I will withdraw from the campaign. My apologies. Good luck.
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Thom peers at the elf, with a frown in his eyes. "If ah may, M'lord elf, why are yeh 'ere? Yeh make demands, yeh talk down on us, yeh refuse t'follow orders from Lord Ozaziel - an' whyfore?" He glances at Pero, at the Lord Stanislav and Ozaziel. "What d'yeh bring to th' good o'this group apart from yehr noble arrogance? Yeh speak of working t'earn it, but yeh refuse t'do anythin'. We 'ave been 'ired to reclaim th' stolen lands - if yeh think this job's beneath yeh, ah would rather not 'ave that liability with us. 'Ave yeh ever fought brigands that tried t'kill yeh? 'Ave yeh ever been bedridden after skirmish? Ah can tell yeh know yehr books, but d'yeh know o'th' practicalities o'bein' out o'th' field?" He shakes his head as he returns to Ashe - not interested in the elf's reply - and he taks a powerful heave to get up into the saddle once more. "Ah only agree with one thing, M'lord elf, an' that's that we should get goin'.
Well, you do play an uncooperative character and in-character you've only made demands and don't seem to want to follow Ozaziel's lead, so what did you expect?
I'm in the Law & Order group that Kalizar runs - I'm sorry to hear that your group ended so abruptly, and I personally won't mind adding one more to our group.
Thom glances at the enormous wagon, peering curiously at all the supplies they have been given. Particularly the pigeons in the cages. He rides up to the cart and hops off his mount with surprising grace - though he crashes to the ground in a rattle. "M'lord Pero, d'yeh 'ave more oats 'n' corn fer th' 'orses? An' 'ow are th' pigeons trained?" He sifts through the rest of the supplies. He had memories and experience with being out in the wilderness before - not fond ones. Ah 'ope no blood'll be shed... "Got lots o'supplies... but wha' if we run out? Where can we resupply?"
Interesting - though I'm not your DM for the Kingmaker games. Tomnus applied for my LoF game a couple of weeks ago. When one of my players vanished Tomnus was next in line for a replacement spot. But I'll keep it in mind if I ever run Kingmaker myself. (Yes, I'm DM Patcher :D)
"If yeh want, m'lord, ah can take care of th' 'orse when we're restin'." Thom lets out a genuine smile - it is not pretty, his teeth mismatched and the lines of his face only stretching the scar to even worse proportion - but there is a joy in his eyes. "Ashe can attest tha' ah know m' 'orses."
Thom has stayed out of the conversation, peering curiously at the people that showed up and feeling once again misplaced with his crude excuse for arms and armour - though he is glad to see that in sheer size he hasn't been easily outmatched. When the magical cartographer is revealed, he turns to gaze at it as he rides up to the cart. "Ah reckon ah could 'andle it too. Father Laine always said ah 'ad a gift for maps. Readin' 'em, drawin' 'em." "Ought t' warn yeh, Ashe refuses t'pull carts."
The night went by slowly - Thom could barely sleep with all the excitement that the morrow would bring. At least he thought it was tomorrow they would leave for the Stolen Lands. The rag that he called a blanket was itching on his bare skin as he tumbled around in the half-broken bed that was, frankly, too small. It was barely sunrise when he got out of bed, to break his fast. When the hour finally arrives for them to meet outside the Master Pero's shop, he is wearing the banded mail he had been given during his militia service. On his back is his shield, and a couple of javelins. On his belt, to the right, hangs his blade. When he sees the Lord Stanislav he raises his hand. "Morning, M'lord."
Thom tries to tune in to the excessive discussion of matters that he rarely cared of - Father Laine had soft words, as was part of his clergy - yet Thom was never encouraged. He finds it - and them - a little condescending at the rate it was progressing. Particularly the elf. He keeps to gazing out the window (if there is one), a faint smile on his lips. Ah got requested by th' swordlords an' now ah get to serve th' people of Brevoy. When the carriage stops, he is easily the first to trot out - clumsy as he is - glad to be out and not in the vicinity of the discussion. He gives a bow to the Lord Stanislav. "Ah s'pose ah'll see yeh in th' morrow." When Thom returns to his hovel, he is quick to find his arms, armour and shield, and the best wear he has to fit, getting ready for the morrow.
Well, Thom's one of those "good to the core" characters who wants to protect people and be a knight - then again, unlike the paladin, he doesn't suffer from "turning a blind eye".
Fits well with the Lawful Good cavalier.
Thom, having stood there almost like an ugly statue while the Lords finish up their informative speech, does sigh in relief when he can slouch for a second. He gives a grateful bow to the lords, though says nothing else - Father Laine's mantra still repeating in his head. When he enters the carriage, the Lord Stanislav offers for him to sit. He is partially relucant, but does so out of submissive courtesy. When he is called 'Master', he winces ever so slightly. "Ah, m'lord, ah was in th' town militia fer close t'two years. Ah 'ave a little exper'ence with protectin' th' people, an' ah 'ave some way with th' sword. Ain't no master, though, m'lord, an' ain't killed no-one proper. Was only tasked t'bringin' threats in alive th' rare times ah had t'."
Thom pays little attention to the demands and questions the others voice. He feels a sense of accomplishment when being addressed with thanks - by lords no less! He dares to look up, and finds yet another piece of courage somewhere in his thoughts when they ask what would be a suitable or necessary reward. Ah, m'pardons m'lord, all ah could use's some maint'nance on me arms, arm'r 'n' shield. An' feedings for m'steed. Ashe tends t'go 'n' be stubborn if she's not fed proper. Carrots 'n th' like."
sure he makes the DM's life simple and he gets rewarded...figures. :P <3 I do love Thom. <3
Oooh, fancy.
Thom made no demaaaands D: Nuu But yeah, got to love the make up of the group that way.
Thom listens carefully - to the request, to the urgency of the regent and the lords - and more importantly the plea for the safety of the people of Brevoy. This was it. He rises from his seat, placing one of his massive paws for hands on his chest and he dares speak aloud for the first time. "Ah will serve Brevoy, M'Lords. M'blade is yehrs." He keeps his back rigid and he has his head lowered, obediently.
Thom stays quiet, listening to the other men talk - he is well aware that he has little to contribute. Dun' speak lest spoken t', his mind repeats, careful to avoid eye contact. He tries to stay invisible, to avoid disrupting the lordlings' discussion.
The longer Thom stays in the room the more anxious he grows - he doesn't understand why the swordlords would want him for this... this extravaganza. But th' lordlings in th' room aren't s'big as ah am. He looks up, studying them carefully now - while trying to avoid giving away that he is. They are all refined, in compare; his burly, rough hands are a sharp contrast to the lord Radu and the mage-man's skin; he's even broader than the two other men. And they all are ogling the bookshelves, sans the handsome man. All o'a dif'rent place...
Having enjoyed the meal, Thom rises from his chair with the other guests. Wordlessly he follows them, finding a chair or couch to sit on - anything to rest upon so that he may digest the meal. He attempts to avoid all eye-contact - he still feels uneasy.
The Lord's friendly tone takes Thom aback slightly, but it is cause for comfort that he is spoken to. He smiles and gives him a grateful nod.
Thom has no idea how to handle the upper class courtesies, and he speaks no words as the gentlemen around him introduce themselves. He keeps to gazing on the numerous dishes of food on the table. Fiddling his thick fingers, he isn't sure what to think during the toast; he follows the young lord Stanislav's example to raise his glass, but has no thoughts of the spoken words. When the feast is begun, however, Thom can't help but drool; surely it is made for nobles, yet he's seated as a guest. The first course was too bland for his tastes, the pepper not adding enough for his interest. He over-indulged on the fish when it arrived, gaining some attention for his rather crude way of eating. When the stuffed pheasants are served, he finds it a lot tastier than the previous courses, and he has no problems finishing the entire bird, stuffing, vegetables and potatoes included. He somehow manages to stifle the overwhelming urge to eruct; by time of the dessert, he makes sure to enjoy that one too. Big boys need lotsa food, s'what 'e used t'say...
Bwahaha. <3
I'm back! The ISP didn't muck up, and I've posted in the thread. Hope I'm not being too irritating with the "accent".
Thom reluctantly hands the young master Delo his blade; he had scarce enough coin as it was, and the sword was one of his better possessions. Then again, ah got th' 'hundred'n'fift' talons from th' swordlords... He allows himself to be escorted with the manservant, trying to keep his face up when announced. Dun' speak lest spoken t', dun' speak lest spoken t'...
I am moving tomorrow, and won't have internet until Friday. If I don't post on Friday, that means that my ISP failed to give me internet on time. If this happens, I won't be able to post as often as I would like (as I will have to visit somebody else to borrow their internet). I apologise in advance should this problem arise. I certainly hope it won't.
Thom bumbles and tries to make some sort of coherent answer when the man proclaiming himself a future swordlord addresses him. "Uh, m'lord, ah'm jus' a farmer's boy." He refrains from speaking, feeling like a fool as he keeps his gaze set on his lap. Once they leave the coach and enter the manor, he feels even more uneasy, fiddling with his enormous thumbs. When called a "lord" he feels even more confused. He pulls out the missive he received yesterday from within his jerkin. S'got me name, an' ah was let 'to the carriage... this mus' be a joke...
Thom feels out of place; very much so. He awkwardly sits down in one of the corners, not saying a word. He attempts to stay invisible, to not draw any attention, but that proves close to impossible with his broad stature. Dun' speak lest spoken t', th's what father Laine used t'say...
Thom sees the attendant from yesterday - and is consequently a little intimidated by the four others that approach, and enter. He takes a deep breath, walking towards the wagon. "This th' carriage for th' lunch invite?"
Sounds good - and thank you for double-checking my sheet.
After having re-read the letter several times and picking up the best attire he could from his poor reserves, he feeds Ashe in the makeshift stables he's arranged in the back yard. "Ah know yeh cannae read, bu' ah was invited by th' swordlords. So yeh'll be alone t'morro'." He brushes the mare's mane and grooms her as the evening sets, and shortly afterwards he goes to sleep. When he wakes up, he starts his grooming - which involves dunking his head in a barrel of moderately fresh water. As he dries up, he gets clad in the best outfit he could muster. Despite the effort, he only looks the part of a commoner, with a stitched leather jerkin and murky brown trousers. His shirt, a dark red colour, is of relatively good quality, but he stands out. And not in a good way. He doesn't think too much of his appearance beyond getting dressed, and makes sure to fasten his longsword in his belt. Best show me blade, an' tha' ah kno' hafta use one. He sets out of his hovel, to the main square. The only one that stands out, there, in the middle of the plaza, is a man equipped with both armour and weapons...
For the love of- I am absolutely blundering tonight. I deleted the post that I managed to shove into the wrong OOC thread. This is Patcher. Here is my Cavalier. I was thinking, in regards of the bastard trait, that Thom's father (the abusive alcoholic) was disowned for marrying a peasant girl - and his disaffection for his son was two-fold in that he lost both his heritage and his love to the little brat (his words). The father's name, consequently, is Brian.
Thom has just finished weeding the garden in his back yard when the attendent arrives; there is little smalltalk, and he stands confused when after confirming that he is, indeed, Thom O'Brian, he receives the pouch of gold and a missive. He's heating a cup of tea over the small makeshift fireplace in his hovel as he reads the missive. Th' swordlords? Why they'd wanna see th' likes o'me? He glances at his sword and shield, tucked in the corner. He wasn't sure what to think. He certainly had no attire to match the extravagance of the swordlords, not if they were the ones he'd heard of.
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