Right, well, since I had to leave before my last RP really got underway I have decided to do another one. However this is going to be far more open, and has a genuinely interesting plot (well at least I think so, certainly better developed them my last). This RP will see you travel along way into the east. That’s right, we are leaving the old world, and thanks to the Map in WD 300 we are pressing east for a whole new adventure. I am looking for about 6 characters. However there will be a few interesting changes to the usual character choice system. The rules are based upon those used by chilli that we created and so are well tested ;). Right, before I tell you anything I will provide the opening post for you, so you have some idea how your characters will need to be tuned so they fit in.

The “Last stop Tavern” in the world’s Edge Mountains rocked a little as a minor shock rumbled the once stable region home to the Dwarfs. Inside six warriors sat around the fire, looking up from their seats to the tall man standing before them. He wore thick furs over the top of his purple robes and gold breastplate. His shoulder length hair was browny red, much like a dwarfs beard. At his side stood two burley men, dressed in a similar way to their employer. The two men’s large bodies wrapped tightly in huge fur skins, their heavy black moustaches and features clearly showing them to be from Kislev, whilst their ornate swords showed signs of being crafted by Dwarfs. Indeed Lorenzo De Fuego was a rich man. His estate in the countryside out side of Remas was huge. Inheriting his father’s business and wealth Lorenzo specialises in trade with the east, with the Cathayans. He has in essence cornered the market on the important of Cathayan goods, and he knew it.

Clearing his throat Lorenzo raised his tankard to the warriors assembled before him – the warriors did the same. “Well this will be your last drink of Dwarf beer for some time,” he laughed. “As you know I am employing you to escort a small train of goods to Cathay and then return with Cathayan goods and my men who are waiting for you. I realise this is a dangerous and long journey, but you will, as you know be handsomely rewarded for your troubles. You will leave with 10 of my men as well as my brother who as yet to arrive when dawn breaks in just a few hours, so what are your names?”

So as you can see you will need to make characters compatible with what was mentioned above, i.e. you must be able to explain why you are there. In fact this will be a requirement of your character sheet. In your history you must include your reasons for undertaking this mission as well as how you got to the Tavern, after all its not exactly in the hub of the old world. It is safe to say you answered poster or Criers, but a little detail on how you travelled to the Tavern and from where is necessary.

Races, you may be the usual Elf, Human and Dwarf and in addition you may be an Ogre or a Halfling (provided the character is serious). Yup that’s right, you can be a big guy or a little guy. However I will not accept many of any type of character other then Humans. I will also not take more then one Ogre and Slayer for the best thing about these characters is how they react to the other members of the group. However you won’t know who else has submitted a character and of what race, and I won’t necessarily tell you that you have failed to make it because of race until we begin, so if you want to play it safe humans are the way to go. Needless to say it is the best characters that get in, and not the first to submit. The character sheet is below.

Name:

Physical Description:

Equipment:

History:

Anything else: (basically anything that you want to add that doesn’t fit in above)

One last thing. All OT talk in this thread must be put in italics so as to show it is OT. This will just make things easier to follow. As per usual PM me your character sheets. Oh and no Vampires – period.

Thanks

P.S. If a mod could stickie this that would be great.

Damn, really wanted to enter a skink priest. I'm really into my lizzies at the moment, and me and chilli have been talking about the idea of a skink in an RP, and I had the perfect idea too. Something about being sent by a slann to watch over what happens, and report back telepathically. So the slann can observe whats happening, because he's sensing these goods have some other sinister purpose. Well, something like that, but it would have given more scope to those obviously wierd goods. :P


Anyway, can't keep rambling about things I can't have. I must say I am very interested in entering even without being a skink. I've got really hooked on RPs at the moment, and I'd love to enter. I'll have a think about a character, and see what happens. ^_^ You'll get it this weekend if I'm entering ^_^

The thing with the skink is can you truely explain why any one would hire him to protect a caravan? Send us a PM and we can have a chat about it. Could be a possibility. We shall see...

I forgot to say, don't worry, the plot won't be stuck to baby sitting the caravan. It will be a great explority adventure. :D

*Do I try and do 4 rpg's. Well yes!*
Count me in. Man, I should try and not be so addicted to rpgs.

Excellent. Looking forward to your character

I want to join... will send you a pm tonight.

By your request, this topic is pinned.

I'll try to create a character for you RPG today, Ras. It'd be an honor to throw myself into it.

[i]Thank you Drauthnir.

I reckon we should be able to start about mid week, because I have had quite a bit of input. Unfortunatly Chili had to decline...

Hang on: sorry to overrule Drauthnir, but Rasputin, you PM me saying the Sticky section here is clogged up and then you ask for your own one up here? I'll reiterate the policy: the main thread from any RPG that is finished is pinned, and locked, so that people can look at them as examples but can't post on them and distract attention from live RPs. Dead RPs are locked for the same reason. Live RPs have nothing done to them at all.

Poo, sorry I forgot about that. I thought it was the mian thread of running ones as well. My bad. Sorry every body.

Edit: Good news. I have had a good few characters entered a few more promissed and a few more who are interested. It is hihgly possible that I may have to take another charcter or two. It also looks possible that we may be able to start fairly soon. If those who have promissed their characters (Cal & RG) get them in then that would be great, and if those of you who said they might be interested, it would also be great if you could make up your minds soon(ish) that way I will know when we can start. As yet we have an almost entirely human band. No ogre of halfling submissions. How sad.

Cheers,

Ras

Sorry for the double post.

The Silver Road Characters:


Aesgreth
Name: Jacques Duchamp

Race: Human

Physical Appearance: A far cry from the examplary bretonnian Knight, Jacques is garbed in armour that is battered and worn, whatever heraldry it once bore scoured off by the elements and neglect. His face is hard and unsmiling, and as often as not, he can be seen scowling at the world around him, as though daring anything and anyone to take offense. His hair is light brown in color, though it is beginning to grey with age, and is cut very short, revealing that he still holds some adherence to his old military traditions, while his eyes are dark blue, and burn constantly with a pointless rage. His manner is every bit as brusque and offensive as one could expect from his demeanor; no trace of the civility of the knighthood can be gleaned from any of his words or actions. He is tall and well built, though his body is as scarred and battered as the armour that protects it, and he moves with an easy, balanced gait, both on his horse and off it. Across his back hangs a heavy, chipped shield, also scoured of any heraldry, and at his side hangs a longsword, the hilt of which is a stylized panther head.

History: Jacques rarely speaks of his past, save when deep in his cups, and when he does, his slurred, accented words are often hard to follow. Nevertheless, one can glean that he was, at one point, a knight in the service of the Duc de Mausson, and that during some battle, "his will was found wanting," though whether it was cowardice, treachery, or something else that precipitated his fall, he never does tell. He has since been wandering across the old world as a sword for hire, with mixed results; apparently, he has guarded caravans like this one before, and heard of this job from another mercenary who had once shared a similar job with him, who was unable to take it himself, for reasons unknown.

WS BS S T I Int Wp Nv Ld Speed
65 50 55 60 50 60 60 80 70 5

Equipment: Weakened Full plate (Armour value 8). Arming sword (2 D6 +5), Shield and Warhorse (unbarded).
Gold: 0gd

---------------------




Drauthnir:
Name: Marco de Dolus

Physical Description: An Estalian man of average build, with a neatly trimmed goatee and short black hair. His bronze coloured armour is decorated only with a golden insignia, though it is not one that is very widely known. He claims it is his family crest. His helmet is topped with a dark blue plume, matching his undershirt and his short cape that reaches as low as his knees. The idea of his mercenaries was to look as noble as the wealthy man who hires them. His brown eyes stare with curiosity in every new city he enters. Curiosity, if not suspicion.
He’s obviously a mercenary…

History: Marco de Dolus has lived as a mercenary since his teens, because his father was a mercenary, and his father before. In this case, the Dolus family was at the head of a mercenary group well known in Estalia and certain urban centers of the Empire. This group specialized in bodyguard service, often hired by wealthy merchant princes or governors for protection, or even to prevent assassination if it was a feared possibility. There was good money in it, but the mercenary band was rumoured to have ties to an Estalian crime gang, which may have been the cause of certain financial instability, and definitely lead to the death of Marco’s father.
The Dolus mercenary group was finding less work when Archaon spilled his armies into the Old World – nobles suddenly preferred hiring armies to hiring a band of bodyguards! As a result, the band was broken. Some members mutinied and wandered off to look for work in the war. Marco de Dolus, however, wandered in search of more exotic opportunities. In the city Remas his wanderlust brought him to a man by the name of Fuego. A very wealthy man by the name of Fuego. This nobleman needed an escort for his caravan to Cathay, and Marco, in great need of work, accepted. Who is he to refuse an excellent pay and a chance to meet a new land?
The only condition Fuego made to Marco was that Marco had to accompany him to the World’s Edge first, in order to gather more men. Normally, Marco would be insulted, but he no longer had a mercenary band to share that insult with.

Anything else: While making his way through Nuln, Marco was approached by one of his former hired swords, a man named Francis Waldemar. Francis was carrying with him news about the ill fates of certain members of their former mercenary group. The gang they had been connected to (a connection that supposedly ended with the death of Marcus’ father) were more than displeased about their loss of their ‘property’ – the mercenary group itself. Certain members were being assassinated – an ironic end for members of such a business as the one they had. Since then, Marco has been wary of the possibility that the gang may really be out to eliminate the remains.

WS BS S T I Int Wp Nv Ld Speed
60 60 55 60 50 60 60 75 70 5

Equipment: Breast Plate (AV 4), Greaves (AV 4), Open bottomed Helm (AV5), Crossbow (D6+6), Short Sword (2D6 +1), provsions x2, rope (12 Ft).
Gold: 90gd

--------------------




Xarhain
Name: Taalric

Physical Description: Taalric is a giant of a man, standing fully a head taller than the average human, with shoulders twice that of a normal mans. He possesses an extremely wild look, accompanied by sharp blue eyes, and an even wilder beard. His hair is shoulder length and black, and every bit the equal of his beards untidiness. He wears plate armour fashioned by the best blacksmiths of Middenheim, and carries a Teutogen great hammer. But the most prominent and noticeable feature of Taalric is the huge bearskin coat he wears, draped over his shoulders, and almost reaching the floor. The bear was obviously a white bear of the mountains, and looks as if it was bigger in life than even the giant Taalric himself.

History: Named after the brother of the great Ulrican God Taal, Taalric is a proud member of the Teutogen Guard of Ulricsberg. He was hand picked to become one of the famous warriors after great feats of battle, and fought for a further eleven unremarkable years in their ranks. Although this in itself was a great honour, Taalric always strove for more. He was forever begging for a real quest. He wanted to lead, discover, make a difference. Not be another of the crowd that some other hero makes a difference to.
Finally he must have proven his worth to those that mattered, and woke up one morning with a letter clutched in his hand. The strange experience turned to one of joy, as he read the letter that detailed he was to go on a special adventure. His superiors apparently owed help as part of an alliance, and vowed to send their best warrior from their own personal guard. Taalric was honoured to be chosen as that warrior, and set off on a long perilous journey East, to the Worlds Edge Mountains.
His journey was one of great learning for him. He decided early on to make the journey on his own, as he wanted to make a special pilgrimage to the highest summit. It was something he had always wanted to do, so he stocked up with just enough supplies to get to his destination without weighing him down, and set off. However, he had not prepared for the intense cold of the freezing mountain tops. He had a certain arrogance about him, believing he had dealt with the coldest conditions before, and merely threw on his normal winter clothing, dismissing the trek across the mountains as nothing more than an ‘excursion‘.
He realised how wrong he was too late, and ironically would have died were it not for a giant white bear that attacked him. He had no time to draw his weapon, and wrestled the creature with his bare, numb hands. A long while of fighting ensued, until finally, Taalric succeeded in throwing the bear off a cliff face to rocks far below. Realising he would die of his wounds and the sheer cold before long, Taalric reluctantly started climbing down the small cliff section to get to the bears body. He managed to reach it without falling, and, after thanking the bear for it’s sacrifice, took it’s skin and slept in it overnight.
The next morning, he fashioned the skin into a cloak, and set off to continue his journey. Finally, after another two days of travelling, Taalric arrived at The “Last stop Tavern.” Weary and broken from his journey, he collapsed into a chair, ordered an ale, and fell asleep, content with the fact he had completed his ambition, and climbed the highest summit of the Worlds Edge mountains.

Anything else: Personality - Taalric is a generally nice person, but will mostly put himself before others. He would only sacrifice anything for those that had really proved themselves to him, otherwise simply looking after his own skin. He is slow to anger, and generally settles things with words and the threat of his huge armoured body. When he does fight, it would be inaccurate to go as far as to say he seemed like another man, but others do observe a change in Taalric whenever he battles for a particularly worthy cause. He loses all his normal coolness, concentrating solely on the fierce rigours of combat, as he slays the enemies of Ulricsberg in a bestial, wulfen fury.

WS BS S T I Int Wp Nv Ld Speed
65 50 55 60 50 60 60 80 70 5

Equipment: Full plate (Armour value 10) on all locations but head. Great hammer (2D10+3) provisions x3
Gold: 12gd

------------------------






King Ulric Flamebeard:
Name: Lord Ulthar Stonebeard

Physical Description:
Ulthar is a stout dwarf, clad in heavy plates of gromril armour and chainmail he bears a weight that even the imperial knights steeds would have problems with. He sports a bright red fiery beard, the envy of many of his former dawi brethren. A rune axe of his family is his weapon, along with a few throwing axes he purchased.

History:
Lord Ulthar is an old dwarf, now nearing his fith century upon the world. Yet he can still life a fully laydened cart whilst downing a full barrel of Bugmans, a feat of which very few can even hope to achieve. Once captain of the Ironbreakers Ulthar was ambushed by grobi, cut off from his brothers he ended up wondering the grobi caverns for years. He learnt the art of stalking them and hunting in stealth, even when clad in gromril armour. His passage would be marked by the ruined corpses of the greenskins that lain strewn in bloody macabre positions.
He finally escaped the caverns when the greenskins broke into his former home, even the years below the city couldn't damper his homesickness. Enraged he charged the goblins and hewed about him, his runic axe proving too much for their blackened cloth and pathetic armour as it sliced through it leaving bloody grooves and arcs in his wake. Afterwards he discovered his family were slain, unwanting to live in the city due to the memories he began to wander the mountains. Hunting grobi for centuries, but recently he has heard rumours of ogres taking over from the greenskins. Wanting to revenge his family he has become a mercenary, using this he wanders the mountains slaying those who attck his current emplyer. His years travelling the underway of the dwarfs and the mountain passes has made Ulthar apt at slaying big beasts such as trolls and ogres, in fact he enjoys nothing less than testing his skill against them.


WS BS S T I Int Wp Nv Ld Speed
70 65 68 68 50 65 80 80 60 4

Equipment: Gromril Amour on all Locations (Armour Value: 11) except head, Three throwing axes (2D6) and a battle axe (2D6 + 5) as well as one loaf of stonebread.
Gold: 35gd


----------------






Khrangar
Name: “Thunderfist” Davinus

Physical Description: Davinus stands 5 feet 10 inches tall. He wears a dark blue robe with all the known constellations on them that seem to glow as they do in the night sky. He carries a telescope for star gazing and has an elaborate staff that he is capable of using as a quarter staff. The staff head is that of the Twin-tailed comet that heralds great events, such as the coming of Sigmar. Davinus has raven black hair with eyes that are as blue as ice. When he gets angry, there seems to be a tempest in his eyes. They seem to flicker and get darker like that of a great storm. There is also a tattoo of his order’s symbol on the palms of his hands so that he can focus his powers if needed. He has a relatively pale complexion, which many thing is due to bad health, but is quite the opposite. He keeps a sack with various sky charts as well as a quill and ink so that he can draw new charts from what he finds. He also carries a dagger in a pocket in his robe as well as a small piece of rock that he believes came from a comet. (Its not Wyrd/Warpstone).

History: From a young age, Davinus was very interested in the constellations and stars. He would spend countless hours outside his father’s house staring at them while others slept. Each clear night, he would sneak out of his window and go lay on the rock at the top of the grassy hill where the cattle fed. His father did quite well, being a simple farmer and all, but he tried to do his best after Davinus’ mother died early in his life do to a strange disease that affected most of the village they had been a part of.
As he got older, Davinus found he could see things no others could, which raises suspicion. Sometimes he claimed he could see a sort of blue cloud about over in the sky when no one else could. A stranger overheard this and asked what else the boy could see. Davinus told the man and he said that he had the signs of a Celestial Wizard, the masters of the Heavens.
Davinus was taken to the College of Magic where he began his training as a Celestial Mage. He spent many years there and became adept in all forms of celestial magic, especially that of lightning. He was given his nickname by Commander Lucius Kraggard of the Altdorf Dragoons when Davinus had slain the Orc Boss Uzraka da’ Uge. The orc had charged Davinus, axe raised, ready for the finishing blow. Davinus summoned a great thundercloud and stuck down Uzraka mere feet from where the mage stood. It seemed that the orc’s size was used against him as the axe was used as a lightning rod and fried the massive beast on the spot. Lucius said that it was as if the bolt came from Davinus’ hand and said was as the orc was hit by a fist of thunder.
Later on in his career, Davinus began to wonder what other constellations were in the night sky, having only seen those of the Empire. He decided to head east and travel to Cathay to see what mysteries the heavens could reveal to him. Upon travelling through the World’s Edge Mountains, he noticed a small group of people heading towards what appeared to be some ruins. As he followed them further, he noticed that there was in fact, a tavern. He entered the tavern and overheard someone mention Cathay. Before hearing the mission, he decided to take it, as there were strength in numbers and he was travelling to Cathay anyway.

Anything Else: Davinus is somewhat of an oddity, as he rarely sleeps and there seems to be no degenerative effect because of it, he has trained himself to use little energy when possible and is used to staying awake for long periods of time, especially at night, as that is when he does his work. He is 32 years old.

WS BS S T I Int Wp Nv Ld Speed
55 65 55 58 53 72 80 75 70 4

Equipment: Quarter staff (3d6-2), provisions x3.
Gold: 63gd
Spells:
Illuminating Light:
<sum> Creates a ball of light in casters hand
<sum> Cast: 3+
Slow down:
<sum> Half speed to one enemy
<sum> Cast: 7+
Lightning bolt:
<sum> 2D10 +4 damage
<sum> Cast: 8+
Shocking touch:
<sum> 4D10 +4 damage, touch only
<sum> Cast: 9+



Goblit
Name: Drog the Brainless

Physical Description: Drog is unintelligent, even for an ogre, and over the years his fellow ogres within the Rockchewer tribe have taken advantage of this. He nailed two rhinox horns into the sides of his head after a Bruiser told him that it would secure his path into the ranks of the Ironguts (naturally it didn't, and Drog was simply laughed at when he asked his Tyrant when he would be promoted), and he cut his own left ear off with a sharp flint after being told by a mischievous gnoblar that it would grant him contact with his deity, the Great Maw (of course, all it achieved was giving Drog severe headaches occasionally, leading to him bashing anyone and anything with his club). His fellow ogres' finest hour, however, was when they gave Drog his own pet "gnoblar". It was in fact a wooden toy doll stolen from a merchant caravan but Drog, ever trusting, accepted that the "gnoblar" was just too shy to speak. Drog has lodged the doll behind his gutplate, leaving just its head showing so that it can see.
Other than these symbols of his gullibility, Drog looks very much like any other ogre. His arms bulge with sheer muscle, and his belly has grown large through many tribal feasts. He wears the typical ogre garb of an ogre bull - dark brown trousers, thick black boots and a rusty iron gutplate. His utter baldness and grey flesh have led many to liken his head to a small boulder.

Equipment: Drog carries his ogre club (four rocks the size of a human head bolted to a small tree trunk) and a rusty but lethal ironfist. Such is the size of his fist, Drog can equalled easily block blows and make his own assaults with it. The two rhinox horns bolted into his head also make hugely effective weapons when the ogre charges at his enemies.

History: Drog has never been very bright. Most scholars of the Old World would say that makes him no different to any other ogre, but they are of course wrong. Ogres possess a feral cunning that few other creatures can match. Drog, however, has none of this. He has always accepted as truth anything that anyone tells him, and this has always got him into trouble. Normally the only result of this was everyone laughing at him, (which he was blissfully ignorant of due to not understanding the joke) but once it had disastrous consequences.
The Rockchewer tribe had just ambushed and destroyed a merchant caravan, and were celebrating in the common style of the ogres: a great feast upon the scene of battle. Drog, having been abandoned by his fellow ogres, was sat alone next to one of the overturned carriages. It was at this point that a small group of Gnoblars scuttled towards him, giggling. The leader of the gang, a particularly ugly Gnoblar with a knife-blade in place of his nose, spoke up:
“Is you D…Drog?” the diminutive greenskin asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. “Da tyrant wants to see you. ‘e sez you’re gonna be a Bruiser.” Filled with excitement, Drog leapt ungracefully to his feet and ran over towards the Tyrant.
The Tyrant of the Rockchewers, Ug Mountaineater, was sat upon a large throne taken from the lead caravan. He was surrounded by his Ironguts and Bruisers. Too excited to think about what he was doing, Drog barged past the bigger ogres and stood in front of the Tyrant.
“When am I getting Bruiser’s gutplate?” Drog asked innocently. The Tyrant erupted with fury at the cheek of it and, still sitting, swung his mace at Drog’s head. The bull ducked, and smashed his club into the Tyrant’s knee. Then suddenly the Ironguts were upon him, pummelling the ogre bull with blows all over his body. Drog blacked out, not understanding what had happened.
Days later, when he finally awoke, his tribe were long gone. Showing the remarkable ability of the ogre anatomy to take punishment, Drog hefted himself up onto his feet. After asking his “gnoblar” if it was okay, Drog began to walk down the mountainside. It was obvious to even someone of his small intellect that he was no longer welcome in the tribe.
Within a few days Drog arrived at a tavern. Deciding that it would probably be best to get along with the humans now that he was all alone, he walked inside. The horns protruding from his head attracted a few surprised glances, but the inhabitants of the inn were mercenaries for the most part, and it was far from the strangest thing they had ever seen. Drog strolled up to the bar and ordered a drink.


WS BS S T I Int Wp Nv Ld Speed
50 45 78 75 40 40 70 65 55 4
Causes Fear
Equipment: Gut guard (Counts as Breast plate - AV: 6), Ironfist (Counts as hook sword (2D6) + Iron shield), Massive stone Club (2D10+5 – Can’t parry).
Gold: 20

OOC: Sorry for the tripple post. Any hoo, we begin! My appologies to Papillion, who didn't make it in. I recieved 7 characters and yours didn't make the cut. Sorry


IC:“Ah, muy bueno, Marco you are here. Come forward, why do you sit away at the bar? Hmm, many faces I do not recognise.” Lorenzo cast his eyes about the group of Mercenaries assembled before him. His gaze met that of Talric. “Ah ha.” He exclaimed joyously. “You must be the one that my friends in Middenhiem sent. Excellent, excellent.” Pulling up a stool from the Bar Lorenzo carefully placed himself upon it, before smiling once more. “I suppose I should give you some details, shouldn’t I.” On the whole the group nodded with appreciation, yet certain members made no gesture at all. “A Gratsi.” Lorenzo thanked the bar man as he handed out another pint of ale to all those in the tavern. “My family have been running this route for many generations. Over the years we have learnt many tricks and lessons on how to make the difficult trip to Cathay. For those without horses you will be provided with horses. It is essential that the convoy move at speed. There will be four coaches in the caravan. One shall be that carrying the funds. Another will be my brother’s personal coach; the third will be the rest coach. You see the caravan cannot stop at night, for it is not safe. As such the Caravan must a keep always moving. Those on rest detail will sleep in rest coach; as such none of you will miss a wink a sleep. The last coach is the ornate one. All plush and golden. It is a decoy. The inhabitance of the route aren’t a too bright a. They will make from the most decorated coach. This is why we have a decoy, just in case. My brother, who should be here, is bringing the rest of the men and the coaches. He is also bringing the eagle owls - at night they fly about a the coach, they are very good at spotting goblins at night.”

At that moment the door to the small tavern flung open, the icy winds of the dwarf realm rattling the bells that hung by the bar. In strode a decadently dressed man, nearly as wide as two. Beneath his fur throw over beautiful silk garments were plain to see. He was wearing more gold then most merchants would make in a year. His silky black hair was bundled up under an exotic hat, made of the smoothest fur imaginable. At his waist hung two swords, one clearly of Arabian origin whilst the other looked like an elf may have fashioned it. One could tell he had not walked far, for his shoes, that resembled southern oil lamps were hardly covered in snow at all. The man’s long black moustache was well trimmed and looked after. It was clear to all that this man was the epitome of decadence and good living, at the expense of countless others no doubt.
“Brother you are late.” Cried Lorenzo in a partly mocking, partly serious voice.
“Not in front of the servants,” replied the large man who had now stepped into the tavern, his two bodyguards closing the door behind him. “I managed to acquire half a dozen to accompany my company of five,” he continued.
“Five, you started with a seven!” Exclaimed Lorenzo.
“It is cold up in the mountains.” Replied the brother, clearly believing that to be an adequate excuse for the death of two men.
“Come brother, a fine bunch of mercenaries have headed our call this time.” Lorenzo turned back to the group. “This is my brother, Benivi, he will be coming with you to Wijin.” Once more he turned to speak to his brother. “And horses, you did bring extra?”
“Of course of course. Big horses, the best, fresh from Estalia. Looks like some of your mercenaries will have to ride on the coaches, aye.” He chortled a little at his own joke. His robust belly jiggling in time with his second and third chin.”
“Well I must be going. I have business in Nuln.” Lorenzo said as he stood up. “I shall see you back here in seven weeks then.” Fuego moved to the door, his two bodyguards following. As he was opening the door he spun his head, “And no stops at Pig Barter brother, I mean it. Seven weeks.” And he had vanished into the snow. The thick white blanket of soft ice enveloping Lorenzo and his two Kislevite bodyguards as they moved began their journey to Nuln.

"Horses eh?" said Taalric cooly, being the first to speak. "Well, if it gets the job done." He sat back, realxing and examining his companions.

An ogre. Wow. Can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting one of these before. At least not on a social basis. I wonder why he's got horns in his head? Better not to ask for now methinks.

A brettonian, and a dwarf. Slight stangers to me. Then again, all friendly company is welcome I suppose. That knights equipment doesn't look in too good shape. He should take pride in his armour, like me. And the dwarf to that extent, I suppose that must be gromril armour.

A wizard over there. I've heard nothing but good things about those clad in blue, so this should be fun to see what he's capable. A nice bit of magic support is greatly appreciated where I come from. I guess we'll discover if it's appreciated here.

And that Estalian. He looks more like my kind of man, and more support for us in the form of that there crossbow. Except the only real weapon he's got there is a little short sword. Pathtic instruments them. I hope he doesn't expect to actually kill stuff with that.

Taalric chuckled squietly at his private joke, and then spoke up, addressing Lorenzo.


"Tell me more about these men that will accompany us. Half a dozen plus five. So eleven in total right?" He paused to watch the amusing sight of a confused Drog with his huge fingers out stretched in front of him, trying to count lift up an eleventh finger. "Ahem, and what sort of equipment are they armed with? And what training too, basically what can we expect from them?"




OOC: Just have to make sure, as we dont have an OOC thread yet. Firstly, I was right to post here, i mean this is the game thread right? And also, italics is Taalrics own thoughts. I've seen it done in other rpgs so figured I'd use it here too. Hope it doesn't contradict with the writing further up. Or even if I'm supposed to write down my thoughts in this rp.

The culturally varied mercenaries were a little tense in the present of the other mercenaries. The Estalian decided it best to go ahead and cut through it, and began by pulling together a grin.

"I can smell the adventure already, and it's much better than this shanty of a tavern. Working with you bunch should be an interesting switch. As for those other mercenaries, I'm sure we can trust Fuego to have them well equipped. He brought us good horses from Estalia! The others must be well taken care of."

He looked at his apparent companions. From the looks of them, it wouldnt be so apparent.

An ogre. I've met only one before, and it was far from pleasant.

Dwarves are decent. I've never employed any, but they do know good treasure when they see it. Damn, if they all have such heavy armour as that, I really should start hiring them! Wonder how his horse will manage?

He made eye contact with the man who looked to be a barbarian of the north. In politeness, Marco smiled.

A Northerner. He doesn't seem to be a chaos worshipper...but that's what I thought about the one I hired too. I pray I'm not making that mistake again.

And finally, his eyes met the remaining two. Ah, these two, at least, look very respectable. Bretonnians are always so dour in their honour it almost sickens me, but this one is clearly not like that.
And the wizard. I've met both good and bad ones. They're hell to deal with, and a little snobby, but I do prefer them as allies.

Davinus, looking cautiously around at the group, stopped suddenly as he saw a giant mass before him. Looking up he noticed an odd looking creature. Even for an ogre he looked strange, never having seen one at such a close proximity, he was curious.

What an interesting creature. I hope he is as strong as his smell.

With a little laugh only meant to be heard by him, he contined looking at the group.

It was good to see civilized men again. He thought as he looked at the Estalian and Bretonnian. Too bad my Estalian and Breton are terrible. A Teutogen, how interesting.

Seeing that people were still fairly uncomfortable with one another, Davinus decided to start with the introductions, "I am "Thunderfist" Davinus, you may call me either if you like, I answer to both."

"Well met then, Davinus," the man in bronze replied quickly and with a little enthusiasm. He spoke perfect Riekspiel through his Estalian accent, which was lighter than could be expected.

"Should I assume we all know Riekspiel? I know Estalian, of course, as well, and I can speak a little Bretonni, but it's rustier than that ogre's gauntlet. At any rate, my name is Marco de Dolus. Some of you may have heard of me? I lead a mercenary bodyguard hired by noblemen throughout the Old World."

The proud human did his best to hide his arrogance.

The bretonnian remained silent for a long time, his eyes fixed upon the contents of his mug of ale, with an intensity that would suggest that he was probably deliberately ignoring the conversation taking place.

"So these are the ones who I am to travel with. I hope that they can fight as well as they talk. I'd hate for them to be as cowardly as those riflemen were."
He paused in mid thought, looking up slowly from his drink as all eyes fell onto him. For several moments longer, he held his silence, returning their stares each in turn, as though daring them to make some manner of comment as to his rudeness. Finally, when it seemed that no such remark would be forthcoming, he spoke.

"I am Jacques Duchamp."
His voice was harsh, and heavily accented. It was the voice of one who was used to shouting out over the din of battle, the voice of a man for whom words were but another tool to be used for the goals of the moment, and, like every other tool, should be used to get the job at hand done as quickly as possible. There were no empty pleasantries thrown in, nor pompous title, as so many from his land seemed to carry. Just a name. An obscure, common name, that any hundred other men could also have worn. But to him, it was all that was required.

He fell silent after speaking, and returned to his ale, taking a long, deliberate draught, allowing the conversation to slip beyond his caring once again...

I split the thread up into Game and OOC, makes it easier for players. So here's the OOC thread.

KU

Ulthar slammed his empty mug back on the table, the white froth sat like a light snow on his upper lip.

"Pah!! Call that ale!! I can piss better tasting things than that!!" he yelled at the barman. Turning back to the crowd he passed his slate eyes over them, an ogre a wizard and manlings.

He stared at the ogres head, then at the odd wooden toy poking out from behind his metal plate. Madder than a grobi on fungus ale. The manling dressed in a bear skin caught his eye next, the great cloak hung about him in a way he thought impossible. Maybe not all manlings are weak after all. This Middenhiem I've heard of, cousin Barak spoke of them. Fine, stout warriors. For manlings anyways; he maybe of help.

He looked at each in turn, judging that they maybe able to hold themselves in combat. The Bretonnian seemed a tad quiet, no bragging about how many dragon's he's slain or that blasted woman of their's.. The rest he had never been that far before, their clothing and type he knew of from his trading family. The only person he cared little for was the mage, him he vowed to watch carefully.

"So manling, you want us to take your wagons through to the otherside eh? Me and a few dawi could have done that, now my cousin Darelk he passing this way every few years..." with this he lit up a pipe he retreaved from some inner pocket and began whafting it about whilst telling of his cousins trips.


KU

Drog looked around the group, slightly confused. There were four human mercenaries around the table, but they all seemed so different. He had always thought that all humans were the same: pompous and thinking they were better than his kind. Like the man who'd hired this group, he thought. These humans were strange, though. He was pretty sure that apart from the little one they were all humans, but none of them were remotely similar.

Bronze-man talks funny, the ogre decided. At least Doo Champ is quiet, but he stared. Typical 'oomie - thinks he's better than me. Thundy seems alright - I wonder why he's laughing?

Drog's eyes then turned to the final human. Bear-man looks almost like an ogre - maybe I'll be able to get a pit-fight in with him at some point. Bet he didn't kill the bear himself to get that fur. Finally Drog looked over at the smallest member of the group.

Little loud one looks familiar. What were they called again? Little men with beards...

"Dwarfs!" he shouted aloud, clearly delighted to have remember for himself. The ogre seemed oblivious to the stares he was given for this outburst. Realising he had to introduce himself, Drog lifted his "gnoblar" out from behind his gutplate.

"I'm Drog," he began, then placed the doll on the table. "...and this here is Nobby. Nobby the Gnoblar. Don't expect him to talk though - he's too shy. Even of you 'oomies."

"Right. Hi Drog, hi..." Taalric hesitated, "...Nobby. I'm Taalric."

He glanced at the doll the ogre had brought out.

He's a bit shy? Does it actually think thats a real creature? Perhaps he's mad or something; an Ogre wouldn't joke about that sort of thing, I'm sure of that much. And why doesn't that dwarf shut up?

Leaning back further still, the Teutogen relaxed. It seemed an amiable bunch in general. Perhaps this was really the time for the true quest he had been hunting for. Taalric was looking forward to proving himself, to these as well as his employer.

Well some one grumbled about not having one yet, so here it is.

After a short wile Benivi stood up from the table at which he had been drinking, trying desperately to ignore the conversation of the Mercenaries, and the horns protruding from the clearly demented ogre that his brother had hired. “Come servants. We must leave now.” With that Benivi, accompanied by his two guards left the tavern, closely followed by the heavy steps of the Ogre, and the not so heavy steps from the rest of the groups. Within a short space of time the group had assembled outside, where the snow has begun to limit itself to just a light “ice rain”. The hard icy droplets bounced of the roofs’ of the four coaches. At each one sat a driver wrapped in thick furs in a desperate and failing attempt to remain vaguely warm, Next to them sat a single mercenary, clearly the ones who had accompanied Benivi. Each appeared different, but such differences were hide to pick out through the icy snow and the heavy layers of clothing and fur that they wore. Six winged lancers sat atop their steeds, waiting to get on the move. Their upbringing clearly gave them the skills they would need to survive the harsh weather, as they wore no more then one would expect from a Kislevite, and were merrily engaged in conversation with each.

Benivi pointed to five horses tethered by the bar. “Four fine horses for you.” He waved his hands at the human members of the group. “You master dwarf, you shall ride as the coach guard on my coach.” With that Benivi pointed to the man currently sitting as the guard on his coach, a young Tilean by the looks. He wore a feather in his leather cap, and carried a bow under his arm. The poor man must have been no older then 17, and was now being ordered through the worlds edge mountains, and onwards to a journey that could possible see the end of his life. Yet he obeyed his master’s orders and moved to untether his horse, passing in front of the Ogre hesitantly. “You, Ogre.” Benivi butted in. “You will have to walk.” With that the younger Fuego brother mounted his coach, flanked by his two personal guards.

"Well, hope you don't mind if I pick that beauty there," remarked Taalric to the others, striding towards a the largest of the four horses. The creature was a gorgeous deep black, with no fading hairs or greys, in the peak of health.

Taalric busied himself arranging the saddle and stirrups, and getting to know the horse.

Drog gazed on in puzzlement as Benivi stepped onto the coach. Where's my horsie? As he often did when confused, Drog consulted Nobby.

"Nobby?" he began, nearly shouting. "Where's me horse? All them others got 'em." After a pause, the ogre remembered Nobby's "speech problem" and trudged over to the side of the caravan.

Maybe I'll find a nice big ox to ride later...

Ulthar eyed the boy with a bemused expression, a grunt that may have been a laugh whooshed out of his mouth before condenseing in the cold air. Trudging through the snow, keeping away from the horses, he clambered up beside the young lad.

Placing the heavy axe beside him he winked at the boy. "Good day is it not manling? Or should that be boy?" A grunting chuckle erupted from his throat at his own jest.

KU

Jacques snorted disdainfully at the Tilean's offered mounts.

"I've my own steed, thanks." He said, not bothering to suppress the contempt in his voice. From within the stables, he drew a heavy warhorse, its fine breeding obvious from the first glance. The saddlery, unlike his gear, was actually in rather good condition, though the steed was, oddly enough for a mounted warrior, unbarded.

Skillfully, he drew himself up into the saddle, and waited for the caravan to depart.

The Estalian man found his Estalian mount - they suited eachother rather well already. The rider was a little disappointed that none of the others had heard of his name or his mercenary group. He made it his goal here to make his name known.

"Not often I use a horse," he finally said. "This expedition may get to be long, but worry not, for I have plenty of stories to tell!" He let out a feigned laugh, imagining the expressions on the faces of the other men. One way or another, this would not be an boring journey.

IC: The group mounted their steeds, or at least most did, the slightly bewildered ogre took to his station, on foot. After a few silent moments the caravans moved off down the fairly wide path. The snow caused minor problems for the caravans as their narrow gauged wheels sank in to its soft blanket as they rolled, yet more snow falling from the heavens. As the coaches wound their way around the trail that had begun its hairpin decent towards the darklands, the sound of the wind picked up, no longer silenced by the mountains. The gusts of mountain wind battered themselves against the solemn precession of man and horse, yet the group remain in silence, all to aware of the danger that falling from the edge of the ever-narrowing track posed.

As they proceeded down the path yet further it began to widen out and for that matter flatten out. Allowing the guard of the front carriage to light a single arrow and fire it skywards. The convoy ground to a halt, leaving the newest recruits somewhat bewildered by the experience. After a few minutes of still silence a reply came. A dull bang rang out from the mountains to the north, which was followed by an explosion of green and yellow in the sky. With that the caravans resumed their journey. It had already been two hours into the journey, and the Darklands were only just coming in to sight, far below them and their snow situation.

Loosening his bearskin cloak slightly from around his neck, Taalric dropped back slightly. He was interested in the Ogre, and now they were on flatter, warmer ground, they didnt have to concentrate on the road as much as before.

Not wishing to be the one to break the hours of silence for the whole group, he kept his voice low as he talked to Drog.

"So. Drog, where are you from?" Taalric enquired, in a friendly kind of way.

"You... are talking to... me?" Drog replied. Taalric nodded, and Drog decided to answer the question by simply gesturing at the mountains. "Up there." Conversation had never been his strong point, even with his own kind.

Davinus had mostly kept to himself since they left the Inn, and now was no execption. He looked up and sighed disheartedly as he saw no signs of any heavenly bodies through the dark clouds above them. He could feel his power waining with the lack of contact to the sky.

As they rode further on, he could that even his cloak was not emitting its normal glow. Suddenly, the weather got to him and he wrapped his cloak around him as best he could.

"Interesting, interesting." said Taalric. It wasn't really, but he humoured the Ogre. He certainly didn't want to anger it, and with any luck he could become somewhat friendly with it. There was something about having a huge, muscly ogre with horns sticking out of its head care about you that appealed to Taalric. At the very least it would help a lot in the combats that were sure to come.

There was actually something about the ogre Taalric liked.

I suppose it's sympathy really. Someone, sometime is going to have to tell him about his pet. Or rather, the fact it's a doll. Not me though. Not yet anyway

Jacques remained typically silent for the journey, obviously deep in thought, though he rode with the skill for which his people were reknowned, and seemed untroubled by the rough mountain road.

When the caravan stopped in order for the arrow to be fired, however, he paused, raising an eyebrow. After a few moments, he brought his mount even with one of the wagons, and addressed the driver.

"Who are you signalling?" He asked, squinting out across the mountains for a glimpse of what had caused the strange, obviously magical flaring in response.

On one side of the caravan rode a concentration of mercenaries, gathered around a boasting Estalian. Marco was trying to impress the lowly hirelings with stories of his previous jobs. He was glad to see that he was having some success. Mighty was the ego of Marco de Dolus, at least as mighty as his blade!
As onlookers stared at the arrow fired ahead, Marco rode up toward the front.

"Who are you signalling?" the Bretonnian had asked.

Marco joined him in waiting for the explanation.

"Rangers, high up in the montains. The boss has an arrangement with the Dwarfs of this area. They let us know what is down in the plains. The green singnal means all is clear, a very useful service indeed. There have been times where the rangers would have surely saved our skin by alerting us to the hordes of Hobgolah Khan below in the plains of the Dark Lands." The drivers tone was one of kindness, he had clearly travelled this route many times, and knew of the dangers to those who were not well prepared.

Ulthar puffed thoughtfully on his pipe after hearing the manling speak of his kin, It'll be good to see what they'll tell me what's up ahead. And if they have any decent ale, this manlings ale tastes like horse piss

Turning to the boy riding beside him;

"What be your name then boy? Hmm.. well? Been with these manlings long?"


KU

IC: As the caravans picked their way through the mountain pass small talk began to erupt between the mercenaries. The boy sat next to the dwarf mercenary replied to Lord Ulthar, “Lorenzo took me in when I was a child. My father was a long serving employee of his family, and when he died Lorenzo took me in and raised me from child hood. Now I return his kindness by working for him as a driver, yet even though I offered to work for free he still pays me, the same wage as the rest of the men for that matter. Unlike his brother, Benivi. They are like completely different people, Lorenzo is a great man, his brother is not much better then a Orc when it comes to…” The Boys little monologue was cut short as the Coaches skidded to a halt. The driver of the front Caravan called out, “The path is blocked.” Unbeknown to Lord Ulthar, to intrigued by the faults in their current employer, had not noticed they had begun to move through a narrower ravine. The high winds had evidently dislodged loose boulders at the top and brought them crashing down, ahead of the procession of coaches.
The door to Benivi’s carriage swung open, his large form leaning out from the plush interior. “Why aren’t we moving?” he yelled arrogantly.
“A minor landslide has blocked the path sir.” Shouted the same mercenary who had announced the blockage the first time.
“Well get it shifted then!” Retorted Benivi angrily, slamming the door to his carriage as he swung his bulk back into its comfortable interior.

Seeing a chance to start up a friendly competition to improve their relation, Taalric called to the ogre.

"Hey Drog. I bet I can shift more boulders than you can!" The Ulrican grinned widely, before urging his horse in a canter towards the rubble.