seriously wrong.
Seriously. All troops bitch about leadership.
The OOC is up! Please start your character sheets!
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