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Old World Blues [WHF casual rp]

Discussion in 'Role Playing' started by Colapse, Mar 8, 2016.

  1. After the one sided battle had finished and the Human Priest questioned their presence, Xiuhcoatl let the others speak with the man as he grabbed one of the corpses and helped clean out the temple, despite the possiblity of contracting something by touching the diseased carcasses. Even if the Temple did not belong to the Old One ones or was one of the towering monolithic stone pyramids of his home, he still held enough respect for other houses of worship after seeing what was done to his city. It seemed those that follow the dark ones are just drawn to ruining such sacred places, no matter who they belonged to.
  2. Colapse Colapse Forum Beta Tester

    Old World Blues Episode 2

    Dice strikes back

    @Maleth @Grall_Stonefist @DeranVendar @Valonox @Casavay

    They say the worst smell in the world is the smell of defeat. Whoever said that obviously hadn't spent a single minute in the dark underbelly of a Druchii slave-ship.

    Smell was indeed the first thing that hit your nostrils, the first sensation you had after the contact with the real world was so abruptly taken away from you. That and the vile headache you received the night before, mix of the Naggaroth's steel and Marienburg's finest red, or at least that's what the tavern's owner said. There was always a danger in celebrating holdays that far out in the Empire, being captured in a surprise slave raid was something that was lower on the list of calamities below getting chased by angry husbands, getting your hand eaten in an Ogre arm-wrestling match or simply slipping on someone's vomit and breaking your neck.

    Alas, Ranald seemed to be full of tricks, nasty one's at that, and instead of enjoying the festivity you were now enjoying captivity!

    Of course, there were more than few drunken merrymen aboard, there were few of other types of sailors inspecting the insides of the Dark Elf cages. Warriors, mercenaries, regular and irregular sell-swords, all looked pretty much the same behind the bars. There was an Ogre, looking as menacingly hungry as any member of his gluttonous race, couple of dwarfs with beards of various shapes and sizes, but the biggest catch was bunch of humans spread out across couple of cells which was the usual thing given they were the largest pollutant of the Old World.

    Whatever reverie you might have been experiencing was broken as the boards creeked, having to support a heavy boot walking down from the deck into the hold, even the simple footwear of these Dark Elves was made to punish something. And was good at it. Elf who was the proud owner of those fine drakeskin boots, latest Har Ganeth's fashion, walked with the usual arrogance of his race, you could see his pearl white teeth grinning back at you as he inspected the cages, shouting some gibberish in his jagged tongue.

    Not like anyone could understand him...although that wasn't entirely true. "This is a fine catch I think. Lord Rakhart will be pleased. Most pleased indeed," the Dark Elf said and stopped at the last cage, which was somewhat different than the rest, its bars made of darker metal that didn't reflect what little light couple of nearby brazer gave away. Inside of it lied a fine catch indeed.

    @Maleth "Greetings my lady, how do you like your accomodations?" the slaver laughed, the sound of it similar like the squealing of a mouse just hunted down by a rather hungry cat. "Rogue Sorceresses fetch a fine price on the market so better be prepared when we reach Karond Kar. None of your skills are gonna save you now!"

    While the Druchii outside the cage kept on talking, you would notice that the ship started shaking a bit, those of you with more experience in sailing would know that this was more than usual. Then they felt the vessel turning quickly, as if trying to allign its course with something else. Couple of crates fell and broke in the back and a slave vomited, but their "host" didn't seem troubled at all. Perhaps it was all part of the plan to make their journey uncomfortable? Damned Dark Elves, no wonder nobody likes them.
  3. DeranVendar DeranVendar Subordinate

    The Iron Caged, Yet Unbroken
    Within one of the squalid cells sat six Dwarfs, a seventh among them stood nearer to the bars than any of the others dared. Barakthum would not dare to be any further than throttling distance from any cruel hands near the bars. In his current company the warrior cut a sorry figure: beard shaved off to stubble, cuts ranging from hours to days old lathered upon face and upper body, and a nasty looking gash uncomfortably close to his heart. Tangled clumps of blonde hair remained on his head, former mess of long curls little more than a hen's weight in ruin. Torn flesh festered in the bodily born heat of the hold, wound cut close to his heart trimmed with black skin and a ring of flesh that was almost white outlined that. Lack of color was a common theme with this one, what wasn't darkened by blood or stained with the myriad slave's rations that had been chucked in his face was pale enough to betray his part in dwarven society: Barakthum was an Ironbreaker, a soldier of the deep roads and guardian of the countless forgotten paths beneath every forlorn hold of his people. Sunlight was a heresy unto itself, his place had been in the darkest of depths facing the most ancient of foes and terrible of monstrosities. For those less learned in their dwarvish military culture an even purer distillation of Barakthum's character could be gleaned from the gaze crueler than any treatment he had received: the dwarf had seen worse, and every filthy Elgi would die before his grudge burnt out.

    Kinsmen to his back kept a safe distance from cage doors and the Ironbreaker. Huddled together they conversed in glances and hand signals, nary a whisper to be heard. Six strangers Barakthum had yet to even bother learning the name of, he was grateful to at least remember their faces among the defenders during the raid. They did not lack mettle, even if it was well below the standards of his former companions, and that meant the inevitable punch out when the cells were opened would be that much bloodier. For now the Slateheel bid his time and continued to smolder at the fore of their cell.
  4. Valonox Valonox Preacher

    Dawne's face still and did not waver around the Druchii If she could spit at there faces should would but she must play her cards smart for this moment. Many thoughts were raising through her head she didn't remember a thing or what'd she had done to get to this point. Blood was not to be her companion just yet. She must recover what is truly hers before that Slaver mongrel finds the use behind that Rapier. Dawne scanned around to see whom her cell mates were and if they could be put to any use.
  5. Saraph Midas Casavay Well-Known Member

    Milena of the Twice-Noble Sokals reclined against the uncomfortable metallic bars of her cage, hugging her own legs as she had drawn her knees close to herself. It was barely a comfort to be sitting; cold iron digging into a network of fresh and old wounds that had already considerably expanded ever since she had been captured, her very spine and tailbone complaining about the hard floor and lack of space to stretch, and, perhaps worst of all, her head hurt worse than when Baltazar'd cooked up his own vodka. Terrible timing for a girl to overindulge for the first time, indeed.

    She opened her eyes, and breathed out a barely audible chuckle. Oh, she was miserable indeed, but still found some ironic humour in the fact that she couldn't help but be reminded of her first hangover in such dire straits. The noble looked around herself, watching the great many souls cope with their predicament, all in their own way. Whatever this dark elf fop said wasn't of great interest to Milena, perhaps merely some insults to the knife-ears, mayhaps talking to himself, or, for all she cared, recounting a lovely recipe for yeast bread.

    (@Valonox )
    Over her knees, her eyes eventually met with the hazel pair of a woman of similar countenance - her immediate reaction was to ask, "Skąd jes..." - but she stopped herself upon examining her closer. There was enough of a... western-ness about her to make Milena switch to Reikspiel. "Where're you from?", she asked in a low tone and the effort to sound compassionate; although the interplay of a commander's hoarseness and the hard Kislevite accent severely impaired her ability to not sound mildly irritated. The lay-templar attempted to smile, but could not find it in her.
  6. Valonox Valonox Preacher

    Dawne looked at the women asked her where she came from she replied with. "Averheim." Her voice was a Sylvanian and Aveland accent. Dawne scanned the other females body to analyze what class this women was in. "Where do you come from miss?"
  7. Colapse Colapse Forum Beta Tester

    @Grall_Stonefist @DeranVendar @Casavay @Maleth @Valonox

    Whatever Milena could say in reply to her new friend and whatever else their slaver might've said was silenced by a sound of a horn blowing from the deck above. Another jerk of the ship, now even the Druchii sailor swung on his feet, struggling to keep the balance. Shouting, boots ringing on the deck, it looked like the party started above and none of them were invited.

    Slaver turned away from the cages and took a step towards the stairs that led to the main deck when the side of the hold exploded in a shower of wood and metal, followed by a ten feet long ballista bolt that smashed into the unlucky Dark Elf and sent him flying straight into a nearby cell. His crash broke the said cell and dozen human captives ran out, seizing the opportunity now that their jailor was pretty much done for, dangling from the bars with a long piece of sharp wood sticking out of his stomach.

    However you could see that despite the inital rush to quickly get away, the would-be slaves picking what weapons they could find in couple of nearby crates, all of them went up the stairs and outside the hold except for a single human, a bald man in his early forties. He took one glance towards the hole in the side of the ship the large javelin created where both him and the rest of you could see more fires on the night's horizon, undoubtedly more of....whoever was attacking the Druchii fleet in the first place.

    Kneeling down to pick up the chain of keys from the stricken slaver, the human hurried back towards the cages and started unlocking them, starting with Milena and Dawne, then proceeding to open the hold where Barakthum and his Dwarfs were located. He stopped in front of Tugg's cage but quickly grunted and unlocked that one as well, finishing with an audiable sigh as he brought down the locks that held Alozia's cell. "Safety in numbers, eh? Better if we stick together, we'll live longer," he told them in Reikspiel and went to a crate to pick up a long sword and a knife as well as a leather jerkin. You could also spot your own gear, tossed around the crates like some castaway toys, their hosts apparently deciding they were better off without such worthless trinkets (joke's on them).

    You had time to pick everything up but it would have to be done quickly as another crash sounded from above and the entire ship shook down its left side as something heavy was brought up. Most likely scenario - they were being boarded.

    But before you had a chance to pick the armor and weapons and see if the unsuspecting saviors would indeed live up to their name, a wet gurgling sound broke the atmosphere. "Ahh....you there," it belong to the Druchii slaver, who despite being skewered like a pig on Sigmar's Day, was somehow still alive. If only barely. "Get this thing off me," he said and tried to move, but the attempt was cut short with a yelp. "Free me...and I'll show you where the Captain Bleakwind hid her treasure...a chest, with a magical lock...I know the combination...free me and it's all yours..."


    Option 1: Did someone say shiny loot?
    Save the Druchii slaver and in return, he'll tell you how to open the Captain's chest. Sounds easy enough. Not like that Dark Elf will need the gold when she's at the bottom of the ocean!

    Option 2: Do you take me for a fool?!

    You were hit in the head last night but it wasn't enough to make you insane. Trusting a Dark Elf to tell the truth is as if you would trust a Halfling not to eat your cake. Mmmm yummy cake...
  8. Maleth Maleth Subordinate

    <Before>
    "Just keep talking, Mouse...." Alozia sighed, looking rather crest-fallen at how she had well, fallen from grace. From someone of power, now to someone who at best could hope for a life on her hands and knees, and at worse could expect death, or worse than death. This wasn't exactly helped by perhaps tenuous irony of being Druchii, yet being behind a cage which really should be for someone beneath her.

    At least she had the cage to her self, if not for the slaver whom she'd really call an oversized mouse by voice alone.
    The Druchii's hair was still as black as it always had been, even if the body was curled up besides the metal bars in a perhaps forlorn hope of food that wasn't from a bucket being in reach (which she suspected made from whatever they were, to prevent her from just throwing out some magic and making her escape.)

    <Now>
    With freedom being available thanks to one of the humans letting her out, she nodded her thanks before striding out of her cage. However, before picking up her gear, the Slaver had the gall to beg for his life.... But, with a deal sweetener of gold, she went to grab her gear, giving her time to think. On the one hand, gold was going to be very useful later on.

    On the other hand, he could be lying to save his own hide. Picking up her staff, the Dagger and all the rest of her equipment and putting it into the rightful places, she then broke out a smirk and said to anyone that cared to listen "I'll save you, when I know for a fact your honesty is forth coming."
    Even with that said, she still got ready to save the slaver from death, feeling that it was worth the risk if they could get some gold for when they were away from this vessel..
    Casavay, DeranVendar and Colapse like this.
  9. DeranVendar DeranVendar Subordinate

    "Umgi." Barakthum was already out and moving for the chest of goods when he spoke up, voice low and murderous. "Thank ye." Other survivors plowed out after him, grunting and nodding their thanks. Before any armor might be donned shields and weapons were dolled out, six naked slaves shoved into a half-circle formation with the Ironbreaker at their core. A hand stretched above the group, fingers curling tightly causing leather padding to creak beneath the glimmering Gromril plates layered over forming fist. Dwarven squad parted, a grunted command inaudible to the other prisoners over the sound of tossing waters, screaming combatants, and the greater naval skirmish sent the warriors of Barakk Varr scrambling for their own kit now that Barakthum was girded for war.

    Hold floor thundered beneath his steps, weight of rage hammering each booted foot down pointedly on the dwarf's approach to the slaver with az in hand. Few things short of their Ogre compatriot looked capable of stopping this one now, a juggernaut clad in full suit of bare metal Gromril that clearly had seen plenty of action prior to capture and theft of its embedded gems. Helmet's ornamentation had maintained better than the rest of the garb, bronzed beard plates jutting out in a series of inverse V patterns until center gap was filled by a properly sat V with the small gap between it and flipped cousins holding a curious indent, one that for now sat empty. Axe glinted in the dying torchlight, flickering flames snuffed by the cold sea winds now blowing into the prison hold. Blade bore golden filigree along its edges, flowing ribbons of metal turned into a river of terrible battles and vicious close combats immortalized on the faces of a weapon that would only expand such a legacy.

    "I'm gonna wrench yer guts out , yer gonna wish that there bolt had been merciful enough to kill ye outright. Yer death will be quick, but it will not be painless." Unless stopped it was pretty clear what the dwarf's thoughts on slaver turned slave's offer were.
  10. Saraph Midas Casavay Well-Known Member

    The Kislevite noticed her words being rendered inaudible, and shrugged instead, hushing a quick, "I'll share it later" as a quite fortunate and unbelieveable series of events occurred. She sent a quick prayer of thanks to Shallya when the bald man opened her and the Averlanderin's cage, and scurried outside - thanking the man only after she was already standing and unsuccessfully stretching away the pain: "I can't express enough thanks, good man."

    And yet, there was a frown on her face as she examined the Dark Elf's pitiful state while waiting for an opportunity to look for her own belongings. When her turn came, she quickly dressed back up into more familiar garments, red-grey noble's coat already giving her a more respectable silhouette even simple as it was, and the lovingly kept cuirass of lamellar plates hugging her torso with the love only a good piece of armour could provide. With a softness that surprised herself, she caressed the gilded edges, felt the intricate, though not excessively lavish, banded pattern graved into them. Blade and axe secured at her belt soon thereafter, the noble added her thoughts to the debate about the Dark Elf even as she fixed her pelt to the armour.

    "I'll have no part in torture or murder, but if you think it's what the rat deserves, I won't stop you, either." She looked down to the heavily armoured dwarf. "Master dwarf, all I would ask is that we be quick about it. The ship seems to be sinking." (@DeranVendar )

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