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Mykhail stares grim faced toward the horizon.
Mykhail sets his jaw and nods once. He hurries to a nearby weapons rack and hefts a long spear. So unwieldy...I'll probably just throw it and use my fists. Grimly, he walks to the ramparts to take his place among the soldiery.
I was taller than my mom at 12... :)
Mykhail grounds himself, spreading out his feet on the wet soil and dropping into a fighting crouch. "I hate bullies..." He growls around the deep scowl on his face. Think Usov. 3 Orcs and their wolves. You can't fight that alone. Your friends are scared and the town needs warning. More will be coming. Mykhail puts his head down and sprints with purpose back toward the fort. He easily overtakes the others and almost plows into a sentry. "Orc scouts. 3 on wolfback, headed this way. It looks like scouts. We should kill them and evacuate the town." The boy stands up straight and tall, shoulders back and rises to just below the guards shoulder despite being half the man's age.
Mykhail slaps his palm against the tree and lets out a triumphant whoop.
"Even the land wants to bully us." Mykhail sets his jaw, a look of determined defiance on his shy face. "I don't like bullies." He starts jogging toward the oak, hopeknife clamped in a white knuckled fist.
Myhail laughs, unbelieving. "Yes! Ok! Let's go!" As they approach the wall, Mykhail starts to get nervous. "I don't know...maybe..." He looks up to see Diadra scampering across the space to the cart. When she falls hi bolts forward. I am coming friend.
"I am here. Climb onto my shoulders."
Mykhail blushes furiously as Diadra leans in to stare at him. He takes a shuffling step backward and looks back at the ground. "I mean, there's the big oak outside the gates. It might be ok for carving names. I mean, I guess. Maybe. If you want to. It's stupid..." He blushes again.
Mykhail nods, smiling. "Carving names is a good plan. I..." He snaps his mouth shut as Diadra approaches. A new friend and a girl? Is someone playing a trick? The big lad keeps his eyes down, but he cannot hide his smile. Friends? Multiple? This is the best day ever.
Mykhail glances around, then back to Albert. He really is talking to me... "Uh, yes? What should we do?" He asks awkwardly.
Mykhail accepts his belt passively, eyes downcast. More responsibility. The young man's heavy shoulders rise and fall in a muted sigh. The big lad casts around surreptitiously, gauging the reactions of his peers. Seeing Albert's stricken look, Mykhail does his best to look afraid and sick too.
Excited to get started.
Excellent.
This is Darksmokepuncher's submission. Stats and backstory through age 12ish are in the profile.
Is the game over then?
"I'll be there!" Tyg turns a corner and is gone.
"I will say my farewells then. I must tell the priest, and my father would like to know where I am going."
Tyg slams down his tankard with a nod. "I'm in."
"I'm from right here in Janderhoff." Tyg shrugs in apology for not having a good story. Instead, he drains his tankard and signals for another one.
Tyg swirled his ale twice at Feruin's exclamation, then inhaled the yeasty vapors at the head of the dark beer. He took a long pull and wiped the foam from his mustache with the back of his sleeve. "Beer this good just might, but I'm willing to withhold judgment 'til I've tried a healthy measure of both!"
Tyg is a young dwarf. He has recently entered the clergy of Trudd after failing as an apprentice to a notable blacksmith. Tyg was a decent worker, but his hot temper and wandering mind made him ill suited for such detail oriented work. Without work, Tyg's family wondered what future he could have other than guarding the Sky Citadel from the Lamia and other fould creatures. His father told him the story of Trudd, Torag's young son of immense strength who was trusted with defending the halls of his father when the Lord of Dwarves was away. Tyg was infatuated with the mighty, young, dwarf god and immediately devoted his life to the service of the minor deity. In return, Tyg learned a measure of discipline, some martial skill, and, most importantly, the rewarding responsibility of showing strength for those who cannot stand alone. |