Author Topic: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Rendorin  (Read 65 times)

Renodin

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The Carefree Adventures of Asher Rendorin
« Topic Start: May 17, 2017, 01:17:43 PM »
Hey there gents and ladies, a new character and with him a new tone of Roleplays to write.

Here I will attempt to record whatever happens in Asher's life. He is the son of Aldrakar Rendorin and Lucini Talratheon. Twin and brother to Aldrakar II. He is or at least in his youth was a cheerful, care free and jolly person. Full of energy and filled with life. Ready to smile, quick to laugh and always up for fun. How will time treat him and looking at the first glimpses of the East Continent and Great Xavax where he is starting out his career, his personality may be sorely tested.

War is all around and the Realm is beset on all sides by a multitude of enemies. Will the Bright eyed young man with light blue eyes and that most inviting of smiles yet innocent, turn to the grim reality of bloodshed and torment? Come around and find out.

Cheers!

Renodin

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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Rendorin
« Reply #1: May 17, 2017, 01:19:10 PM »

The introduction RP for Asher Rendorin, fresh of the boat and with just one person from his old life. A life of comfort under his father, Aldrakar. No longer! He is thrown into a war torn nation and will have to grow up quickly it seems. Enjoy!



The Scion of Aldrakar

Rough hands heaved as the last of the sails were stowed. Mighty stretches of cloth bearing the symbols of the Merchantman of Giask. A far away city on a continent called Dwilight. The wood creaked as it squeezed against the docks. Thick ropes at least as thick as an average man's waist puffing dust as it barred the ship and the dock from ever touching. High above seagulls squawked loudly. Crying at one another as they saw every opportunity to raid from the little people below.  Many of the roofs of the buildings lining the harbor sporting white and black streaks. A nest tucked in between the arms of a bust of a mermaid carved from wood but now merely an ornament of a time long past. People hardly ever looked up at her anymore. Her perch, high above the fish mongers market, more akin to a prison without walls than a pedestal of high esteem.

The ocean had one last gift and it tugged Asher's hair from the left to the right. Flapping it into his face every time he tried to rake it to the side with his hand. A curious eye fell upon the spry lad. ''So, there we be boy, Isadril!'' A voice like marred bronze rang out. Quickly followed by a phlegm filled cough. ''Far from home and alone ye be Lordling, best keep yer wits about ye.'' The words followed by a nigh perceptible plop of water as the greybeard spat into the ocean.  Asher heard him but couldn't muster a serious care. His eyes roved the city before him. So alien, so different and full of new adventure! Rich blue eyes beheld all before him. His smile warm and inviting as he stuck out an arm to wave at a pretty girl whom he thought looked at him. She didn't and he felt silly the instant he realized it.

Embarking took an age and then some. Apparently goods and war supplies had a higher priority than a far flung Lord's son. Asher's sometime tutor and full time scribe nudged the boy along. ''Don't tarry now Sir Asher, we have to book a coach to take us to the Guardsmen & Horsemen Recruitment and Training Grounds''. Asher obliged and set his feet to walking all the while drinking in the sights. The scribe stopping a plain looking coach and offered the driver some silvers as he tried to explain their intended destination. The coachman grinned and assured the scribe he knew all of Isadril like the inner thigh of his lover.

All along the ride Asher was hanging out of the little window of the coach' door, gravely testing its ability to remain hinged. Much to the worry of the aged scribe that accompanied him. Markets lined with local goods, lanes filled with craftsmen and alleys filled with orphans and barking dogs. Filth ran in open gutters and reeked worse than any battlefield. Prestigious ladies pulled up their noses at throngs of beggars while their guards cleared a path for them.

Feeling the initial exitcement fade Asher wondered how he would manage away from the guiding hand of his father, Aldrakar. The ages Scribe saw the boy's worry and placed a hand on his shoulder. ''Don't worry Sir Asher, everything will be alright.'' That most warm of paternal smiles resting upon the man's lips. Far from that pretend truth, reality came and reared its often ugly head. Recruitment centers empty of warriors. Supply rooms devoid of weapons, armor and even practice gear. Healers overworked and with dark rings under their eyes. Middle aged men missing a foot or a hand or even entire limbs. Their faces downcast and more often than not, impoverished.  Asher exchanged a look with the aged scribe, answers unspoken between them.

So Asher Renodin arrived at his new estate. A place of training and of fielding fresh warriors. It was all but that however. It was full of squalor, exceptionally young 'recruits' and harrowed out during this time of war in which Asher apparently had decided to find a new home.



Wimpie

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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Rendorin
« Reply #2: May 17, 2017, 03:40:07 PM »
Good stuff! Wish you would have joined Vix Tiramora  ;)
Jeames (Vix Tiramora, EC), Osgar (Thalmarkin, BT), Nasgar (Westfold, DWI), Jari (Outer Tilog, COL)

Renodin

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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Rendorin
« Reply #3: May 18, 2017, 03:18:47 PM »
Hey there, in this RP I am trying to show you how Asher experienced his first battle. It was against a mob of peasants that had risen up against the Nobility but there was also one enemy Noble, to clarify, that noble was Odoaker, former king of Perdan. This is in parts a battle RP, with some gory details be advised.


The Touch of War prt 1.

Ravens crowed as doves were driven before them. That was the way of the world and doves are really not warrior material. Those rough street urchins or loafers that the great city of Isadril still possessed were increasingly becoming a rarer sight. A voice that struck with the force of a whip and which roared louder than a bear, shook Asher from his sleep. The old and oaken bed in which he lay didn't even move as Asher all but jumped up, tumbling out of the bed and scraping his knee on the timber floor boards upon which he landed. The light woolen blanket snaring him in place.

''Urgh.'' He freed himself from the blanket and got to his feet. Pushing the small window of his room open he saw a band of recruits being bellowed at by a sergeant. Unshaven faces, straw haired and sullen. The recruits looked ready to bolt if it wasn't for the threat of violence. As Asher took in the recruitment grounds it soon became clear that all the recruits were probably force drafted into the military. A knock on the door grabbed his attention and before he could say the word 'enter'. Beramin already did. The aged scribe and his long time companion and tutor carried a tray of simple foodstuffs. Bread, old cheese, some olives and a jug of watered down wine. His free hand cleared the small desk that Asher's room was rich and deposited the tray there.

''Master Renodin, this was delivered for you before first light.'' The old scribe moved through the room, picking up discarded clothes and generally tidied up as he went. ''I took the liberty of reading its contents as it wasn't sealed. It seems you are summoned to the fields of Leibo.'' Beramin glanced over to Asher, noting that the boy noble had no idea where that might be. ''That would be north of Isadril, a half day's ride.'' A lightly wrinkled hand gestured to the food. ''Eat Asher, you'll need your strength.'' Asher complied without a word and dug into the food. Beramin moved to stand next to the youth. ''The Talon is calling you and your men up for battle.'' His voice steady and without worry. It didn't do much though to prevent the same from Asher's mind. It filled with dread as realization dawned. Asher looked up at Beramin.

The remainder of the food was consumed quickly and Beramin helped Asher prepare his Companion Cavalry to depart for Leibo and to face their first foe on the field of battle. A foe not Noble but very common indeed.

Standing near the gathered horsemen that Asher called his men he felt anxious and his palms were more akin to damp swamps rather than confidently dry deserts. Fortunately, nobody could notice that for he wore light leather gloves. Dressed in a fair suit of leather amor over which he wore a simple but deftly constructed mail hauberk he looked the part. If he was aiming to look like a nervous, unprofessional, scared little Lordling. To be fair, that was exactly what he was. Years of training are worth little when faced with the real thing. The thought of addressing his men soon evaporated from Asher's mind as Beramin suggested to the captain of his men to lead the way north, to the fields of Leibo and the rally point for the Army.

The ride through the city itself was rather alright, the people understood to respect warriors and mounted warriors even more so. They were quicker, you couldn't outrun them and they were usually more arrogant because they were rich. However, once outside the great city of Isadril the landscape changed. Even more new things to experience. Asher tried not to gawk too much but by anyone's reckoning, he failed miserably. The way local merchants dressed equal parts baffled and intrigued him. His Lurian dress contrasting starkly and making him and his men stand out like sore thumbs. The road was easy though and despite the fact that the signs of war were creeping up on them they made good time. Roadsigns were fresh but within sight of their predecessors, shallow graves lined the road and the occasional husk of a burned out building reminded everyone that saw them that enemies were close. Asher tightened his grip on the reins of his horse without conscious thought. Determined to prevent any more suffering. For that must be the duty of a good Noble he thought. That's what his father believed in.

The captain pushed the men hard and they arrived before dusk. The field camp of the Phoenix of Xavax army lay before him. Nestled up and around a buff that dominated the immediate area. The lands of Leibo were full of endless fields, spaced with stands of trees and lively brooks. Farms that spanned leagues and despite the fact man warred one another, the animals lived in peace. The arrows were not aimed at them for a change and they laughed at the folly of men.

Prominently perched at the top of the buff Asher could see a big tent. Trying to decipher the banner that stood next to it Asher was surprised as Beramin nudged his horse to move up to Asher and began to speak. ''If I am not mistaken Master Asher, that is the crest of House Kinsey. ‚ÄčLionel Kinsey is the Talon of Greater Xavax and Marshal of the Phoenix of Xavax.'' The time worn man motioned around at the military camp. ''That would be this army.'' Asher nodded a bit too quickly and didn't say a word.

They pitched their tents near the periphery of the camp. So it goes when you're new, green and unproven. The horses were watered, given food and even some carrots. A rider is nothing if his mount is out of shape. Asher dutifully brushed his own horse down and took the saddle off by himself. The rest of the day was spend quietly. Asher reported to the Talon's tent so that he was aware that he and his men had arrived but wasn't allowed to see the general and was turned away. Told to wait for further orders. Like the boy he was, he nodded and turned away. Disappointment showing far too much at this missed opportunity.

The night was filled with hard laughter, wood-smoke and strong spirits as men tried to forget the horrors of battle and the horrors to come. Word was that the people of Leibo had had enough and had taken up arms themselves. Asher listened to it all but wasn't sure why the locals would want to fight the Nobility. Weren't the Nobles good to the people? His sleep was plagued by worries and the night filled with hungry insects.

As the light of dawn illuminated the day the veterans greeted her, the regulars simply started to wake up. Asher, not quite the regular, was woken up by his captain. Generously giving the Lordling enough time to gear up and present himself within a decent time fame. Apparently the call had gone out to assemble. Men carried lances, spears were oiled and shields checked. The wounded and servants left behind and a small detail of warriors chosen to guard the camp. The Marshal's men were issuing orders and a battle line formed.

It was a miss matched, hotchpotch bunch of units woven together in a very forward formation. That last word hardly justified what was created. Horsemen stood next to spearmen on one side and had elite swordsmen on the other. All three of them making up the front line. Ohh and archers next to them again, also on the front line. A deep frown marked Asher's young forehead. He stopped his men from following the directions of the Marshal's men, whom actually didn't seem to care at all for how Asher would deploy his men. Asher turned to his captain ''Stay well behind our main force, if the enemy engages the front line, our only line, they will break through somewhere. If it isn't the archers then it'll be the horsemen backing off.'' His arm indicating the units in the Xavax line. ''When that happens I want us to charge into that gap like a hammer and punish anyone that tries to roll up our line.'' Looking back at the army, it seemed only Sir Barrican Voxamaeuss's archers actually stood behind the front line.

Without any warning, the enemy host, a mass of brown and dirt and tanned skin surged forwards. Their angry voices deep and in hand they carried cudgels, scythes, pitchforks and an array of other farming implements. They had no order and just rushed onward making quick of the distance that separated the army and their unbridled rage. The Xavax banner flew in the wind and men screamed as the two forces crashed into one another. Spears and swords called forth blood from the soft bodies of the angry peasants before them. Broken were the hands and some faces of the brave warriors of the Phoenix. The song of death rose to pitched fever high as there was no space to move into or to retreat. A struggle for dear life ensued. A rider charged with his fellow horsemen but was brutally stopped as the legs of the poor beast were cut from under it by a burly man wielding a scythe. Crashing the beast into a group of men at arms and propelling the rider into a mass of peasants that cut him to shreds.

Asher's eyes were big as they filled with horror. The captain of his men shouted for the men to stick together. They were riding slowly up to the line. Blood flew in arch's above the men that fought. Swords that carried upward momentum and readied for another chopping motion. The two forces started to congeal into a mob and a general melee emerged. Archer's tried to run, tried to create distance but enraged hands dragged them down into the dirt turned mud as the blood of the fallen soaked the soil. ''There!'' Asher called out. His hand indicating a section of the line where an unfamiliar banner appeared. The banner didn't carry any of the signs of the Xavax. ''An enemy Noble?!'' Asher's voice carried triumph and confusion. ''He must be leading them! Go for him!''

The Companion Cavalry leaned down to their mounts and increased their speed. Men were dying everywhere you looked. Hooves ploughed the land and filled the air behind them with clods of dirt. Holding his light lance firmly in hand and lowering the tip for the charge Asher felt worry fall from his shoulders and saw only the banner. The banner of the enemy leader, the target of his fury! Time and reality stopped. His eyes seemed to halt and he saw men and beast wiz past like arrows. Slow yet fast and then, a sudden, incredible impact. His gut felt like it was just kicked by a mule. He vomited nearly instantly and threw up all over a man unlucky enough to recover from Asher's sudden appearance in the battle line. The peasant was drenched in the warm and mashed up morning meal. Blinking his eyes Asher tried to shake off a wave of vertigo. His lance was no longer in his hands. His eyes informed him it was lodged deeply into the chest of a bannerman that lay united with the ground the way a sausage is skewered before a fireplace.

Panic flooded Asher's mind. The pain in his gut spilled over his entire right side and made his sword-arm ablaze with pain. He willed it to grasp the handle of his sword so he could draw it. Seconds passed. Men died around him and the reins of his horse were being pulled. He stood still in the melee. An ugly faced man brandishing a club grinned at him through broken teeth. Readying a wicked swing. In a flash of clarity Asher reached for his dagger with his left hand and in a flowing motion hurled the piece of sharpened steel at the man. It caught him in the lower throat. Gurgling the man went down onto his knees when he was promptly kicked by Asher's horse. Finally, his right hand responded again to his will. A bright length of cold murder revealed itself from his sheath. With sword in hand Asher's took in his surroundings, overwhelmed with the noise and the carnage.

Next to him, two of his Companion Cavalry had been holding off a throng of peasants trying to get to him. They looked like nightmarish creatures. Covered in blood and wounds. One went down before his very eyes. The horse gave up as its strength flowed out of it along with its blood. The rider smashed by many hands wielding rocks and cudgels. All around, the men and women of the Phoenix were being butchered. Asher looked behind him, men were running. Another glance informed him that many of his men were heavily wounded, only staying because he was. ''Retreat!'' His voice shrill but audible. Asher realized he had been hearing that very word for a while now but it hadn't registered until now.

His men maneuvered their horses as best they could and tried to disengage. The captain trampled a man that was about to attack Asher and grabbed the Lordling roughly. "Master Asher! Follow me! Now!'' and the mighty hand of the captain pushed him and his horse it seemed, into the direction of the camp. Away from the massacre.

That afternoon Asher had his first taste of what it would mean to be a warrior of the Great Xavax. Blood and grime and vomit staining his battle gear. He returned to the camp finding that he was but one of many men that looked just like he did. Not he stuff of legends, neither the dream of heroes but the butcher covered by his own work.


Wimpie

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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Rendorin
« Reply #4: May 19, 2017, 10:03:39 AM »
Hah. I enjoyed reading this. Took me a while though, it's quite long!

If not already, you should be writing books.
Jeames (Vix Tiramora, EC), Osgar (Thalmarkin, BT), Nasgar (Westfold, DWI), Jari (Outer Tilog, COL)