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About _Jandy_

  • Birthday 07/22/1998

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  1. ({*}) The Halfling of Acre smirks all the way home on the victory march. He must now find council with the new Baron to discuss the future of weeun kind.
  2. Gee, that seems actually harmful to roleplay integrity. But it is alright, folks. The admins shall vote upon the matter and we know that their votes are always reliable and only uplift the community as a whole. Fret not.
  3. Who do YOU think should be unbanned?

    1. Show previous comments  15 more
    2. Salvo
    3. _Sug
    4. Eryane


      @AnonymousAlexai agree w/ it just checking to make sure it was the right guy, old friend of mine very genuine person 

  4. ({*}) And so the bells tolled over Acre, rallying those suitable for combat to march upon Vienne. The loyalist scouts, aware or not, could not stop the impending assault which came forth. ~ ~ ⋄ ~ ~ There stood The Halfling of Acre, having followed the unforgiving wave of armor clad rebels into the Orenian Court. He kept a slingshot in hand and took aim towards the fools who decided to face the frustrated farmers. Those enemies who seemed to care little for their own lives. The bastards who surrounded the lofty king's dais. The uproar from the Acreans seemed to drown out the stunned silence of the outnumbered nobility and their dogs. Reginard proudly stood just to the right of his Baron, the one who had understood his will to bring the wee-folk to prominence once again. It was only at Gustaf's lurch forward to action that the slingshot was loosed. ~ ~ ⋄ ~ ~ The rebels rushed forward, hellbent upon their steel tasting royal blood, however a sworn knight to the King made a mad dash for the hall's exit. At first Reginard had assumed it to be a shifty attempt at a flank but then the court's doors swung open and the armored knight fled. The rebels had blitzed past him and so Reginard decided to make chase, dropping his sling and withdrawing his trusty shovel. His stubby little legs would only take him so fast, though it proved to be fast enough. Perhaps it was the stinking trail of fluid which leaked down the knight's pantleg that slowed him though the knight was capable enough to keep his distance just enough. Enough for the knight to have been able to get into his home and slam his locks shut.. Reginard screamed at the craven "Those whom you are sworn to are being butchered and here you retire to hide in your home?!" The stout halfling spit at the door and smacking it with the shovel to little success. The cowering man within the home remained silent, presumably packing his things so that he may abscond from the city which was so clearly doomed. As the halfling waited outside of the man's home he took note to no longer offer unquestioning trust to an oath from another, lest it trickle away down the leg of the oathtaker as it had from this warrior. ~ ~ ⋄ ~ ~ A time passed until it was clear that the knight would not be leaving his home any time soon and so the wee-man departed back down the winding city streets. As he passed through the main square he caught sight of loyalists as they tried to shove their way through the city gates, yet a peculiar group caught his eye as they slipped away into the city's barracks. Reginard let loose a squealing howl for aide as he darted forth and hefted his shovel over shoulder. He led on, moving as fast as he may to catch the door before it could shut close and with luck and a foolhardy dive he made the time. However he soon realized his folly- He found himself alone and locked within the barracks with two towering Vienan guardsmen. He held aloft his shovel infront of himself and managed to swat away a lazy slashing attack from one of the men however as he tried to pull his fighting instrument back into position he found that the other Orenian officer had sunk pointed steel deep into his left side breadbasket. At once the halfling stumbled back, bested and bleeding. He'd simply been outnumbered and overpowered. It was his belief that he would die there, having fought valiantly for what he perceived to be a chance to reorganize his kinsmen in due time. He curled inwards upon himself as he laid on the cold stone floor and the guardsmen lifted their blades to finish the halfling. However at such a time, as though a moment blessed by whatever gods there may be, Acrean militants kicked open the wrought iron doors to the barracks and chased off the would be executioners. Reginard lazily turned his head to see his saviors and he saw the angelic faces of a Blackvale serviceman as well as the very Baron he fought to help. The de'Vilain barked out "You do not have my permission to die yet." A hand grasped around Reginard's collar, dragging him to safety and then swiftly patched the exterior of his wound... which shamefully caused the wounded wee-man to drift off into a state of unconsciousness. In time he would awake to a stunning proclamation of victory over the loyalists with news of regal executions which may help to bring this feud to a sweeping conclusion. He asked a friendly, cap adorned ally to help him to sit up and so that he may smoke in celebration of life and his saviors. ~ ~ ⋄ ~ ~ Reginard would catch a ride upon a wagon back to Acre, hearing the accounts of others rebels who had fought for the same cause and of their valor. The halfling knew all things would end justly, and so he smirked.
  5. Unban Hugh, Wud, Vermy, and Tharask. The list grows.

  6. Unban Tharask, Wud, and Vermy.

    1. Vas


      One day, we gonna get it one day.

  7. I suspect a good harvest for the farmlords.
  8. Reginard Gardner, the halfling of Acre, dutifully mixes a concoction of what seems to be chicken feed. Seeds, kitchen scraps, worms, fish, and berries. Now he just had to figure out how to sort this to get the best growth out of the chickens. He would simply experiment by trial and error until he finds just the right ratio. ({*})
  9. Reginard Gardner, the most hardest working halfling in all of Acre, lounged and smoked a pipe before he began his day of labor in service to the good baron. ({*})
  10. A halfling of Acre does a positively sublime kickflip off of a muddy shovel that he had used to help move some fertilizer. ({*})
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