|
Post by Ska'ar Wulfsiger on Jun 22, 2010 4:07:11 GMT -5
Captain Wulfsige sat within his company's encampment, feet propped upon a table and crossed, a wide-brimmed hat with a long black feather that appeared slightly too large for his head falling down over his eyes. Medals and sashes and all sorts of embellishment enrobed the dread pirate's surcoat as he swilled down a goblet of fine brandy. He turned paper after paper over on the table with awkward outreaches of his free arm as his saber dangled past the rickety wooden throne -- obviously salvaged from a burning abbey -- and slashed along the dirt as if playing a game of naughts and crosses.
The pirate lord contemplated a great many things as he turned the pages over and over. His pensive look was interrupted by a Dogmeat, Darius of the Drake clan, who was shaping up to be a fine bodyguard for the Captain.
"Sir," said Darius, "War Hound Ma'as to see you with his report."
"Very well," the Captain said lackadaisically without even looking up from the papers, "send him in, Dogmeat."
The Dark Elf was 2nd born of noble blood, which was apparent by his smarmy demeanor as he slinked into the room like the spider he worshiped. He bowed a bit before his superior, more as a gesture of rank within this mercenary militia than of acknowledgment of the Captain's claim to "lord" among lands and seas he'd never laid eyes upon, even in maps. Though he knew himself of superior blood, he decided he must feign subordination to the pirate if he were to remain free to use the unit as a tool for his devices. The Drow of noble House Sshamath curled his lips a bit and addressed the Captain, who still remained engrossed in the papers.
"Cap'n, sir, I regret to inform you I am the harbinger of bad news."
The Elf from the Underdark cringed a bit in expectancy of a quick thrust or some sort of lashing from the Captain, but failed to receive even a nod. The pirate remained buried in the papers.
"It seems," the Drow continued, "that one of our rank, the aspiring War Hound named Duke Fontayne, has jumped ship. He has deserted us in the night. I followed him, and he has gone to our rivals, the Legion of Dragoons. It appears quite apparent that they have accepted him with open arms and have been courting him for some time. I know how much you had in store for him, it is a shame, is it not?"
The Captain Wulfsige remained staring at papers, turning them page by page, and the Dark Elf stood in silence for the better portion of a minute awaiting a response.
"Let him go," the dread pirate's raspy voice finally replied without looking up. "It only makes the decision I have to make all the more easier..."
"Decision, sir? Easier, my lord?" The Elf used the title buried with a hint of sarcasm, but none would have detected it but another of his Dark kind.
"Letters of writ from our dear friends the Orcs, " sarcasm dripped from his tongue at the statement. There was no love lost between the Captain and the Orcs. "'As the new ruler of Llorac I offer a truce between you and I, and if you should enlist my company into my service as my own personal bounty hunters...' Well you get the idea, he promises good pay as well."
"A fair deal, perhaps, but who would think Orcs would have desire for such niceties with a small band of mercenaries?" The Dark Elf thought all Orc to be rather unintelligent, especially with political affairs. Why involve the middle men rather than hunt for themselves, and why break treaty and invade Llorac to begin with? And when do Orcs speak with such eloquence?
The Captain held out one of the papers, it had a strange seal with what appeared to be an Orcish rune. It was written in High Elven script. The Dark Elf's skin paled a bit as he made the realization of what sort of Orc this new king was.
"I will have to think upon this and make a decision on how to reply, but as I said, this new information makes my decision a bit easier..."
The Captain smiled a bit as he held out the final page of the letters: a bounty poster for 10,000 gold reward for the head of Rowan Proudoak.
|
|
|
Post by Ska'ar Wulfsiger on Jun 22, 2010 4:10:52 GMT -5
((OOC: I'm not angry about Duke leaving for the Goons, though there will be some things discussed between myself and a few others in regards to how it went down. Regardless, I felt it was a GREAT reason to set some RP things into motion that have been discussed between Rowan, myself, and others for months now, as I'm sure of the direction I want to go with them.
I've been really busy with the show and waiting for a good opportunity to figure out exactly how BWMC should swing in all this. Looks like I got it figured out. Enjoy! There will be more to this story over the next few months! Good luck Duke, and no hard feelings bro! NS - 4 - Life!))
|
|
|
Post by Duke Fontayne on Jun 22, 2010 9:07:09 GMT -5
((OOC: For the Northern Steppes!))
It was a dark and nearly moonless night as Duke made his way toward the flickering fires of the encampment in the distance. A chill breeze common to the Northern Steppes blew making a rustling in the tough, hearty grasses and shrubs. It was difficult not to envision a certain dark elf with a poisoned dagger creeping up on him for a final goodbye. But he knew Ma’as would not make any sounds to give himself away if… no, when… he came for him.
The decision weighed heavily upon Duke. His whole life had been spent running from one thing or another. The run from civilization into the wilds of the Northern Steppes had been a turning of the page for him, or so he had thought. He had had illusions of settling down and becoming part of a community rather than hopping from town to town and doing whatever someone would pay for, be it a floated rumor or a brutal kidnapping.
Duke had found himself signing up with the Bad Wolf Mercenary Company after a short time in the Steppes in order to keep himself fed and entertain his need for action. Over time he had realized that he had not changed his ways much at all. Now instead of being a free-lance mercenary for any local crime lords, he was doing the same thing on a much grander scale. The group was a tough lot of strong arms and assassins, but Duke had become close to some of them. His leaving would cause a commotion, but a few drinks and some pretty lasses would probably calm the majority of the company down. The assignments as of late had been getting more nefarious and Duke just couldn’t stomach it much anymore. It seems he had been growing a conscience after all.
The Legion of Dragoons, another mercenary group working in the Steppes, seemed to err on the side of justice and righteousness. Maybe it would be a step in the right direction. It was worth a try, so Duke had packed up his gear and headed out. Before leaving he had taken his sack of gold and left it for Furyun on his pile of furs he called a bed. The big barbarian had welcomed him when he had first come to the Northern Steppes and had taught him a few new tricks to use against his opponents. It didn’t seem right keeping the coin when he had done things for it that made him feel so sick inside. He also left his tabard and sash with the Bad Wolf colors for Darius. That hobgoblin would lose his own skin if it wasn’t attached to his body. For the Captain and Ma’as he would leave a vigilant eye. They would see this act as a betrayal of their trust and though they may let it grow cold, they would be plotting their revenge.
As Duke approached the Dragoon camp, two shadowed figures arose from their hiding spots alongside the path. Duke could make out nothing in the dark night about the two except for a small belt flag on each bearing the circled cross insignia of the Dragoon sword-brothers.
“Halt, who goes there,” the one on the left said.
“It is Duke Fontayne, I wish to talk to one of the warlords.” …
|
|
Rowan
NS Admin
NS Chieftan
Only by death of sword will I get into heaven!
Posts: 852
|
Post by Rowan on Jul 20, 2010 14:43:18 GMT -5
((FOR THE HORD,... wait... STEPPES!))
“Halt, who goes there,” the one on the left said.
“It is Duke Fontayne, I wish to talk to one of the warlords.”
"What is your business?" The shadow covered sentry on the right says. Surprisingly with a young females voice.
"I... I wish to join the ranks of the Legion" Duke responds.
"The warlords are both on... business, currently." Says the guard on the right.
"Try the Kicking Mule alehouse in town. Ask for Rowan." The female guard says with a small giggle in her voice. "But be careful, its his whiskey night."
And a few more laughs come from the bushes around Duke as he realizes there are about 3 other people around him still in hiding.
((What will young master Duke do now?))
|
|
|
Post by Duke Fontayne on Jul 21, 2010 10:55:44 GMT -5
What is a giggly young female doing on guard duty in the middle of the night? Duke thinks to himself. On second thought, it would be better to not underestimate any of these mercenaries. The Legion of Dragoons was not known to employ those with little strength of mind nor body.
Duke squints his eyes as he looks past the two shadowed figures in front of him, thinking five veiled guards on this road seems a bit much. I wonder if the Legion is being overly cautious or has caught wind of something malicious in the air.
“The Kicking Mule, you say? Hopefully Rowan hasn’t drunk it dry yet.” Duke had met Rowan briefly when he first arrived in the Steppes, but did not know him well.
The female guard nods and her shadowy figure is broken momentarily with a gleaming white smile that quickly vanishes.
“Shall I be on my way then or will one of you be escorting me?” Duke asks.
The guard on the left gruffly states, “You may proceed, but know that we will be watching you.”
As Duke makes his way along the path, the foliage along the edges gives way to a large field with matted down grasses and a few circles of compacted earth. Must be used for training or some such. A series of tents and wagons line the edge of the field housing what looks like a merchant caravan and their guards. The sound of a few drums and a pipe start to creep into the air as Duke makes his way into what might be considered a civilized part of the Steppes. The music leads him to a squat wooden structure. A crude hand painted sign depicting a four legged creature kicking over a large foaming mug names the place as the Kicking Mule alehouse.
Duke opens the door and a wave of humid heat and scent of assorted boozes flows out to meet him. He enters and looks around the establishment. A good size fire roars to his right with a solitary figure hunkered down on a bench in front of it listening to the sounds of instruments being played on a small stage. A group of off duty soldiers dressed mostly in black sit in a corner to his left conversing quietly. And two large fur wearing barbarians are standing at the bar in front of him holding not mugs, but small casks and drinking directly from them and laughing.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Says a grizzled old man from behind the bar. “Shut the door and get in here, unless you want to pay some coin just to look about the place.”
“Of course,” Duke says as he shuts the door and walks up to the bar.
“What would you have there?” The barman says as he begins wiping out a mug with his rag.
“A mug of ale, if you please. I’m looking for Rowan.”
The alehouse becomes suddenly quite as the players of the instruments stop and look at Duke. The crackle of logs in the fire is all that can be heard until the creak of straining wood overpowers it. The lone figure by the fire slowly stands up from the bench and turns toward Duke. Silhouetted by the flames, the broad man casts an imposing figure.
“Who be asking for Rowan?”
|
|
Rowan
NS Admin
NS Chieftan
Only by death of sword will I get into heaven!
Posts: 852
|
Post by Rowan on Jul 21, 2010 12:11:45 GMT -5
Rowan had been sitting in the Kicking Mule Tavern for about an hour before the town guards showed up. They generally keep to themselves, play some lots and head home to their wives. Even the deserters from Llorrac that came to this camp (now a town) after the Orcs moved in are decent fellows... Well... They are now that they know who is the leaders and who NOT to push around.
It had been at least two hours of sitting when some Tribesmen of the Bear Tribe, Rowan's clan, showed up. They were both stout fighters and trustworthy with anything but your food and ale.
The only person that Rowan didn't sit waiting for was the half-elven barkeep. You couldn't tell he was half-elven due to the whiskers and stringy hair. But it was the third week of the month, he knew Rowan and his barbarian druthers would be at his "fine establishment" all day and probably even sleep on the floor that night.
It was like any normal night in the Kicking Mule for Rowan... Until a man he sorta recognized strolled into the tavern with one of the newest recruits, Elik, shadowing him with bow in hand. Then this man... What's his name... Dane..? Drak? No that's his my brother... Earl?... It was when the smaller man asked for the Chieftain by name that he got much unwanted attention.
"Who be asking for Rowan?" the bear tribe leader rumbles.
"I am Duke Fontayne... umm... Sir."
'"DUKE! Thats your name." and Rowan laughs to himself. The bards start back to their playing and the crown back to drinking, all but the two tribesmen and Elik who has slipped into the tavern behind Duke. "Now Duke, are you hear to try out drink me, fight me, or try to kill me? Nobody has out-drunk me, two men have fought me and one man died today." Rowan takes a long pull from his mead horn. Duke can smell the whiskey coming off the large Dragoon.
"Which is it for you?" Rowan says as his hand drifts to the stout oak club resting on the bench beside him.
|
|
|
Post by Duke Fontayne on Jul 21, 2010 12:52:11 GMT -5
“Drink, fight, or kill… none of the options are quite what I had in mind when I started my journey this evening. I had rather planned on joining you, er, the Dragoons. I came to speak with one of the warlords actually but was directed to you.”
A cool breeze blows across Duke’s neck as the tavern door bumps closed behind him. He turns his head slightly and sees one of the Legion standing by the door out of the corner of his eye. True to their word and sneakier than given credit for, he thinks.
A sharp nasally exhale of breath from the barkeep draws Duke’s attention as he thumps a mug down on the bar. “Belly up, young one.”
Duke grabs the mug and turns to Rowan, “Shall we share a drink first and have a chat before we decide if drinking or fighting will be in the cards for us tonight?” Daring to be bold he adds, “I’d rather not take advantage of a man already half way into his cups.” He glances to the Dragoon near the door who seems quite content standing guard and looks back to Rowan.
|
|
Rowan
NS Admin
NS Chieftan
Only by death of sword will I get into heaven!
Posts: 852
|
Post by Rowan on Jul 21, 2010 14:36:57 GMT -5
Rowan kicks out a chair and motions for Duke to sit with him near the fire. He takes a big pull from his mean... whiskey horn and nods to young Elik at the door as Duke sits.
"I've seen you around boy. Yur one of Captain Wulf's mercs aint ya?"
|
|
|
Post by Duke Fontayne on Jul 22, 2010 9:12:31 GMT -5
“Tis true. I fought under Wulf’s flag for a season. As of late, I’ve done a bit of thinking and realized I’m not liking the jobs they have been pulling.”
Duke gazes into the fire and his eyes seem to harden. In his head he hears the screams of those who had somehow crossed the wrong person or inadvertently gotten in the way of his former mercenary band. Rowan notices that Duke seems lost in his own thoughts and for a moment thinks he sees a dark shadow drift across his face almost in a mask like appearance. Rowan rubs his own eyes with a fist thinking that he has either had too much or too little whiskey this evening and gives the man a soft kick to the boot. The slight pressure on his foot brings Duke back to the moment at hand. He takes a deep breath and blinks a few times trying to clear away the memories.
“I am of the understanding that the Legion of Dragoons is a bit more, hmmm, conscientious of how it fulfills their contracts. I’ve honed my fighting skills over the last year, but I also seem to have changed my perspective on life a bit. Fighting for coin was good enough for awhile, but now I’d like to have a little more in the way of altruistic reasons as well as some pecuniary reimbursement.”
Duke notices that Rowan seemed to get a questioning and somewhat angry look on his face at some of the words he used and says, “In short, I’d like to throw my lot in with the Dragoons because they seem to fight more often for what is right and good.”
|
|
|
Post by Ska'ar Wulfsiger on Aug 28, 2010 3:43:29 GMT -5
The darkness gathered behind the Kicking Mule and seemed to flutter to and fro, as if it had life. The Dark Elf stood silently, his back to the wall, the instructions from his Captain going through his head over and over.
This was such a menial task, far beneath him, the Drow thought, as he reflected upon the situation. But the thought of Dragoon blood spilling from his dagger pleased him. He waited patiently for the moment, when Rowan Proudoak would stagger from the inn back to his encampment -- after all, city life pleased not the tribal chieftain for any longer than the ale or whiskey could stave off his need to be with his people and his land.
His business here would end soon enough, and whispers had gotten to the elf's ears that Duke, the traitor, might be that business. "Two bats with one bolt," thought the Underdark noble. Soon enough, the business would end and Rowan and Duke might both feel his blades.
|
|
|
Post by Furyun on Aug 28, 2010 11:33:21 GMT -5
Self preservation. Turn back. Flee you fool!!!
All were feelings Furyun had never felt come over him so strongly. Normally the young demonic entity that resides under his skin is ready for a fight, usually seeking out slaughter where the odds are stacked well against him. But this time was different. He shuttered and shook the feelings away with a thought. "Orders are orders"
Dressed for war, draped in his shadow cloak, with spear in hand. The mercenary warrior rode on to his objective far from his friends and allies, marching onward towards Lorrack.
His mind drifted to the events that brought it all to this. It was no surprise to him that he had been rejected by the "Shinning beacon of bla, bla, bla" The small roles he was asked to play when he could do so much more. In his travels he was quick to make allies across the land. Feared, respected, and envied, but never accepted by his own Barbarian tribe. He was quick to make friends he thought to himself, clutching the white leather unit emblem left by Duke; Perhaps too quick.
With a half twisted smile he muttered to himself under his frozen breath "This time I take my own action" reassuring himself that this was the "Right" thing to do.
|
|
|
Post by Ska'ar Wulfsiger on Sept 20, 2010 0:12:54 GMT -5
Rowan staggered out of the inn, slightly intoxicated but holding it well. What he drank would have (and did) put most other mortals under the table hours ago; but Rowan was still clinging onto sobriety with his bear-ish claws, fighting to put up a good show long enough to pass out in his own bed unlike his tribal brothers. Duke followed him out, chatting, and the Dark Elf in the shadows took his moment.
Like a dart, he was in and out, barely dodging a quick draw and strike by both seasoned fighters. Rowan winced for a moment as he felt the cold steel in his veins. He pulled the dagger from his arm and saw a note attached. He handed it to Duke. "Read this!" The barbarian chieftain was unhappy, but somewhat amused at such a feeble attempt at his life.
The street brawler unscrolled the parchment and gave the ogre of a man a look of curiousness, wondering why he didn't just read it himself, then realized that the man was likely not schooled in the formal written languages the mercenaries used to communicate with their benefactors. He read it aloud:
Most venerable Rowan Proudoak,
Had I wanted you dead, I'd have done it myself. I think you understand this message now. You know where.
The note closed with simply the blackened symbol of a dagger and the letter A. "I don't quite understand," said Duke, who was completely confused.
Rowan laughed and grabbed Duke by the shoulder, sobered by his own blood and the words of the message, he pulled the smaller man along with him as they changed course and started making way toward Llorrac. "You will soon enough. Looks like your business will have to wait, this is big..."
|
|
|
Post by Ska'ar Wulfsiger on Oct 5, 2010 10:42:21 GMT -5
The dark, dank stench of famine and plague filled the air as Rowan Proudoak and Duke Fontayne made their way from the sultry inn of the small trader outpost of Riverfront. With joint efforts from the Dragoons and the Bad Wolf Mercenary Company, Llorac had lost its grip on much of its holds, such as Riverfront, aided by the turn of events that left Llorac's kingdom crippled: a mysterious zombie infestation across the land and the breaking of the Black Orc treaty, ultimately resulting in its conquest.
While Llorac faltered, Riverfront prospered, becoming a refuge for former Llorac citizens who could no longer take the rule of their new Uruk-hai king and Black Orc overseers. Afraid they'd become slaves, food, or worst of all: undead; they took flight to the wastelands of frozen ice and tundra, seeking sanctuary within the tribes. Riverfront was the Steppes' last vestige of true civilization -- a place where the tribes could meet and trade with merchants of other lands while mercenary armies protected them and kept peace. Though not all trusted, the refugees took up shop here, and began to do honest business, starting their lives anew.
Llorac, in stark contrast, had become a festering hive of villainy and gore. The streets run rampant with disease-ridden serfs, starved and seemingly incapable of leaving of their own volition. Healthy men and boys were enslaved to work tirelessly in the mines, while slave women and girls had unspeakable acts performed upon them by the Orcs and their vile allies. Much of Llorac's former nobility slithered their way around the Black Orc regimens as agents, providing much-needed gossip from the surrounding lands. Even the former king had managed to slime his way into a position of authority as a slave trader. The sight made Rowan sick to his stomach as he and Duke sneaked their way into the city proper under cover of night and woolen cloaks, slipping past guards who appeared to be drugged.
Furyun's been here... Rowan smirked.
|
|
|
Post by Furyun on Oct 6, 2010 12:45:24 GMT -5
Fresh out of the silent invasion supplies given to him by his position in the Bad Wolf, the last few blocks of the massive city Furyun had resorted to using rocks to mislead or bash the guards skulls.
Cloaked in the night, misted in all manor of blood, headed for what had to be the new Kings palace: a dark smoking spire with controlled blazing fires on every level, with the faint pulsing sound of drums and screams. As he crested the final rooftop adjacent to the building the sight and smell nearly loosed his grip on the ledge.
The dusty bloodstained yard in front of him was alive with commotion. Bonfires half surrounded by corpses piled up in the corners of the yard; waiting to be turned to undead until they had rotted enough to get just the right effect in battle, or hot enough to eat. Burning Intestines, turned candelabras, were hastily strung from the outer-lying rooftops to a center point. Drunken creatures and undead watched and cheered as a pack of goblins violated every orifice (and a few new ones) of alcohol-soaked slave girls chained up in a spread eagle. At the center of the debauchery sat the Uriki King watching, content with himself, it was quite a party.
Gritting his teeth and wiped the vomit from his lips. He grabbed the bag that would hopefully end all this. "This better work" he thought to himself.
He opened the bag and pulled from it the freshly severed head of a shaven faced bear mangled to look surprisingly similar to the target. A wanted poster with Rowan's name on it was wrapped tight with with Duke's old leather BW emblem. With a shout he tossed the head to the lap of the Uriki. The drums stopped and the air grew silent, all but the busy little goblins.
The Young demon in his back pulsed; dark black shadows could be seen rolling from him as he shouted, standing from his perch.
"We received your message and have fulfilled your request, dark king. If all is well I'll take the gold you offered." He paused to let the Uriki look over the bloody head.
"My mercenary brothers and I also require a safe place to lay low, as we are hunted by the Dragoons"
He leaped down to the dirt floor with a thud, and continued
"and... some of that filth your drinking!"
|
|
|
Post by Ska'ar Wulfsiger on Oct 6, 2010 17:19:46 GMT -5
((darn-it guys, this was in the STORY section, I appreciate all your help, but you're really making it hard for me to stay on track. ;-) Now I have to figure out how I can get to where I was going....ugh))
|
|