Siege Of Bordrin's Watch
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- Start date
Velmont
First Post
"Nice work..." repeat Chris at the other half-ork with some disdain. "I should have just scared them. But that war put me on the edge. I know that kind of event will become too frequent to my taste. I can handle three of there kind, but I might have difficulty against a zealous professional or a paranoid crowd... I just hope I won't have a thief guild on my back over that."
Chris look at the woman who just entered. "Talking about it, it start to be crowdy in here."
Chris look at the woman who just entered. "Talking about it, it start to be crowdy in here."
renau1g
First Post
Tregar was deep in meditation when a loud knocking brought him back to his senses, the dwarves first thought was "Can't they read the sign? We're closed, leave me alone". After shaking the cobwebs out, he listened closer and realized it was the voice of the Mattthews boy... what was his name again, Robal... no that wasn't it, Ribin? No that's not right either, Robin!" .
Standing up and carefully returning his box back underneath the floor, Tregar called out "Be right there, Robin, just finishing up some work" as he throws on the blacksmith apron and gloves for show and grabs some soot from the now cool furnace to rub on his face. The disguise complete, Tregar closed off the work area, lest the boy get interested, and went to his back door.
"Now what did your pa tell you 'bout knocking when someone ain't wanting to be found?" Tregar says angrily as he opens the door, his face a mask of fury, for a moment, then he drops the facade and laughs, the sound deep and comforting, as he places his hand on the boys shoulder. "Now I've been watching you since you were up to my waist, and by the way you're growing now, I'll be the one at your waist pretty soon. What's your ma feeding you out there?"/COLOR] Tregar jokes.
He was about to invite the boy in for a snack, the lad always liked the apple pies he bought from Prena the cook, but he was nervous he didn't have the time right now. The dwarf thought for a moment then said, "I've got your father's scythe ready, just need to put the finishing touches on it. C'mon in and I'll fix you something that'll put some meat on those scrawny bones" opening the door to let the boy in.
EvolutionKB
First Post
Wendigo lay on his stomach on the ridge overlooking the monastery. He had just returned from a pilgrimage. He had left a Drellen's Ferry what only seemed like a few days ago. His legs were long and he moved quickly. The smoke on the horizon warned him of what he might find. The carrion birds circling confirmed it. The Monastery of the Sundered Chain was attacked. The forms below were unrecognizable, but they certainly were not dwarves.
Wendigo growled under his breath. By Moradin's Beard! Those that did this would pay, but he was no fool, he needed help. Wendigo stood, and ran, long legs carrying him to Overlook.
Overlook was abuzz when he arrived. Orcs gathered, they could be the ones responsible for the deaths of his brothers. No, not brothers, he had no family. Only Moradin mattered.
The shifter was nondescipt, he could be mistaken for a rural farmer. His head was bald, shaved. His sideburns and beard was long, in reverence to Moradin. He wore simple cotton breeches and shirt. The clothes helped cover the coarse hair that covered his body as well as his muscled frame. A silver chain hung from his neck, a large symbol of Moradin inscribed on a medallion. He held a fighting staff in one hand, but he didn't need it.
Wendigo's destination was the Temple of Moradin, but the sights, sounds, and smells of the city and it's many bodies slowed his pace.
Wendigo growled under his breath. By Moradin's Beard! Those that did this would pay, but he was no fool, he needed help. Wendigo stood, and ran, long legs carrying him to Overlook.
Overlook was abuzz when he arrived. Orcs gathered, they could be the ones responsible for the deaths of his brothers. No, not brothers, he had no family. Only Moradin mattered.
The shifter was nondescipt, he could be mistaken for a rural farmer. His head was bald, shaved. His sideburns and beard was long, in reverence to Moradin. He wore simple cotton breeches and shirt. The clothes helped cover the coarse hair that covered his body as well as his muscled frame. A silver chain hung from his neck, a large symbol of Moradin inscribed on a medallion. He held a fighting staff in one hand, but he didn't need it.
Wendigo's destination was the Temple of Moradin, but the sights, sounds, and smells of the city and it's many bodies slowed his pace.
The Digger
First Post
Tresa knelt before the altar and prayed for guidance. She had promised never to do another harm ever again. She had not made the oath official as had Henry, hers had been merely a promise made more to herself than to God, but...
She sighed and made herself as comfortable as possible on the stone flags. Her knees would be raw by morning but it was only by the Vigil that she would be able to make the decision.
--------------------------------------------------------
Henry walked slowly back to the abattoir. He had made his decision, and Father John had given his blessing, but it was still a momentous thing, to recant on an oath!
As he entered his quarters he took down his poleaxe and examined it closely before shaking his head. The protruding beak was grand for slaying cattle and for piercing heavy armour but the orc hordes would have no cattle, and little or no heavy armour. The small axe head was fine for animal work but he would need a larger, sharper head for the task ahead.
Tregar was the man...dwarf for this. Shouldn't take him more than an hour or so to sort this. The fighter stood and smiled. He could feel his blood warming already.
-------------------------------------------------------------
[sblock=OOC]Henry was just a name. But we seem to have a mega number of clerics and few defenders so I thought I might develop him a little.[/sblock]
Voda Vosa
First Post
A dwarf with a big scar on his face, that closed his right eye forever, looks the captain Durkik Forgeheart as he passed by, shouting his message to the peoples of Overlook. Gombar of the Firebelly clan, was leaning next to the entrance of the "Salty Mug" tavern. Gombar usually came there, to visit the barman, and old "friend" of his. For Gombar, "Friends" are those whom you have exchanged a good amount of fists with, lost a few teeth fighting with, or submerged in a sea of insults with. Those were his friends. Gombar is a though guy, with a harsh personality, a dread enemy and a valuable ally, he falls into violence way to often, although well natured, at least in his mind. A punch in the nose is well natured violence in his dictionary.
He is also a quite veteran dwarf. In his early times, he fought the orcs, and barely survived. His eye was lost in that battle, and the deep hate that it spawned in his heart against orcs has never since extinguished. After that he traveled the land, looking for the glory of battle, for the wealth of the land, and for his personal vendetta against the orcs. Many did the dwarven champion slain, but none satiate his bloodlust, none gave back his eye, or the many friends he lost in that terrible night.
The gold he earned was spent in booze to try and drought the bad old memories, in company, that did not made him happy, in better weaponry to slay more and more orcs, orcs who didn't had any relation with the events that took place on the Bloodstained walls, orcs whose blood was now on Gombar's hands.
One day, the dwarf had too much. Too much battles, too much dead friends buried, too much innocents blood staining his beard, deep black, like the void.
He locked his shield on his back, and his axe on his belt, and start walking, like only dwarves can do, with heavy and continuous steps, much like an extremely stubborn rhinoceros.
With his eye fixed in the horizon, it's said that Gombar walked for three complete days, not eating, not sleeping, not resting, until the gates of Overlook where before him.
Returning home was not the only thing the dwarf did. He tried to soft en his hardened heart, to open his mind to the idea that not every orc is evil, "... but most'o 'em" the always thought in a corner of his mind.
He put his skills at good use, teaching as instructors to the new guards and recruits of the city. In that time he met Durkik.
A fine warrior he was, far more intelligent than Gombar, Durkik became Captain of the militia soon after meeting him. They always shared a mug of ale or ten mugs of ale, or as many their stomachs could withstand before going unconscious.
He also met Tregar, a great blacksmith on Gombar's opinion, the best in town, although Tregar did not share that opinion. The trustworthy dwarf gave his very soul in each creation, and that was what Gombar admired the most. The lone veteran could watch the blacksmith working for hours and hours.
Gombar became a known citizen of Overlook, most people considered him crazy, since during the day, he became much introverted and silent, not talking too much for too long, not even to his friends. At night, and with a couple of ales on, the story was quite different. Gombar talked a lot, about his travels and his battles, about everything. That was how everyone heard the story of Gombar Firebelly, a sad story, most of it, but with a quite good message. Wise parents used it to school their children "...or you'll become like ol' Gombar" And the best part of it was that they could point out the lonely dwarf, wandering through the streets with his eye, lost in his own reality. Luckly for them their kids would grow up before they got to a tavern at night, were Gombar himself could tell a different story.
But that day, the lonely dwarf, gave a few steps into the streets, watching the captain's back. "Would'ya take an ol' dwarf to the fields 'f battle once more, fer the glory 'f Moradin and fer his own personal salvation?" Gombar Firebelly asked, with a voice of thunder and determination. A voice, Gombar himself had already forgot.
OOC: Here's Gombar Firebelly introduction. If I'm touching Tregar story in a way you don't like, please renau1g, let me know. Same thing about the captain. Sorry for any spelling errors, not my native language. I'll like if you could correct them and let me know the proper use of words, it's always good to learn
He is also a quite veteran dwarf. In his early times, he fought the orcs, and barely survived. His eye was lost in that battle, and the deep hate that it spawned in his heart against orcs has never since extinguished. After that he traveled the land, looking for the glory of battle, for the wealth of the land, and for his personal vendetta against the orcs. Many did the dwarven champion slain, but none satiate his bloodlust, none gave back his eye, or the many friends he lost in that terrible night.
The gold he earned was spent in booze to try and drought the bad old memories, in company, that did not made him happy, in better weaponry to slay more and more orcs, orcs who didn't had any relation with the events that took place on the Bloodstained walls, orcs whose blood was now on Gombar's hands.
One day, the dwarf had too much. Too much battles, too much dead friends buried, too much innocents blood staining his beard, deep black, like the void.
He locked his shield on his back, and his axe on his belt, and start walking, like only dwarves can do, with heavy and continuous steps, much like an extremely stubborn rhinoceros.
With his eye fixed in the horizon, it's said that Gombar walked for three complete days, not eating, not sleeping, not resting, until the gates of Overlook where before him.
Returning home was not the only thing the dwarf did. He tried to soft en his hardened heart, to open his mind to the idea that not every orc is evil, "... but most'o 'em" the always thought in a corner of his mind.
He put his skills at good use, teaching as instructors to the new guards and recruits of the city. In that time he met Durkik.
A fine warrior he was, far more intelligent than Gombar, Durkik became Captain of the militia soon after meeting him. They always shared a mug of ale or ten mugs of ale, or as many their stomachs could withstand before going unconscious.
He also met Tregar, a great blacksmith on Gombar's opinion, the best in town, although Tregar did not share that opinion. The trustworthy dwarf gave his very soul in each creation, and that was what Gombar admired the most. The lone veteran could watch the blacksmith working for hours and hours.
Gombar became a known citizen of Overlook, most people considered him crazy, since during the day, he became much introverted and silent, not talking too much for too long, not even to his friends. At night, and with a couple of ales on, the story was quite different. Gombar talked a lot, about his travels and his battles, about everything. That was how everyone heard the story of Gombar Firebelly, a sad story, most of it, but with a quite good message. Wise parents used it to school their children "...or you'll become like ol' Gombar" And the best part of it was that they could point out the lonely dwarf, wandering through the streets with his eye, lost in his own reality. Luckly for them their kids would grow up before they got to a tavern at night, were Gombar himself could tell a different story.
But that day, the lonely dwarf, gave a few steps into the streets, watching the captain's back. "Would'ya take an ol' dwarf to the fields 'f battle once more, fer the glory 'f Moradin and fer his own personal salvation?" Gombar Firebelly asked, with a voice of thunder and determination. A voice, Gombar himself had already forgot.
OOC: Here's Gombar Firebelly introduction. If I'm touching Tregar story in a way you don't like, please renau1g, let me know. Same thing about the captain. Sorry for any spelling errors, not my native language. I'll like if you could correct them and let me know the proper use of words, it's always good to learn
Last edited:
stonegod
Spawn of Khyber/LEB Judge
Dorn Thirae, Half-elf Political Dissident
Dorn Thirae, known as 'The Speaker of Truths', 'Tongue of Triumph', and 'Liberator of Overlook', how do you plead?
The sun was high over High Hall. In one of the many courts, a crowd was gathered. Dwarves, dour and serious. Humans, weighing their advantage in the court case. Halflings and gnomes just curious. And women.
Lots of women.
At the front, flanked by two officers of the court, was a tall half-elf in shackles. He had a proud bearing, lean build, and swarthy skin accented by his shaved head. Even before the court, his surety of action was clear. Dorn was a man on a mission.
Not Guilty
The judge, a older dwarven matron, looked down on the half-elf over her glasses and tsked once. We have evidence of broadsheets with your nom-de-plum decrying the 'Dwarven Oppressors' and calling for 'True Representation' for 'Elsir Vale's Common Interests.' Multiple witnesses have reported your disruption of civil matters, most recently Captain Forgeheart's official recruiting rounds. Can you explain this?
Dorn smiled. A flighty slip of a girl in the back fainted.
There's nothing to explain. I did all of those things, and more, I freely admit. It is every citizens duty to resist tyranny. This latest 'conscription' against a constant made up 'threat' is nothing more than more means to keep the populace in fear, fearful to assert their basic rights for self governance. This hoax...
The murmur in the crowd, sighs, gasps, and yells drowned out Dorn's ramblings. The judge banged her gavel hard against the marble mantle.
Order! Order! Her stern gaze quieted and accosted the crowd, but Dorn only continued his self-assured smile. The judge turned her steely gaze to him. So you admit freely to all of these incidents. Very well. Take him to the hold. I will be discuss sentencing.
Dorn continued to smile, the smile of a vindicated man. That, or a martyr.
*****
In her chambers, Her Honor Borra Proudstone examine the files on Dorn. The man was more of a nuisance than anything else... but a nuisance that was drawing attention. And his words were dangerously close to those rumored by who wanted to displace the Council, though no tie to them was evident. Dorn did appear to really be a patriot, his brief stint as part of the Watch proved that. He was misguided.
She glanced out her high window, seeing the cart of Forgeheart making his rounds. If Thirae truly does want to see what is best for Overlook... The dwarf smiled. It would kill two birds with one stone: He'd either show his true colors as a son of Overlook defending it against its darkest hour... or he'd die trying.
She began the paperwork.
Dorn Thirae, known as 'The Speaker of Truths', 'Tongue of Triumph', and 'Liberator of Overlook', how do you plead?
The sun was high over High Hall. In one of the many courts, a crowd was gathered. Dwarves, dour and serious. Humans, weighing their advantage in the court case. Halflings and gnomes just curious. And women.
Lots of women.
At the front, flanked by two officers of the court, was a tall half-elf in shackles. He had a proud bearing, lean build, and swarthy skin accented by his shaved head. Even before the court, his surety of action was clear. Dorn was a man on a mission.
Not Guilty
The judge, a older dwarven matron, looked down on the half-elf over her glasses and tsked once. We have evidence of broadsheets with your nom-de-plum decrying the 'Dwarven Oppressors' and calling for 'True Representation' for 'Elsir Vale's Common Interests.' Multiple witnesses have reported your disruption of civil matters, most recently Captain Forgeheart's official recruiting rounds. Can you explain this?
Dorn smiled. A flighty slip of a girl in the back fainted.
There's nothing to explain. I did all of those things, and more, I freely admit. It is every citizens duty to resist tyranny. This latest 'conscription' against a constant made up 'threat' is nothing more than more means to keep the populace in fear, fearful to assert their basic rights for self governance. This hoax...
The murmur in the crowd, sighs, gasps, and yells drowned out Dorn's ramblings. The judge banged her gavel hard against the marble mantle.
Order! Order! Her stern gaze quieted and accosted the crowd, but Dorn only continued his self-assured smile. The judge turned her steely gaze to him. So you admit freely to all of these incidents. Very well. Take him to the hold. I will be discuss sentencing.
Dorn continued to smile, the smile of a vindicated man. That, or a martyr.
*****
In her chambers, Her Honor Borra Proudstone examine the files on Dorn. The man was more of a nuisance than anything else... but a nuisance that was drawing attention. And his words were dangerously close to those rumored by who wanted to displace the Council, though no tie to them was evident. Dorn did appear to really be a patriot, his brief stint as part of the Watch proved that. He was misguided.
She glanced out her high window, seeing the cart of Forgeheart making his rounds. If Thirae truly does want to see what is best for Overlook... The dwarf smiled. It would kill two birds with one stone: He'd either show his true colors as a son of Overlook defending it against its darkest hour... or he'd die trying.
She began the paperwork.
Insight
Adventurer
"Ya haven't?" Gloomblade said with a hearty laugh. "Might have sumethin ta do with me jus' gettin' here. Fresh out of Sub Saan Prison. Know the place? I don't reckon ya would."
Gloomblade took a slight draw from his whiskey. He turned around to took at the bar's newcomers. "Looks like this place is filling up," he remarked.
Jemal
Adventurer
"Aye, tis a popular place... Krunk's that is, not the prison." Michelle grinned - Of course she'd never been there, but not for lack of the guards trying.
"Though now ya've gone and got a girl curious as to what had ya in there in the first place, Nasty little hole like that.." She sets down her second cup and raises her eyebrows expectantly
"Though now ya've gone and got a girl curious as to what had ya in there in the first place, Nasty little hole like that.." She sets down her second cup and raises her eyebrows expectantly
EvolutionKB
First Post
Once Wendigo has acclimated himself to the new sights and smells of this city, he began moving once again. Raised in the monastery, the biggest place he had been was only Drellin's Ferry, and that was just recently.
The shifter's stomach growled and he was reminded it had been some time since he ate. He bought a meat pie from a street merchant. It's rich gravy and tender meat was much more than he had at the monastery.
Trying to get an idea of where he was in the city, Wendigo looked around. It was then that he saw a dwarf clad in heavy robes, hands in the folds of the garment, a grave look upon his face. "What troubles you Moradin's son?"
The dwarf looks up wrinkling his nose at the sweaty shifter. "I am no son of Moradin, once I stopped being able to provide for my family, Moradin stopped hearing my prayers." The dwarf pulled his right arm from his robes, it ended with an ugly stump at his elbow.
The shifter nods gravely. "Moradin always listens. You must look for signs, signs that show him what you must do." The shifter looks over the dwarf insightfully. Scars crisscrossed his arms, even his good one. His beard was salt and peppered and his skin was weathered. He was still strong and sturdy, with a thick trunk and broad shoulders. "You were a warrior." It was not a question.
"I was. Damn orcs hacked off my arm in their last raid. My wife stood by me, and putting food on the table was a struggle once I couldn't do my job as well." The dwarf sighs. "Now my son wants to join the militia, to push back the oncoming horde."
The shifter nods, seeing what was bothering the elder dwarf. "Your son is right to want to protect his home. As a father, you have provided for him a home he wants to save. No matter your feelings of what you have done and what have befell you, help your son. Help him prepare for what his coming. You are still a warrior, the spirit of the warrior never dies, even if the body changes. Teach him what you know so he may come back to you. That will be far more valuable than any other thing to him right now."
The dwarf nods. "Thank you priest. I've never met a shifter priest of Moradin before, but you've gotta be the best around."
"You are welcome, but I am no priest." The shifter grasps the holy symbol and bows quickly before moving away into the crowds.
The shifter's stomach growled and he was reminded it had been some time since he ate. He bought a meat pie from a street merchant. It's rich gravy and tender meat was much more than he had at the monastery.
Trying to get an idea of where he was in the city, Wendigo looked around. It was then that he saw a dwarf clad in heavy robes, hands in the folds of the garment, a grave look upon his face. "What troubles you Moradin's son?"
The dwarf looks up wrinkling his nose at the sweaty shifter. "I am no son of Moradin, once I stopped being able to provide for my family, Moradin stopped hearing my prayers." The dwarf pulled his right arm from his robes, it ended with an ugly stump at his elbow.
The shifter nods gravely. "Moradin always listens. You must look for signs, signs that show him what you must do." The shifter looks over the dwarf insightfully. Scars crisscrossed his arms, even his good one. His beard was salt and peppered and his skin was weathered. He was still strong and sturdy, with a thick trunk and broad shoulders. "You were a warrior." It was not a question.
"I was. Damn orcs hacked off my arm in their last raid. My wife stood by me, and putting food on the table was a struggle once I couldn't do my job as well." The dwarf sighs. "Now my son wants to join the militia, to push back the oncoming horde."
The shifter nods, seeing what was bothering the elder dwarf. "Your son is right to want to protect his home. As a father, you have provided for him a home he wants to save. No matter your feelings of what you have done and what have befell you, help your son. Help him prepare for what his coming. You are still a warrior, the spirit of the warrior never dies, even if the body changes. Teach him what you know so he may come back to you. That will be far more valuable than any other thing to him right now."
The dwarf nods. "Thank you priest. I've never met a shifter priest of Moradin before, but you've gotta be the best around."
"You are welcome, but I am no priest." The shifter grasps the holy symbol and bows quickly before moving away into the crowds.
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