Current Tasks The New Day Useful links Road to Ashport Google sheets OOC thread. Task Archive Spoiler Introduction Roleplay Rules The Premise Spoiler The roleplay will take place in the warhammer fantasy universe, set in the city of Ashport, which somehow survived the end times. The players will form in to a warband, and attempt to survive the city's horrors. Roleplay Style Spoiler This will be a casual roleplay. I'd ask that players post at least a couple of times per week, though you'll go further if you post daily. Statistics and Skills Spoiler There are statistics involved, but they're more for me than you. There are no skills involved, as they're useless to this style of RP. The Characters Spoiler I will accept characters of most warhammer fantasy races. I will not accepted Beastmen, Undead or Ogres. Consideration would be given for Skaven, Ork or Chaos characters, as I have reservations about them. New characters cannot be professionally trained soldiers/warriors. They may have some training, but only up to militia level (i.e, not much). All new characters are considered as speaking Riekspiel (the language of The Empire) as well as, if not from The Empire, their native tongue. Missions Spoiler There won't be a fixed mission structure. Instead the warband leader will delegate tasks to individuals, or groups, as they see fit. How players go about those tasks is largely up to them. The more imaginative, the better.
Introduction The night air bit at Daveth's exposed skin, forcing a series of shivers from the man. His clothes--little more than rags, really--did nothing to protect him from the elements. After four days on the road, hands bound and tied to the next man, being made to walk for hours on end, the man was exhausted. More so than he had ever been in his life. More so than he could have ever imagined was even possible. Daveth's stomach growled something fierce. and barely fed. The scent of fresh meat lingered from the campfire a little further on. Of course, that food wasn't for him, or his fellow prisoners. The fact that the burning meat used to belong to a fellow prisoner should have sickened Daveth. It's funny what desperation and starvation can do to a man. It had been months now since Daveth last ate beside a warm fire. That before the Everchosen had damned them all. He that life even been real? Daveth could scarcely remember. He'd been a soldier, once, but that was so, so long ago now. After the end, he had found work as a caravan guard. That was where his captors found him. Perhaps he was fortunate--after all, most of his friends had perished there and then. Or perhaps he was the unfortunate one, and they were lucky to have escaped his fate? ''You! Stop whimpering,'' one of the captors, demanded of another prisoner. He was an ugly sod--Jakobs, they called him. He raised his fist at the petite woman, who was shivering uncontrollably. Was it the cold, or the fear in her? Either way, she let out another whimper. Jakobs blasted her right across his cheek and jaw, his large hand firmly embedded in to the woman's face. The prisoner recoiled, her head bouncing off the tree behind. She flopped in to a heap, out cold, blood trickling from his nose. Jakobs simply laughed, and wandered away.The others in the group sat silent. It was but another reminder of the barbarism of their captors. Daveth stared at the unconscious prisoner. Was this their fate now? To be tied, beaten, dragged around, perhaps sold--or even simply killed? All for the sport of the damned greenskins? He closed his eyes, and tried to remember what home had looked like, of what she had looked like. It was fading more each day. What had once been a memory, fresh and treasured, seemed now to be almost a memory of a memory. His moment of concentration was shattered by growls, and the clash of metal against metal--battle! The guards around him burst in to life, and began running in various directions. A volley of arrows flew by, cutting three of them down where they stood. The slaver's men swung at the dark, but caught nothing of their foes. Another fell, a dagger protruding from his skull. Daveth dived forward, and grabbed the blade. ''What you doing?'' another prisoner, a dwarf, asked. ''Trying to get us the hell out of here,'' Daveth responded. He ran the blade over his bindings, which were rudimentary and couldn't hold up to a sharpened dagger. The rope snapped and fell away. Daveth's wrist moaned in their absence. He felt at the indents in his skin, grateful to be able to make his limbs independently of each other--or the next prisoner along. With his binds gone, Daveth began to untie the rest of the group. All about the place, more guards fell. Blood soiled the earth, and the stench of death violated the air. Who were these mysterious attackers? A rescue party, perhaps? But how could they have known where the prisoners were? Perhaps bandits, then? Daveth didn't know, but his gut told him that he'd be best served if he didn't stick around to find out. One of the prisoners, a man by the name of Velan, made a run toward a guard's sword, but was shot down before he got there. Whatever was that way, Daveth certainly knew he'd be best served going in the opposite direction ''We have to leave. Now!'' Daveth commanded. The group were barely armed and underfed. Their best bet was to get to the city that the slaver's men had been talking about--Ashport--of that, Daveth had no doubt. From what he had learned, they were only a few miles south of the city. If they were to have any chance of surviving the night, then that was likely their best bet... --End Introduction-- OK then. So here we have our prisoners following Daveth toward the city of Ashport. Use this time to get to know each other, or to ask questions of Daveth. It's dark, and you're moving fairly fast, but it's too far to just run the whole way. So go all sneaky like, and with any luck it won't be long before the city is in sight.
Branner Korven had no problem with keeping out of sight. His small frame had kept him below notice most of the time anyways. When Daveth untied him, he spotted a short bow with a quiver on a dead guard nearby, but realized that it might be wiser to follow the bearded man as he saw another prisoner shot down. Throwing his green hunting cloak on along with the hood that concealed his face, the young man headed away from the sounds of battle as quickly as possible. Darting from tree to tree was pretty much muscle memory for Branner at this point, so he snuck from shadow to shadow, staying out of sight while moving toward Ashport.
Ritz felt like a broken plaything, at the mercy of a fate unshared by the Horned Rat with which he had so fondly worshiped so long ago. He had been great once, in a position many of his kind could only dream of. That power, that feeling of being able to control the future and ones own destiny, was unparalleled. That made it all the worse with being imprisoned by these filthy Manthings! Oh how he had fallen from grace, how the world had been brought to its knees and begged dry the hopes of all. He had survived while so many others had not. Ritz could not tell rather it was a blessing or a curse, but at the end of the day he was thankful to be alive. Yet his current position made him question that thanks, made him wonder if his existence might have been better off with the dead. Armed with only a ragged robe and his knowledge, hidden within a half-starved body, Ritz could only hope for the best. He had just hoped that the best would have been more of the savior type rather than the blind murdering kind. The attackers knew not the difference between slave and enslaved, a dwarfthing next to him who had been bound by the slavers was brought to a swift end by a random projectile. Such a scene had stricken Ritz with a sense of grave concern for his own well-being, a state of mind that was suddenly uplifted as his own bounds were cut clean through by a... manthing of all creatures. He shot the human a look, of shock and awe. He could hardly believe it, never would a Skaven consider his life be saved by a being outside their own Clan. Than again, a Skaven hardly ever expected to be saved at all. To busy were they looking behind their backs least they be stabbed by a rival lurking in the shadows. "Come" the other prisoner shouted, and Ritz was not so stubborn as to not see a chance to free oneself from the shackles placed upon him unjustly. Swiftly, with the clumsy speed and nimble agility befitting his race, Ritz followed his apparent savior closely. He did not know his saviors name, nor did he know him personally, but Ritz made to stride after him with a silent prayer that they, or at the very least he, make it out of this alive and well.
Fate had not been kind to Jürg. Immediately he had been recognized as a member of the higher social classes, and treated accordingly, recieving a good beating quite often so as to better his chances in the arena. At least that was their "casus pugnii", more likely they just wanted revenge against an established order into which he had simply better fit. All that up there though? Thats just posh talk for explaining why they beat the shit out of him. The fact now was that they had escaped and probably wouldn't see their captors again, unless they really wanted to trapse back over to stare at a bunch of corpses. With legs stiff and cold, hose were fashionable but not too warm, he creapt after the other prisoners. There seemed to be a rather dashing rouge who had freed them, a dwarf and, Sigmar and the saints what was that? A man-rat? Why the hell had he saved that thing, there was something that the hearlds had crowed about for days, the fall of Ubersreik to the vermin!
''Where are you taking us?'' the dwarf asked in a too-loud voice. Trust a dwarf to entirely miss the point of sneaking, Daveth mused. ''Ashport,'' he said. It's a little further this way. ''And why are we going there?'' ''Well, do you want to stay out in this forest, and wait to die? Because I surely don't!'' The dwarf grunted, but offered no resistance to the notion. The group moved in, using the cover of the treeline where possible, until they found themselves at a dirt road. ''Wait,'' Daveth exclaimed in a hushed tone, raising a hand. ''Everyone down.''
As they approached the road, the dwarf started demanding questions from the man named Daveth. By the way Daveth held his composure and didn't lose his temper on the dwarf, Branner could see that Daveth is a natural leader, at least in times of crisis. This led the green hooded young man to gain respect for the bearded man. As the escapees started to cross the open road, Daveth suddenly called for everyone to get down. Branner quickly scurried up a nearby tree, his lithe figure concealing nicely in the mass of leaves above, with his green cloak further hiding him from prying eyes. At this level Branner could see quite a distance down either side of the road, and so kept watch while the others found what hiding spots they could below.
From his elevated position, Branner could see several shapes in the forest at the opposite side of the dirt track. Humanoid, certainly, but in the dark of night it was impossible to be sure exactly what, or who, they might be.
Branner, seeing that everyone else had hunker down and hid themselves as best they could below, decided to do the same in the tree. However, before those shapes got any nearer, he subtly tosses a thin stick down near Daveth, silently alerting the bearded man of his position and quietly waiting for any instructions he may have for Branner.
