The Marked Men - School Of The Stag.

[Roopak 21]

MC Name: Roopak

 

IC Name: Dave Chappleton

 

Age: 27

 

Race: Human

 

Minor Backstory: Dave Chappleton was always a loud and scruffy man, inconsiderate to others and very stubborn. At a young age his father taught him how to hunt animals like deers and wolves, because of this he has become a veteran of archery. Dave has gone through many twists and turns throughout his life, he has been a hunter, a mercenary, a thief and a pirate. Dave is decently trained in combat and he is rather quick and agile. When he was a young boy his parents loved him, they cared for him for what seemed eternally. That was until Dave's family started to run out of money, which cause his father to resort to alcoholism, which then lead to abuse and domestic violence. Dave's father ended up killing his wife in a drunken rage. Dave then knew enough was enough and ran from home at the age of 13. He arrived at his aunt's house, and lived there for 5 years. While he was living there he learnt the basics of woodworking, and learnt some forms of agriculture. At 18 years old, he left to explore the vast land of Athera.

[BathRugMan 559]

MC Name: Bathrugman

 

IC Name: Beltran

 

Age: 29

 

Race: Human

 

Minor Backstory: Born to the Oren Noble house of D'stolistes, he left at the age of 18 to pursue adventures elsewhere. Coming back to Anthos at the age of 20, his house was exiled along with the rebellion. Now a bard, he travels the land, seeking others for his mighty quest in music.

 

[problematic z 477]

The woods of north east Felsen were quiet on this particular morning. Frost settled on the leaves of untouched pines and made the grass crunch with each step. Two Marked Men, one with half of his face covered in scar tissue and the other with ashen hair and each wielding aurum swords walked alongside a Dwarf with a staff through the peaceful greenery, muttering quietly to each other. "Split up and light a signal fire once you find it." said the man with ashen hair, continuing to walk directly ahead as the other two turned to walk in opposite directions. It took three hours before the ashen-haired man and the dwarf saw smoke rise to the west. The two quickly hurried over to the source of the plume, finding the man with the scarred face waiting patiently for them, prodding a small fire as he sat above a sinister looking cavern. The three approached the mouth of the cave and got to work.

 

A few minutes later a large bang rocked the same woods, knocking beads of water loose from the leaves and kicking up a cloud of smoke. To those who would stumble across the scene at a later date, they would find a clearing drenched in bile and blood, chunks are taken out of nearby trees and three pairs of footprints lead to Felsen. A dozen dead cave leeches would litter the space near their collapsed nest, bloodied, burnt and chopped up alongside an uprooted tree. 

 

 

[lawnmowerman 3040]

The woods of Vanaheim were frigid. The land was blanketed by breezy snowflakes flowing down from the sky, rendering the hillsides and pinetrees in a layer of flawless white. The frozen branches of the trees steadily refracted the light of the late-afternoon sun, hueing the forest in a corona of sunlight and casting a soft glow across the surface of the nearby snow. A hunting party of six Marked Men stepped off of a Felsen cart and trod up a nearby hill. “Spread out - search for tracks”, muttered an elf, and the men dispersed. A call arose after fifteen minutes, and the party of men congregated atop a hill. A massive troll - their quarry - stood before the six of them, and the Marked Men set out to complete their work.

 

An hour later, a headless troll would lay upon a hill in a large puddle of melted snow. The hair on its back would be burnt to a crisp - presumably by some eldritch means, both knees would be split with well-placed arrows, and several broken shafts would be buried deep within its flesh. It had not walked far, and no blood but the troll’s was evident upon the ground. Six pairs of heavy bootprints led back to the cart, and the cart’s tracks lead back towards Felsen.

[Smithers 388]

[!] Smoke rises from within the walls of Kaer Aardwen. Men surround a burning pyre, their heads hung low. A name is engraved upon the wall of the dead.

 

"In memory of Gerald Elgan.

 

A veteran of the School of the Ouroboros and a brother of the Marked Men.

 

He stood steadfast and vigilant, driving the foul and the corrupted from the realms of Man."

 

~

 

 

[!] An aurum sword is placed in the ground atop the bastion of Kaer Aardwen, visible over the lip of a tower. Silhouetted against the castle's somber view, the sword stands as a symbol of unending vigil. On the blade is an inscription.

 

"Steel for men, aurum for monsters. May justice be done."

 

Carved across the crossguard is a simple message. 

 

"Gerald Elgan, fallen brother."

[Stormclank 232]

Application Format

 

MC Name: Stormclank

 

IC Name: Ri-Prezd

 

Age: 35

 

Race: Farfolk

 

Minor Backstory: Ri-prézd has lived all of his life as a royal guard to the house of Savoy and to the de Bar family. He was well paid and was living a comfortable life but sadly that didn't satisfy his need for a good old fight. Through his service as a guard of the royals he has earned himself the strange title of 'Sand-rag'. He is a very trustworthy man and is also talented in the arts of alchemy along with fighting.

[problematic z 477]

 

It was your average day in Laurelin. The sun sat low in the sky, casting its last golden beams through the foliage of the dense forest. The residents were about to head home in fact, but then a bright light, brighter than any light the sun could perform at this hour, shone through the tavern. Suddenly, an intense explosion shook the building, leaving a gaping hole in wall and a figure… A figure clad in heavy metal armour, standing nigh seven feet tall.

 

 

A Marked Man, his hair like ash, stood up to the figure. His blade shot from it’s scabbard in a flash. The being’s greatsword swung around with intense speed and the Marked Man parried it, the strength seemed to catch the Marked off guard, causing him to stumble back. A grizzled old man, dressed in the garb of that Imperial Special forces regiment entered the tavern. He drew his sword and attempted to take the beast, the beast would have none of it, disarming him instantly and tossing him across the room in a spectacular display, straight into the Marked Man.

 

The two tumbled out onto the deck as Laurelin soldiers swarmed the Tavern, barging into the room in an effort to kill the threat. The place seethed. The clanging of metal against metal and the grunting of fighting men resonated throughout the establishment. Cries of pain quickly followed along with the sound of bodies hitting the floor. The being’s heavy footsteps shook the ground.

 

The Marked Man emerged once more, from the same hole in which the being made its entrance. He dug his sword into the ash and raised his arms before him, muttering a quiet incantation. The being whirled on the spot and met his gaze. The Marked Man’s spell was cast. A stream of orange fire surging from his palm. The being flung out its arm and its own spell burst from its hand, meeting the blast of flame halfway and sending the others who were still standing in the tavern toppling over.

 

The tavern’s occupants took flight. The Marked Man’s spell broke and the creature’s spell struck him in the chest, sending him through the hole and onto the turf outside. The Marked Man coughed before the creature dropped through the hole, crushing an Elf. It looked as though the fight was over, the Marked man laid spluttering and nursing his wounds. The creature approached, the Marked went for his sword but was too slow in his wounded state, the creature simply cast it asunder with his plated foot. The creature sent a harsh kick into his side, causing blood to shoot from his mouth as he wheezed painfully. The creature sheathed its blade, picking the Marked man up by the hair. A long, shaky breath hissed through its helmet. The metallic beast then opened his spare hand, revealing an orb of light. Slowly, the orb intensified, he pushed it into the Marked Man’s chest and it expanded, consuming them both. When it dispersed, there was no one to be seen.

A calmness ensued as the sun set over Laurelin. The Marked Man and the creature was no where to be seen.

[The Hedge Knight 173]

 

https://youtu.be/mhgzFacCWIs?t=4s

 

 

 

The night was cold as it always was in Kaer Aardwen. The northern lights drifted across the sky like brilliant colourful waves, carrying the full force of the winter with them. Three Marked Men stood in one of the many courtyards of the great keep, staring up at it. Wind battered the courtyard as snow flicked past their faces. None budged other than to blow warm, foggy breath into their hands. They had become accustomed to such elements.

 

Loud and echoing footsteps broke the constant whooshing of the icy wind, causing the men to look at each other in confusion. Blue energy seemed to condense in one spot nearby, taking on the shape of a young man. The Marked Men remained calm, as they had been taught to when dealing with ghosts and conversed with the being.

 

The being disappeared once more and the men split up to find it. For half an hour they traversed the expansive fortress, all apart from one finding naught. The man who did find the ghost learnt that it wished to return to a forest. They all agreed to assist the being in such an endeavor.

 

The Marked Men traversed the white expanse of the frozen mountains surrounding Kaer Aardwen, shivering and holding their hands out infront of their faces. The air stung like pins when it hit bare flesh.

 

They eventually stumbled down a moonlit, icy hill until they reached a frost encrusted forest. The Men remained quiet, watching the ghost as it began to fly in a rapid straight line, eventually dissipating into thin air. The company did its best to follow it, eventually reaching a deep pit with dry blood and flies at the bottom.

 

All of a sudden a voice boomed from all around them, it was similar to the specter’s but more sinister somehow. A red shape appeared in the corner of the three trio’s vision, looming at the edge of the pit. It hissed.

 

A strong wind seemed to blow through the forest and several branches fell from the trees. The poltergeist seemed furious. Before they could react, the four men were battered with branches and roots coming from all directions.

 

The anti-mage among them did his best to dispel the flinging objects, but not without his companions taking a beating in the process. A log was wrenched free from the earth in which it was buried over time, immediately propelling into the large thug, Norris, the Janitor of Kaer Aardwen. He doubled over and groaned in pain.

 

As soon as this happened, the Marked with ashen hair darted to the left. The poltergeist noticed this and locked eyes with him. The roots that were assaulting the other two began to curve in his direction, gaining speed. The anti-mage deftly raised both hands, sending a stream of grey mist over the roots, causing them to crumple and shrivel up and die before they reached the running man.

 

The poltergeist looked almost scared as the man bounded up the hill and weaved between trees, tracing a semi-circle around its flank. A second Marked Man, with blonde hair and a fresh face, began to mimic his ashen-haired accomplice movements. The spirit was oblivious to this as it focused its energies on halting the incoming ashen-haired man.

 

It tore a tree down to block the path, the ashen-haired man sprinted and jumped over it, though roots shot from the ground and snatched him out of the air, tearing him back down to the ground and slamming his face into the dirt, dazing him.

 

The younger Marked began to pant and sweat gathered around his forehead. This would be his first kill. He sprinted forth, grabbed his sword with both hands and thrust it into the spirit’s back, causing it to dissipate into red mist before disappearing entirely.

[problematic z 477]

18th of the Great Harvest, 1519

 

 

 

The forests south of Dour Watch were eerily quiet despite the light patter of thin rain on the cloaks of three Marked Men. They quietly and swiftly made their way through the woods, hungry for some coin after a long stretch without contract, which had given them time to train rigorously and develop a craving for action.

 

An alarmed screech suddenly broke the rainy ambience, causing several birds to fly from their nests and disappear into the rainy air. The men all instinctively ducked low and began to fan out, drawing their swords with quiet, wet hisses. They shot each other knowing glances as they began to look for the source of the noise.

 

Bushes rustled around them and branches waved about, the beast was stalking them. It was quick. Suddenly the men heard a hiss behind them as a blur darted past their peripherals, disappearing into some other bushes. It rose onto its hind legs and stared at one of the men, its amber eyes burning through the leaves like torches. He noticed this and muttered a single word.

 

“Move.”

 

The two men, both at once, twisted from their positions and found new, more hidden ones as the man who had been targeted by the beast began to back up into a small clearing, lowering his sword as he prepared to throw himself out of the beast’s path should it come. His suspicion was correct. The monster, its head like that of a demented bird, thrust itself forwards at incredible speed, its long, lizard-like tail whipping around behind it.

 

The man with ashen-hair threw himself to the right and rolled before jumping to his feet again with the momentum of such a move, another man with a scar running down his cheek kept his back pinned to a tree, out of the monster’s view as it skidded to a halt, the sack beneath its beak lay swaying and exposed, the man behind the tree seized this opportunity, turning out of cover and hurling an aurum hatchet at the sack, causing it to be cut wide open. Smog spilled out and the beast let a blood curdling shriek escape its beak.

 

The man who had dived to the right  wrapped his left gauntlet around the middle of his sword and held the hilt with his other. He lunged forwards and pierced the beast’s thigh. It responded by batting its wing, which he cleaved through as he wrenched the weapon free before stumbling back from the winds the wings generated.

 

The man with the scar jabbed at the beast’s back before it whipped him out of the way with its tail, sending him crashing through a bush with a grunt. The beast fixed its eyes on the ashen-haired man who had stumbled back and charged again, its beak poised to peck.

 

The man side-stepped and twisted, swinging at the beast and missing as it darted straight passed him and into a tree. He backed up and glanced to the third man, who had remained behind cover thus far.

 

  “Behind.”

 

The third man jogged around the treeline, weaving between trees and ducking beneath branches before he managed to sneak up on the monster and thrust his sword into its rear. The beast suddenly slouched and fell to the floor, weakly craning its neck to look at the two men before it.  The scarred man moved around to the being’s side, raising his sword in preparation to strike on his comrade’s word. The ashen-haired man pulled a bit of raw meat from a hook hanging from his belt, tossing it over at the beast.

 

The men allowed it to eat its last meal before one of them approached it and layed a comforting hand on its upper beak, stroking its feathers before a hoarse voice broke the silence.

 

“Now.”

 

A sword was thrust into the beast’s side, piercing its heart. It blinked up at the man who was patting it before its eyes went blank and it stopped its strained breathing. The head was cut from the rest of the body, which was torched straight after.

 

The three men wandered back in the direction which they came, one carrying the beast's head in his hand as the youngest of the men peered back into the forest, a grim frown on his face.

[Smithers 388]

 

The swamp hummed with life as two men sat in a camp amongst the trees, dim candles illuminating their gear. It had been meticulously chosen for this contract and it say within an arm’s reach - just in case the Skelt came to them instead of the other way around. They took turns keeping watch, their attention directed at the monster’s lair. They sat for hours, eyes peeled for the slightest hint of movement. Just as the moon began to rise above the treetops, a chirping noise was heard near the shore and the two men exchanged worried glances. They leaned closer and began to whisper in harsh tones.

 

"He'll fall for the bait, don't worry. Once we've fired, we run and cross halfway. Aim for the legs."

 

The two men began to load their weapons. One crossbow was loaded quietly, the string pulled into place with a cranequin device. The other was yanked up with a stirrup. Clicks resonated around the encampment as the Skelt began to pick the bait from trees. Rotten carrion had been hung upon protruding branches by the two men earlier in the day. The bait had been laid with great precision to lure the beast into an opportune spot for an ambush - and it was working. 

 

The two men took position on either side of a tree and, when the beast was in place, fired simultaneously. Two bolts, one tipped by aurum and the other of steel, spat from the crossbows and tore through the air towards the creature’s abdomen. They flew true - the steel bolt fractured the Skelt's hard shell and the aurum bolt buried itself in the opening, causing the insect to yield a metallic screech.

 

The Skelt barreled forth with unnatural speed as the two men ran out of their encampment with weapons drawn to meet it. The two Marked Men split and crossed paths halfway to the beast, confusing the Skelt. The men made great use of their manufactured opening - one man cleaved into the beast’s chest with his great-ax, and the other lopped its leg clean off with a deft swing of his longsword. The first man escaped the assault unscathed, but the Skelt’s talons tore through the second man’s armor and bit deep into muscle.

 

The beast, driven back by the men, stumbled and fell. Liquid oozed from the severed stump of its leg and it thrashed like a dying fly, sending putrid blood flying all directions. The man with the great-ax cleaved downwards and lopped another of the Skelt’s legs clean off. The swordsman stalked around it for a few brief moments before crushing the beast's skull with his sword.

 

The Skelt’s death throes continued for a few moments before it stiffened, dead. The swordsman lifted his boot and pressed it against the monster's shell with a grimace. He tore his sword free and twirled it in palm with before gripping the hilt with both hands and swinging for its neck.

[Stubbsy117 2]

Application:

 

MC Name: Stubbsy_boy96

 

IC Name: Calain

 

Age: 40

 

Race: Human

 

Minor Backstory:

 

Calain, robust from travel, is a strong looking man with Copper and White hair parted evenly. His journey began at a young age, leaving his whoring mother and shadow of a father he never had. With a passion for steel and an ambition for duty, blood of those who oppose good are stained like wine on his hands. He's first encounter with monsters has left a bitter taste in his mouth, the taste of more. The lust for monster hunting boils in his veins. His future lies in the hands of the Marked Men, his journey could be only begining.

 

____________________________________

[ShmadCat 58]

Application:

 

MC Name: King_Dreamer

 

IC Name: Jaskier

 

Age: 98

 

Race: Half-Elf

 

Minor Backstory: Born the bastard of a minor lord, the unfortunate result of witless passion. Jaskier (as he is currently known) was raised Elven by his mother , a huntress. Having grown in the backwoods of the Elven territory away from the reach of his fathers soldiers, solitude and rigorous tutelage of his mother, honed his ability as an archer and swordsman; along with instilling in him an an understanding and respect for the natural world, forming an attitude of Neutrality to all peoples no-matter their colour or creed.

 

Since departing at the age of thirty, Jaskier has spent the years between taverns, never staying in one place too long and living off the hard earned coin of contracts fulfilled. He carries with him the scars of past battle, forever reminding him of the experiences that had dulled his emotion and furthered his understanding of the world's unforgiving nature. After sixty odd years on the road, Jaskier had come to realise that his skills had reached a peak that could only be surpassed under the training of someone more disciplined than he.

[justDEWit 133]

MC Name: funny981

 

IC Name: Ravondir Silverblade

 

Age: 120

 

Race: Wood Elven

 

Minor Backstory: 

Born of two merchants slaughtered on the way home from their job, he was left as an orphan. As he grew up he trained with a wood sword on a straw dummy he made. Calius was walking down on the road and saw Ravondir and all his openings, weak strikes and such. He called for Ravondir and Ravondir followed him.

 

As Ravondir grew up, there became less and less openings until he joined the Sirame. After a few years of serving, Oren came by to check on the strength and discipline of the soldiers. Being called the 'green' of the Sirame, he sought out to find those called the Marked Men, who would hopefully take him in and train him.

[Bomber_ 2]

MC Name: Bomb_

 

IC Name: Elvedui Els’Thaan

 

Age: 38

 

Race: Wood Elf

 

Minor Backstory: From a normal middle-class family in Salvus, Elvedui left after his parents forbade his ambitions and began to travel the land. He heard of the Marked Men being the best of the best, rivaling trackers from his race. He then sought to find them and join their ranks.

[ooooowee 559]

MC Name: bisnitch

 

IC Name: Vartan Barnes

 

Age: 28

 

Race: High Elf

 

Minor Backstory: Vartan is a shop owner who has always been an introvert. He likes to keep stuff himself and he is never very exuberant. He has skills such as archery and is also skilled in sword-art. He has never told people that though. He gained those when he was a teen, and no one who is close to him knows how. He also loves to read. He has gained more intelligence than anyone he has ever known. He has lived a very dull life as a shop owner, and that's why wishes to join the Marked Men.