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 Posted: Sun May 27, 2012 9:25 pm
A grand kingdom of warriors, bathed in blood and the heat of the hearth. All that is ours is won in combat, or brought forth by the sweat and labor of our hands. To become a citizen here, you must by the age of 12 have slain another of your years, regardless of gender. We will not be weak, we will not be denounced, we shall prevail!
The Iron Kingdom is a land based upon the outskirts of the troll lands, and to the west. Their people must each participate in the arena, held in a walled spectator area the size of most cities themselves. Each day they pride themselves on conquering foreign warriors, or exotic beasts. Some of the toughest men and women are born here, for at the age of 12 should they not pass and live, they will be shunned and banished from the city. He who is king is he who is strongest and wisest of them all.
64/22
Laws
1. To be king, one must challenge the king himself to combat
2. The king alone may decide to accept the challenge
3. If you have not killed one of your own age by the age of 12, you shall be banished
4. If defeated in battle, do not return
5. If a family dishonors you, the family will deal with punishment themselves
6. Those who steal must face the ones whom they had stolen from in the arena, the victor receiving the property of the loser
- Brawlers Beverage (Tavern)
- Weary Warrior (Inn)
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Posted: Fri Jun 08, 2012 9:20 am
Chris Rushlon
The Wanderer  ... CRASH!!!
The sound of a broken bottle slamming upon the head of a patron signified the beginning of another brawl. In seconds, a barstool was thrown at the instigator, splintering into shards at the man fell to the ground. All of this, plus more, could be seen from the corner table fortunately away from this ensuing fight. Sitting there was a man some years out of his youth, with an abnormally large claymore by his side leaning against the closest wall. The man's gaze wasn't at the fight, however. It was upon the table, but even then not truly focused on the wood itself.
The male's name was Chris Rushlon, one that used to have meaning in the past. Now, it meant nothing, even to him. Though his eyes were upon the chipped frame of the table he sat by, his mind was elsewhere. He had come to this place for the sole fact of sleeping and eating well. Once the night was over and day had risen, he would be off once more. Thus was his life as a wanderer... With no real place to call home, he was free from most restrictions of the mind and heart. While this could have been seen as pitiful, it had its advantages. After all, if he still had a home, chances are that he wouldn't have been able to explore the continent as much as he had...
If one were to look upon Chris, the first thing they would notice is how much he didn't particularly 'fit' here. That is to say, compared to the body sizes, proportions, and attitudes of the people, Chris appeared to be the weakest of them all. That said, he had been forced to fight at the beginning to gain his entrance here... which had admittedly been easy. Despite his size, the male possessed a level of strength and endurance that no mere mortal could have ever hoped to attain. A humorous irony, considering that he was human. And so he sat here at the back of the tavern, not wishing to participate in the fight ongoing. It wasn't because he felt like he would lose or win... he just didn't give a damn.
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Posted: Mon Jun 11, 2012 8:24 pm
 The room was loud, bustling with the activities of each drunken buffoon within the tavern. Those who would fill their cups often added half their beverage to the sticky floor, sometimes all of their drink left their mug as they dropped to the wooden planks below. Fists were still flying every direction, striking down upon those who had either spoken up to another customer, or perhaps they had simply joined into the brawling groups as their violence began to elevate once more. Stepping into the room, a man of medium height, though his figure was strong when compared to others, Cross made his way near to the bar keep, looking for something to take the sting from his most recent wounds. His face was wrapped within a cloth, which many travelers prefered when making their way across the terrains of the new world. Upon his neck, he held a pendant, which appeared to hold a Celtic cross, circled within a ring of silver, while his hand carried a shining ring which appeared similar to a falcon. Rokairo was not a filthy man, but at this time he had many patches of dirt covering his form, and many more markings upon him such as scratches cuts or bruises. As the man carrying two blades began to sit down upon the off balance dirty stool however, he caught sight of some fine craftsmanship. "What can I get for you?" The scruffy man behind the counter asked, though Cross's attention was clearly gathered elsewhere. The bar keep himself was glad that at least someone new had arrived, for even with one eye cut out he was tired of seeing the same slobs' grimy faces. "Sir?" He asked again in a grumbling tone. Shoving the warrior in the shoulder where a cut was clearly open. "You can get back to me." Rokairo replied, seeming to ignore the push upon his wound and hopping off of his stool, though it made the wound upon his arm ache a bit to move so rapidly. Stepping across the creaking floor boards, and avoiding the tumbling brawlers as they sprawled past, the mercenary made his way over to a man who appeared not so brutish. "Thats a good sword...can you even wield it though?" Cross asked, raising a brow beneath the cloth which was wrapped about his features. His bright eyes however seemed to display each of the expressions he made regardless of his attire. The swordsman gestured to the rather large weapon, his ring glinting somewhat in the dim lighting, which would hinder the movement of a man with such a stature. ((Thought you might appreciate my main RPC rather than an NPC xd ))
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Posted: Tue Jun 12, 2012 1:04 pm
Chris Rushlon
The Wanderer As soon as Chris heard a voice outside his train of thought, his eyes shifted up to meet whoever held the words. What he came across was a man with a choice of clothing and facial wraps that spoke of a traveler. This male wore a necklace of cross design, a falcon-like ring, and two blades that carried their own form of expert craftsmanship. For the longest time, Chris stared at this male, his eyes and face providing no expression nor emotion to how he felt about this visit. Eventually, though, his head leaned back down before he spoke.
"Only when it needs to be wielded," he stated with an emotionless tone. "The question to be asked, though, is this: Can you wield it." With the way he spoke, his question turned out more as a statement, but this male might potentially understand his meaning. Most individuals disliked the tone Chris had every time he spoke, but this was one thing he could not do nor change... This was him.
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Posted: Tue Jun 12, 2012 8:28 pm
"An interesting question...if you are offering to lend me your weapon. On the other hand however, I prefer blades of a lighter sort." Cross stated, tapping against the two blades which hang neatly upon two of his three belts. The third had been occupied by a number of small bags, which he carried a few other items within, while he held two sword belts for the lack of a single belt with two holsters attached. "It does strike me as curious however that a man of your stature would desire such a massive blade...perhaps you are merely trying to make up the difference of strength by momentum?" He guessed, for he had met many warriors upon his travel, but few who fought with a weapon not proportionate to their size. What seemed peculiar however was how a blade so finely crafted could be used for anyone but an expert (since few novices could live while holding a desired weapon).
Sitting in the seat across from the man, Rokairo further examined this strange warrior. He had thought as well that perhaps the man had been slouching, or wore clothing which hid key muscular structures, as was the strategy of hustling brawlers. Still he could find no explanation.
"Care for a brawl?" He asked, turning about the heads of a few curious on lookers. A bit of the fighting came to an end then, as one of the men about the bar wandered towards the two, wielding an eerie grin.
"I would..." A brutish man stepped forth slamming his fist into the table. He was known as the Mountain troll, for both his size and strength. In appearance he seemed as if he may have held some heritage to the name as well. "I haven't given a beatin to either of ya..." He began, having stepped into the bar just moments ago. The bulky brute was a common customer, but more often than not... he was here for no more than the fights.
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2012 1:31 am
Chris Rushlon
The Wanderer Either the male before him knew from sight alone that he couldn't wield the blade, or he didn't wish to attempt the offer. It was fine either way by Chris... He had yet encountered the day that anyone else could do it. The curious statement and question the male asked caused Chris to look this person dead in the eye. There was truth in the words, honestly, but this man didn't know Chris. Nor did he know this man...
"I see no reason to state my story to you, stranger," he said in his emotionless tone. Watching the male as he himself was watched, a question was suddenly sprung by the visitor. This question, inconveniently for Chris, drew the attention of several heads, most from the earlier brawl. This also drew out a brutish man who seemed intent on beating the ever living crap out of the two. With a sigh, Chris slowly stood up to his feet. "You can brawl with this one, stranger. I have no interest in these fights." Taking hold of the hilt of his blade, he brought it up with an unusual sense of speed and skill as he sheathed it, showing that he, indeed, did not use its size for momentum alone. With that done, he attempted to leave...
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2012 9:15 am
Rokairo was stunned as he watched how simply and swiftly his fellow traveler lifted the blade into it's sheath, carrying it like any other would a dagger. There's something off about this man. He thought to himself, intrigued by the relative ease with which the blade was guided. Not all were impressed, or perhaps were too stupid to recognize what was indicated however. "I'm not through with either of ye-" The Mountain Troll began, taking out a rather large hammer, and beginning to swing it in a wide side ways arch. A burst of air erupted from the seat where the stranger, Cross, had been sitting, the stool striking the wall so violently that it nearly fell apart. The man who had been previously occupying the area however was now airborne, one foot catching the wrist of the brutish brawler, throwing back the swing of the iron weapon. The moment Rokairo was back on the ground however, the brute brought the swing around the other direction, figuring he should simply stay with the momentum of the deflection. Unfortunately for the troll man, Cross's feet had once more left the ground, though not too far. Mountain even believed that he had succeeded in catching the mercenary for a moment, but as the warrior began to spin about horizontally, the hammer swept under him, lightly tapped by the warrior's hand. "Blast! Its like trying to eat soup with a knife!" He roared, flailing the weapon back around furiously. Cross ducked another swipe, and was followed by another burst of air. This pocket was close enough that the brute was lifted off of his feet, and Rokairo slid beneath the airborne man. Standing up to catch him by the collar, the mercenary guided the man's path straight into the floor. "Sorry about that," Cross apologized to the traveler. "I forgot that they have short memories. The name's Cross." He explained, receiving a few mutters from the crowd of veterans here at the tavern. A few had witnessed his furious assaults before, and had not messed with him since, yet at the moment his face was covered, wrapped in a cloth to prevent weather difficulties on the road.
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Posted: Thu Jun 14, 2012 4:13 pm
Chris Rushlon
The Wanderer Upon hearing the brawler's comment, Chris' eyes turned and stared straight at the male. While the gaze was empty... the intent seemed to carry something, almost like a warning to back off. The male didn't seem to register this, though, and Chris' right fist began to clinch... It was then that something... intriguing happened. As the wanderer watched the stranger as he combated the brawler, Chris' eyes never changed from their emotionless stare. Somewhere inside of him, one could have assumed that emotions were boiling. Problem was, he couldn't even pretend to have them. Surprise, confusion, amazed... these emotions were something he should have been feeling right now, but he couldn't... Not anymore. The best he could say... was that he was now 'interested' about this male, but even then the term wasn't proper.
When the brawler was down and the stranger spoke up, Chris gazed at the smaller of the two men. Chances were, the brawler was strong compared to average man, so this stranger definitely had skill on his side. Hearing the male's name, the wanderer remained silent for a moment before stating,"Chris..." before he continued his walk, exiting the tavern without another word. Outside, he figured it was time to head for his rented room. The night was upon them and he would enjoy some sleep...
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Posted: Sun Jul 08, 2012 9:21 pm
((Hope you're not waiting for me to post, Chris already left so he can do as he wishes with or without Cross. I'm trying to think of what to do with him now though.))
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Posted: Mon Jul 09, 2012 9:40 am
partymonk44 ((Hope you're not waiting for me to post, Chris already left so he can do as he wishes with or without Cross. I'm trying to think of what to do with him now though.)) I have a strong dislike about posting with myself. That, and I haven't particularly figured out what I wanted to do as well.
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Posted: Mon Jul 09, 2012 7:47 pm
Wandering the streets of Aroch, a fallen titan among the men of the many taverns here in the iron kingdom. When war was called for, none was more praised than that of the Mountain Troll...or at least he had thought so to himself all these years, for he had never ventured into the arena to discover his might.
The brawler felt broken, his face still disfigured from the single blow which had done him in. He felt pathetic, and weak, but most of all he felt angry. Passing down the road ways, where bricks had been crudely placed to form paths and black smith shops which barely could with hold the heat of the hearth from the occupants of the streets, all he could do was clench his fist about his hammer and scowl.
Peering onto his figure from afar, an elder man began to chuckle, for few features remained that were not humorous to the old fool. He bellowed and nearly tipped over at the sight of the mountain troll strolling away from his place of shame. Tears filled the elder's eyes so much so that he could not witness the brute charging his way until the stomping feet had already struck just before him, a massive hand clasping around the old man's neck.
"Shut your mouth!" Mountain roared, swinging an arch down so that the hammer removed all of the man's teeth. "Learn to respect your betters! Mountain Troll is weaker than no man!" He cried out seeming to speak to unseen crowds. The shouts ceased then, the old fool thrown aside. Along the path down to the rented lodgings, the troll spied upon a familiar figure. "YOU!" The call came out more abruptly than any before. Stomping his way through the city roads, the brute charged, hammer raised, towards Chris...
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Posted: Mon Jul 09, 2012 8:17 pm
Chris Rushlon
The Wanderer Despite his previous desire to reach his rented room quickly, Chris nearly lost all interest in doing so as soon as he was out of the tavern. With the night air patting across his face, the wanderer began to do what he did best... wandering. And so he wandered the town, going from corner to corner while ignoring the taunts from the random passerby along his way. This was somewhat important to him, as he had entered this city late and thus had no knowledge involving the layout of it.
Around the time he had nearly completed his sweep around the area, though... he heard a shout. The voice was recently familiar, but Chris couldn't quite recall who it belonged to. That was, unless he turned his head to the side and noticed the one man, self-named Mountain Troll, practically breaking an old man in his hands. Chris never had much desire in anything with the way his personality was, but this... If anything even remotely remained in him, it was a sense of honor and justice, regardless of how small and mostly unnoticeable it was. To beat down a man far past his prime... this was something that Chris couldn't simply walk away from. Of course, he didn't have to. At this point, the brute was already making his way toward him, his face filled with such emotional anger that it was almost insulting for Chris to simply not give a damn about it. In silence, the wanderer remained in position, only moving once the brute had brought his hammer down...
Unlike the other one that had beaten the troll down, though, there was no special movements or tricks needed. As the hammer came down, all Chris simply did was raise his own hand up... and caught the blunt end with his open palm. The power from the Mountain Troll was noticeable, as a shockwave from his strength alone ruptured from Chris' hand, and yet... the wanderer didn't falter at all. Gripping upon the metal, Chris' next reaction was again simple. Clenching his left hand into a fist, he immediately brought it up as an uppercut to collide with the giant's chin. Despite Chris' size, the punch would easily shatter any bone from a normal human. Perhaps, if the giant could handle one punch, there might be some interest in prolonging the fight...
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Posted: Mon Jul 09, 2012 8:36 pm
The brute fell backwards, a disturbing crack erupting from the point of impact between his chin and the fist of his intended victim. Most men may have thought to themselves "How on earth did he just catch my hammer?" or perhaps "Who could possibly have such strength." None of these crossed Mountain Troll's mind, and though he felt pain from his jaw, it could not compare to the fury that filled his entire body. Slapping a palm against the ground, and spitting blood as best he could, Mountain lifted his body up from the filthy ground. Grabbing his hammer as he rose.
"ahg bilw cwash ou." He sputtered, attempting to taunt unsuccessfully. Trying to obtain the advantage of reach, the brute gripped the back end of the handle to his rather large weapon, swinging it in a wide horizontal arch at the man before him. Roaring all the while, though his jaw flopped about his face, he was determined not to lose once more.
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Posted: Mon Jul 09, 2012 8:55 pm
Chris Rushlon
The Wanderer The fact that the brute was even able to stand was proof enough to Chris that there was a challenge in the Mountain Troll, and that was all he needed to retain interest in the fight. Listening to the failed attempt that came from his opponent's broken mouth, Chris stood there in silence as the hammer came from a distance. In seconds, the weapon bashed into his side with such force that it knocked the wanderer off of his feet, sending the male careening off to the side, haphazardly rolling and spinning across the ground until he eventually stopped with a collision to a wall. Based on that attack, the chance of anyone coming out of that uninjured severely was a low chance.
And yet... Chris took only seconds to return to his standing position. In fact, the way he moved about almost suggested that he didn't even come out of that injured. Either that, or his durability was extremely impressive. Silently, the wanderer began a walk back to the brute. This time, however, his hand came up toward the clip that held his cloak in place, unclasping it. With that, he tossed the cloak over to the side, sending his claymore along with it.
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Posted: Tue Jul 10, 2012 4:07 pm
The man known by his peers as Mountain Troll began to laugh a gargling laugh, ignoring that his blow had appeared to have not even disoriented the man before him. As he took another wide swing towards the younger fellow, the brute only thought how stupid one must be to throw aside their weapon during a brawl. His arch again took length into advantage, as the mildly experienced fighter gripped the lower portion of the hammers lengthy handle. The air rushed past it as if it were attempting to escape the blow itself, sailing towards the warrior before him to strike at his head.
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