Tk4522

Hm... missing the part that bans relationships. I know it exists. In addition, trophy system? SHUT UP AND TAKE MY MINA

10/10 would learn.

Emony wonders if she actually possesses the strength to take down a full blooded orc. She too has cactus.... Blue berry flavored.

"Mi remembur wen Mi uuz'd tuu bhee uh kaptain. Daytz hau Mi gawt diz kuul arm cape." -Brawly

[!] This missive eventually finds its way to the desk of an aged man. His tired olive green eyes narrow as he is informed of its content. Brawly merely shakes his head as he looses a deep sigh. The man balls the missive and tosses it over his shoulder. "I remember when the Dwarfs were a repackable lot. In my youth, I exclusively bought weapons from the Grimgold family. The Goldhands were close friends and mentors. I even fought along side them against the Orenian tyrants. Everything has changed and its disheartening..." *A tear falls from the mans eye as he reflects on past memories, but this melancholic atmosphere is not long to last. Brawly's brow furrows and his mouth forms into a crooked snarl. "I don't think these Irehearts know true dispare. Perhaps I could put my years of experience to use... Ulu lûmp-ub ugil izg"

"A dinner cooked by a musin in any other context would be unappetizing at best, however, the visage presented outwardly can be deceiving. In this case, they defiantly are one of my best friends is a musin baker." Emony states as she reads this flier on one her routine trips to Celia'nor. Her mind swimming with predictions of the food that might be served. For some reason, she can't help but imagine on of her favorites, lemon grilled salmon. The mouth of the goblinoid waters for a moment before she wipes it upon her sleeve. "Perhaps I can take advantage of the situation and provide a bit of ambiance. A lovely piano piece perhaps..."

Middle of hot bar, next to my horse whistle.

Emony reads the missive with a look of concern on her face "Da klanz aur uh hinduranze tuu progress?" Her voice is rife with confusion "Wel, Mi zur ezzun gunnuh join Akaal. Mi ez uzt uh wurthlezz halfbreed aftur aul..."

An old man sits at his desk as he reads a copy of this declaration. His tired eyes narrowing. "Well, Mi kuld nevur reelee trust dem dragon boiz. Mi nevur furgawt da atrocitieez dey komitted at Elvaneeze, altho, pretee zur deyr aur enimeez nau tuu... Nevah gurk'd Mi wulp peep da dey wen Mi wuld wurk ahlongzide Oren do..." A loud breath escapes the man's lips in the form of a sigh "Mi won't evur forgiv' dem. Azh uh Cannonist, alweyz uh Cannonist." The man's gauntlet thuds against the wood of his desk, causing the jackalope banner above him to shake with the force of the impact. "Lat ztill liztenin', Emony?" He questions a goblin, who up until this point remained silent, listening to her father ramble. She pushes herself from the wall she was leaning upon ad offers the elder a nod in response to his query. "Mi wuz, bhut, whi kan't lat furgiv'? Both doze eventz happund dekaydez uhgow... Mi haz met manee Orenians ang dey wur zupur nyze. Zo wub ef dey worzip uh different faythe..." The goblin speaks with sincerity, but her advice falls on deaf ears. Brawly simply shakes his head. "Lat wuld nub gurk, evun ef Mi explayn'd et tuu lat... At anee rayte, Mi will treat da Orenianz az alliez ang da Dragonkin az enimiez."

Just had a boom steel mace forged. That buff is so great an makes all the mina I burned in its creation 100% worth it.

Surprising, the letter makes its way to an older human man in the Iron Ugz. Clad in red and black armor, the man reads the brief missive, as he seats himself within his study. "Mi zuppoze et wuz unlee uh mattur ub tik befuth zumthin' lyke diz happun'd. Zuprize'd et'z been' maintained aftur al deez yeerz do... zkahin weird." The man shakes his head before reaching for his hand painted Rozanian quill with accompanying inkwell to respond. [!] a letter is returned in the clutches of a white cockatoo To whom it may concern, In response to your pervious correspondence, I , Ser Brawly Scath "The Loyal", honorary orc of the glorious horde of the Iron Ugz and captain of their Krughai's azht division, do heed the call of The Order of the Jackalope. My vows have not slipped my memory and I yet still owe my loyalty to the order. Although, I have not every heard of this so called "Nation of Redclyf", if I should gain the knowledge of its location I shall visit. It is my full intent to earn the upholding of my title. [!] Beneath this missive is dried thumb print made in blood.

RP Name: Brawly Scath (fizt) Merchant or Guard: Both What kind of goods do you bring with you to our caravan?: Jewelry and weapons Do you accept the requirement of attending at least one caravan expedition a week? (Thurs/Mon): Yes, Thurs Do you have any rare goods to bring to the caravan?: I have a pair of lunarite wedding rings.

[!] During one starless and tempestuous night a figure road up to the stone walls of the nearly silent village of Rozania. The individual mounted oh an adumbral steed, road to the courtyard that led to the keep before it dismounted. It’s heavy ferrum plate clanked as it touched the stone-cold ground yet fell to noiselessness at it approached the door leading to the throne room. The armored man would leave a box emblazoned with the symbol of a jackalope before the mighty spruce doors before absconding. Within is a letter, written upon a slip of parchment and penned in a simplistic block cursive. Dear Residents of Rozania I have observed your progress from afar since you have arrived by boat and I must admit, you have impressed me. Although my home is far from what it was, I commend you for restoring it to a livable condition. With that being said, I can imagine you wish to bolster your number and while I am unable to return in the same capacity as I once boasted, I can offer my services. I once held many esteemed ranks while under the Duke and Duchesses, chief among those being Master of Medicine. I offer this to satisfy an oath I made to both the Buckfort family and the People of Rozania. Although both of these entities have long since dispended and faded into not but faint memory, I still wish to extend my hand in an offer of assistance. For this, I request nothing in return as I fell it is my obligation to do so. Rozania Forever. Sincerely; Brawly Scáth

[!] A figure watches on from atop a peak as the man road forth. Where there was hope and excitement in the rider, the lone silhouette held only despair. A sudden wind battered the the armor clad body tossing about the faded read headband that had adorned his head for decades. The man gritted his teeth as he slid his helm atop his head, covering his grizzled and stoic face. A voiced boomed behind the wrought steel helmet. "What cruelty is this? I thought it better to let sleeping dogs lie. Rozania had its day, and it has come to pass. Still, I must full fill my oath as my loyalty to the jackalope has not faded." The armored figure mounts his horse with haste and makes his way to the crumbling city. A silent homecoming for a former knight, once celebrated in these lands

[!] A frigid wind swept through the empty, moon lit streets of the Iron Ugz. At this time of night, many were sheltered from the pitiless gale within their homes. As the spirits of wind played their heatless games, one human kneeled before an altar, wrought of brilliant quartz and arum. Within his right hand, he held a stone that shown with ethereal radiance. He had placed many offerings on this shrine to Zkorthuz, including a recently forged ingot of pure arum, and a bottle of heavily distilled water among others. This was Brawly’s nightly ritual. As Brawly prostrated himself before the pristine altar he felt a pull at his right hand, as if the light stone within it wished to lead him. Its light burst forth, enveloping the man’s vision until it was nothing but pure white. The light eventually faded, revealing a truly horrific sight. The ground lay somewhere beneath an inch of blood. The crimson liquid danced and rippled beneath his feet as he stood. His front was covered in the crimson ichor, its warmth gradually fading as it ran down his form and through his clothing, gradually returning to the pool. With each step Brawly took forward, he seemed to sink further and further into the sanguineous ocean. At the point where it reached his waist, he beheld a semi-circle of Orcs, those he had come to know as his brothers and sisters. Brawly approached one of them with caution as he could not identify the individual. As he drew near, it became apparent that the orc was muttering a phrase. It was familiar to him… “Grizh tu flow… Grizh tu peep…” The whispers of this individual repeated in an endless loop. Brawly attempted to join the orc in their chanting, but as his mouth perched to form the first syllables, he was interrupted by a thundering shout. “Bruddahz, Grizh ez truth, GRIZH zhowz da wey, GRIZH TU HAV GRIZH TU PEEP.” This was met with riotous applause as the crowd repeated the phrase with a mirrored fervor. Brawly’s vision shifted as he ventured to ascertain where the initial cry had sounded, and his eyes discerned the countenance of an altar wrought of carved bone and rendered flesh. Before this altar stood a hulking figure, adorned in the garb of the Krughai. Within his hand, an ossein dagger hewn to a razor-sharp edge. This sight was familiar, however, something seemed off. Instead of the rites he was used to, Brawly witnessed something unfamiliar. The Armored orc drove the dagger into an amorphous mass of flesh. The ground beneath his feet heaved as the figure reached his hand into the incision. The tremors intensified as the figure revealed to the congregation the object within his grasp… a heart, still beating and dripping with vitriol. The Orc lifted the organ to the ashen black sky in bloody victory. Brawly’s ire was drawn away from this gruesome scene by an aberrant gleam that incurred into his vision from somewhere beneath his field of vision. He looked down and spotted the gleam within his grasp, his light stone. However, the incandescent splendor it gave forth was weakening by the second. It pulsed in a counter beat to that of the heart. Brawly extended his fingers so that they would no longer obstruct the glow from the stone which now rested within his palm. As the light dimmed, Brawly could now distinguish his own visage reflected within the blood. Within its hand was not a light stone, but a quietus crystal that seemed to be growing in strength, its core alight with an eerie pink glimmer. There was no other difference between Brawly and his doppelganger aside from on detail. As Brawly held a serious expression on his face, the mirror image was twisted into a mirthful smile. As the light finally died, Brawly awoke before the altar he had constructed. His surroundings were familiar and offered respite from his vision. Questions rushed through his mind as Brawly lifted himself from his prostration, What did it mean? Was this a prophesy of things to come… a representation of times to come? Was there anything that could or should be done? All went unanswered as the only sounds that filled the home were that of the unrelenting squall that raged outside.

Brawly cracks his knuckles. "Foighten undead? Yeah Ah kan dwo tha'. Ah 'ave som Auric oil annah blastin' potion tha Ah'v been savin' forrah rainy dey."

Szymon held Cris within his arms. He was happy to not be alone anymore.

Brawly, who somehow found himself with an invite, would unfurl the page, nodding to himself. "'S beenah while since Ah've been towah gud ol' fashion'd ball." He opens a chest that contained his finest cloths and shook his head. There was nothing within that matched the criteria of what should be worn. A sigh escaped his mouth as he searched. "Nonnah this'll dwo. Guess Ah'll havta make special preparations fer this occasion." A though crossed his mind and he was unsure of what color combination to wear. His wife had been distant for years and it was starting to weigh upon him. Brawly quickly banished the though. Perhaps she would come along with him, but the prospect seemed like an impossibility. Brawly shook his head. "Guess Ah'll havta acquire som new stiches fer this."

[!] The light of a lantern shown through the night on the road to Kerw, Illuminating a dark cloaked. It's white, avian mask reflected much of the light produced by the oil fed flame. The figure observed the outer wall before entering the Barony. "A successor to Rozania... Hm... I doupt they have a need for ghosts of the past or dogs of war." A muffled sigh sounds as the figure removes its mask, reveling the aged face of Brawly Scath. His hair had grayed considerably and bags rested under his once vibrant emerald green eyes. Brawly turned to leave, it seems he was still tentative. Rozania had been his home, his dream. Brawly just wanted to move on. He did not want to be reminded of his own failures and short comings that ultimately culminated in the obliteration of everything he had worked for.

Yes. I want to see more frog people around. The race seems amazing and I'd love to interact with them.

A human clad in the red and black of the Iron Ugz lit up a oracle wood joint as he looked over the vast foliage that surrounded the place he had come to call home. His mind was made clear by the drug and a single thought took the empty stage. The image of a raging inferno consuming the oppressively greenery. "Burn it... Burn it all." he pauses as he allows the remainder of the blunt to burn between his fingers, creating a trail of smoke that was led further westward by a breeze. A realization would come over the man as he saw this "And may the winds whip the ashes into a frenzy, creating a beautiful dance never seen before by mortal eyes."

Lying bleeding out on the on his bed, Szymon looked to the cealing and pondered. Within that moment, he realized, his life ultimately meant nothing, he had accomplished nothing, he was nothing. In his younger days in Rozania he trained to protect. In this, he failed without a shred of doubt. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could picture was the smoke that arose from his home as he fled. Even when he had found his way to Norland, he was as useless as ever and contributed nothing of worth or value to the Ash Guard. He was honestly no more than another body on the field to bolster their numbers, and in all honesty, a waste of space and resources with the barracks. His hand curled around a golden ring that marked his engagement as tears streamed from his eyes. His ultimate failure… He could not protect the one for whom he cared the most… Cristonia. His life had been nothing but a downward spiral since the day she disappeared. The blood continued to drip from Szymon’s wrists as his vision faded in and out. His last thoughts were of days long gone and a place that didn’t exist. “Rozania… forever…” Szymon called out as his vision faded to black. For Szymon, there was nothing after this. No comforting afterlife, no faces of those who he had know from life… nothing… What awaited him was pure silent oblivion.

Brawly would open the letter. Reading its content gives him a sense of pride. He smiles as he shows the letter to his wife. "Guess someon' stil remembers." he sighs as he looks to the Rozania banner that hangs next to his many trophies. A look of content spreads across his face.

Brawly would raise a hand to give his Banner the traditional Rozanian / Sarissan salute, tear filled his eyes as he did so, yet he did not cry out. His hand falls to his side as he picks up the fiddle William had given him all those years ago. Brawly places the bow onto the strings as he moves it back and forth in a melodic fusion. The notes sent forth are woe filled lamentations of a man in mourning. He takes a deep breath as he mounts the words to the refrain "Oh Danny boy, the pipes the pipes are callin'... From glen to glen an' down the mountain side. The Summers gone an' all the roses fallin' Its you, its you must go and I must bide..." The somber tones echo through the streets of The Iron Ugz from an open window leading to the Scath residence. Brawly would choke up on the last verse, yet his voice would rig true through his pain and sadness "... But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying, If I am dead, as dead I well may be, Ya'll comen’ and find the place where Ah am lying an’ kneel an’ say an Avé there fer me. And I shall hear, though soft ya tread ah ’bove meh, an’ all mah grave will warmer, sweeter be, fer ye wil bend and tell me that you love me, and Ah shall sleep en peace ‘til ya com t’ me..." With his last verse, he places his fiddle down at his feet and sits down in font of his banner. He sits any weeps, mourning the man he had sworn his very life to.

[!] Night fell upon an unnamed wooden vessel. The crescent moon hung in the sky cold and apathetic towards the evens that would occur beneath her gaze. A lone figure stood looking out across the vast emptiness of the open ocean, its current like waves of ink in an endless bottle. A light breeze blew through his blonde hair as its emerald eyes stared vacantly forward. Within an instant, the man found himself falling to meet the frigid, inhospitable embrace of the ocean he had stared out at just moments before. He could only watch helplessly from the grasp of the currents as he was dragged away from the deck upon which he once stood. He briefly extended his arm, splaying his fingers as if to reach out for any assistance, however none would be rendered unto him. Brawly treaded through the void like dark of the ocean until his strength failed him. He once again drifted beneath the surface for a moment. What seemed to be his final breath seemed to leave him as a trail of murky bubbles. Brawly Scath closed his eyes as a smile crept across his face. It seemed to him that his time had come, however what was to greet him was more of the same… an endless void spanned before him. His senses were distant from him as the endless abyss seemed all the more all-encompassing. He might have expected to see the faces of friends and family long passed but this was not the case. There was nothing and would be nothing. This was until a thin tendril of light extended downward toward him. It provided little comfort but was a welcome within the features vacuum. He raised his arm to see if he could possibly reach to reach the luster that had pierced the black. As he did so, Brawly felt all that he was falling away from him. His experiences floated by him as he was drawn toward this ethereal glow. His past lay before him and he watched on as it played out before him as he was lifted upward. He smiled as he looked upon the moment, he had first met Ezra… Such days of youthful ignorance had become foreign to him however, revisiting the moment brought him some semblance of happiness. In the next, he held the lifeless body of his mother and at this he wept bitter tears that seemed to hang around him before gradually fading. Next came the birth of his first son, Yerro. Brawly looked on with pride as the ruby eyes of his son stared back at him before he attempted to make contact via his outreached hand. However, no matter how far he reached, he could not touch his son. One by one memories played out before him until the darkness had completely dispelled. Before him lay a field of ankle height green grass with a singular tree not far from where he stood. Brawly began to move towards it, slowly and cautiously. Each step yielded no sensation to him He could seen a trail of trampled grass behind him where his now shoeless feet had made contact, yet there was no physical feedback. Brawly eventually reached the lone tree and took shelter beneath its branches. The shade they provided was a light muddled black, far different from the void he had exited not moments before. It was unoppressive and welcoming. Brawly’s eyes fell upon three figures that stood before him, all of which he recognized immediately. Before him stood his brother Cillo, His mother Lilly, and his son Keetzo. Each of them extended their arms toward him as if to offer their embrace and to this Brawly halted his advance. His face grew confused and worried as his eyes darted around frantically. He grew more panicked as he looked about, frantically searching for something his scene lacked. He looked once again to the three that poised to meet him in their embrace. Brawly Cillo Lilly Keetzo “W-where’s Ezra?” Lilly shook her head “She’s no’ ‘ere, fawn.” Brawly looked dissatisfied with this answer but before he could say anything, Cillo placed his had on Brawly’s shoulder. “She’s safe n’ sound. Don’t ya worry yer lil’ head.” Keetzo looked to Brawly as well. “Yub momo ez fine. Ef zhee wuznedd Mi would nub bhee ztandyng heur zo kalmlee.” Brawly shook his nead “Nonnah ya ‘ave anwser’d mah question.” He balls his fists against his thighs “Wer tha’ ‘ell es mah woife? An’ ya better start makin’ sence soon er Ah’ll…” He is cut off by his brother who shakes his head to this “Brawly, Et s’hould beh obvious where yer ar’ and why she ain’t ‘ere.” Brawly is only able to give a look of abject disappointment. He brushes Cillo’s hand aside as he again looks to the three. “Ah had hoped… Ah’d com’ere an’ see her by mah side er at tha’ very least, onlahy uh litl’ ways behind me.” He breaths a sigh. Lilly chucked at this “Come on, wev’ been waitin’ fer ya fer ages.” She extended a hand to him “Don worray ets awfully peaceful ‘ere… Ya don havta worray ‘bout anythin’ anaymor.” Brawly slumped his shoulders “Ah don’ care.” He speaks with a mildly defeated tone “This place would beh comparable toah dump without tha woman Ah lov.” He pauses for a moment as he meets his mother’s gaze. “Es et too late t’ go back? Es ther’ still time ta return?” Lilly would sigh before she spoke an answer to his query. “Wel… ef ya wan, thers always ah way back.” Lilly stepped aside to reveal a door that appeared to be carved from the very wood of the tree. A knob protruded from its surface. Its round gilded surface shimmered slightly in the gleam that streaked through the branches above. Its smooth surface was interrupted by a keyhole that seemed to burrow into its bulbous surface. Brawly would take a step towards this newly revealed portent before he was stopped by his mother. “Ya kno, ef ya do take t’is... ther ain’t anay backin’ out.” She turns her gaze to Cillo who nods in agreeance with his mother’s statement. “An’ ther’ll beh a poice ta pay, no doupt… Tha’s ‘ow these thin’s work.” Cillo adds Brawly continues his march towards the door. This time he does not relent. He reaches the door without any further obstruction. He gingerly reaches out his and to the knob, only to find it doesn’t turn. A voice sounds from behind him as Keetzo speaks up “Et duz nub upeen zo eyzilee. Lat haz dub mayke da dezizun wit uh kleer mynd..." The orc pauses his statement "Da kee ez uhrund latz nek. Et alweyz hauz bheen.” Brawly takes the key into his right hand. It was bound to his neck by a length of white thread. He slides the key into the lock and twists. Proceeding this, the door falls away, reviling another void that seems to lie beneath the tree itself. Brawly stairs at the abyss that spans before him, just as he had while on the ship before he turns to the three, their gaze meeting for a final time. Brawly hugs each of them as a farewell. Lilly is the last to be embraced and as Brawly pulls away from her she smiles to him. “Oi’m so proud uv tha’ man ya grew up ta be.” With that, Brawly stepped through the door and embraced oblivion once again. The dark of the void lasted only a fleeting moment as Brawly awakened on a shoreline near the domain of Vortice He began to violently wretch, gasping for air as he expelled water from his lungs. After catching his beath, Brawly stood and turned his gaze to the city where it had all begun but the port no longer held meaning to him. The wind blew past him in the direction of his home, Rozania. He returned to the city, alone for the first time in a long while. There was no welcome for the aged veteran as he passed through the quite streets like a specter. He was home... but was it really home without Ezra... without their children...