Frost ((Open RP))

[Damukag]

The sun had already set by the time Jon saw the dark outline of the inn emerge from the howling curtain of snow that had encompassed everything further than a few feet in front of him. The sight of the building reinvigorated Jon and his legs, tired and nearly frozen stiff from wading through this snow, broke into something that could only be described as a rapid stumbling. When he reached the entrance he fell against it, almost falling to the ground as it opened inwards. Quickly shutting the heavy wooden door behind him, he let out a deep sigh and leaned against it heavily, surveying the room.

The room was packed full of both travellers seaking to escape the blizzard that had so suddenly descended and locals who were seaking meals, drinks, and maybe some company as well. A single large fireplace was built against the far wall with a small area cleared around it for people to sit by, and to his right was a rather populated bar counter. To the left were tables with a variety of customers from all walks of life, and many races. In the corner was a staircase leading upstairs. The fireplace and many torches provided light now that the sun had set.

A few people had looked up from their evening meals to see who had come in, but evidently such an entrance was not uncommon, and most had gone back to their own business immediately after seeing the newcomer was only a young, scrawny human boy. Jon waited another minute before he moved again, making a beeline for the fireplace. It was crowded, naturally, but he managed to find a small place to sit between a regal looking Elf and an foul smelling Dwarf that was missing several fingers. The elf moved aside politely to provide more room, but the Dwarf merely muttered something in a strange tounge and glanced angrily in his direction.

'So much for Dwarven hospitality" Jon thought to himself bitterly. But his anger soon faded as he felt the warmth of the fire spread throughout his limbs, returning feeling. It was painful at first, but gradually the pain and the stiffness subsided together and only the heat remained. He took the opportunity to remove his cloak, soaked through with melted snow, and lay it on the ground near the fire so it might dry faster. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and just let the warmth wash over him for a moment.

He was a interesting man to look upon. He was still rather young, no more than twenty, and his face was smooth and unbleshished aside from several days worth of facial hair and stubble. His dark black hair was still covered in droplets of water and the occasional snowflake that had made its way into his hood somehow. It was a rough tangle of uneven length, with portions poking out in some places, and although he occasionally attempted to mat it down with one hand, he seemed generally unconcerned with its appearance.

His clothing seemed equally uncared for. His cloak was ripped in some places, and there were pieces torn off. His shirt and pants were both of fine quality silk, but had obviously seen better days. Better years, even. His heavy leather boots contrasted the his silk clothing sharply, but they seemed to be in much better condition than the rest of his outfit.

He tuned out the sounds of the whole room as he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself and slow his heartrate. When he finally opened them again, the Elf who had been on his right had been replaced by yet another drunken dwarf rambling on about his adventures in the Rubyiat. After the fifth time hearing about how the Dwarf had apparently slain the Red Pharoh wearing only a loincloth and using only a rock, Jon decided it was time to move. Besides, the fire, initially warm and conforting, had become uncomfortably hot. Remembering to grab his cloak as he rose, Jon slowly weaved his way through the center of the room towards the bar.

He took one of the few empty stools and waited for the barmaid to come over.

"I need a room for the night." he said with a smile.

"I don't know how we're going to find rooms all these people!" the kindly looking barmaid exclaimed, matching his smile. "So many of these adventurer types comin' through. We'll soon be short on rooms."

Jon's smile faded. He knew that he wouldn't get far if he pressed on further in this blizzard.

"Ah, don't be so dour." she said with a laugh. "We've got a few more left, so long as you've got the gold for 'em."

He grinned in relief and handed her a few golds coins. She counted them quickly, then gave him a rusty iron key. He clasped it eagerly, then nodded politely to her. But she was already off, grabbing a tankard and bringing it over to a table of Mahirim. Jon was momentarily amazed at the sight of such large, savage looking creatures, but the amazement soon gave way to fear. He hoped that none of the more disreputable races he'd seen here would have second thoughts about sharing this inn, outnumbered though they were. Nervously, he glanced around and spotted an empty table in a relatively quiet corner.

He rose slowly, then made his way towards the table. It'd be good to get a warm meal before he went to sleep. Besides, he felt safe now. There were a lot of people around, too many for any sort of foul play. Besides, he hadn't seen the hunter in over three days. He'd probably lost the trail long ago, or at least been forced to stop by the blizzard. Things were looking up.

But no matter how much he kept telling himself those things, it didn't change much. He still took a table in the corner, facing the door. He still ate with his hood up, his head down so that his face was obscured. And he still glanced fearfully at the door whenever something bumped loudly.

[alfaroverall]

OOC: Good detail but not enough substance for us to be able to try to integrate into the RP imo.

[Damukag]

((Oh, sorry, forgot to copy to rest of the OOC part explaining. I'll edit it in now.

Edit: Can't edit it anymore, so I'll just put it here:

Hey everyone, this is an RP I made a while back that I figured I could adapt and post here, because it was a lot of fun back then. I'll post with my main character (the hunter that Jon reffered to) soon, but I figured I've give people a chance to establish themselves in the inn before I started the RP in earnest.

Have fun, and I hope you enjoy!

Hope that clears everything up. I'll get the plot running soon, but this is just a chance to see who's up for this RP, and for them to establish their character here and whatnot. I can see how it could be confusing without the OOC part.))

[Altemier]

((OOC: You know what, it sounds interesting so I am going to go ahead and join this.))

Altemier rose from his plush bed in the inn. The sun was just going down and he had tried to sleep, but it was too early and he could hardly try with the ruckus of the bar patrons. Wearing only his night-shirt and pant, which were of fine silk, (even a ranger can live in luxury) he combed through his blonde mane. His hair was particularly shorter in the back and he had tassles hanging down his face wrapped over his ears. The back laid out in it's entirity, showing a subtle hint of black strands of hair in it. As Altemier rose, he went straight for his window. There he stared outside to the beautiful sunset sparkling on the fresh snow. Altemier then opened the window to let the cold in. The harsh winter's breath blew in, making his pointed ears stiffen up. This mirdian loved the cold.

Soon enough, Altemier put on his regular clothing, tucking the shirt neatly into the lone dresser on the foot of the bed. He wore the finest cloak made from mages of the mirdian main city. It appeared pure white, but it also had an enchantment to it. It can heat his body temperature up, or even cool it. It also has a strange enchantment that allows him to move completely silent while wearing it. This helps alot. That was the main article of clothing he wore, beside his chain mail and leather leggings. With his bow strapped to his back and two kukri chained and sheathed, he headed off.

Altemier quickly and easily strode to his door opening it and slipping out swiftly. To the untrained eye it would seem that it had not even opened. As he entered the hallway, he locked the door behind him. He was in a luxurious room, even though he was poor and only a ranger. Altemier quickly went to the stairs and headed down.

It was crowded in the bar area, many different and strange people and races gathered. Altemier's eyes spotted a seat at the bar counter so he quickly swooped into it. As the bar maid came over, he only ordered water and tossed a gold coin her way. As his water was passed down, he just held it and took a sip, listening to the many interesting conversations around the tavern.

[Damukag]

Juno had given up on following Jon's tracks after the second hour of snow. It was hard enough to track them in a blizzard, but after the sun went down it was downright impossible. It was all he could do to keep moving towards the nearest source of light. He could hear the distant bursts of yelling to the east, and so that was the direction he went. He didn't need to keep up the pursuit right now. Either his target had somehow found shelter, and wouldn't be moving until the storm was gone, or he was dead from exposure somewhere in this Godess forsaken storm. Juno was an experienced traveler and even he was doing all he could to avoid freezing. If he hadn't been able to recall the warming techniques that his northern companion Orinor had taught him, he probably would have been forced to call off the chase some time ago in order to find somewhere to settle down wet and miserable. As it was now, he was still wet and miserable, but he was at least moving towards a goal.

"Little brat better be worth the trouble." Juno growled to no one in particular.

But he already knew the answer was a resounding yes. Some questionable types were quite intent on seeing that this boy didn't live to see the nearest major city. Very intent. Lots of gold intent. He'd gotten the job from one of his Syndicate friends, so it was probably something important. Besides, Juno wasn't about to be bested by some human whelp. He wasn't even a fighter, just some farmer's son.

He often wondered why so a trivial and unimportant person would be worth so much. Every time he wondered, though, he reminded himself that his business wasn't figuring out why people had to die, it was making sure they did, and in a timely and appropriate matter. That was the main reason this target was annoying him. Somehow this upstart, Jon, was very good at running away. Certainly not the best Juno had tracked, but considering how young he was it was very impressive.

Still, there were clues to follow. At first the boy had quite literally ran. Taken off like an arrow the moment he heard 'the Hunter' (Juno resented being call such. He did have a name, after all.) had arrived in the town. Then he had been easy to track, heavy footprints, torn pieces of clothing caught on branches. But after a while he'd slowed down, become more careful. Right before the blizzard he'd even tried backtracking on his own footprints, a surprisingly smart move. It had taken Juno some time to realize what had happened, and now he had to make up for that lost time.

Trekking east purposefully, he pulled his cloak closer. He was tiring, and his concentration and willpower were waning. He didn't worry though. He could see the lights shining through the curtain of frost that whipped around his head. This was more than a simple campfire, he began to realize. When he reached the clearing and saw the inn he smiled almost as broadly as Jon had. If his target had come through this area, he would certainly be here or nearby.

Glancing around quickly, Juno plodded through the last of the increasingly high snow until he reached the door. Opening it quickly, he stepped out of the frost and into the firelight.

[Jonkar]

The inn was rumbling with the sound of raving discussions, dropping coins and laughter. Even though the inn was filled with creatures from all sorts of races, it seemed as if all of them entertained themselves in some way. Every so often, a new traveler would arrive to claim one of the few free rooms for himself. Right after the blizzard become more intense, a person fully covered in a great dark green cloak entered the Inn, slaming the door open to get into the warm interior as soon as possible.

While most of the people looked towards the door moreso out of habit then out of surprise, while some of them were actually startled by the sudden slamming of the door. With a nod and a simple apology, the newcomer walked on to the bar. While on his way there, he shook off all the snow on his shoulders and his head. His long black hair slithering through the air. After that, he loosened his cloak and showed himself some more before taking a seat.

The moderatly aged human, of around 30 years old, took a seat and wrapped up his cloak after which he putted it in his backpack. Under his cloak, he appeared to be wearing a dark red leather uniform, combined with some brown here and there. On it's chest there was an emblem from the mercenary clan, The Red Blades of Manderian.

As the man beckoned the barmaid over, he looked towards the other people on the bar. He noticed mostly dwarfs, a few humans and an Ork. He smiled and nodded to each and everyone of them that stared at him with glaring eyes. When the barmaid finally arrived, he started speaking.

“I would like an ale please. And a room would be great, if it’s still available. Money isn’t an issue.”, almost as if he said it to taunt the others around him.

[Altemier]

Usually Altemier does not care for other people enering the tavern as long as they keep their business to themselves, but this one that just entered was the oddest one to be out here. As he entered, in a green cloak, he slammed the door. This made Altemier's expression one of confusion for this man. He also ore a symbol for a well-known mercenary group in Agon. It seemed that this man was a Red Blade.

Altemier has barely heard of the band, somewhat new, but getting very popular very fast. This conceded his point when Altemier noticed a few patrons noticing and could see the same resemblance Altemier had seen. Out of odd curiosity, Altemier wondered why one might be here in the Frosted Area. He couldn't help but ponder it. aking one last sip of his water,he turned away.

He turned away, until he heard the same man bragging, even if he didn't know he was.

“I would like an ale please. And a room would be great, if it’s still available. Money isn’t an issue.”

This angered Altemier, for he was poor and had a hastle of money and it was hard for him to secure his fancy room in the first place, especially with this damned storm in everyone's face! Nobody wnated to freze their arse off! Calming himself down, Altemier ust scoffed aloud, turning his head violently away from the man. If an opportunity for adventure and treasure didn't come, then Altemier will just have to steal his wealth from this Red Blade. For he did need the money. Altemier then looked to the door again, just in time to see a new man walk through the door. It seemed that it would be a crowded night afterall.

[Rigan Pere]

Rigan lifted his flagon of ale and finished its contents and then glanced around the room in search of the barmaid. He cursed when she was no where in sight
"Lazy Bitch!" He muttered only to receive a rather odd look from a fellow man seated across the table who appeared to have heard him. "What are you looking at?" Rigan boomed to the intruder. He got to his feet, stretching his cold and aching joints and then made his way over to the Bar, leaving his bow and backpack tucked neatly against a corner wall. The barmaid reappeared as Rigan nudged a set of shoulders out of the way to make room for him at the bar.

"You!" he pointed at the barmaid, his drunken state rather obvious

"What can I do you for?" smiled the Barmaid in an attempt to keep her frightened state hidden. She could see he was drunk, and he'd been here for most of the day. She thought to herself how much better he looked when she first glanced at him this morning. Now his cream laced shirt and brown hanging pants just hung off him loosly and he looked terrible. His long brown hair was still pinned up with a leather strap in a tail fashion however. His breath stunk of smoke and ale she thought as she retreated slightly when he spoke.

"Get of your ass and serve your customers" Bellowed Rigan, with the atmosphere in the Inn barely changing, only receiving a few turned heads in his direction. "Now I want a flagon of ale and a room, free of charge, this instant for your ....*belches*.... lazyness " Rigan staring now at the terrified barmaid with anger in his eyes.

"I...I.. cant do that sir, we have no more rooms left" She replied, moving backwards with her back against the bar wall as she saw Rigan leaning in

"You will do it" he said coldly

"I cant" the barmaid insisted, now looking around for a friendly face

At that instant Rigan felt a huge hand grip his shoulder, he turned to confront his attacker only to trip and fall face first hitting his head on the wooden planks under foot, he was too drunk to fight. Rigan woke briefly only to find he was laying head first in the cold, wet snow, outside of the inn it appeared, he cursed and drifted into unconsiousness.


(OOC- first time at doing anything like that, hope it meets all your standards :))

[Boadicea]

((OOC: I haven't roleplayed in a very long time and it's late so be gentle. ^^))

"A curse on your head you clumsy wench!" The tavern owner's deep voice boomed over the din within the tavern as he angrily dragged a small, wide-eyed woman down the stairs behind him. Though she was naturally pale, her face had taken on a whole new shade of white due to the large man's temper. As he spun her around to face him his grip tightened on her upper arm making her wince in response.

"I swear Uncle it was not I! It was already broken when I entered the room to clean!" The young woman's free hand clutched nervously at the apron that covered her dull brown, simple dress. A few people had looked up at the scene unfolding but others, mostly the regular patrons, were used to these scenes by now. Noticing her "Uncle's" furious gaze Boadicea wished at that moment she could just magically poof away to her dingy little attic room, her only sanctuary.

"Ye're not only a clumsy wench, ye're a fibbing one as well! Lucky for you, girl, I'm to busy to give you a good lashing right now! Curse the day yer mother dropped you on my threshold. If it weren' for yer healing touch I'da cast you out on yer arse years ago. Now go make yerself useful and don' let me be catchin' you lazing about!" As he said this he roughly thrust her out into the room and stalked away mumbling moodily about ungrateful wenches and the like.

Boadicea didn't release the breath she had been holding until the man was a safe distance away. Trembling hands rose and pulled back her voluminous platinum blond hair that she tied neatly at the nape of her neck with a ribbon retrieved from her apron pocket. She cast her gaze over the busy room as she tried to gather her wits about her. Her sights came to rest upon a man huddled in the far corner and she moved towards him, mainly because it set an even further distance between her and the still muttering tavern owner. As she came to a stop beside the man she forced a smile onto her pinkish, unpainted lips. Her soft voice relayed the gentleness that was her nature as she directed her words to him. "Good day, ser. Would you care to have your cup refilled or perhaps a hot meal from the kitchen?" Her gaze didn't miss his tattered clothing or the apparent weariness about him but it wasn't such an uncommon thing to see for a simple tavern girl.

[sepheroph]

((OOC: Hello, I'd just like to state before I post it's been around two years since i've Done some RP, and i'm also 15 and a half, so please dont flame me))

A large, shaded figure with eyes as as fire approached the inn. As he approached the inn the large figure could hear the chatter of many patrons in the bar. The blizzard hitting his body making him shine white. He closes up onto the inn's door and lingers there for a couple of minutes, not very sure if what he's doing is right or not. He abruptly pushes the door with force making a large slaming sound when the door hits the wall, also breaking one of the hinges. The bar goes silent to see this new Mahirim in full white come inside the Inn but shortly resume their own agendas and conversations. He shakes off the white snow as a dog would. This mahirims fur is dark like the night, with a silver steak of fur down his chest which creates some sort of symbol. He reveals a black belt, which matches his fur, with three blades, one on each side that is down to his knees. A long sheath attached to his back that is larger than the other two, looking as a long sword of some kind. On this mahirims belt, a sack large to a human sat easily on it with a jingle coin like sound with each step. Another larger sack on the back of the belt that contained other weapons such as his ghost claws and a small crossbow. As the mahirim shuts the door, he quickly scans the room to find only a few interesting characters such as the mahirim that are already here on the table to the left. The red blade mercinarie that he noticed also. He takes a few steps towards the bar, and takes a seat towards the further most right of the bar. He signals to the barmaid.

The barmaid, staggered to the mahirim, intimidated by the large creature, not to mention the various weapons that he carries.

"Y-yes?"

The mahirim responds, looking straight in the maids bright blue eyes with a quite gentle but firm voice, "I'd like a large pitcher of ale, Please."

The barmaid, surprised by the manners of the war like creature, Quickly returns to him with his drink.

The mahirim turns his head and sits, sipping slowly on his ale, waiting to see what events could turn up.

[heroshade]

Adrian eyed the mahirim only for a second before returning to his drink. He had been in the inn for only a few hours, but his room was secured and he still had enough for one last drink. He mostly listened to the stories of the others. A few war veterens had kept many of the patrons entertained for a while, but had now gone up to their rooms in preparation for whatever lay before them in the mourning.

Adrian was a short man, five foot four at the most. He hair was brown and raggedy, his face clean shaven. On his back, he had both a sheethed broad sword, a shortbow, and a quiver of arrows slung over his right shoulder.

As the barmaid walked past him, Adrian called out to her. "one last drink ma'am." she brought back a full glass of ale and laid it on the table, sliding off the coins adrian had left for her.

After he downed his last pint, adrian stood and immediatly tumbled over.

maybe I'll stay down here a little longer he thought as he rose to his feet and sat back on the stool. I wonder where Tailon is? Tailon was one of Adrian's travelling companions, as well as one of his few friends. He, Adrian, and Lanthious had fled their country together after its corrupt government succumbed to the constant barbarian raids. They wandered the hills in search a new life. they would often do odd jobs for private military clans, but never anything exciting; Guard duty, scouting and things of the like, until the day came when-

Adrian cast the memories out of his mind. Lanthious had arranged to meet him here, but Tailon was no where to be found at the time.

The livliness around him continued as he dwelled in his mind.

[Silvereye]

Krek chuckled softly as the little man tumbled over. He was packed with weapons, and aparently lost his balance after that last beer. Orks rarely had that problem; their sheer size made them hard to intoxicate, also, they were used to stronger ales.

Only moments before that, another drunk (and rather loud at that) human was tossed out of the tavern. What Krek had feared to be a boring night turned out to be quite amusing after all.

What did bother him though, was the small woman that the tavern's owner had been shouting against earlier. He made some remark about her being born, and since pretty much every living ork earned their place ('t was a hard life in Morak) he found it slightly upsetting.

He sat back a bit in his chair, his leather chestpiece squeeking with the movement. He had been in the human lands for too long, he was actually starting to sympathize with them.

Krek was completely dressed in the classical orkish armor, full leather. 't Was clearly an old armor, nothing compared to mail or plate, but combined with thick orkish skin it offered reasonable protection. A massive, completely ruined axe leaned against the wall next to him. The broken shaft was bound together by thick leather straps, and probably an enchantment or two. The blade of the weapon was chipped, and though it was no longer a razor-sharp, chopping weapon, it would probably function fine as a blunt weapon still.

With a twist of his hand, he beckoned the barmaid over, smiling as friendly as his orkish visage would allow him.

Enjoying the crowded bar and the roaring fire, he settled back to his corned, watching the events in the bar unfold.

[Wizeguy568]

Amur of the Wolfmasks clutched his cloak to his chest as the blizzard raged around him, the only thought keeping him moving, the memory of his hated cousin. He pushed his head down and drove his body through the winds and snow that threatened to beat him down beneath the snow drifts. The storm howled like an angry beast and all around him Amur could hear the groans and strains of the ancient forest as the trees bent and whipped around like mere twigs. Amur stopped and tried to sniff the wind to no avail, his snout rendered worthless by the cold, his snot frozen in his nostrils. If not for the heavy chainmail armor that covered his fur and the weight of his waraxe, Moonshard, Amur was positive that the wind would simply have carried him away, blowing him to some forgotten place on this frozen continent forsaken by Luna. His yellow eyes darted back and forth across the landscape seeking some form of shelter, but all he could see were the sheets of white snow that obscured all landscape, taunting him with flickers of images behind the snow, images that teased and frightened him for he could not tell the difference between a harmless tree and dangerous monster at this point.

The thought of monsters caused Amur to groan in pain, as he reached out a paw to clasp his shoulder. An hour before the blizzard had beset upon him, Amur had faced a vicious predator of the ice, a creature unlike anything he had ever seen in the Tribelands. The creature had surprise on its side and a homefield advantage, but had not counted on its prey being so resilient. The Moonshard had spilt the blood of many creatures in its time, both monster and civilized. It had been unsheathed glowing in the moonlight and tore into the beast as eagerly as a craftsman delves into his work. But the fight had taken its toll, and the ragged bite wound to the shoulder had left Amur's left arm worthless. He had bandaged best he could, but he was not a healer, and his bandage had been undone by the storm. Amur felt for the last and most precious of his possessions, the Wolfmask that hung from his hip. The Wolfmask was a sacred symbol, created with artfully crafted interlocking pieces of wood, bone, ivory and metal. It was the artifact of his office, and all Wolfmasks wore it with the same determination and pride. They were a powerful order, representing the law and order of the tribelands, the heavy paw of the Elders of the Red Moon. To don the mask is a sacred act, doing so means that you will not stop until your prey has been killed or incapacitated, or until you yourself are defeated. If this storm was to be the end of Amur, then they would find it clutched in his frozen hands, buried beneath the snow.

Perhaps the storm, or perhaps the thoughts of his artifact kept Amur from noticing the Inn but he trudged right towards it, bumping into the wall before he even knew it was there. He looked up but the blizzard was so severe that he could not even make out the sign of the Inn but a couple of feet above his head. Tears almost welled up in his eyes, at the thought of a fire and meat, but Amur was hesitant. This was the north country and all race were found in these lands, even the cursed Alfar, though they were still viewed with suspicion. But that did not mean this was a safe place. There was no law in these lands, and if even one filthy human was bitter toward Mahirim and felt the need to take revenge, Amur doubted he could stop him. He imagined what the patrons of the Inn would see if he walked in, a huge Mahirim warrior, tall even for his kind bulging with lean muscle, covered in a ragged brown fur, that was speckled white on his chest and back. His right ear, half bitten off many ages ago, covered neck to toe with heavy chain armor, massive waraxe draped across his back. He looked down and noticed a small pool of blood had begun to form near his left foot dripping down from his shoulder. He realized that even though death was likely inside the inn, outside of it was certain.

He stepped inside and looked around, to his relief he noticed more than one Mahirim in the establishment, also a mix of mostly humans, some dwarves, mirdain and the occasional ork. Thankfully he saw none of the damned Alfar, but theres was a tricky race and they could easily be disguised. With what little strength he had he reached out a pulled young human girl with bright yellow hair to him. From her mannerisms it appeared she worked there, and Amur did not wish to be violent, but he doubted his voice could be heard between the ruckus inside and the blizzard from without. He looked at the girl desperately. "Plea...se.. help, ...help me." He revealed the open wound on his left shoulder "No gold.... please... I need." Amur could say no more, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he lurched forward and collapsed on the wet and muddy floor of the inn. As he drifted into unconciousness, the last thing he remebered were the eyes of the young human girl with yellow hair. She had been frightened but, behind that base emotion there had been a sense of courage and compassion. "Heh" Amur chuckled to himself as darkness enveloped him. "Humans feel compassion, who knew."

((OOC: sorry for the ridiculously long post so for courtesy reasons, the 5 sec version of my post. Mahirim wandering through blizzard, collapses from injury inside inn. Not as poetic but it gets the message across.))

[Prox]

(OOC: I've never Rped in a forum before, get a dev to delete this if its not along with yer thing. :sly:)




The dim flicker of fire light in the distance arouses Proximo's thoughts of relaxing by a roaring fire enjoying a pint of ale and a warm meal. But he quickly dismissed the thoughts flowing through his mind as he spotted a lone dark figure trudging along towards the small town that lay in this northern blizzard covered forest. The only thing that showes Proximo is alive is the rhythmic cloud of misty warm breath appearing a few inches in front of his Helms cross pieced visor. Sitting unmoving and fully armored in the fashion of his northern clan with brutish yet royal looking full plate atop a fully armored black war horse he looked more like a statue than anything with life flowing through it. His elaborate helm sported two monstrous Minotaur horns from either side, curving upwards and ending at a smooth and cruel looking point.

As Proximo watches the lone adventurer disappear in the blizzard towards the flicker of lights he grunted and shifted his thick fur cloak about his shoulders, causing the snow that had piled up on his still form to fall to the ground in a cloudy puff. Looking through his helms cross shaped visor he turned his head and eyes to the right looking down the line of unmoving warriors with similar gear as his own sat upon there tall war horses and then to his left where another line of warriors showed the mirror image as the rest. The clouds of breath were the only thing that showed that the large steel warriors and theres mounts were alive.

Horse hooves thudding on the ground announced the arrival of the warrior they were waiting for. Proximo's face grew grim as the warrior rode out of the blizzard towards him. The warrior pulled up his mount and came to an abrupt halt only a few paces away from Proximo. "Warlord Proximo!" the rider hailed as he lowered his head and touches his gauntleted fist to his heart, "The Orc raiders have passed the northern mountain border and are making there way into Dunlock, I count 500 strong. They will be here by dawn."

Proximo accepts the information with a slow nod, His men number 80 strong and they know these lands well. He turns with his mount and shouts into the blizzard "Shadow Templars! The enemy come to these lands to rape and pillage and burn! we are the first! and the last defence, of our homes. Long have we laboured to keep these lands at peace from threats of the north! WE RIDE NOW! to bring swift death upon all dark souls that trod our ground!"

With one voice the company shouts "For the Red Dawn!" as they turn as one and ride north through the darkening storm...

[Silvereye]

The only thing Krek had eyes for was the beautifull axe.
Roughly around the point that he realized there was a wolfman attached to it, the mahirim collapsed, blood slowly oozing from a vicous looking wound on his shoulder.

For a moment Krek wondered wether or not to help him, after all, the mahirim and the orks were on good terms. However, it seemed the mahirim was being taken care of anyway, so Krek decided that not taking the unconcious wolve's axe was friendly enough.


With a loud creak of the chair he was sitting on, Krek decided to use the distraction to make a silent exit. Taking a random cloak from the cabinet, he makes way outside, his ruined axe slung over his back. A last look into the room, peering for the interesting girl, and the wounded mahirim, and he closed the door shut behind him, with a gentle, yet decisive swing.

The cold sliced through his thick skin, and within seconds he was cold. Somewhat further, a flash of light, probably reflecting on armor, cought his attention. A man was mounted on a huge black horse, obviously suited up for battle. Though the man was too far away to be clearly seen, even moreso thanks to the blizzard, the wind carried an echo across the woods; 'e red dawn...'.

Then they set off, an entire compagny of men, riding north.
With the hope of doing some mercenary work, Krek quickly made way after the men. If he'd move through the forest, he might just be able to catch on to them.

[heroshade]

An hour had gone by now, and Adrian felt like he could walk again. He thought he saw an ork leaving the inn but shook it off. No one in their right mind would go back out there.

He stumbled up the stairs of the inn, trying to focus on the room numbers. finally, he found his room. The key missed the locks a few times before it went in.

wonder how long this storms gonna last...

Adrian dragged his feet through the room, collapsing on the bed. Just before he drifted to sleep, he heard horses through the blizzard, along with "for the red dawn!" he knew that line. He had heard it before, while he was working with the shadow templars (one of his more rewarding experiences). Tailon, Lanthious, and him often helped guard one of their stronghold, and would here this warcry just before the soldiers left for battle. It was supposed to signify the bloody battle ahead, If adrians memory served. If not for the blizzard, and hopefully the arrival of lanthious, he would have gone after them. It was a hell of alot better than staying the night in the middle of who knows where.

[Prox]

The blizzard was still blowing hard when Proximo slowed to a halt at the crest of the hill that led to the mountain pass. The swirling curtain obscured the two near by mountains that Proximo knew towered into the heavens. prodding his horse with his steel clad heels he set off down the slope with his men in tow.

Entering the thick, snow encumbered forest Proximo turned his head slightly to the left and addressed the warrior there, "Guthar, take your men to the ridge over looking the north side of the valley and be ready for my signal with your cross bows." Guthar gave a quick salute and turned his horse and rode off west with 30 men behind to find the ridge.

Turning his gaze to the 50 warriors left behind him, "We will make camp in these trees until dawn approaches, Make no fires and be ready for combat."

The troop of warriors gave a relaxed "Aye sir" and split into small groups to make there camps and set sentries throughout the rim of trees guarding the southern edge of the valley.

With one final pondering look upwards toward the hidden monstrous peaks Proximo dismounts his horse, pulling his thick fur cloak closer about him he fades into the deepening night, awaiting the lights first embrace...

[Boadicea]

After several awkward moments of silence Boadicea decided to let the weary man in the corner be. As she turned away she noticed her Uncle's barwench rudely walk past a rather large orc that was trying to get her attention. Boadicea shook her head and began to walk towards the orc with the intention of helping him instead. She never quite made it there though. As she passed the door a battered Mahirim came lurching in and grabbed her by the shoulder. Boadicea likely would have screamed if her heart hadn't have jumped into her throat. All that came out instead was a constricted squeak as her eyes widened. It only took her a moment, though, to notice he was quite seriously wounded. Her striking, vivid green eyes narrowed as she strained to hear and understand what the Mahirim was saying. Before she could wrap her mind around any of it the man Mahirim collapsed and Boadicea was dragged down with him. To some the situation might have seemed comical as the rather small human girl scrambled to free herself from the massive weight of the beast.

When Boadicea did manage to free herself she squatted beside him and slipped her hands under one side. Straining with all of her puny might she barely managed to turn the large Mahirim over before plopping on her bottom breathlessly. She then cast her gaze over the room. "Lizzy! Lizzy come here." A few moments later the same barwench that had so rudely ignored the orc(that Boadicea didn't fail to note was leaving) walked unhurriedly towards the young woman. "Lizzy, I need you to go boil some water. Also bring me bandages, some clean linen cloths, and the salve in my room. Hmn, the one with the red thread around the lid will do."

Even as Boadicea spoke Lizzy's lips curled in disgust. She set her hands on her hips and replied to Boadicea in a voice full of loathing. "I'm not gonna help one of -his- kind. They're just animals."

Boadicea, who was laboring to remove the heavy chain shirt that kept her from seeing the full extent of the Mahirim's wound, paused and looked up at Lizzy with a surprisingly fierce gaze as she snapped impatiently at the woman. "He breathes, feels, and bleeds just as well as you or I. Do as I say or do you want Uncle to know who's been filtching the silverware, hmn?"

With a huff and a glare that could have assassinated Boa on the spot, if looks could kill, the barwench stomped off to do as Boa had requested. It took Boadicea several minutes to manage to remove the chain mail shirt but she worked at it diligently. Dropping to her knees beside the large mass of fur she bent in close and took a good look at the wound. Pressing gently on the edge of the wound caused a rather foul smelling green substance to ooze out. Her eyebrows furrowed together with the realization that it was not only freely bleeding but festering as well. The wound didn't look old enough to be festering from a blade so she assumed it had been given by some monster or another. It would most certainly have to be cleansed before she could heal it closed. As she waited for Lizzy to quit dragging her feet she soothingly stroked the Mahirim's temple with the back of her hand. "Don't you worry. I'm going to heal you as well as I can."

When Lizzy finally brought her the things she had requested Boadicea didn't even spare the time to reprimand the woman for taking her merry time. Boa soaked a linen cloth in the steaming hot water, wincing as she squeezed it out, and then began to cleanse the wound as gently as she possibly could. Once the wound was clean she looked over it again and then reached for her salve. When she opened the lid the smell that wafted out was even more foul than the one the wound made. All the same, she liberally applied it to the wound and then set the salve aside. After washing her hands again and drying them she cupped her hands over the wound. Her eyes closed as she whispered to herself in concentration. After a few moments a bluish-white glow enveloped her hands and moved over the Mahirim's shoulder. When she lifted her hands, other than a dark spot, the wound was gone. Her gaze lingered on the Mahirim as she considered how she was going to move the big guy out of the middle of the floor. A commotion across the room brought her gaze to it and Boa sucked in her breath. She slowly stood and steeled herself in preparation as her Uncle came stalking towards her and the prone Mahirim. This was going to be a long day.

[sepheroph]

((OOC:A bit late, I know))

The large mahirim was sipping his ale calmly. All the sudden he was alarmed, with one hand going straight for one of his sharpened swords, As he sees another mahirim collapse on the floor. Over the commotion and noise of the bar he was not able to hear what the fainted mahirim had to say.

He thought to himself, "I'll wait and see if they need any help." He saw the new bar maid who was brought down the stairs by another man, stunned with the new marhirim that was grabbing onto her.

He chuckled while he saw the young barmaid struggling to get free of the wounded mahirims grasp. "This is quite the entertaining night" he said in a lowered voice. as the other barmaid came over, This mahirim was interested to know what tatics they would use to heal this mahirim.

After seing the bar maid heal the mahirim with a strange blueish white glow, He noticed that they had no means to lift the mahirim, slowly putting down his drink and making his way over to the barmaid with green eyes. The large mahirim Lowered himself and asked the lady, "Need any help?" And with one hand lifts the large mahirim over his shoulder. A large weight but nothing this mahirim hasnt dealt with before in his village. With a few shifting movements to get in a comfortable position with the Wounded mahirim on top of his shoulder.

"So where do you want him?" He said as he looked down upon the barmaid.

[Wizeguy568]

((OOC I love how this thing keeps almost dying, only to be revived by like a random one week post, this thread isn't going down without struggling, like a fish trying to flop its way unsuccessfully back into water.))

[Prox]

( OOC, well The main story has been set down but doesn't seem to be moving on, I am going to continue with my part in the story and we will see if anyone will either continue what they are doing or not. Mine is kind of a side story so feel free to do something in the inn if your gunna RP at all, I'll continue it tomorrow)

[Boadicea]

Boadicea stepped aside as yet another large mahirim came hunkering over. She watched cautiously like a mother hen as he picked her patient up. When he asked her where he wanted the guy put she bit down lightly on the corner of her lower lip in thought. If she had him put in one of the guest rooms her uncle would demand coin from the injured one. Boa didn't feel that was right when the poor guy was just looking for help. She gave a slight nod as another idea slipped into her mind. Her eyes narrowed on the barwench knowing that the wretch would go running to Uncle if she knew what Boa was up to.

"Do you not have work to do? Go get more snow to melt for water from outside." The barwench sneered at Boa with her usual nasty attitude and then huffed off into the kitchen instead. Boa shrugged unconcernedly. At least the woman was out of the way. Boa took a cautious look around to make sure her Uncle wasn't about and then motioned the mahirim to follow her as she placed a finger to her lips for him to be quiet. Quickly she slipped to the stairs and then waited for the mahirim before walking up them. She went past the rooms on the second floor to a door at the end of the second floor hallway. Behind the door was a narrow set of wooden stairs that she deftly climbed once she made sure the mahirim saw where she was going.

The stairs led into a small room. A wooden platform with a severely patched up blanket served as a bed against one wall. In the corner was a small table with a candle on it that had seen its fair share of ink stains and beneath the table was a small chest that likely held the young woman's few personal possessions. If the mahirim has chosen to follow her that far she would motion to the platform with a slight smile as she murmured quietly to him, "Just lay him down there, please, and do not mention to the inn owner that he is still here."

[Silvereye]

Krek sighed.

There where trees. Lots of them.
They didn't have trees like this in morak, oh no, not like this.

Krek had ran through the woods in an attempt to catch up with the man he saw earlier, but he was completely lost. There where no fires to orientate on, the inn seemed to be gone, and he had completely lost track of where he was. His footsteps filled with snow the second he made them, and he was getting cold. The mantle he 'borrowed' was old and rugged, and wouldn't get him through the night.

Tired but determined, he made his way to where he hoped more pinkskins would be. Even if they wouldn't want him, maybe they could sell him food or shelter.

[Greyfang]

The snow fell like concrete in the ears of the Gangrel. He had been poised outside the inn for longer than he cared to remember, watching and waiting for the human with whom he was to palaver. He could tell his interest had not yet arrived because the inn was still standing; more often than not, once this particular individual had visited any edifice, it soon fell to ash thereafter.

The Gangrel, although not normally an impatient mahirim, found no solace in the shroud of steadily falling snow. His legs were beginning to cramp as he crouched near enough to the inn's entrance to view the traffic, yet far enough from the road that his location would remain veiled. He had only been taken by surprise once in his life, and the scar which ascended from the base of his jaw to his ear would bear a constant reminder of that declination. He quickly assessed his immediate surroundings before silently shuffling into a somewhat more comfortable spot. His mind focused on controlling his breathing, his heart rate, his adrenaline, but he still felt as if he was slowly being squeezed into this role, this course of action which he did not choose nor desire. He longed to replay the events of the last 2 weeks in his mind, scour the details in any effort to make sense of this recent declension of his situation, his very spirit, but he knew that to sanction any surcease in his sagacity would surely spell success for his adversaries... whoever they hell they are. That question would have to wait until -

*snap!*

Shit. Whoever that was in the copse of trees behind him didn't realize his presence yet, but they had gotten disturbingly close without his perception, and that makes him (her? do I smell lavender?) dangerous. A growl only audible to him lurked within his throat. The branch which betrayed the proximity of the potential pilferer continued to strain under the feet of compacted snow upon which this newly arrived peril still stands. Could it be that he (she? that's definitely lavender) had sensed his presence? More likely just being cautious considering the considerable crack of coppice...

Wait... all this snow, and a dead branch? How is that even likely?

A trap!

Sudden perspicacity bludgeoned his bewildered brain like a ballista. His time was short, if he had any left at all.

The Gangrel sprang from his shelter without cogitation, his growl thunderously rending the silence of the squalid skies.

[Prox]

"FORWARD!" bellowed the frontal officers of the 3 lined company. The sound of heavy plate boots marching in union accompanied the formation of knights as the emerged from the thick forest. It was still snowing but a dim gray light had filled the eastern sky. The scout had reported back to Proximo about 10 minutes ago that the raiders had made it to the mountains and were crossing over as they spoke. His men had been ready and the formation had been made quickly, The plan was to hold the southern entrance to the mountain pass with a wall of shields (which was about 30 men across) and bombard the great number of attackers from the over looking cliff with deadly cross bow bolts to thin there numbers. We will take there first assault until they pull back to regroup, then we will retreat to the woods under cover of arrow and ride out on horse back for a cavalry charge.

There was still a few hours before dawn, and that is when the knights of Shadow Templars would shake bloody hands with those that threaten them.

[Damukag]

Jon let a small sigh escape as the barmaid walked off. He would have loved to talk. To make conversation with her, with anyone. To interact with another person for the first time in over a week. But no, he couldn't. If he let himself get distracted he might be dead the next moment. Although he had caught in only in an instant's glimpse, he still vividly remembered the face of the man following him. The dark hair framing his worn face, a single leather eyepatch over one eye. His mouth forming an expression not of hatred or remorse, but of cold, detatched apathy. The bloody blade in one hand, splattered with the blood of his father. The man that was tracking him still, through forest and swamp and blizzard.

He had to shake his head to remove the image from his eyes. He retreated farther into his cloak, away from the chaotic and noisy bar. Gripping his hunting knife, the only weapon he had, he felt some small hint of comfort. A glimmer of hope. But in an instant he envisioned the man's sword again, notched near the hilt, painted red with blood. The hand-and-a-half sword. The Bastard sword. Any hope his dagger had presented at somehow stopping his pursuer vanished. He shook himself again, trying to focus his eyes on the door. They wouldn't. Sleep would be the only cure for that. One can only be alert so long before they need rest, and for a young man like Jon, a full day of activity was the limit.

He vaugely noticed an injured Mahirim step through the door and clutch at the barmaid who'd tried to serve him earlier. He thought for a moment whether he should leave for his room or wait until the commotion died down. Before he'd even finished making the choice, he felt his head droop and his eyelids fall. Laying one hand out, he slumped down against the table, dead tired, and drifted off to sleep on the spot.

-----

Juno watched his prey with keen eyes. The little wretch had given him quite the chase, but he'd finally tripped up. A rather big mistake, falling asleep in a crowded bar. Especially one which currently contains the man who has been chasing you. Juno reached over his shoulder and felt the firm leather hilt of his sword. No need to make a commotion of it now. Jon certainly wasn't going anywhere. Besides, it'd be next to impossible to wake the boy now, and Juno had no intention of slaying him in his sleep. He maintained (or did his best to) a certain level of honor that prevented him from doing that. No, when the boy died it would be standing up, with a sword in his hands.

Well, hopefully. Juno had encountered a surprising amount of people who refused his offer of a weapon. They probably thought that he wouldn't kill an unarmed man. No, Juno had no qualms about killing a man who'd turned down his only chance of survival. That was just weeding out the weak.

[Jonkar]

While all sorts of travellers, from various races, entered the drunken filled tavern, Jonkar was still at the bar, sipping away his second drink. While he did not pay any attention to many of the travellers, he occasionally crossed his sight with a well prepared adventurer. While on his way back from a successful mission, Jonkar thought it wise to see if anyone here would need a quick job done while he was staying here for a couple of days.

He quickly located a message board of sorts with various notes and offers for services, provided from locals and foreigners alike. Walking towards it, he managed to manoeuver himself throughout the crowd of drunks and violent men. He arrived at the message board, which was placed next to a table with only one man sitting around it. A quite sinister looking one at that, having an eye patch to emphasize it further.

The man didn’t seem to take notice of Jonkar at first, thus he moved over to the message board in his crimson colored leather outfit and stuck one of his clans adverts on top of some of the running adverts. While some men were looking at him viciously for rudely putting an advert over other people’s adverts, Jonkar took no heed and took a seat at the nearest table, with a pair of Mahirim. In an attempt to start a conversation he started speaking.

“Greetings mighty Mahirim. What would you two be doing so far away from the Tribelands, if I may ask?”

[HellaTruvios]

A character traveling great distances had rested during the day near a thick forest, as he awoke from his sleep the to the bright stirring moon, he had stretched vastly along the tree top of the outer edges of the forest.

As he noticed a large amount of beings camping in the vicinity of the area. Where the edges high forest tree's covered vast amounts of open land.

He had climbed down to inspect what was the reason for camp in such a remote area. As he walked towards the camp, he spotted a fellow being.

He asked him, "Are you of this camp?"
The being replied in a very deep voice with very little tongue, "Need you ask me such questions that you should not be interested in?"

I thought about it for a moment, and said "Well you may call me Hellatruvios. I am from around here, need I ask? Yes, should I be concerned? Yes!"

The being guttered in his throat and raised his head saying " You stupid fool, get out of my way!" As he swung his arm around me to try and obtain my items. I then realized he was a mere thief that hadn't had a mind for probably plenty of years now.

When of course I though he was just a petty thief, he then pulled out a short blade, and with that tried taking a slash at my chest.

the being then spoke without cause "I do not care you crazy many! I do not care! I want your soul, your gold and everything thats old!"
Hellatruvios replied back to him stating "Though if you take so much, how will you ever obtain whats right?"

Then he plundered to the side, *laughing* as he did not wait for me to move.
I ran backwards as fast as I can strafing to my left, to avoid the bushes that had been to my right. As I pulled out my bow, and went into my quiver the being quickly withdrew his spot and fled into the thick forest yelling "You crazy old fool! You crazy old fool!"

Hellatruvios thought to himself "The guys extremely unstable, not sure what is real or what is fake"

As Hellatruvios walked towards the camp he smelt the beautiful ground with the dew that was moisturizing the ground below his feet.

Finally at what seemed to be the entrance of that camp he had said.
"I am Hellatruvios. I am honored to have met you. Would you care to enjoy some drinks while we talk about your business here?"

(OOC-This is in connection to Prox's plot)

[Prox]

(OOC I'm not meaning to be rude but that post made no sense at all.)

[HellaTruvios]

(OOC I'm not meaning to be rude but that post made no sense at all.)


(OOC-Don't think about what I said, just go with it. To my knowledge you were camping out in the dark plotting to attack someone? If not I am sorry about the mis-interpretation. I thought I'd go with your plot as you were trying something. Now its not the same to post back with what I had in mind. Its like sex, you don't just stop and say something in the middle. Take it or leave it. ^.^ Should we continue this? Or should I just latch myself onto someone else's role play skit or do my own? I rather interact with other peoples rp's then be any less interactive then it already is.)

[Prox]

(OOC I just don't understand it, the way its typed)

[HellaTruvios]

(OOC I just don't understand it, the way its typed)

Just forget about it. I was trying to be patient and such. I cannot handle that.
If you simply cannot understand me no use in going any further.

[Greyfang]

(OOC-Don't think about what I said, just go with it.

((OOC - um... what? don't take it personally when you receive criticism, and i applaud your effort, but perhaps it's simply a little difficult to understand and could use a rewrite? then again, perhaps not :rolleyes:))

[Malakye]

(ooc - i could almost cut the tension with a knife....)

[Boadicea]

Boadicea didn't wait for the Mahirim to tuck the injured one into sleep. She knew that if she was gone for to long her uncle would come looking for her. If he found her giving out a free bed he would go ballistic. Grasping her dress in one dainty hand she gave the uninjured Mahirim a quick curtsy and excused herself before climbing out of the attic to the second floor. She rushed down the stairs and nearly collided with her uncle who had, indeed, started to look for her.

"Uncle! I was just...um...just dusting the rooms. Is there anything you need of me?" Boadicea couldn't lie to save her life and she fidgeted under her uncle's scrutinizing gaze. Luckily for her, a brawl started between three drunken patrons and he rushed over to put an end to it. With a sigh of relief Boadicea went to the other side of the room. Her gaze swept over those present until it landed on the young man sleeping in the corner. It caught her attention because most folk wouldn't dare to sleep out in the open in this land. Quietly she made her way over to the boy, swatting away various drunken hands as she passed tables, and came to a stop beside him. She bent down and touched his shoulder giving it a gentle shake as she spoke in a soft voice. "Boy? Boy, wake up. You mustn't sleep here. Wake up."

Though the young man didn't seem threatening to her Boadicea was still cautious. One had to be in these parts. Looks could be deceiving. She cast a nervous glance around the room wondering how many had already targeted the sleeping lad for pilfering or any sorts of other mischief. With another, firmer, shake of his shoulder she tried again. "Please, wake up boy. This is a dangerous place to rest your head."

[Damukag]

Juno grimaced slightly as the man dressed in fine crimson leathers passed him by and put up an advertisment for the Red Blades of Manderian. He'd never liked competition, and he'd heard about the Red Blades. He waited until the man walked away again, then stood and inspected the board. At least, he made a good show of pretending too. His eye kept flickering back to the boy in the corner. Suddenly, the barmaid pushed through a few nearby drunks, making a beeline for the boy. Juno hesitated, turning slightly. The woman went down close to the boy and began shaking him. Understandable. She didn't want anyone sleeping in her bar when there were perfectly good rooms they could still pay gold for.

Slowly he made his way through the crowd as well, weaving his way around chairs and laughing drunks alike. He finally reached the two and cleared his throat softly. In a soft voice that went against his appearance almost completely, he spoke up.

"Excuse me miss, I don't think he's going to wake up. Would you like any assistance carrying him up to a room? I'd be happy to pay for his lodgings." he smiled disarmingly, which he'd learned long ago was important when dealing with townspeople and non-adventurers. They seemed to equate his missing eye and several scars with pure evil, and he often had a hard time getting any sort of responses from them.

[Claws]

Always when there was a certain Human of The Red Blades around there would be a Mahirim in his shadows. This Mahirim, in dark leathers and a cloak was in a far corner of the inn, not distracted by the others around him he kept a watchful eye over the Human.

One of the two Mahirim who was sitting alongside the Human scorned at him, "Why do you keep staring at us pup!" keeping silent the watcher continued to watch. The angry Mahirim got up and started walking towards the watcher. As the closer he got the sharper the watchers eyes grew. "I suggest you keep to your own buisiness pup!" the Mahirim said, the Watcher quietly replied "My buisiness is my own...", angry the Mahirim struck out at the Watcher. Locked equal in strength the two held gaurd.

Overseeing this was the land lord, who seemed to be losing his patience. Moments later a crossbow was aimed at the two squabbling Mahirim, "Back to your drinks, before I put you down!" the land lord commanded.

Both Mahirim reluctently released from each others grip, "This isn't over pup!" whispered the older and larger Mahirim... And he returned to his seat with the Human and the other Mahirim. The Barmaid approached the Watcher, frightfully, trying to keep her fear at bay she asked the creature "Ww..w..Would you like a drink?" the Watcher turned and smiled, "A water please" as he reached for his coinpurse with a smile across his face. Shocked by the creatures politeness, and strange non-Mahirim accent she paused for a moment, before replying "Right away sir.".

[Prox]

(OOC: if anyone comes across the little battle area the shadowtemplars are then the battle is over and most of the shadow templars are dead. The Orc raiding party lost most of its number but is still moving and is somewhere in the forest.)

Riding hard through the snow filled forest the remaining Shadow Templars made all haste to the nearest settlement. Proximo lead the broken bloodied men that were left from the battle. Ten men including himself had survived the onslaught, the ork raiding party had turned out to be a well trained battle force that had a battalion of orkish warlocks. His men had fought and died to nearly the last man before Proximo had called the retreat. They had slain many but the numbers were to many and the orks were seasoned warriors. Now the only thing he and his survivors could do was try and warn as many innocence as they could to either flee or fight. Fortunately the orks had taken a hard hit to there strength but they would continue deeper into the lands after a rest, which gave the people of this land some time before the attacks began.

Thinking of only speed Proximo rode harder on his battle worn steed, pushing it to the utmost limits. He caught a glimpse of something metal in the forest ahead, It looked like an ork, a lone ork trudging towards them. With a quick hand signal Proximo ordered his men to spread out and surround the Ork upon contact. If it was friendly with the orks north of the mountains then it would pay for walking in these lands so freely. The fires of battle began to burn in Proximos heart once more, wishing, hoping that the ork was an enemy so that he could avenge his lost mens deaths. But he would give it a chance to prove itself, a very brief chance...

[Claws]

((to OP, mind if we enter into a first person context for some of the characters we are roleplaying? that is personally my favourite type of roleplay))

[Damukag]

((Not at all. I'm a fan of first person myself.))

[Boadicea]

Boadicea rose at the sound of a voice clearing behind her. She turned slightly to look over her shoulder at the man speaking to her. His voice and smile gave the immediate impression that he was a gentle sort though his appearance did not. She studied the scarred face silently for a moment with conflicting feelings on the matter. Though Boadicea seemed gullible and the was, for the most part, timid and soft-spoken; she had been raised in this tavern and had seen all sorts pass through here in her eighteen years. She knew you could never take anyone at face value and it was rare in these parts for someone to offer aid to strangers without hope of coin or favors.

Erring on the side of caution the young maiden faced the stranger completely and offered a gentle smile as she shook her head. Though she was polite her eyes showed her suspicion. She had always been readable. Lies and hidden agendas had never been her forte. "Ah...thank you for your offer of assistance, ser, but I think I will just let him rest here for a bit. He seems to have had a rough time traveling. T'would be a shame to move him if he's comfortable."

Thinking quickly she motioned towards a table and quirked an eyebrow minutely. "I don't think you have been served yet, ser. Would you like a seat? We have warm stew and drink available." She didn't mention that their stew was more like mush and that her uncle watered down the drinks to cut back on costs. He wasn't the most honest of business men. She didn't miss that he was aiming a crossbow at two Mahirim at the moment. She inwardly winced and had to refrain from sighing. She had nursed far to many people's wounds from that damnable thing. Forcing her attention back to the stranger she stepped toward him, unthreateningly, and gestured toward the table again. She wasn't sure why but she felt very protective of the lad, not that she was much of a fighter if anyone did attack him. He just seemed so sweet and naive in his sleep. Innocent. It was something she rarely saw around here.