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Well, Cai just gathered another believer in Abraxes...
Abraxes! I choose you! (I've never played Pokemon though)
Still staring at the wyvern unblinkingly Berrin is brought out of his stupor by Verik's cussing at Nikolai, furrowing his brow he wonders what could possibly have gotten into the clerics breaches this time. They's just brought down three wyverns! Those bastards had been causing Berrin no end of grief and now three of them were dead!? Surely this was good? Watching Verik start to stalk off Berrin leans down in his saddle to address the cleric as he walks by. "Umm... Verik? Would you mind handing me back my lance? Please?"
Well, Verik gets along swimmingly with everyone so that's to be expected...
"Jem and Nick." Berrin says without hesitation to Elsirs's offer of anti-toxin and continues his preperation for combat, checking straps and that weapons were within easy reach and loose in their scabbards. Loosing Jemini was never an option and if Nikolai died too many Brevic nobles would be happy for Berrin to sleep well at night.
Berrin stares from Verik to Jemini as they discuss the historic importance of the area, a frown creeping over his face as he ponders it's significance to their current situation. Unable to reach any conclusion he feels quite at a loss how to contribute to the discussion. "Err.. interesting" he blatantly lies, "But, eh.. We're burning daylight." Looking to Akiros and Nikolai he shrugs and spurs Valnyr forward, crossing the ford.
The morning finds Berrin sitting, with a serious expression on his face, at his desk, a thing used more for gathering dirty clothing and dirty food plates more than anything in Berrins mind, a blanket draped over his shoulders and a space cleared on the desk for a piece of parchment and an open ink bottle. Holding a pen in his hand Berrin glares at the parchment as if it's an enemy on an open battlefield, trying to figure out where to begin and how to proceed. Alayne's soft breathing, as she still sleeps on the bed, creates a soft ambiance in the growing light as Berrin attacks the parchment. The Letter, first draft:
Dear mum.
How's the knee? You always said it was ruined after you took an arrow too it and that's the only reason you stopped adventuring and met dad, but I guess I'm grateful for it as otherwise you wouldn't have had me and the rest of us... Stopping mid-sentence Berrin growls, crumples up the letter and tosses it away, starting again. The Letter, second draft:
Dear mum, how's the knee?
I hope this letter finds you well. I am well... Again, with a frustrated growl, Berrin crumples the letter and starts anew. The Letter, third draft:
Dear mum.
I hope this letter finds you well, how's the knee?
First off I'm married. The girls name is Aylene Varn, now Myrdal, daughter of Margar Varn, King of Varnhold. Yes, mum. King. She's a fiery redhead, willful and full of energy. You'll love her. Second, I've been made Boyar to House Lebeda. No, mum. I'm not lying. These past eight years have been eventful to say the least, but I'm glad to say that I've done well for myself and would like to believe that I've made you proud. I know that our parting was not a happy occasion and I must admit that your warnings about the Red Stripe were not ill-founded, you'll be glad to know that we parted ways some years ago. I spent some time going from city to city, Port Ice to Restov, to New Stetven where I picked up a call to hunt bandits in the Stolen Lands. We did well here, me and the group, defeating the notorious bandit king called the Stag Lord and founding a nation, Newhaven. I'm sure the news of this fledgling nation has reached you but I'm unsure if the news that your son is in the thick of it has. I served as Steward of the nation for a time, they called me Berrin Not-King Myrdal, and after the resurrection of our leader, Jemini of House Lebeda, I have served as General of the Armies and live in the castle here in Newhaven, the capitol of Newhaven. The marriage was formed partly to secure an alliance between us and our neighbors, Varnhold, but I can honestly tell you that Maegar likes me, and me and Aylene are very fond of each other. I would like nothing more but to invite you to come and live in Sanctuary, a place of new hope and beginnings, but war looms on the horizon. Monstous fey loom to the east, trolls and centaurs to the south and Pitax has yet to be anything but unfriendly too us as of yet. I believe we will ride to war before the summer is out. I will write to you once I believe that coming here will not prove perilous to you and send money to pay for your travel, if you would like to come that is. I will send a hundred gold pieces and a ring with my coat of arms, a bear eating a sword, with this letter to prove to you the truth of my words. Your loving son, Boyar Berrin Myrdal, General of the Armies,
Sighing as he finishes the hard and heartfelt letter Berrin lights a candle, melts wax, and seals the letter with his signet ring. Turning to head out and send the letter Berrin finds Aylene awake, draped in the sheets, staring at him with a smile. Smiling apologetically he waves the letter and offers a lame "To me mum." and heads out to find a page to send the letter.
Dressed lightly in stylish clothes he wouldn't be caught dead in on a normal day and bedecked in finery and jewels Berrin was feeling good on his weading day. The weather was good, warm but cool, the food was good, plentiful and filling, and he had a smile plastered to his face resulting from his own and the party goers good spirits as well as a good buzz going from Bokken's Ale. Looking around at the smiling faces from his high seat of honor Berrin looks at his mug and suddenly bangs it on the table, denting it severely, and raises it high. "Just rewards for just work!" he toasts, seemingly to himself though many readily recognize and take up his prayer to Cayden Cailen, and takes a long gulp. Feeling a hand on his arm he turns to see his beautiful wife pulling him from his chair, insisting it was time to dance. Smiling even wider he follows her down from the dais and to the dance floor through a solid gauntlet of handshakes and clasps on the shoulder, one particularly fierce from his legitimate father-in-law, the king of Varnhold. Enjoying the view of Aylene's backside as they make their way Berrin resists the urge to carry her off to the privacy of his, their, rooms. A bit disappointed as she turns and steals his view he forgives and forgets as soon as he finds her eyes, those deep, fierce, sparkling green eyes, so perfectly colored to match her fiery red hair. Lost in her gaze, and his thoughts of the enticing rewards looming on the horizon, Berrin takes a moment to realize she said anything, and another to recall what it was. His face brightening he twirls her as they dance with the thylacyne and children running around their feet, laughing at the notion of leaving her at home while he rode off to make war. "Aylene, my love, you should know better! I would never sleep alone! Reggie would never back off if I slept in his cot!" he laughs, still twirling her. Stopping abruptly Berrin takes the outraged Aylene's hands in his and raises them to his lips and looks her in the eyes, serious. "Aylene. You are beautiful as you are headstrong, fierce as you are playful and fearless as only a warrior can be. You rally better than and man under my command and you could take all of them on in a fight, everyone loves you and respects you, all of Newhaven would die for you, including me. To leave you to play housewife would be the stupidest, meanest and most disrespectful thing a man could ever do to you. You are not a trophy to be pulled out when the boys gather, Aylene. You are free and fierce and I love you for it. You are beautiful and strong and I love you for it. You are you, and I love you for it." Gathering her up for a tight embrace as the song ends he whispers in her ear; "I would never want you anywhere but at my side, Aylene, I am you husband and your general, but you, you are my wife and my best commander. You command my heart as you do my men, with absolute love and loyalty."
Inspired by Archbanker Verik's demands that Nikolai Rogarvia's gratsword be named for the writing of histories this open competition has been organized in an attempt to find the blade a suitable name! Competition Rules;
Well DM Barcas did say that the last fight might have been the last fight before level up so let's just play along and see, worst comes to worst our characters deaths will probably serve the story.
Found an item that made me think; Wow. This is really cool! Yay!
Raal: Haha, DM Canada. That sounds funny. GM Acer saccharum of Canada. I'll just blame you then ;Þ
Berrin woke up rested after the night, stretching and yawning in the rays of the new sun he rubbed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, still in awe of Verik's healing powers. Getting dressed and donning his gear Berrin strolled over to Valnyr, stroking the beast and saddling him up Berrin reflected on the past evenings events. Jemini's reckless charge, and his own subsequent one. Valnyr's fall, his companions rush to his aid. What could he have done differently? Should he have held back? No. Jemini was clearly exposed, she would have been swarmed if he hadn't drawn the attention of so many. Should he have moved down the flanks instead of the center, set up his own charge toward the leader? No. There was no way he could have known he was such a danger. Images of the giant lizards snapping jaws come to his mind along with a rush of excitement to his head as he re-lives the desperate situation of facing the lizardfolk leader. Should he have kept hold of his shield? Maybe. The shield gives a clear tactical advantage in defense, maybe he could have avoided the lizardman's trident if he had hung onto it but then again the greatsword was clearly a more devastating weapon than the longsword. Maybe he should pick up a hand-and-a-half sword like Akiros? Keep the shield but still wield a heavier blade? Glancing over a Nikolai he ponders the former Stag Lord's fighting style, he was capable of so much destruction, cutting huge swathes with his heavy blade. Cuts fueled by his rage with no regard to protection. A simple tactic; deal more damage than the enemy and hope you're still standing when the fights over. Did Berrin realy want to emulate the Stag Lord's fighting style? No. Not really. Berrin knew he couldn't call forth a rage like Nikolai could, he would never be as effective in dealing massive amounts of damage as he was, the thought of losing control actually frightened Berrin to no end. Images of a swollen boys face swim to Berrin's mind, the kids tongue already starting to swell in his throat as Berrin's hands crush his windpipe. Shaking himself he pushes the image out of his mind and focuses back on Nikolai. 'Maybe I should leave the decimation to him? Focus on defending the party and let him rush in? I could follow in his wake, protect his flank... Maybe I should brooch the subject with him?' Berrin ponders the possibility for a moment but shakes his head and turns back to Valnyr, dismissing the notion of having a discussion on tactics with the barbaric king. Berrin could already see the savages sneer at his questions, he would probably go as far as calling Berrin a coward and that would have repercussions. Better keep the peace and avoid him altogether. Who then? Verik? No. It could take ages for him to come to any conclusions, let alone act on them. Taisper? Perhaps. The boy was nothing if not a tactical fighter even if he was touched. Jemini? No, Berrin feared she'd just tell him to make up his own mind in a sugared manner. She had a way with words that that could convince just about anyone of anything and leave him confused, wondering when he changed his mind. Zander? Yes, Zander. He was a fighter like Berrin, he'd understand Berrin's hesitation without mistaking it for cowardice. Berrin resolved to have a talk with the archer before the day was through.
"Right" Fumbling with the grenade launcher Rolin manages to load it, point it in the right direction (generally) and pull the trigger, launching a frag grenade at his designated targets. Area Attack (non-proficient+force point); for dmg.
"Somthings not right." Juce mutters to Bolt as he scrutinizes the Feorin through his scope. 'Why would a mandolorian ride with these thug raiders, unless they were mandalorian too..' he muses and swings back to the fleshy human. 'Nope.' he concludes. "That Feorin has mandolorian tatoos." he reports. "Somthings not right." Lowering his rifle he mulls over the significance of the feorin's presence. Suddenly he gets up and starts forward, "Cover me." he says to the Cathar, heading toward the ship in plain sight, making no effort to conceal himself. @ Desh, Jerrn and Six. A figure wearing an all-temperature cloak approaches you from atop a nearby sand-dune, a human male wearing a blat helmet and vest, work-man pants and boots. Of average height for a human he is well toned and lean. A blaster is strapped to his thigh and a rifle hangs from a shoulder strap across his chess. Keeping one hand on his rifle as he approaches his trigger hand is raised and open. those intimately familiar with madolorians:
The scoped rifle is mandolorian design and the gesture is recognized in mandolorian culture as one used when hunter from different clans meet with no hostility in mind. Effectively; I come in peace but if you provoke me, I'll shoot you. Approaching the group he stops a full 15 meters from them. "Burc'ya. Gar dar'manda? Tion akaan chakaar? Tion gar aka?" he says addressing Desh. Mando'a: "Friend. Have you lost your honor (lost your way as a mandolorian)? Do you war/fight alongside with thiefs/scoundrels/scum? What is your mission/purpose?"
"See, the boy didn't even touch him and he's already whyning." Berrin mutters to Corwin. Spitting as if trying to get a foul tase out of his mouth he turns back to the prisoners. "Alright you lot. You just cost me a taste of Svetlana's Moon Radish Soup, and that makes me rather unhappy!" he says, emphasising the dishes name to push through just how badly he's goint to miss that soup. "If any of you feel like helping than you'll give me chance to vent my frustration on some of ya, if not; Do as your told and keep quiet, your glorious leader will take care of the whyning for ya. We'll be taking you back to Oleg's and there you'll be put under question, if we find your rotten to the core with no hope of correction; you'll hang. If we find out this is all a big misunderstanding and you guys are all decent chaps beneath all that filth; we might find use for you. We might even make men of ya. So file up! We're going for a walk!" Reminding himself uncomfortably much of his old drill sergent Berrin goes from bandit to bandit and secures their bindings and ties a line to connect them all, satisfied he tells them to sit down and wait while Jemini sorts out Dovan. Going over to Zander he asks the archer if he could track their trail back to their camp, "No sence in leaving valuable equipment to the elements, and you might take Corwin along, that one can truly swing that axe and it's better two than one out in the woods."
Berrin's joviality disapears in a heartbeat at Dovan's threats, Berrin can clearly hear the mans fear resonating in his quivering voice and see it in his frantic movements. He knows Dovan's type. He's seen 'em before, he's seen 'em and he really doesn't like 'em. "Oh, come off it already. You'r not foolin' anyone you little piss. So you'r a bad-ass, good for you. You've hurt some people, did it make you feel big and strong? F@$! you. Our intrepid leader here.." he gestures at Jemini, forgetting for the moment that Dovan's blind as a bat for the remeinder of his days, "..has been known to provide free food and lodging to those who she thinks have valuable information, whatever that means, to aid our cause. Take Kressel for example, she's now happily rotting away in what used to be Oleg's stables, doing her damndest to make hardened wariors blush at the end of her tounge. Now, you talking shit is making me wana ignore that tendancy of our noble leader and just smack you down somthing fierce. You think you can take a beating you wirey little sonofab~&$&? I'm getting sick of your nasaly little f+*%ing voice, so make up yer f%@%ing mind. Die by the sword, or maybee, just maybee, draw breath for another day."
"Alright boys. Hands up and gather 'round!" Berrin hollars with a big grin. "You heard you friend there, you can get fed to your Lord's dogs or you'll come quietly with us." Gesturing for the bandits to gather up Berrin looms over them with his sword drawn, not really trusting them to stay put. "Jemini, your good with words. Think you can talk some sence into that one?" he says gesturing at Donovan. "He'll end up stabbing himself if we don't get him to settle down."
Looking up quisicaly as Run gives a small sound Azuk'ai is puzzled by her demenor, the usually vibrant elf seems to be sitting on her hands for some reason, trying hard to remain still, biting her tounge even. 'Out of respect maybee?' he ponders as he follows her gaze.
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