Online-Roleplaying.community

Go Back   Online-Roleplaying.community > -J-'s Games > Ærdûn

 
Thread Tools
  #1  
Unread 14th of June, 2010, 07:06
-J-'s Avatar
-J-
Dread Lord on High [Epic GM]

User is offline
 
Join Date: Nov 2004
Member: #1006
Location: Nor'east
Posts: 2,996 (0.60 per day)
Chapter three: Black Blood

“Ho there strangers,” the guard calls down in derbolg thick with a rolling Tembrui lilt. “What business do you have in the tårn?” The edges of his thick moustache pull downward into a scowl as he examines the five stragglers fifty or so paces from the thick wooden walls of Framadr Tårn. Haggard and lean, they move with a restlessness that reminds him of wolves too long without out a kill. His gaze especially lingers over the heavily thewed orc. Big and white, the beast’s yellowed hair lay in wispy tendrils across the bands of taunt sinew ringing its neck.

No by Aud, he did not like the looks of him at all. His left hand tightens around smooth river rock tucked in its leather sling pocket. He had dropped men at one hundred paces with a well aimed stone, but the orc…even at this range he could be troublesome.

The other four look just as out of place – a dwarf, beori by the sweep of his paired axes, a thin Cyleni, a young derbolg, and a waif of woman with long snowy hair. Except for the dwarf, the others were only armed with crude flint weapons, and only he and the derbolg bore mail harnesses.

The five turn and mutter amongst themselves for a moment before the derbolg turns and speaks.

Last edited by -J-; 14th of June, 2010 at 22:16.
  #2  
Unread 14th of June, 2010, 11:51
Paco's Avatar
Paco
Spawn of Kyuss

User is offline
 
Join Date: Nov 2004
Member: #1005
Location: La Boca del Infierno
Posts: 592 (0.12 per day)
"I am Gorm, son to Hroðulf Sheafson. These are my traveling companions. We humbly seek lodging--a brief respite from a difficult journey."

Gorm opens his arms wide in a gesture that gives the guard an open view of his few meager belongings.

"Fate has willed it that we must come to you as paupers, unable to repay you except in warm words as I recount your great lord's hospitality in my father's mead hall."
  #3  
Unread 15th of June, 2010, 08:58
-J-'s Avatar
-J-
Dread Lord on High [Epic GM]

User is offline
 
Join Date: Nov 2004
Member: #1006
Location: Nor'east
Posts: 2,996 (0.60 per day)
“ ‘Warm words’, he says,” the guard intones, turning to another guardsman with an expression of mock gravitas.

“ ‘His father’s mead hall’, he says,” his companion answers.

The two burst into a fit of crude laughter.

Last edited by -J-; 15th of June, 2010 at 09:05.
  #4  
Unread 19th of June, 2010, 11:36
Paco's Avatar
Paco
Spawn of Kyuss

User is offline
 
Join Date: Nov 2004
Member: #1005
Location: La Boca del Infierno
Posts: 592 (0.12 per day)
The muscles in Gorm's jaw tighten visibly as he endures the guard's taunts.

"Does my request amuse you?" Gorm replies coldly as he holds his hatchet out at arm's length. The warmth seems to drain from his moss green eyes, still fixed on the guards as he opens his hand and lets the hatchet drop to the ground with a dull thud. "Come down here then, both of you if you feel the need, and I'll amuse you further."

"...or are two of you not enough? I can wait if you feel like you need to get more help."

Again the guard thinks of a wolf too long without a kill as the young Derbolg stares silently at him, awaiting a response.
  #5  
Unread 22nd of June, 2010, 03:16
-J-'s Avatar
-J-
Dread Lord on High [Epic GM]

User is offline
 
Join Date: Nov 2004
Member: #1006
Location: Nor'east
Posts: 2,996 (0.60 per day)
"My my, aren’t we the cocksure mongrel?” the first guard says with a chuckle.

“Shove off then,” the second guard calls down. “The straes’s hall is for hirđmenn and those of noble birth, not every tick ridden dranđ that...”

“Cellach, Nuin…hold your tongues,” a deep voice booms from behind the wall. Both turn toward the sound of iron shod boots on the wooden parpapet, their jaws clenched. The thump of a wooden stool being dropped is quickly followed by the appearance of a weathered and bearded dwarf over the battlements. Dark, flinty eyes sparkle beneath his grayed and shaggy eyebrows as he looks over each in turn. At length he speaks:

“You are Gorm, grandson to Sheaf Blackhand who fought at the battle of Storträdstad?”

Last edited by -J-; 22nd of June, 2010 at 03:32.
  #6  
Unread 24th of June, 2010, 10:19
Paco's Avatar
Paco
Spawn of Kyuss

User is offline
 
Join Date: Nov 2004
Member: #1005
Location: La Boca del Infierno
Posts: 592 (0.12 per day)
"Yes. My father's father." There was something about the old dwarf--the keenness of eyes that peer out from a body slowed and weary from age and battle, yet still there was a power to him. It reminded him of Hengest, his father's best man.
  #7  
Unread 29th of June, 2010, 04:23
-J-'s Avatar
-J-
Dread Lord on High [Epic GM]

User is offline
 
Join Date: Nov 2004
Member: #1006
Location: Nor'east
Posts: 2,996 (0.60 per day)
The old dwarf makes a deep, gravely noise in his throat - the same ubiquitous sound Thorrik made as a response to most queries. With a nod to the first guard Cellach, the dwarf disappears from view, his heavy boots echoing away from the gate.

“Heave to the gate you laggards,” Cellach calls down into the courtyard. The creak of wooden pulleys and heavy hemp ropes fills the air as the massive wooden gate swings up revealing the dirt streets of Framadr Tårn. The party cautiously steps under the gate and into the rich cacophony of sounds and smells that make up life behind walls. The dwarf from the wall is there to greet them.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he rumbles and beckons them to follow. Commoners and tradesmen give the wild group a wide berth as they wind through the tårn’s narrow streets. The thud of the gate closing draws Gorm’s eyes back in time to catch the venomous glares of Cellach and Nuin. Gorm’s fists begin to flex as his mood grows dark.

It was the sort of challenge that could only be answered in blood, and the three of them knew it.

“Let's meet the straes Gorm,” Piletre says as she nimbly steps in front of him and lays a hand on his chest.

Last edited by -J-; 29th of June, 2010 at 04:26.
  #8  
Unread 12th of July, 2010, 13:20
Paco's Avatar
Paco
Spawn of Kyuss

User is offline
 
Join Date: Nov 2004
Member: #1005
Location: La Boca del Infierno
Posts: 592 (0.12 per day)
Gorm's eyes move from the two guards to the place where the old dwarf disappeared from his view and back to Piletre.

"Fine," he says curtly and walks quickly into the keep, as if afraid that he'll change his mind.
  #9  
Unread 5th of August, 2010, 13:40
-J-'s Avatar
-J-
Dread Lord on High [Epic GM]

User is offline
 
Join Date: Nov 2004
Member: #1006
Location: Nor'east
Posts: 2,996 (0.60 per day)
The group follows the dwarf through the twisting maze of narrow streets that huddled near the gates of Framadr Tårn. The Tårn its self could be separated into two parts, the Uppers, consisting of the old wall and the keep proper, and the Downs, which was everything that lay between the old wall, the outer wall and the makeshift camps outside.

Daub-and-wattle construction dominates Framadr Tårn, as it does in most of Cylenis. In the Downs the buildings’ timbers were thinner and less pronounced to save on expense. The banks of the Krókr Fljót, or the Hook River as the Cyleni knew it, were rich with a dark red clay – the same clay that showed through many of the structures’ cracked whitewash.

Eventually the narrow street opens into a wide open air bazaar filled with the sounds of shouting men and bleating livestock and the hot, humid smells of both. All manner of exotic goods lined the makeshift stalls – iron weapons and armor from frigid Norengault, wine from the sun dappled orchards of Anri, tools forged and tested deep within the stone hall of Baedur, fine linen spun in the tropics of Sesh’nehiel. But the bulk of trade was local - Tembrui baskets, Cyleni cattle, buckskin from the woodlands of Mirrian, pickled Daoine eel, wool from Gwarrieve and pewter goods from Khahrhuhad.

Men clad in blue leather wade through the throngs of merchants and beasts. Sometimes alone, sometimes in groups of two or three, they all bear stout ash rods banded in copper marking them as virðarbor, or town-men. Their first and foremost duty was to ensure the collection of the straes’s duties and even with the usually bribery and skimming that comes with such a position the Tårn’s coffers remained full. After tax collection, their next duty was to maintain order within the walls of the Tårn. It was a duty eagerly enforced with a stout crack on the skull or a night in cage.

Leaving the roar of barter behind them, they march towards the inner stone wall that marked the gateway to the Uppers. Clean flagstones replace the muck filled dirt as the street widens into a broad stair that wound around the hill formally known as Barnaðell, but commonly as simply the big hill. The hill was broad on the side away from the outer gate, and steep on all others. The flagstone street runs along the edge of the hill before swinging up the more gently sloped side to the main gate. Barnaðell wore the inner wall like a coronet of blue stone and was unlike any stone on Cylenis, or any other part of Ærdûn.

A young girl, no more than eight winters old, rushes from the keep and races to the old dwarf like a puppy eager to greet his returning master.

“M’lord,” she says bowing, her face awash in an infectious smile with a sprinkling of freckles. The dwarf rolls his eyes slightly and grunts in acknowledgement. The girl’s short honeysuckle hair bounces in the sun as she falls in step, her wide cerulean eyes darting over the strangers.

“Faora will show you to the guest quarters, and…”

“Yes m’lord,” she interrupts excitedly. Fiercely snagging Piletre’s and Gorm’s hands she practically drags them through the gates.

“Faora! See to it that Kenwyn has them ready for … bah,” the old dwarf grumbles, knowing his squire’s hearing was oft commandeered by her curiosity. He watches as the young girl fearlessly interrogates each of the newcomers in turn, his proud smile carefully hidden behind the braids of his graying beard.

Such courage would be needed in the dark days to come.
  #10  
Unread 7th of August, 2010, 12:25
Cadrius's Avatar
Cadrius
Refusing to Sow [Epic GM]

User is offline
 
Join Date: Jan 2002
Member: #12
Location: The Emerald City
Posts: 5,728 (0.96 per day)
The noise and light of civilization are almost too much to bear for the young man. His father would not approve. Then again, his father would not have approved of such a failed venture. This son of Callum has had little but ill fortune lo these years treading the cursed earth. He had struck out to make his fortune, to make his name, and has been paid naught but pain and scars for his trouble.

Naught save knowledge.

It is the most fleeting of pay, mental gold that bears no weight in his pockets but is heavy in his mind. Yet even this recompense comes with its own price. The knowledge of what is, of what lies beyond the walls of stone built by the mortal hands of men, can come at a cost far greater than what is received. He has traded his innocence, perhaps even his soul, in a bargain sealed with fire.

Were the gods to grant him the opportunity to choose once more, to be placed again in that unnaturally hot cavern, he would not pick another path. His is now the road to knowledge and power and yes, he must cast his lot with an entity he does not understand, but it shall be worth it. This is the only way he can carve his name into the pillars of the earth.

The thronging press of humanity tires him. His eyes flit from face to dirty face, suspicious now of things unseen, of a world that is separate from the one he once knew. The wild was quieter, calmer. He can focus there. Here there is too much motion, too much noise.

Ghostface, the great lumbering orc, strides next to him while the little girl tugs and pulls on the hands of Piletre and Gorm. Rowan and the orc are an unlikely pair, but they have both glimpsed worlds beyond this vicious land, and they know of what terrors can lurk beyond the sight of mortals. Like as not, Ghostface would snuff out Rowan’s life as surely as a candle flame if he knew of the man’s dark pact. It is why he must be watched and why the secret must be guarded closely.

“…sir?”

The girl, Faora, stares at him expectantly, her sienna eyes both imperious and impetuous. Her slender arms are crossed and her tiny boot taps against the flagstones.

“Yes,” he says, “right. A hot bath. A razor. And a skin of whatever red you can spare.”

“Yes, m’lord,” she says, scurrying away.

Rowan drops his filthy possessions and slumps down onto the bed. He dares not lay his head down for fear of sleep taking him, and he is not yet ready for what dreams will seize his mind. Rowan sits on the edge of his bed, in little more than rags, and places his head in his hands and waits for wine, hot water, and steel.
 

Thread Tools

Posting Rules
You may not post new threads
You may not post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts

BB code is On
Smilies are On
[IMG] code is On
HTML code is Off

Forum Jump


All times are GMT +10. The time now is 04:06.


Powered by vBulletin® Version 3.8.1
Copyright ©2000 - 2018, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.
Graphics by Koert van Kleef (T0N!C) and Lyle Warren