Roleplay

(Just a little medieval fantasy jump in because I am bored. Anyone can feel free to join in!)

The scent of smoke mingled with the barking of orders of various guards as they attempted to defend the small town from the onslaught of the orcish war band that had descended upon them. The roads of the town littered with corpses of the guards and orcs alike, various buildings having caught fire from flaming arrows that had signaled the initial attack. At this point it was quite difficult to tell who was winning but things were not looking good for the town itself. More orc kept coming to fill any holes in the ranks their fallen brethren left while the guards didn't have any reinforcements.

Standing out from the guards, a dragonborn clad in armor not matching that of the guards appeared to be fighting alongside them against the orcs. His silver scales catching the evening light as he fought the enemies, shield and flail in hand as he fought the hordes.

Varask was unsure of exactly how thinks had turned out this way. Just a simple mercenary making his way through this little town looking for work. Staying the night at the local inn, helping himself to a nice bowl of beef stew when the orcs attacked. Now he wasn't going to just let the orcs destroy the town, not to mention there might be a reward in it for him if he did help out. But it seems like things were going...not well for the town. It was quite the dilemma really, staying and possibly dying or running and leaving other people to their fate. Well, he did like living but the dragonborn did have some sense of honor to him.

As another orc ran up to him, Varask quickly blocked the axe blow with his shield and swiftly broke the attacker's face with one strike of his flail. But soon, three more ran up on him. Taking several steps back, trying to keep them all in front of him, with the shield between himself and the enemy, he was figuring out very quickly that he was in some deep trouble.

Damn it, I'll owe a debt to whoever bails me out of this one. The dragonborn swore silently, definitely not wanting to die.

bump

(@AbyssRanger should I ping you? No need to ping me btw, I'll sub to the thread.)

The white-haired elf with slightly glowing amber eyes swore, urging his skittish mare to dodge another soldier. The rider galloped through the town, ignoring the rampage that raged on. Frankly, Ingeld wanted to be anywhere but here. He would have taken care to avoid this area if he knew what was soon to happen. However, three days ago he was ambushed by the very same orcs attacking this town.

Nobody liked half breeds and it was easy to identify him as one for Ingeld lacked the metallic colour in his eyes. He knew full well that the best he could hope for was a quick death but that day he was not particularly keen on dying. So he struck a deal with the leader of the band. Not a very honourable one, but it saved and continued to save his life. Yes, Ingeld quit his mage apprenticeship but the nymphic heritage and 8 tedious years of learning magic made him fairly skilled with it, enough to promise the orcs that they will be able to get up close to the town without being noticed in return for his life.

Ingeld finished his part of the bargain and was planning to move out as quickly as he could when another unforeseeable thing happened. So far no orc had attacked him for obvious reasons and he probably did not look threatening enough for the guards to question him but an accident like this was bound to occur in such a chaotic environment. One of the orcs charged the guardsmen right before Ingeld's mare flew in front of him. The impact sent him out of the saddle and crashing onto the ground. It took a few seconds for Ingeld to regain focus and these few seconds were enough for his horse to bolt out of his sight. The elf sprang up, instinctively starting to heal his bruises by speeding up his metabolism. This was not the magic he learned but the gift that passed on to him from the elemental side of the family.

Ingeld jump behind the corner of the building, evading a rogue arrow and took a second to coordinate. The god damned mare did not seem particularly keen on returning to him. He needed a mount since the town was surrounded by wildlife and the closest city would take days to get without a horse. Thankfully, most of his belongings were already with him, including the two short carved elven blades that he always kept with himself.

Suddenly, something silver caught Ingeld's eye. Usually, he would have been too proud to admit that he needed help but he doubted he will get unscarred from the rampaging town even if he kept neutrality. It was fairly easy to identify the dragonborn as a fellow mercenary and that was enough to make Ingeld make a bet.

Ingeld almost winced how the movements came instinctively, precise and efficient. There was a reason why Ingeld quit the rather vast and powerful the mage guild by which he was saved as a child. A very little amount of guilds participated in politics and in his case, it was not out of charitable choice.

With quick movements, Ingeld drew a crimson flaming rune in the air, sending it straight towards one of the orcs surrounding the dragonborn. The rune reached its destination and exploded, sending the orc flying to the side. Ingeld ignored the light weakness, already drawing the second rune but this time he did not have time to make sure that the attack reached its destination even though he was quite certain that his aim was true. The elf barely had enough time to evade a hit from the back before turning and parrying a rather giant sword with two of his blades. A quick calculation was enough for Ingeld to know that he would be overpowered with ease by the very same orc and that it will be unlikely that he will last long in the heat of battle. Ingeld glanced back at the dragonborn, trying to overpower the chaos that followed any battle. "I can teleport us away but I need an energy source to leech on. If you give your consensus, I'll borrow your energy and get us out of here."

(subbed, this looks so fun, ahaha)

Nymphs of the water, masters of disguise and pretense, have never had a reputation for reliability, nor are they particularly prone to telling the truth. Tis been thousands and thousands of years since the band of the river struck a truce with the town - protection for secrets. We keep threats at bay, you keep silent about our territory. They are not fighters, nor are they keen on confrontation, but man is not an old race, trusting when it may cost him most.

The settlers of the day agreed, and their town grew steadily but at the pace of a snail around them to its current size. The nymphs remained plentiful, watchful, and silent. This is the first threat to surface for millenia in their quiet corner of the World.

Their own camp ravaged by orcs coming through, they huddle under the glittering surface of the lake, whispers barely audible over the tinkling of bells and the pitter-patter of rain above them. They are at their most vulnerable here, feeling betrayed, suspecting treason and lies and as such, not fulfilling their own end of the treaty.

They wait to be called upon, young angered, old resigned, leader blinking silver lashes as he looks straight up at orcs trampling his river banks.

(I'm subbed! Also yay! Got some interest here! I'm excited XD)

Metal stuck metal, axe and sword against shield as the dragonborn kept trying to stave off the onslaught of the orcs attempting to bring him to a swift end along with the rest of the town. The rain beginning to fall, softly striking his armor with gentle almost melodic tones against the chaotic sounds of the battle, strange and contrasting. The ground itself began to become saturated with the sudden rain and turn to mud, his metallic boots sinking a bit and making his movements a bit slower. Damn it, one slip in this mud and he was done for, orc, fire, and now mud? What else could go wrong? The orcs continued to try and surround him, striking towards him only for Varask to push back with his tower shield, trying to keep the enemy bay.

More orcs began to join the others, noticing the resistance the dragonborn seemed to be putting up, attempting to overpower with numbers. As one pushed past, skirting to the side where he had been unable to keep it back, he was pretty such he was about to feel some pain. The axe in the orc's hand ready to deliver a cruel blow which would be the first of many death nails in his coffin after this first attack created an opening for the next and the next. Well, if he was going to die, he was going to go out swinging. Not that he wanted to die, but he definitely wasn't going to just roll over.

Readying himself for the axe to strike against his armor, he found that it never came. His icy blue gaze widened in surprise a bit as a fiery blast stuck the attacking orc, killing it instantly. Searching quickly for the source, Varask caught sight of a white-haired elf who was already sending another flaming mark his way. Just barely having time to ready himself, he threw up his shield to protect him from the blast, the force from it shaking through his body and the heat licking his scales. That was very close! Was this elf trying to help him or get him killed?? Lowering his shield, he did notice that the horde in front of him had lessened, leaving several charred corpses of unfortunate orcs behind.

Well, damn. Maybe something had heard him after all? Seemed to be pretty way saving his backside from this mess. If this elf got him out of his alive, he'd owe him big time. Shifting his gaze back to the elf, Varask noticed an orc effectively harrying the elf. If they were going to make it out of here alive, they would have to work together. After all, two versus one hundred is better than one versus one hundred. Simple.

Rushing over to the elf's aid, the dragonborn slammed his shield into the orc's side, knocking him clean over. The light snuffed from the enemy's now nonexistent eyes as the flail was brought down right on its face. Just then the elf mentioned...leaching energy? Teleportation? He wasn't sure what exactly the elf was saying. More orcs swarmed forward. Inhaling deeply, he dug into that primordial, draconic blood that, albeit weak, flowed through the veins of every dragonborn. Raw elemental power. Cold mist began to form at the edges of his mouth, little shards of ice beginning to drop from the air neared to him as the rain froze. Exhaling, a spray of frost breath burst from his mouth, the icy eruption freezing some of the nearest orcs solid, buying them some time.

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched whistle, shortly followed by a small boom and flash of color in the evening sky. Then another. Then another. The dragonborn's attention was turned for a moment as fireworks seemed to have been set off from the fires which had raged before the rain, the dampness not having reached them enough to prevent them from going off. To some, it might have seemed like some sort of sign or signal, a call to arms as the sky was filled with noise and color amid the rain and smoke. Distracted by this, Varask lost focus for a moment as an arrow flew towards him, slipping between the pieces of his armor and burying itself a a few inches into arm, would have been more if not for his scales. A grunt of pain and surprise tore from him.

Damn it, right in his weapon arm too. It was going to limit his movements with it. Shield raised now, the dragonborn backed up beside the elf. "Don't know what you mean by leaching energy, but whatever you have to do. I don't feel like dying today and if you can get us out of here do it now!" He called.

His gaze flickered to the bay...and to the ships which lay in the harbor. There appeared to be several in the bay...some even appeared to be small yet very speedy courier vessels. Small enough that you wouldn't need too many people to man it, for the most part. At least to get them the heck away from here. The gears turning a bit. "I don't know how far you can get us, but you think you can get us over to one of those ships? Get us to one of those smaller ones and I can take over from there!"

(Just wanted to put this here but I made sure to put in the bit with the fireworks to potentially be something for your character, RedCRose, to enter the rp with? As sort of a signal? I hope that works!)

A young man, looking to be around 18 to 20 years old, walked calmly toward the fight going on nearby and stood several feet away from the battle, hands hanging loosely at his sides as he tilted his head slightly to survey the scene. He was relatively tall, with deep brown eyes and thick, slightly messy brown-black hair. To those with an extremely refined sense of smell, his scent seemed slightly canine. Odd, considering that for all appearances he was human.

Cihan shook upright in their bed from the blasting coming off the flares at the harbor. Their heart raced in their chest. It was already time, and they had very little of it left to reach their destination. The half-orc hurriedly tied together the straps of their armor and yanked their bulky broadsword from the rack beside the door.

Chaos flooded the streets. Fires, civilians in a panic, and swords clashing against armor, and flares going off in the distance. Cihan reached under their bed once their helmet was donned, and pulled out the horn they were assigned. They drew a breath, and unleashed a sound from the horn that reverberated through the streets, and could probably be heard for miles… Perhaps even out at sea. After that they ran out of their cabin, double checking that the locks were in check, before racing Southward towards the harbor.

“Over here!” they yelled out at the small approaching party who seemed to frantically be searching for a vessel to board, and not having too much luck. Given that the pile of scrapmetal the dragonborn was eyeing would sink under his weight alone... It was their lucky day. Cihan’s modest ship could carry them away from all of this, for a half-decent price.

Sai was curious about this group. He decided to follow them and see how things went. Quietly following the others onto the ship, he found a small space out of the way and stood there, watching everyone.

"Father."

The leader heaves a weary sigh, turning back to his people. They've set up a makeshift camp, scattered about the bed of the lake, and his son, hardly half his height, is approaching. When the young nymph woke the camp months ago, screaming of 'feeling something approach', the elders laughed and sent him back to sleep. They did not laugh the next hour during an onslaught of hail, which they believed to be sent by the god of the sky, and for now the youngling remained a matter of interest, a voice to be heard during times of conflict.

Such a time, of course, was now, and so Suijin, leader of his clan for centuries gone uncounters, young in face and weary of mind, turns to his son and listens.

"The- our territory. To the west. I sense a disturbance. Someone... they're... they're trying to escape." He murmurs, voice low. Suijin's eyes widen. So this is what it comes to. They attract threat, they call for it, thirst for it, and it comes right through sacred nymph territory...

As pre-established, nymphs, most especially those of differing elemental alliance, are not inclined to work together. The bond, however, shared by those of one kin, is rumoured unbreakable. It always has been.

This group may be broken, but their family of another lake is not, and they are rising, starting as a quiet buzz just below the surface of the water... atop which boats are preparing for departure.