| Welcome to Imythess, the border between dreams and reality. We hope you enjoy your visit. Imythess is a creative writing board where you narrate the story of a character in the medieval land of Imythess, on the planet Chaon. Each topic is an opportunity for your character to interact with the world and its peoples by cooperatively writing pieces of a story with other members, one post at a time. We call this role-playing, because you assume the identity of your character as if it were your own. In order to play, you must register an account for each character you would like to write about, and begin their tale by filling out their basic profile information: Race (human, elf, demon, etc.), class (warrior, mage, etc.), physical appearance, and any other personal details you would like to describe. You are also encouraged to come up with some background history information for what your character's life has been like up to the point at which their story in Imythess begins. There is no approval process or application required to join, so long as you follow the rules then you are free to write whatever character details you choose. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Create a character now! If you're already a member, you can log into your account below: |
- Pages:
- 1
- 2
| [P] Tribe and Dagger; Private; PM for Invite | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Fri Apr 8, 2011 12:13 am (257 Views) | |
| Auron DeBrouchet | Fri Apr 8, 2011 12:13 am Post #1 |
 
|
Green fingers wrapped around a spear shaft as the owner, a goblin sentry, heard the rattle of rocks tumbling down the path. The spindly humanoid prowled away from the outpost, leaving the light of the fire the sole guardian of his sleeping companions. Auron sighed as the goblin passed by the boulder he hid behind, grateful for the witless race. Not known to be the brightest, Goblins were often laughable in their attempts at actual warfare, usually minor squabbles among tribes, sloppily carried out. Less laughable were the sheer numbers of the creatures, and their tendency not to mind what they used as a weapon, as long as it looked like it would hurt. Heart pounding, the Istani crept from behind the boulder, keeping his back to the cliff face as he slid across a shallow ledge overlooking the path to the camp. Peering at the haphazard layout of tents and skins, Auron winced at the sight of the sentries. The one was not alone, and this particular camp was larger than he’d thought. More of the skinny beasts were strewn about, each wielding a crude hunting horn. One alerted goblin and the whole camp would come crashing around his ears. Deciding against entering the camp, Auron retreated. If he were to go about this particular job, he’d have to get help. It had been his hopes the job would be quick and easy, but it looked as if the pay was going to end up split. Turning about, he headed back for the plains, leaving the foothills behind him, with Kellen before him. __________ The fighter arrived shortly after dawn, the village life beginning to blossom. Traders began parking their carts in the square, displaying their wares. Local tradesmen unlocked their shops, lighting fires and opening windows. Several eager housewives left their homes early, seeking to catch the shops before the rush. Auron searched out the inn, a sadly familiar sight. He’d have a good bet to find characters there, but more likely than not half of them wouldn’t recall agreeing to the deal come morning. The other half of the potential partners would likely draw him into more drama than he felt ready to handle. The Istani thought better of the inn, approaching the board, covered in advertisements of various traders in town, hand-drawn pictures of their wares. Auron reached for one of the newer parchments, plucking it from the nail holding it up. Pausing a moment, he searched his pockets. “Mite of a problem there.” He muttered to himself, drawing the look of a well-fed gentleman pressing a parchment announcing the sale of horseshoes at the smithy. “Mind if I borrow a quill?” The man gave his bared wrists a long look, slowly reaching for the quill at his pouch. Following his gaze, Auron noted his own scars at his wrists, left by the long wear and tear of a pair of manacles. Scowling, the desert man tugged his sleeves lower, snatching away the quill. Grabbing a knife from his belt, he nicked one of the scars on his palm, hardly wincing as the nerveless scar opened. Dipping the end of the quill in the cut, he cringed as it struck flesh, blood still welling up. Quickly he scratched out a notice to any adventurers interested in assisting him for the extent of the job. The cut was already beginning to close, a product of his heritage. He signed it and produced a stained white cloth, clenching his bleeding hand around it. Turning, he offered the quill back to the staring man. Raising his hands, the merchant shook his head. “It’s yours.” Auron smiled at him. “Quite kind of you.” Slipping it away, he lifted the drying notice and pinned it to the board. Turning, he headed back for the inn. |
 |
 
|
| Balder Brightwolf | Fri Apr 8, 2011 1:29 am Post #2 |
 
|
The Orc passed into the gate of the town, avoiding the gaze the guards shot him. The half-breed was used to it by now, not wanting to make anything of ignorant views. It wouldn't be much different inside the town either, until he reached the tavern. They were often more accepting places, as long as you had the coin to afford your own drink. And so long as there was a job around, the Orc never had an issue of that. He approached the notice board as he neared the tavern, pulling the lupine hood of his cloak down to allow himself to examine it. He adjusted his ponytail before pulling the notice from the wall, noting the interesting scribe-work. A notice in blood was a very archaic way to go about it, and very crude. But hunting goblins was something he tried to do when he could. The beasts were a cancer that rotted away at nearby civilizations, marauding and killing when they could. The Orc looked around at the crowd, placing the notice inside his cloak before walking through it. He was pressing easily through the pushing force of the crowd. He was always hard to hide in a crowd, towering over the average villager. It was always nice for a merc job, but just trying to relax out of sight was often a challenging thing unless he remained in the woods near a town. Then again they made stalls in the back of a tavern for good reason. He approached the inn and pulled out the notice from the board, double checking the name of the Inn on the page. He really would rather not mess up when it came to dealing with someone who wrote their notices in-hopefully- their own blood. He stepped into the Inn, dipping his head down slightly as he entered to ensure he didn't knock into the door frame. Sturdy wood was never something one wanted their forehead to become friends with. He moved to the counter of the inn, holding up the notice and asking the man behind the counter about the man who posted it. He was helpful, or as helpful as a witless innkeeper could be. He pressed into the inn, finding the man at a table near the back and setting the notice down on the table. He sat down without a word and placed his axe on the table on top of the notice. He was never one that tried to mince words, but he figured that another merc would get the message anyway. "Any details I should know?" The Orc kept to the business of it, not seeming interested in much else beyond what he'd be needed for. Killing goblins was pretty simple to him, usually coming down to swinging the axe hard enough so you don't stop swinging for too long. The bastards swarmed too fast in most battles, and if the man needed help he could only imagine that there was quite a few of the little rats in the hills. |
|
|
|
| Auron DeBrouchet | Fri Apr 8, 2011 6:45 am Post #3 |
|
Auron leaned back in his seat, running a thumb over the sealed wound on his palm, frowning. One of these days, a bottle of ink would be necessary. He couldn’t keep opening old wounds for the sake of writing. It was barely worth trying, anyhow. He’d barely learned to write. Likely as not, whoever decided to snap up the offer would think it a joke played by a bored child. Sighing, he got up, approaching the bar. The smell of alcohol was tempting, more so than anything he’d experienced previously. Licking his lips, which had dried rapidly, he shook his head. “Get you a drink?” The bartender asked, a rough man getting on in years. From the looks of him, the only adventures he’d experienced were those recounted by visiting patrons and bards. “Ye—No, no thank you. But I’m expecting company. Got a notice for hire out. Appreciate it if you point anyone who comes looking my direction.” The old man cleared his throat. Auron lifted a corner of his mouth in a crooked smile, shelling out a silver coin. Nodding, he pocketed it swiftly. “I’ll keep an eye and ear out for ye, lad.” Patting the bar, he returned to his seat, sitting and producing his knife. The man began picking at his fingernails, shaving away bit by bit until each was rounded and neat. He hadn’t noticed the approach of the orc until the paper was set on the table, followed by a rather sizeable axe. The thud made him jump slightly, pricking the paper-thin flesh under his nail. Cursing colorfully, he shook the hand, putting his knife away. Looking up at the newcomer, he paused for a moment before snapping up the parchment. An orc. Auron smiled hesitantly. In any case, an orc would be a handy ally in close quarters, especially against the goblin race. On the other hand, he was an orc. Many men had preconceived notions about the kind, and often for good reason. Granted, he had a softer look to him than most orcs, hinting at mixed blood. He had to take what he could get. Glancing over the parchment, he nodded, folding it and tucking it into his belt. “Not much to know. Ran across what seems like nearly a full tribe. More than I expected initially. The reward will be split down the middle, along with whatever you make off bounties. Foothills of the mountain range, just past the plains.” Auron brushed the nail shavings into a small pile, blowing them off the edge of the table. “They looked rather skittish. Organized to boot. Reckon something’s gotten the lot stirred up. Still interested?” Folding his hands in front of him, he looked the orc in the eye. |
|
|
|
| Balder Brightwolf | Fri Apr 8, 2011 8:34 am Post #4 |
|
Goblins? Organized? Sounded like a bad joke to him. The most organized he had seen the ugly bastards was the perfect lines they tended to form while running. Though that was likely for survival. Hard to pick off a target if the guy behind him is taking all the arrows for him. Though it helped that they tended to push one another out of the way and leave plenty of openings for a few extra blows. "If they're still there I'm still interested. Goblins aren't particularly scary, even if the little runts can keep in organized lines." He matched the man's stare, picking his axe up off of the table and replacing it on his hip. His lupine white cloak ruffled a bit as a few men passed, the Orc watching them close until they were out of ear shot. He was never a fan of the rogues that tended to frequent bars, mostly because he hated having to leave town after he put a pickpocket through a table. More trouble then their worth, that lot. He put his hood over his head and leaned forward, putting an arm on the table and putting some weight on it. He could hear the wood of the table creaking and the legs of it bent slightly on his side. The man before him was an interesting one, he'd give him that. From the scars he could see the human had seen his own share of fights, hopefully enough to give him a level head when they're in the field. "Just let me know when you're ready to get this over with, and lead me there. I doubt you'll find a better mercenary in this... town." He put some accent on the last word, not a huge fan of the small town that he was in. He tried to avoid visiting it if at all possible, only coming in when he was sure he could find some decent work. The place was usually good about that, at least. It's folks were a nice lot, as far as humans go, but they always had something peaking it's head out of the wood work, calling for some sort of armed response. All the better for the mercenaries, but the Orc had put many-a-notch on the haft of his axe because of it. He shook his head and leaned back again, crossing his arms and waiting. The Orc wouldn't mind simply sitting for a few hours while the man prepared whatever he needed for the campaign, it was a part of the mercenary life-or hell, any sort of armed militia had to deal with hurry up and wait policies. One couldn't be impatient in a job that often meant life or death. And he had a knot in his stomach that made him think this job was erring more on the side of death. He looked down at Hel-breaker resting on his hip, wondering if she would add a few extra notches, or if he would be added to the tally himself. |
|
|
|
| Auron DeBrouchet | Sat Apr 9, 2011 2:25 am Post #5 |
|
Auron grinned at his remark. “Not generally, no. But then again, I wasn’t planning on needing help, either.” He noted the shady characters walking by, one brushing a hand past the orc’s cloak. Craning his head, he relaxed upon seeing his hands were empty. “Bloody fools.” He leaned over and spat on the ground. Having happened to be glancing his way, the bartender scowled at him. “Floor’s filthy ‘nuff as it. Unless ye intend to spit shine the lot of it, not a scrap nor drop will find its way from your mouth to my floorboards.” Auron waved back casually. The sudden stress placed on the table caught him by surprise, scooting his legs from beneath the bending structure. He’d rather not be trapped under a pile of broken table and orc when all was said and done. “We can leave as soon as you’re ready. I’ve no business here but hiring on a new mercenary, and picking up a new pair of gauntlets I’ve been told should have been finished day before.” The desert warrior grinned. “And I doubt I will, at that.” He eyes the merc’s arms and the hints of his axe beneath the cloak. Few better than an orc to have along smashing heads. Placing his hands on the table, he helped himself to his feet. “You can come with, if you like, but in any case, we’ll be headed off within the hour. Make sure you’re done soon, we have little time. The trip itself will take little under half a day’s trek.” Turning on the spot, Auron left the building, crossing the street to the smithy. The workshop was open to the street, workbench and anvil near the forge, in the corner. The man himself, a burly human with skin akin to Auron’s own, and a slant to his eyes revealing Istani heritage, worked over his anvil, working with a white-hot rod over a metallic scale-shaped plate. Glancing up as Auron entered, the man grinned. “Just putting on the finishing touches. Fine specimen you’ve gotten yourself. A bit young, but then again there’s not much you can do with the older ones, is there? Too large and inflexible. But the skin. You’ll have to bring me adult skin soon, brother. I’ll finish the set for you.” Auron chuckled, walking forward and clapping forearms with the man, kissing his brow. “Soon, soon. I’ll need to finish the job I’m doing now before I’ve got the gold to fund it. Speaking of which…” Auron produced a burlap purse filled with coins. “Keep the extra. Put it toward my next piece.” The smithy nodded, lifting the plate with a pair of small tongs. Slipping the thumb-sized scale under another on a gauntlet, he slid an odd-looking tool over it, squeezing a handle. With a click, the scale fastened to the glove. Lifting it, he slapped it across the anvil. A sharp ring pinged through the room. “Gorgeous.” He traded the purse for the pair of gloves, slipping them on immediately. They fit perfectly, the measurements extremely precise. “Bring me back a few bigger ones and I’ll add bracers to the set, on the house.” Clapping forearms again, Auron backed out the shop, tapping the clawed fingertips against the backs of the plates. |
|
|
|
| Balder Brightwolf | Sat Apr 9, 2011 7:14 pm Post #6 |
|
The Orc nodded through the man responding, glad to hear that there wouldn't be much keeping them in the town. He wanted to get to work, and he wanted to do it as soon as he could. It had been too long since he'd been in a good battle, and organized goblins sounds like it'd be a decent time. He pushed himself from the table and looked over the room, staring down any man that turned their head to watch the Orc as he did. He pulled his hood up, checking on his back to ensure the hidden part of his person was still there. And with that he was ready. He moved from the Inn, through the town to the gate and waited for the man. He had no business in this town beyond a job and now that he had one he would be glad to get there at all speed. The Orc wasn't what one would call a slow runner, but he would need the human to guide him there. It was a prospect he had to deal with sometimes, and one that didn't make him much too happy, most the time. He smelled the air and felt slightly uncomfortable, which was unusual. From what the man said they'd be going to the mountains and killing the beasts, but it felt wrong. The mountains were usually his favorite place to be, but this time was out of the ordinary. He shook his head, trying to not think of the fears that gnawed at the back of his head. "Mirdautas vras. Let us hope it is still today by the time we get there..." He watched the sky above, noting the placement of the sun. He said that getting there would take half of a day, and hoped that didn't mean they came there during the night. Goblins weren't smart beasts, but in the night they had a slight advantage, their small size letting them hide amongst the foliage, and their night-vision being a bit better then an Orcs, or a Humans. He silently hoped they took some extra time to arrive there at dawn, when the beasts were just waking up and they could storm in with a fury. Especially considering the Orcs less then superb abilities at stealth. He was sure if the goblins were organized enough to seem intimidating they had a way to warn one another of someones presence, which wasn't such a great thing. He kept no projectile weaponry on himself, and an Orc towering over six feet wasn't the most discrete thing to have running at you at full speed. The image alone brought a stony chuckle to the Orc, imaging slamming a puny goblin between his shield, Gwilikith's Aegis, and a large stone. He silently hoped to himself that the opportunity for such a thing was opened at least once, to try out the new shield he had found not too far from where they were headed in a less then standard way. |
|
|
|
| Auron DeBrouchet | Sun Apr 10, 2011 4:14 pm Post #7 |
|
Auron buckled a couple of loose straps on the underside of the gauntlets and stretched his arms. They had a pleasant weight to them, one he would have to get used to, but it would help his… ventures. Searching for the orc, the man opened the door to the inn, glancing about the general area he’d left him. Not finding him, he decided it would be best to wait at the gate. But a minute later he found the mercenary had arrived before him. Lifting a hand in greeting, the Istani paused by him, looking over the plains the way he’d come. Pointing out towards a section of the foothills, covered with a bluish haze in the distance, he traced the curve of it with a finger. “We’re headed there. Path gets a bit narrow at parts, but it’s not too hard to get through. Ready to get going?” **** They arrived at the base of the mountain range late in the afternoon, having made fair time across the plains. Auron placed his hands on his hips, gently as so the clawed fingertips didn’t dig into his flesh, and looked over the half mile of rock and hill before them. The path led off to the left, curving into the range. He walked the path all of ten meters before breaking off to the right, following a less obvious path, one leading up the hill itself. There came a point where the climb was steep enough to need to climb up with both hands, but he scrambled over fairly well. “Nearly there. Just over the next hill, and we’ll be at the original camp. I doubt they’ll still be there now, but their trail should be easy enough to follow.” Reaching the cret of the hill brought him to a rock-shrouded area, several boulders from a rockfall long ago blocking the view from the camp. Somewhat casually, he strolled between two rocks, nearly coming into the open before diving back behind the stone wall. There were goblins still here. Peering around the rock, he searched out the campsite from memory. And failed to recognize anything from before. The layout was entirely different. Different dyes had been used on tents, and these goblins had a rougher look to them, skin paler. Retreating to the crest of the hill, he shook his head. “Occupied. But there’s reason to believe it’s not the goblins I saw here a day ago.” Looking back over the stone sentinels protecting them from the view of the horde beyond, he pursed his lips. Let’s hope this doesn’t mean what I think.” |
|
|
|
| Balder Brightwolf | Wed Apr 13, 2011 12:03 am Post #8 |
|
The Orc didn't need any words, following behind the mercenary with a blind trust. Such was the job, you went without words, or a smile. He stayed twelve paces behind, and kept his legs pumping like pistons. The Orc was built for battle and war, and the promise of it was all he needed to stop feeling things such as exhaustion or fear. And with a snarl and a huff, he pressed on into the mountains with axe in one hand, and shield in another. The smell of goblins was in the air, and Balder wanted to rid the world of a few more stenches. He couldn't wait to crush one of them beneath his weight, or toss one off the edge of the mountain. Such was the desire of an old Orc, you just wanted to fight enemies you have fought thousands of times before, and to keep the honor of battle going on forever. He could smell them even heavier now as they approached the camp that the Mercenary had been in before. With a rock to his back, Balder closed his eyes and listened for the sounds of Goblins. He could hear the bustle of their camp, some squawking and arguing, and a few conversations. He didn't remember much of the goblin language but this band was apparently following some kind of Shaman, if you could call a goblin's meager knowledge of shamanistic ways making him a shaman. And the fact that there was two tribes moving through here didn't bode very well at all. Goblin tribes working together usually only happened when there was a power enslaving them, turning their deadly numbers against an opponent to wear them down. If they had an able leader, a goblin army was a dangerous machine that brought down even the best of warriors with their sheer power of numbers. "So what is your plan, then? Charging in headlong would be entertaining, but we wouldn't last very long if they are as organized as you seem to think." And he was quite sure from the facts he could gather that they were. He was already tense from the army of goblins sitting nearby, running down the mountainside away from that army sounds like a way to be hunted down and slaughtered like dogs. Even if those dogs took a few score of the beasts with them. He peaked out from behind the rock and looked through the crowds of goblins nearby, looking at the prints on their tents and the marks on their paltry pieces of armor. He wasn't aware of the tribe's markings, which worried the Orc. His patron had done well in his teachings, and these were of a tribe he couldn't recognize. Perhaps a new tribe? That spelled even worse, then. New forming tribes of goblins always had dark secrets behind them, or some sort of sick view. The Orc had a mix of feelings now. Part of him was excited at the prospect of war, and battle- the other was anxious at the thought of what storm was coming for the world now. |
|
|
|
| Auron DeBrouchet | Wed Apr 13, 2011 12:53 am Post #9 |
|
“Perhaps our best strategy would be to press our advantage. Fight soon, while it is still day.” Glancing around the immediate area, he paused. “Or perhaps we could turn the tides. The hillside is likely still covered in fairly loose rocks. We could use that to cause quite a bit of chaos.” He turned to face the side of the mountain facing them. One face was slightly flattened out, serving as a useful guide. But it didn’t point directly to the camp. Auron leaned against a rock. They would have to hurry to accomplish any sort of plan before nightfall. The sun was lowering in the sky already, and in but a few hours would be touching the horizon over the plains. Time was not their ally in this particular venture. “[color]We need to find a way to rain rocks down on them. And in the confusion, if we can eliminate the leader of this particular tribe, we could severely cripple the group as a whole. Unfortunately…[/color]” Auron waved a hand over the mountainside “The mountains are not my forte. In the sands, I can lay traps. Maybe even in the city. But out here, there’s too little to work with for anything too fine.” Peering around the boulders between the duo and the camp, he looked closer at the tribe’s workings. The lot of them squinted quite noticeably, unused to the light. If he had to hazard a guess as to their origins, he’d say they were from the caves leading to the tunnels. If that were the case, it boded ill for whatever purpose the goblin tribes had in mind, if they were pulling brethren from underground, and keeping them peaceful long enough for the alliance to survive, something larger was afoot. Goblins rarely had ideas of their own. Illusions of grandeur, perhaps, but as far as tactics went, they were a dumb lot. Often they borrowed tactics that had been tried in the past, usually against them. As a result, invading hordes were relatively easy to fend off when one knew their battle plan. Scuffling sounds from their opposite side alerted Auron, turning to face the noises. Warily, he approached the edge of the short cliff. Two goblins were coming up the path below, bickering between each other and dragging behind them what looked like a boar. Their scrawny limbs could hardly bear the weight, and they hadn’t proved to hold the logic to gut the creature before dragging it uphill. “Company.” He drew his rapier with the soft, velvety hiss of steel on leather. |
|
|
|
| Balder Brightwolf | Wed Apr 13, 2011 2:26 am Post #10 |
|
He couldn't disagree, though the old Orc knew the mountains quite well. They were his home for a very long time, and he could use the simplest things on the hills as a weapon. He was already wiling away thoughts in his mind, wondering how exactly he could use the bounty of the hills as a weapon. They would take a while, so he was sure they would be burning daylight through the entirety of the trap, but the Orc didn't have as much trouble seeing in the night as the Human would have. "We can use the hills to our advantage, up higher we can use dead trees to hold a trap. Use stones to hold the log in place, and put larger ones behind it. If one of us can draw them into the zone it falls in, we can put their entire tribe into chaos." And to be quite honest, he wouldn't mind having that job. He wondered if he could rely on the human to setup the trap in time for him to draw them in, though he was sure he would have to help with at least some of it. A rockfall from a trap like that would kill most anything in it's path, and do some heavy to damage to whatever else it hit, and it was the kinda thing that brought a smile to his old cheeks. He was hopeful that they could find the supplies without much trouble, the bounty of the hills never being too easy to get a hold of. A fallen log alone would be difficult, and if they couldn't find one they wouldn't be able to attain one without drawing attention- making the venture moot. And when the mercenary told him they had company, Balder knew that it was time to prove himself. He pulled his cloak tight against him, bringing himself into the dirt. He could see the goblins bickering between one another, hauling their bounty with their spindly arms. An easy battle, but a great warm up if there ever was one. The Orc waited on the top of a nearby stone, waiting for them to cross the road near them. As the oblivious little creatures passed, a figure in white sailed through the air as silently as the massive hulking form could be, landing on the first one with his shield leading. The snapping sound of bone was all that came with it, the other goblin barely able to yelp as his ally that was holding his end of the boar became part of the landscape. The Orc snorted, not even noticing that the first goblin was still twitching against the stone. It couldn't reach it's scouting horn with broken legs, it's presence was irrelevant. He came in on the second one with his axe leading, Hel-breaker tearing into goblin flesh like paper. Before it's hand could reach for it's weapon or horn, it's bone and flesh cleaved through and dropped to the dirt. It got a mild cry out as the shield came in hard, breaking it's jaw up into itself. With a snarl, the Orc dropped it's axe into the thick of the goblin's abdomen, dropping it into the dirt with a satisfying thump. He moved the two bodies behind a nearby tree, moving back over to the mercenary as quietly as he could, and leaning down behind the stone once again. The white of his cloak was stained red, and he wondered why it wasn't already a full crimson at this point. "That is dealt with, shall we setup your trap-" and with a grim smile, the orc looked over the stone, "-and should I prepare to draw them in?" It would be an early birthday gift for the Orc from himself to draw a tribe full of goblins into raining stones. The only way it could be any more fruitful were they stones he picked up and tossed into their ranks himself, the wrath of the Orc behind every rock and stone. |
|
|
|
| Auron DeBrouchet | Wed Apr 13, 2011 3:03 am Post #11 |
|
Peering up the mountain face, he nodded. They’d have quite a time of getting the log that high up the cliff. Though admittedly it would prove easier to bring it down the hill, or even across, than drag one up the side. The hike would prove strenuous enough. The Istani’s attention was quite captured by the orc’s flight, impressed with the ease he dispatched the creatures. At the moment the man buried his axe in goblin flesh, Auron was certain he’d picked the right man for the job. Many could swing an axe with an arm akin to his, but few did it with such grim pleasure and passion as the orc had. Few better to have along hunting goblins than he who hates them most. Smiling, Auron stepped off the side, using the heel of his boot to slide down the edge of the cliff. Gripping a thatch of roots to slow himself, he hopped off the slope and onto the trail. Bending down, he scooped up one of the hunting horns, eying it for a moment before lashing it to his belt. It would come in handy when it came time to capture the attention of the camp. Nodding his head to the orc with a new sense of respect for his prowess, the Istani drew his knife and bent over the boar’s corpse. Planting a boot between the back legs, he stomped, cracking the hips. Slicing up its belly, he opened the creature to the chilly mountain air. The innards were cooling, which was all the better for his purposes. Deftly, he cut out the stomach, a large sac for later. Turning the juices on the inside of the boar, he shook it out over the meat and set it on a bush for later. “Mind helping me? Crack the goblin’s skulls. But don’t let it drain out.” He pointed his bloodied dagger at the two bodies. Leaning over the innards, he punched holes in hunks of meat, then proceeded to chop at the intestines, spilling dung into the body cavity. Cutting until he found a suitable hole, he aimed his knife and drove it up the neck, puncturing the back of the brain from the inside. Swiveling the knife, he drew his bloodied arm out quickly, watching as a small amount of brain matter drip into the cavity. Spitting in it, he turned to the orc. “Drain the fluids into the boar.” The Istani didn’t bother explaining his tactics. The gruesome technique had been used before against some of the more savage creatures of imythess. Poisoning the meat in a fashion less obvious later in the stages of forming. |
|
|
|
| Balder Brightwolf | Wed Apr 13, 2011 3:49 am Post #12 |
|
He followed after the man, not questioning him as he came down and started his work with the dead goblins. He was working for him at the moment, and all he had to do was go along with the plans of the employer. Such was the lot of a mercenary. He watched him begin his carving of the boar with a bit of interest, not quite sure what he had in mind. And the question of the goblins skull didn't help to clear his curiosity much. He did what he was told, however, cupping their heads into his shield to soak up any excess, cracking their skulls like eggs with the edge of his axe. Some blood oozed from the first one's head, but he placed the body against the rock wall as steadily as he could to keep it's head from draining out. He moved to the next, repeating the gruesome process before laying it against it's allies corpse. The questions were beginning to answer themselves when he had finished his job, and the mercenary told him to drain the fluids. Some kind of morbid weapon involving the brains of the goblins-if you could call the lumps in their heads brain, most of the time it just seemed like instinct then intellect. He carried the first over, then the second, carefully draining the liquid carefully to ensure that none of it spilled out onto the ground below. He worried that their ruse would be caught, the liquid draining slowly, a sickly thickness to it that made the Orc purse his lips as best he could. He could feel his fangs cutting into his lips, but he would have to ignore it for now. There was work to do and he couldn't be distracted by such stupid things. When he had finished with the second goblin, he looked at the warrior's work with a little bit of amusement, it was ingenious really. The goblins wouldn't really question what they eat, except maybe beyond if it's dead or alive and which one seems best to eat it. They weren't picky creatures in the slightest no matter what way the Orc looked at them. Added to the trap he recommended earlier, the tribe could easily be crushed beneath their own blind stupidity. Then again, such things had been said of them before and they pushed through it with heightened numbers and more frothing insanity. Such a lovely trait of the goblinoid race. "So what're you going to do with this? Or do I want to know?" A part of him would rather not know, of course, but the Orc hated to not know what he was heading into. Especially since he was getting more and more excited about the prospect of drawing the entire tribe of goblins into a mass of falling rocks and death. It would be a glorious battle, and he couldn't wait to plant his axe into the skulls of a few living goblins. "And should I start gathering some things for the rockfall? I'm sure there are dead trees up the slope I could find, if not.. I have an axe for a reason." No part of him remotely enjoyed the thought of drawing an entire goblin tribe to him trying to cut down a tree, however. He enjoyed fights above all else, but slaughters were never Balder's style. |
|
|
|
| Auron DeBrouchet | Wed Apr 13, 2011 4:26 am Post #13 |
|
Auron nodded as the orc dripped the fluid into the boar, helping the flow with his knife, pinching the matter between thumb and forefinger, pulling it in like an egg white. Bearing the process with little more than a slight look of distaste, the Istani stirred the mixture inside the boar slightly, opening the innards to the sun’s rays and propping it against the rock wall. Standing upright, he stretched his back, spitting into the open pig. “This little beauty’s going to foul over the next few hours. Let the fluids soak into the meat. When we finish with this lot, it’ll be well ready. We’ll feed it to the next tribe. Looks to be consuming the fluid of your own race doesn’t bode well for your health. Brain’s blood and pig’s fecal matter’ll make the lot sick to their stomachs.” “Best to get started as soon as we can. Though I’d advise against using the axe, if you can. Don’t want the sound to draw attention to us. Not yet, anyway.” Auron nodded, looking up the trail. It curved sharply around the hillside, likely a direct path into their camp. They’d have to break off early, or climb up the hillside. Digging his foot into the loose soil his slide had made, he pushed himself up the slope, digging in holds with his knife. Only a couple moments had passed during the short climb, leaving them with a good amount of time to prepare the trap. Once more on the clearing blocked off with a garden of boulders, he looked back to the orc to make sure he was following before heading across and up the mountainside. Keeping close to the rock with as much between himself and the tribe’s line of sight, he began scouting out possible rocks to use in their trap. Several dead and dying trees littered the mountainside, many of them broken as it were, lying on their sides. |
|
|
|
| Balder Brightwolf | Fri Apr 15, 2011 10:54 am Post #14 |
|
So it was a simple matter of strategic warfare, a part of the battle that the Orc tried to avoid beyond minor traps and terrain selection. Anything beyond that he always felt was cowardly, unnecessary, but now he wasn't fitting the bill and he wouldn't complain about it. With a nod, he looked up the hill and started the climb, it was time to set up something he knew how to do. The Orc felt like home the higher into the hills they went, his father having raised him with a small war-tribe in the higher peaks, fighting off whatever beasts moved into their territory. Those were golden days to him, a battle every day and a drink every night. The perfect life for any Orc, or a dwarf for that matter. With a happy feeling of nostalgia, the Orc got to work without a word. He could feel memories welling up in the back of his mind as he found the perfect fallen tree, hefting it near the middle and slowly finding the perfect setup spot for it. He could feel his legs burning the entire way, and his arms cording painfully. In the old days this would be the job of at least three or four scouts. Such was the way of the world, you had to do everything yourself eventually. He turned to the human and grunted, setting the log down behind two medium sized stones. They were rooted in enough that they would be able to carry a lot of weight behind the log, but one of them would have been able to push it clean. With a nod, he moved for another item for the trap, hefting up a stone and moving towards the trap. "The trap should be ready soon, then I can pull the dogs into the kennel." He was slowly growing more and more in love with this idea, wanting to feel the force of a goblin falling and collapsing under the edge of his perfectly crafted axe. As he set another stone down onto the trap, he hefted his shield off of his back and set it on his arm at the ready. The man likely had a few interesting plans for the trap, but for now it was about time to spring it. If they waited any longer it would turn to the night, and organizing the trap during the nighttime would be near suicidal. Looking down the hill, he patted a hand on the haft of Hel-breaker, tapping his fangs together expectantly. Anxiety wasn't often a feeling an Orc felt, but he was feeling it now. He was feeling anxious for the coming battle, wondering just how many goblins would bear in on him until they were cleared out and scattered. "Now... shall I spring the trap or is there more planning needs done?" He waited for the human to respond, not wanting to step out of turn. Even if they had to fight at night, being coordinated was much better then being timely when it came to war-tactics. Something he had personally proven almost a thousand times in his life. |
|
|
|
| Auron DeBrouchet | Sat Apr 16, 2011 3:48 pm Post #15 |
|
Auron nodded as the orc moved the heavier objects, making sure everything was steady, not about to let their trap be triggered before anything was in the line of fire. Seizing smaller rocks, he placed them behind the trap to let fall afterwards, the work leaving a sheen of sweat on his brow and arms. Carefully moving to the bottom of the trap, he hefted his dagger and began carving out grooves below the various rocks and boulders, leaving enough ground for them to remain still until struck, when the dirt would collapse into the groove and create a ramp for the rocks. The work was slow going, and the sun was lowering in the sky, well near the horizon as he finished a satisfactory amount of gain for their rockfall. Working his way back up the log holding back stones, he went around the trap as not to cave in any of the grooves he’d made. The Istani had several more ideas to weaken their ranks or wipe them out straight, but their time was limited, if not nonexistent. The rockfall trap had taken more time than he’d expected it to. The mountains were not his terrain of choice. “Draw them in, then. I’m surprised we ended up planning anything at all. Usually my pan is a simple and workable one. Charge in headfirst and cut them before they cut you.” He grinned. “Here, take this.” He sliced through the crude leather cord at his belt, freeing the hunting horn. Taking it up, he offered it to the orc. “One of their horns. Use it at the bottom, it should bring in a good portion of the goblins." Sheathing his knife in its cloth wrappings, he secured it. Wouldn’t do to have to worry about being gutted by his own blade in the middle of the action. Stretching, Auron approached the trap, bending down at the ready. For a moment, he worried he wouldn’t be able to budge the log, what with the weight bearing down on it. Glancing about, he selected a somewhat level rock and a sturdy-looking shard of wood, using the rock as a fulcrum. Setting up the lever at the inside edge of the log, he took in a deep breath. Hopefully this plan would prove better than most he’d seen, which had, for the most part, gone horribly wrong. Edited by Auron DeBrouchet, Sat Apr 16, 2011 6:03 pm.
|
|
|
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
 |
|
| Go to Next Page | |
| « Previous Topic · Gwilikith Moutain Range · Next Topic » |
- Pages:
- 1
- 2
1:48 PM May 19
