wolfdwg

o7 [f] :^(

-=- 5th Deep Cold 1674 Haense’s field -=- The sour and violent stench of blood and bodily waste radiated from Haense's square, beckoning flies to cautiously hover in mid air nearby, not too close but close enough to indulge in the nasal nightmare; they are cowards, they are survivors. Scarlet liquid had drenched one of the deceased's apparel. The light had left his eyes as the colour from his rosy cheeks vanished, to take on a grey tinged color. It was the same with every other dead person regardless of their race, all blue lipped with blank stares of horror and abhorrence. Dozens of scattered cadaver laid limp, left with eyes wide in horror, mouths rigid and open, chalky faces gaunt and immobile and torn nails digging deeply into their own palms. Screams and shrieks echoed throughout the city's walls, piercing the morning like the raid horns did a few minutes before. It resounded through the terraced houses, rendering the origins difficult to pinpoint, but they flooded the precinct nonetheless. The first cries were undoubtedly terror, but not the shrill cries of a stage act, the cries of ones who had their eyes locked wide and every muscle cinched rigid. The next were of pain, garbling and pitiful. Those who were taken prisoners of war dug their heels onto the concrete, resisting though to no avail. It was an avoidable consequence, one that had been so miserably wrought upon them by the man who they called king, the very man who had refused to hand himself in exchange for the commoners' lives. -=- -=- The streets were dazzled with the flames of war, Every now and again there’d be a duo of armor claded-men doing battle, a peasant being extorted for all their worth. Banners of the southern nation would be toppled and burned, destroying the Barbanov colors. A single banner would be raised over the gate of Markev. That of a crimson field bearing a black rider, these were the colors of the Reiter company. =-= -=- Cato Darius af Morr, captain of the Reiter company, strode atop a palemo steed plated to the bone with steel, truly an intimidating sight to behold, so intimidating that the mere sight of him caused many to flee for their pathetic lives. The merc’s sight fell on the Haensetic king, nervously surrounded by the shivering guardsmen who protected the meek king from the mercenaries’ might. He reared his horse and let loose a hearty cackle. This terrified the weak crow, sending him fleeting to the safety of his palace. Abandoning his people and those who looked upon him as their liege lord. Truly a craven act, for this simply seems to be a common trait among the Barbanov bloodline. One could say he abandoned his armor and blade, leaving it to the plundering opportunists. -=- -=- Woe onto the people of Haense for this cursed royal family that shepards them. Their weakness shall be their undoing. ((Thanks Boruto xD))

"This woman has been sold to the highest bid of 750 coinage." states Godemir

"She's been purchased for the sum of 1,000 Coinage." states Godemir

"Very well, come to the Vrakai keep near the whispering crossroads for a total of 1,000 mina, and she's yours." states the auctioneer.

Prisoner Info Name Acacia Moonves Details Blonde, petite, cute mali woman! Exiled dominion lass! An acclaimed Medic! A young woman! No familial ties! Starting Bid 300 coinage Buyout 750 coinage If you wish to contact for a private auction send a bird to Mr. Jalowetz ((MyGun)) The Miller Godemir Jalowetz ((MyGun))

"Surly you can do better, this INDEBTED prisoner is truly a lucky catch!" the auctioneer would state.

"I cannot go below the starting bid, I have to deny your bid." States the auctioneer

Prisoner Info Name Therese Wick Details Wife of a noble baron, Arend Wick of Kerzenwick She can Sing, Dance, Sew, and play piano! She can cook too! Has one Daughter. Starting Bid 4000 coinage Buyout 10000 coinage The Miller Godemir Jalowetz ((MyGun))

I was able to sell my heads just fine

Auction ended, monks were killed as they became annoying to the guards.

"This is currently the highest bid, the auction will end in twenty five saints minutes."

Prisoner Info: Name(s) Christopher of the Amber Croiser & co. Nationality Hansetian Skills and Info - Monks of the Cannonist Faith - - The dark one, Christopher, can spit far - Starting Bid: 500 Minas Buyout: 4500 Minas ((PM if you want a private Auction Bid)) Auctioneer: Karstan Marius af Arviun ((MyGun))

Auction has ended with this bid as the winner!

"The auction will end in fifteen minutes, all final bets are to be made at this time." Karstan would call out to those who've gathered.

Prisoner Info: Name Eric Karstaag Nationality Haensetian Skills and Info - Acclaims he's Commander of the Haensetic army - - Acclaims he knows how to cook - - Acclaims he knows how to fight - Starting Bid: 450 Minas ((PM if you want a private Auction Bid)) Auctioneer: Karstan Marius af Arviun ((MyGun))

Far better than the shitshow we have now.

Where do I pay.

pcool i guess

I mean, I'll be ur friend! : ^ D

_/=========================================================\_ _/=========================================================\_ Rain poured down on the weary wanderer. Lapping at his clothes, soaking its fabric, clinging to his skin, and battering his spirits. All his late life he hated rain. Reminded him of his past. A violent, yet passionate past. Filled with remorse and regret. He trudged through the countryside of the Dominion, a sight clouded by the thick rain. For the woods around him had become a field of ash, the embers of war and bloodshed. For every mile or so a decaying body was on the road. He didn’t stop to check if was mali or uruk, it did not faze him in the slightest to even look at the fallen figure. And so he trudged on. -=- A few more miles was all he could summon, before resting under one of the many large oaks that surrounded him. Shelter from the rain was all that mattered, anything to get out of the tendrils of its wetness. Slumping down besides a patch of roots, he could not help but remember what truly haunts him. The visage of a figure appeared before him, the face faded, but a figure known all to well to him. _/=========================================================\_ “FORWARD IN THE NAME OF HIS MAJESTY! RUN THESE BASTARDS DOWN!” All around him were the clashes of steel and the smell of fresh blood. Screams of agony, cries of pain, tears of sorrow, voices drowning out his senses. Suddenly a steel object came into his null visage, aiming for his left shoulder! With a quick parry from his longsword, and a shove in the form of a riposte, he was back in his senses. “Yes, we’re fighting a war, but why?” he questioned to himself as he plunged his blade into the norfolk he shoved on his back, a squelching squeal cried out for home and hearth, before his voice faded to a dying croak. Not before getting the chance to stand, a fierce kick was sent to his plated helm from a vengeful norfolk who sent him to his a dazed state on his back. Sprawled out on the marshlands floor he lazily looked to his right and left. Piles of the dead or dying littered around him. The smell of the marsh and the dead was all but nauseating. For meters around him, his countrymen and allies were fighting the norfolk and their allies, whoops and cries of paganistic chants filled the norfolks hearts, whilst the soul and mind of the renatians were filled with the hymns and songs of the cannonist god. “Now's not the time…” he thought to himself as time no longer seem to slow, as his visage snapped to above him as a norfolk bore down at him with an incoming spear. Fear of death filled his very body, as he gripped the incoming spear with relative ease and pulled the norfolk into him. With a feminine yelp of surprise the norfolk was whisked into him, and the two began to sprawl on the marsh floor. Dirt and water kicked up around the two as they fought to see the next sunrise, neither wanted to die, but only one could live. After some time of brawling, he came out on top of the norfolk, it was then he realised he was wrestling a she-wolf of a woman. Tears filled the woman’s eyes as he wrapped his hands around her neck, the very life draining from her eyes. Her arms flailing in the mud around them, and her body thrusting in death sprawls, frantically trying to throw him off. It was then a horn sounded, as the sound of steel begin to give way to the fleeting of feet on wet soil, and the cries of agony gave way to cheers of victory. Renatus had triumphed at the battle of the Forkwoods. But this meant little to him, he could not partake in the cheering and celebration, for below him was the dead woman. His visage was fixed on her lifeless expression. He trembled and shook at the thought, he had danced with death. _/=========================================================\_ He trekked down the road further, the rain had ceased its relentless downpour, and had given way to grey and ambient fog. The last traces of the rain’s trace was lurking around him. Puddles formed, creeks overflowed, and the air was filled with the smell of wet dew. Distant drops fell from the leaves that littered the oak and pine trees around him. His feet falling down on the wet forest floor emitted a wet clop with each resounding step. The sound was aggravating to say the least. -=- Further down where the forest was at its thickest, so too was the fog. Visibility was shortened to only a few steps in front of him. Sound seemed to have stopped, everything fell silent. No birds, no water. Even his steps had become muffled. Magic? He could not hear anything, not even the rasp of his blade drawing from his sheath. “Who goes there?!” was what he called, out… or what he believed he said. A throaty clack of teeth was heard all about him, drowning his senses. Laughter? Then it all seemed to cease. Then in his peripheral he saw a figure atop a ridge. Turning to face the ridge, all he could see were the faded traces of an outlined figure, followed by a cackle laugh from a woman. He shuddered and quaked in fear, all he could do, was follow. It was then his vision began to blur, and the world about him descended into a haze of black. “What’s… H-Happening…?” _/=========================================================\_ He woke in a bed, surrounded by warmth and the fragrance of sweats. He felt a radiating warmth besides him, in was intoxicating. He turned to see a sleeping woman next to him, her body was bare, revealing the weakness of strongmen. Yes, this is the woman I love, Ms. Rubens. -=- He recalled the time he had met her. She had needed help setting up her shop in the town square, how the woman was bad at her money. His lips pursed into a soft smile as he ran his finger through her hair, soft and curly, offering a stimulating numbness to his fingers. She had blushed and offered him compensation for his time in a form of a freshly baked pastry. God it was divine, his mouth was filled with the warmth of the creamy inside, whilst the doughy bread, sprinkled with sugar wore into his teeth. Such sweetness was worth dying for. -=- They had meet several times over the course of the year, before he was shipped towards the front to fight his majesty’s war against the norfolk. There wasn’t a day that had gone by in which he had reminisced about the days. Trying each pastry she had baked, simply tasting like the seven heavens themselves. It was only after the sack of the norfolk’s capital was he dismissed with the rest of the legion to return to their homes. Never had he experienced joy of walking through the gates of the capital. Crowds of people cheered around the returning soldiery as they paraded their victory in the streets. He kept searching through the crowd for miss Rubens, to no avail. “She’s a noble… Forget about it.” he thought to himself. However after their fair and drill, he could not help but return to their house in the cloud district. Approaching her door made his heart quench in anticipation, in excitement. He raised his hand to knock, but stopped. Something was off, something was wrong. -=- It was then, something pierced his back. _/=========================================================\_ Blood seeped from his back. The feeling of motion leaving his back as his assailant withdrew their attack and fled the scene. All he could do was collapse into a heap on the cool forest floor. Crimson poured forth from his back and chest, as the blade had pierced him through, and thoroughly. A true assassin’s blade, or a cheap-shot lucky strike. They’ll probably comeback to loot my corpse. “Dammit I can’t die here…” Not without telling her first. Telling her about his ambition, love, and desires. He had someone who he could share his views with, a shoulder to cry on, someone who had truly loved and cared for. Now it was all vanishing in his hands. He clasped at his chest in a fetal position, desperately attempting to seal his own wound, but to no avail. Soon he began to vomit blood from his mouth. All he could see was red, as it filled his vision. “Please… I don’t want to die…” He clawed at the earth, in one last attempt to drag himself out of the hell he had fallen in. It was then he fell into darkness. He could feel his soul ache with a burning fire, his body felt like it was being carved, and whipped. His skin itched with the trickling of fresh blood. Is this what it felt like? To die? “I..I A-am T...Tarwen..” was all he could muster before all feeling left his body, and darkness consumed him. _/=========================================================\_

Just give a watered down version if nexus crafting and I'd be fine, never truly wanted to see nexus gone.

blus 1