Troost Oldwar's page

I am very sorry but I have to withdraw from the game. This renovation in the aftermath of the appliance problem has become a full time job. Even now I am heading out to look at flooring. I just don't have the free time anymore and it's likely to be this way for a couple of months at least.

Thank you for having me.

Am I sneaky enough to join you on this mission, Mysty?

"I like him." Lady Rose had said, after Mott's rampage and subsequent arrest. It was music to Troost's ears; music that he played over and over in his head.

"You ladies have things well under way here. I am your humble servant, ready to answer your beck and call. Just let me know how else I can aid our mutual cause."

He toys with the delicate pentagram he fashioned in secrecy at the monastery; sometimes turning it over the knuckles of one hand, back and forth like a coin, and sometimes spinning it between a thumb and forefinger by its points while he sits with the others. It is such a relief not to have to hide from his new companions and to know they share a purpose with him.

"Begging your pardon, Sir. You are a very busy man and I don't mean to waste your time but, as you can see, Captain Sir, there is no address on this here order."

As he walked through the town that day, spreading the malicous gossip with his feigned ignorance, Troost had crushed the forged document in his sweaty fist and rubbed some of the ink with his thumb to further obscure the writing on the already incorrect document. By now, the contract looks like someone might have spilled a mug of water or perhaps ale onto it but the consignee's name remains clear and it's not "Mott."

Unfolding the forgery, he shows it to the officer whose dour face is twisted in an ugly scowl. Troost continues to explain even as Mott's expression darkens further. "Farrelis, that sot, well he can't take care of anything properly these days least of all paperwork...Anyhow, he didn't record an address at all so I figured I'd better find out for myself where I'm to be. I wouldn't want to ruin the special plan you put together for your lovely Missus."

"Thank you ma'am, but I best head on to the watchtower myself, seeing as how time's wasting. Captain Eddarly won't be happy if his plans with the Missus are spoiled and a man like me relies on the generosity of his satisfied customers." Tipping an imaginary hat at the matron, Troost turns and heads off to find master of halberds. Time to convince the man that his beautiful wife and the patrol Captain who now lay dead in a ditch, his corpse shamelessly desecrated in Asmodeus' name, had planned to run off together this evening.

When he reaches the tower, he slouches a little at the shoulders and keeps his gaze lowered, adopting the earnest demeanor of a working man. It is his hope that projecting subservience will help prevent any undue attention. He approaches the entrance with feigned hesitation and then asks the first person to acknowledge his presence where Captain Mott can be found.

"Ma'am, the Captain will want to see me." Troost tells the woman who opens the door to him. Standing on the porch of the Mott residence, one of the larger homes if not the largest in Aldencross, he waves the forged document in her direction but does not allow her to take it. "The particulars on this order from him are unclear."

When the maidservant regards him suspiciously for an extra long moment, Troost leans a little closer and lowers his voice conspiratorially, "Only the Captain will do, ma'am. It's a surprise for his Missus," he explains with a wink.

Nahia and Mysty's approval of the scheme to expose Lady Mott's affair with Eddarly was all it took to quell any hesitation he felt. The fact that he had no team of his own should matter little. With Asmodeus' blessing, he's convinced smarter folks of much more fantastical notions.

"I can do that," he nods.

Before heading out into Aldencross to execute the masquerade, Troost takes a moment to concentrate on the magic of the gauzy sleeves he wears. He transforms the coarse and unremarkable peasant's garb into a marginally well crafted pants, shirt and jacket ensemble, vaguely reminiscent of a uniform in its cut and style but bearing no rank or insignia; the sort of thing a carriage driver hoping to be presentable enough to satisfy posh clients but constrained by both environmental and economic realities might wear. Then he is off, asking after Captain Eddarly, his wife and their residence as Lady Rose had instructed.

Is Aldencross large enough to pull that off without having an actual team of horses to authenticate my disguise? It's a great idea as long as no one knows all the horses in town or knows that the carriage I rode in on with Sourat presumably originated in this town.

This was not Troost's first excursion into Aldencross. He had visited a few times in the past but had never stayed long and had always avoided attracting attention to himself. He'd purchased sundries at the general store, slyly listening to the clucking of women-folk and grumbles of men-folk for interesting tidbits while filling his own basket with items more easily traded for than home-crafted by Chelaine the druid. Additionally, he had spent time in the shadowy corners of the Lord's Dalliance, sipping at lager while his ears drank of the gossip flowing through the large common room. Each time he'd entered the little town previously, he'd taken care to appear slightly different than the last so that no one would become familiar with him but there was less need to remain anonymous now that he knew of Aldencross' imminent doom.

Rather than staying only an hour or two and returning to the cozy hovel in the wood, Troost takes a room at the Inn and then sits in the common area with his dazzling new companions to quietly plot the best way to advance the town's demise.

"It'd be delightful to find some way to turn the townfolk against that fat priest. Maybe after befriending him and plumbing the depths of his knowledge first," the little man's eyes gleam wickedly as he envisions Father Donagin set upon by his beloved congregation. "I could work on that since your feminine charms should have less sway with a man of the cloth." Allowing his eyes to momentarily stray to Lady Rose's bosom, he chuckles, knowing full well that what should be and what is can be miles apart.

Troost knows he is secure with his new companions, in no immediate physical danger, however he is not so foolish to presume these powerful women Asmodeus has clearly smiled upon would ever be commanded. He must earn their respect and prove himself at their sides before he can expect to strategize as their equal and he must accept this as enough. Troublingly though, he finds himself dangerously spellbound by their beauty, his thoughts somehow both flighty and muddled in their presence, particularly Lady Rose.

It is almost possible to completely banish Nahia's grisly and Seren's ghoulish visage from his mind when he surreptitiously appreciates the cut of their bodices or the curve of their backsides. The memory of their post-battle actions seems more like a bad dream than reality with each passing hour but a thin sliver of revulsion stubbornly remains. Lady Rose, however, he watched her bathe in the fire, basking in the Lord's grasp, the flames lovingly licking at her naked flesh. She has no horror hidden within, she is only beautiful and made even more so by Asmodeus' fiery caress. That memory galvanizes him with a hot thrill every time he returns to it.

Realizing that he is gazing upon the anti-paladin with open desire, Troost averts his eyes quickly. He coughs nervously, pale cheeks hot with embarrassment as well as lust now.

"I do think that Sourat makes a valid point. Retuning so early might raise some questions depending on what you led them to believe when you departed. What had you intended at this point?"

I like the idea of taking the gear we scavenged north to the bugbears if there is time. I can put something to that effect in character after I get home from work, posting from my phone is problematic.

While the ladies perform their bloody rituals, Troost gathers his possessions and dresses himself. He carries very little of note and, perhaps alarmingly, no weapons other than a dagger strapped to his wrist in a hidden sheath and a sling.

When he pulls a pair of close-fitting translucent sleeves onto his arms, his clothing all takes on the appearance of the drab, utilitarian, and well-worn outfits favoured by farmers and peasants in the area. With great care, he tucks his pentagram into a pocket hidden on the inside of his tunic, close to his heart but safe from the prying eyes of judgemental Mitrans. All in all, he appears rather unremarkable although there is a hint in his light, easy gait of something perhaps note-worthy hidden carefully away.

"My name is Troost, son of Richter," he spits on the ground after uttering his father's name, "I achieve greatness with you all, because of you all and our devotion to the Dark Prince. I have seen it. Tell me how I can best serve our Lord's goals." He clasps his right fist into the palm of his left hand at chest height with elbows bent while bowing the tiniest bit at the waist. After a moment, he straightens, lowers his hands and awaits instructions.

Looking up at the murderous group before him, having heard the terrible things uttered to the rangers as the slaughter ensued not to mention the terrible things threatened upon him now, the prisoner should be terrified senseless, weeping and begging for his life. Instead, Troost, bare-footed, dressed only in his skivvies and undershirt with his hands bound behind him and trussed at the ankles as well, appears practically rapturous.

"Your Lord is my Lord," he happily confides to his liberators, "I serve Asmodeus, Dark Prince, The Archfiend, The First, Lord of Darkness, Ruler of Hell. These fools that you dispatched so handily--absolutely brilliant work, by the way--captured me only because I allowed it. I was blessed with a vision the other night. I knew that you would be here and that I had to be here too." The small man seems relieved at the opportunity to speak so openly about his religious convictions.

He grins up at Seren. Doing his best to gesture with his elbow from behind his back, he points at a bundle of clothes and a backpack at the foot of a nearby bunk and says to her, "That's my stuff. You'll find my holy symbol in there. It's not much but it's very precious to me. I made it myself and it was quite an effort to get even that amount of silver together without the brothers noticing."

Oh boy, hope I'm not in the burny tent. Poor Troost, cooked alive...what will my next character be? LOL

Hello, I am to be your new cleric so DM Aku asked me to post here to introduce myself. I originally applied with Whaykim Panuvel at the time Sourat, Fausto, Mysty and Lady Rose were selected and have been following the game since then so I feel fairly ready to jump in. If you have any questions, concerns or suggestions, I am happy to answer and always appreciate constructive criticism.

I should mention that this is not my normal posting time. Most all my contribution will occur between 8-11pm MST with the occasional early morning post like this one.