BattleMaster Community

BattleMaster => Roleplaying => Topic started by: CryptCypher on November 06, 2017, 03:57:24 PM

Title: Assorted RP's of Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Post by: CryptCypher on November 06, 2017, 03:57:24 PM
A place to store the many RP's to come, so I don't lose them like with my old characters/accounts. :)

Roleplay from Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in   (3 days, 4 hours ago)
Message sent to everyone in the region Krimml (29 recipients)
(Non-English terms are Old Norse. Warriors are Northmen.)

A small retinue approaches from northwest from Commonyr, circa Oligarch.

My first vivid impression of Krimml was that of a squat city nestled unto the verdant hills of Braga.  The pleasant scent of her infamous meat pastries hung gently in the air as the great looming shadow of Oligarch cast wide from late evening's setting sun. Scarred by the passage of countless wars, her four-tiered stronghold rose stark and proud against the silhouette of bandit-infested forests. A distant cadre of trade-wagons creaked and scraped at the loose cobblestone road leading from the great forest toward Oligarch's main thoroughfare, caravan guards on alert for a chance skirmish by overzealous brigands. Tonight however, not a soul lay claim to the slightest footfall beneath her wavering boughs: for only fool or madman would stir trouble in these circumstances.

"Ýmirs frosteistna... Now that's a bloody army..." (Ymir's frosty balls)

A thousand bodies flittered lazily between clusters of hastily-pitched tents sown wide beyond the sloping rim of Krimml's outer reaches, inhabiting a sparse expanse of uneven terrain likely cleared by malnourished woodsmen and restless invaders of ages past. Scattered campfires spewed trails of smoke as the final rays of dying light shoze brazenly across the glinting armor of at least five-hundred infantrymen. Twenty-nine distinct banners fluttered in the evening breeze as heepish campwomen, hurried cooks, jingling traders, and assorted servants made up the hundreds wandering where chain and plate failed to betray soldier's garb. Small groups of wary rangers clumped together in various vantage points, the off-brown of their faded leather reminiscent of dried blood drops.

Though I could recognize scant few banners from a brief study of Oligarch's records, one stood out as being of decidedly foreign origin. Around fifty tired-looking rangers huddled beneath that foreign banner as the thick smoke of their camfires licked the sky. Perhaps a passing dignitary come to meet with Prime Minister Mersault,  or an early arrival for Duke Tandaros's wedding. Surrounded as they were by at least a thousand armed Sirionites, there could be no fear of foolish betrayal.

My own retinue of rangers, nineteen in all, gradually slowed their exhausted march as we approached the furthest camp. A few men briefly paused to look our way - gazing curiously at our single quivering standard - whence flew bloody Phoenix upon a background of sable flanked by argent flaunches. I wondered for a passing moment if any still recalled the old meaning of twin flaunches upon heraldic shield...  That archaic debruisement whence claimed the illegitimate spawn of a noblewoman must bear her arms with "a surcoat"; that is, on large flaunches around a blank center. Except the center of my own banner bore the shining crimson of a feathered bird from whose wings those brilliant white flaunches radiated like the rays of a Gods' light.

"Nei brandir! Takið þér yðart bogi... Ragnarr: hvar er bogi þitt, saurig víking skítkarl? Ja, yðart bogi, Ragnarr! Óðins skegg... Nei búinn, lítil píka? Ek várkann geirr hafa saurig arsgat þitt...

(No swords! Grab your bows. Ragnarr, where is your bow, you dirty viking bastard? Yes, your bow, Ragnarr! Odin's beard... Unready, little bitch? I pity the spear that takes your dirty !@#$%^&...)

Chuckling beneath my breath as my warriors laughed in stride, I bellowed a final command to the men as we strode through thickening crowds. The haggard and the battle-hardened, servants and soldiers whose sole purpose in life was to live and die beneath the glint of a blade. Such is the fate of all men who wage war, and upon whom war is waged: an effortless tide of conflict which none may escape for more than a brief moment of respite.
Title: Re: Assorted RP's of Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Post by: JeVondair on November 06, 2017, 07:28:06 PM
I like the language mix followed by translation
Title: Re: Assorted RP's of Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Post by: CryptCypher on November 07, 2017, 11:03:55 AM
I like the language mix followed by translation

Thanks :) One of various new writing styles I've been toying with. Trying to change it up a bit.
Title: Re: Assorted RP's of Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Post by: CryptCypher on November 18, 2017, 10:48:13 PM
"If the 'Tree of Whispers' could truly speak, it'd be screaming right about now... Fat lot of good it'd do, m'sure the grizzled old Elves have all but lost their hearing. Ah, cosmic irony..."

The white granite walkways of the Grand Garden, whose exotic flora once numbered in the thousands, featured far less diversity than the old stories described. The Tree of Whispers itself, diseased by scuttling insects whose industrious maws so casually tore at ancient visage, in no way resembled the picturesque storybooks whose legends puffed hot air unto Elvish pride. Sigrid's joyful heart lay as barren as a desert lakebed, visibly pissed at her own foolishness. As her pissant Krimmelian uncle once realized, plump arse sat proudly betwixt the leaning pillars of his decrepit old manorhouse, she was not one to be taken for a fool!

Old captain Ferdinand donned his customary mask of worry, yet as he opened his mouth to speak, Sigrid beat him to the punch.

"What in the hell happened to this place! Honestly, it looks like someone took a steaming dump, covered it in fancy adornments, and tried to hock it as some glorious artifact of ancient times..."

Were the stories of its mythic splendor just a crock of frog intestines, thought Sigrid, or did Sirion lose its glow somewhere along the way? For all the legends of Elvish mastery, even the Palace's sparse public records were an embarrassing enigma. Ferdinand awkwardly cleared his throat as Sigrid steeled herself against the time-worn mastery of shoddy excuses. The captain's service to a procession of haughty nobles imparted a particular gift for courtly deflection, but even so, the man was capable of an occasional stark sincerity.

"M'lady, one must expect some measure of leisure in the meticulous record-keeping of grand bureaucracies...  One can hardly expect a realm of such age to prioritize the documentation of events that must seem so fleeting in the scope of its lengthy existence... It is unwise to fault the Elves for paying less-than-stellar attention to recording what their ancient minds must know by heart... Yet even I must admit: for so many years to be absent from every available parchment, scroll, and banner... Not just incomplete, no, but utterly devoid of mention... Why, its almost as if time itself had stopped in the wake of the Siro-Westmoorian War."

Ferdinand endeavored to lick his cracked lips, much as one expects a grandparent to lick a finger before leafing through an oft-read fairytale. Much of it was sheer presentation, Sigrid thought to herself, though some of it could surely be chalked up to the physiological effects of advanced age. After all, it is only right to give one's elders the chance to pause and recollect their thoughts. To contain so vast a knowledge crammed within a mind no longer in its prime... One could not dare to cast fault upon well-earned moment of respite. Not that she would ever admit such a thing to Ferdinand. It was just too much fun how they bickered back and forth over the years. In truth, she relished his graceless dance between grizzled tutor and old friend.

For a briefly humorous moment, Sigrid contemplated whether the Elvish Lords powdered their asses, lest tired old bones and thrice-wrinkled cheeks become lodged in the seat of a sanitary facility... Hells, maybe they just defecate where they stand, attentive servants trailing behind to salvage the oh so 'glorious' emanations of their masters. Considering how often her once-graceful uncle had shat himself at a moments notice, multiplied by the far greater lifespan of said Elves... Clearly lost in ridiculous mental imagery as a funny look glazed across her face, old captain Ferdinand cleared his throat in that oh-so timeless signaling of desired attention.

"Ahem... It was not a good time for the East Continent, or Sirion for that matter... Despite a desperate bounce back to relative success, the events of the Siro-Westmoorian War painted a stark image of what Sirion had become: a decaying house of playing-cards whose might rested upon the rank of its assembled faces, grimacing as if to frighten passers-by, yet vulnerable to the ravages of any old passing breeze. Fontan crumbling between the two-pronged Caligan-Perdan assault; then Prime Minister Lapallanch's retaliatory strike against Westmoor suffering an embarrassing retreat as complacency allowed the Westmoorian looting of Commonyr... General Blakeshadow accomplishing - pardon my Common - !@#$-all then abdicating after driving Sirion forces to the brink of oblivion, only for newly-minted general Clipt to fail miserably as the Army of Sirion lay shattered... So they say, alongside Sirion's puckered dignity..."

If Sigrid's eyebrows could arch any higher, the damn things would spread wing and take flight. A stifled grin broke into outright laughter as Ferdinand's wrinkled forehead lay bridged by furry gray unibrow cast high in startled indignation.

"Listen here, girl. You may not be that clever little runt anymore; y'know, the one who set fire to a certain Vice Chancellor's heirloom tablecloth at a wedding respectable nobles are loathe to mention... Or that time you let loose a horde of emaciated rats in middle of a certain Duke's *bloody* feast... Aye, you've grown proud and strong, if not a tad bit wise, since those trying times... But that doesn't mean I have to put with your shenanigans. You're still my little one, damn girl, and you'd best remember that. They may not have caught you, but I had to clean up your mess every time your sick humor got the best of us. Oh, Gods above... What was I saying? Ah, yes, do you recall that gutted pig they found on the altar at Brunswick? How you managed to haul that festering sack of maggots up all those stairs and plant the damn thing like some imperial banner is just, urgh, why would you even-"

Red cheeks nearly bursting from such profound laughter as joyful tears coalesced in the corners of azure-flecked emerald eyes, Sigrid struggled to catch her breath - after a brief loss of control, she swiftly composed herself in the wake of unknown voice trailing song across the expanse.

"Shush, old man! Listen-"

Looking across the Bridge of the Fallen, where casual stroll and distracted speech had naturally brought the pair, she scanned her surroundings for the songbird whose solemn tune caught her fancy. Nevermind Ferdinand never realized she had recruited a pair of local urchins to do her 'heavy lifting', rewarding their part in her bored shenanigans with table scraps and scavenged trinkets that made their eyes grow wide with wonder... One day she'll get around to giving up some of her tricks... But who the hell was singing that curious song?

"Oh yes, I'm the great pretender
Pretending I'm doing well
My need is such I pretend too much
I'm lonely but no one can tell

Oh yes, I'm the great pretender
Adrift in a world of my own
I play the game but to my real shame
You've left me to dream all alone"
Title: Re: Assorted RP's of Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Post by: CryptCypher on November 23, 2017, 02:14:06 PM
Non-Consensual Cosmetic Surgery

Roleplay from Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in   (just sent)
message to all nobles of Sirion

Hrafn was still staggering half-way through the streets of Avamar when his scribe came running, fuming, shaking a letter in his hand. He bowed more from fatigue than from respect and tried to catch his breath to announce the most important part of what he had to say.

Sigrid and her Avenging Exiles had just finished paying for the burial of the mangled scout they'd discovered with his throat cut while surveying Montijo, apparently by some pissant from Nivemus who valued his privacy more than his scruples. After all, there was no one in that region beside the Nivemus army at the time of his death. Somber faces all around, she left them at a nearby tavern to mourn their brother and departed for the market, accompanied by her once-Regent Ferdinand and her new captain Helmut.

What a sight it must have been to those walking the streets of Avamar: a young noblewoman in black ranger's leathers and long hair the color of phoenix feather practically gliding across the pavement. A grizzled old frowning war veteran struggling to keep up as sparse grays cling like weeds atop a balding head, leg ruined in some long-forgotten war for a nation history has forsaken. Last but not least, a young new captain with enough notches on his blade to fill a banquet hall, and plenty of room for more.

Sullen and sour at the loss of a good man to supposed allies - lost in her own little mental world of unwinding strategies, ever-shifting politics, and a yearning for simpler days - Sigrid barely notices Hrafn until she practically rams him from behind. A muscled arm reaches out from behind and grabs her shoulder, to which she promptly spins and punches her new captain square in the nose. A look of profound surprise scours his face as a trail of blood leaks from what might be a shattered nose.

"!@#$! Sorry! I- damn it, don't grab me like that! NEVER !@#$ing grab me like that!"
Title: Re: Assorted RP's of Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Post by: CryptCypher on November 23, 2017, 03:41:04 PM
Roleplay from Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
all nobles of Sirion
Hrafn: "Lady Sigrid, I didn't expect to meet you here, so abruptly - and as if there was nothing more to say, he reached out his hand in an invitation - Please, come with me. This is my father's city... it was, at least. I know everything here. I'd like to show you a place before we have to leave to Montijo."

Sigrid took it personally to lose one of her warriors, almost as if a piece of her were lost beside them... This impromptu meeting offered a welcome distraction from the bitterness welling within. Nodding to Halmut, she watched him mutter to Ferdinand - the wound to his pride likely greater than that of his face.

"Go grab a drink with the Exiles and get that nose looked at. I need you at your best on the morrow. Lets give those bastards a run for their money, aye? And keep your hands to yourself before you end up missing one. Or both."

Halmut bowed with a pronounced flourish, his placid attempt at appeasement lost on Sigrid. No one touches her without permission - the last man to do so rots in an unmarked grave with severed manhood jammed firmly between broken teeth. Never did figure out where his hands went. Vultures probably got to them while she was busy digging. Ah well - circle of life and all that.

"Apologies, my lady, it won't happen again... I swear before the Glow of the Phoenix!"

She dismissed her escort with a curt nod and turned to Hrafn. She was in no mood to partake in bitter words and bleak charades. Ferdinand knew the fiery look in her eyes well enough to drag her captain toward the nearest tavern.

"Likewise, Hrafn. Didn't mean for you to see that... !@#$ happens, eh? Sometimes a man's got to be put in his place lest he grow accustomed to overstepping potentially lethal boundaries. Had a soldier smack the wrong adventurer's ass and win a dagger to the throat once. Sure is one way to redecorate... Anyway, what's interesting around here? Haven't been long enough to know my way around yet."
Title: Re: Assorted RP's of Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Post by: CryptCypher on November 25, 2017, 05:37:53 AM
Ashen waves scatter upon deep sea azure, lapping gently at the golden shores of verdant isles upon which shine twin obelisks of polished onyx. Hetero-chromatic paradise mirrored amidst an ocean of fire, freckled beacons bestrewn across a vast archipelago of milk and honey. Like a moth unto flame, many have sought exile before the curtain-call of living flame - yet no colony survives upon her fertile shores. Flesh a cosmic canvas; the eyes a gateway to the whispered secrets of the soul...

Politely and subtly, Hrafn draws back his offered hand. He gently turns his body instead and Sigrid takes her place beside him, walking the market side by side as a smile dawns upon both lips.

This young man seems to possess the rare gift of common sense, humor, and at least some level of decency. Tainted by pride, of course, but she isn't exactly expecting the company of some self-flagellating ascetic monk. Had her grin betrayed notice of Hrafn's casual yet swift reaction? His was the hoped-for result of cause and effect: a simple yet vital test of character passed with flying colors. Both scent and posture showed no sign of sheepish intimidation nor aggressive cockiness - a surprising advent in the presence of a half-Elvish nineteen year old's youthful pride. So far so good. Only a man of respectful stature might find himself privy to her inner thoughts, much less one's affection. In time they could surpass certain boundaries, but the foundation of such mutual understanding requires a healthy dose of trust: a spiritual currency she was taught to cautiously horde for optimal investment. Hers was a faithfulness of boundless depths - a profound sense of wholehearted loyalty whose traumatic costs she learned at an early age. With pain comes cynicism, of course, and with it a certain tendency toward secretive doubt and subtle manipulation. A necessary evil in a world full of thieves and murderers, predators and traitors...

"I'll show you the ruins of what was once Sirion's greatest duchy, with Avamar being the heart of an idealized kingdom within the Republic... maybe I can entertain you and make you forget any worries."

Sigrid absentmindedly brushes a wayward lock from atop her left eye with a grin as wisps of ginger dance upon mottled ivory skin. Blinding light glides across multi-hued iris heralding a wince of surprise as dilated onyx pupil struggles to accompany its vigilant companion - a blinding procession of fluttering lashes as fleeting as the glow from whence discomfort dawned. Slender fingers and elegant toes curl in the hidden confines of well-worn leather as a casual shake of the head banishes the remnant spots of polarization occluding her vision. With a grin turned grimace and back again - therianthropic flickers of pleasure and pain bound to a beautiful sky - she nods to her escort and they embark upon a not-so-simple traipse along the histrionic ruins of ancient folly.

"Copiously shaded ruins of a faded empire sound pretty damn good right about now..."

Its difficult to pinpoint where the market ends or even begins - a vast ouroboros of rich undertones that slither between merchant stalls and smoking forges alike. A din of exotic fragrances waft the sea-born breeze alongside shouted bids and hammers upon anvil, concealing the more subtle undertones left best to the wandering mind. Foreign vessels span the harbors that hug sea and river alike, flowing with precious goods and curious services of a nature as alien as the tongues of those who offer them - for the right price, of course. Once the rebel capitol of West Sirion and Avamar alike, the city-of-the-same-name has long been a melting pot of Elvish and Human cultures whose fluid clash gave rise to a rich amalgam of architecture and history. For so relatively small a city, Avamar has long-since earned a sense of immortality among those who travel the world.

Though empires may rise and all, riders of the trade-winds are ever wise to lay trails of humble kisses at the feet of Avamar's magnificence, lest profits dry in the face of a mistress spurned. Hers is a fickle nature; loyalty paid in tribute of gold and sacrifice. Few may claim her enduring love, but she never forgets those loyal to her. If the city has a heart then her arterial markets pump the blood of trade from the East to the world - a carnal exchange as sacred as the red-lit temple-brothels so beloved by all who visit. For a dead empire in ruins astrew, the Avamarian Lich seems very much alive.

Soaking in the sights, the nobles' first foray is a curio shop specializing in exotic instruments old and semi-new. With a handful of coin and its partner grasping at the neck of a lute, Hrafn makes his offer. Wordless and swift is the exchange as he smiles and makes his way to the exit. Too quick. One expects a measure of haggling to take place and yet Hrafn sealed the deal with exacting grace. As the merchant raises their hand to intersect a beam of light cast narrow across the shop, Sigrid analyzes the opposite face of an odd coin - some turban-clad Elf of strangely familiar features. Spinning on her heel she follows Hrafn to the next stop, drinking in the bounty of culture, language, and unspoken secrets that permeate the air.

This time they stop at a tent laden with such variety of fruit that her mouth waters for colors and shapes whose names she cannot not fathom. Gently poking at some odd yellow spiked fruit whose pungent scent betrayed superior flavor, she turns at the utterance of a quiet gasp to witness the saleswoman lit with surprise. Confused, Sigrid notes the confusion on Hrafn's face as his chin dips down to scan the contents of his outstretched palm. A plethora of those same odd coins subtly hide what resembles an eye bathed in translucent crystal. The saleswoman seems to pale before uttering something beneath her breath.

"My Sultan, you can take what you want... it's everything yours... my life is at your hands"

Sultan? What was that about? Analytical tendrils scatter across her mind, grasping at everything she had learned about Sirion's history. She recalls nothing about a Sultan, though strange half-memories and fleeting fragments from dust-coated texts leave her with a feeling of inexplicable unease. Clearly she's missing some vital bridge of data, so she files it away and departs the confines of her mind just as Hrafn looks at her. They both smile sheepishly - hers born of getting caught deep in thought. If consciousness is a river then her mind's cosmic eye looks upon subconscious ocean.

A few nods and vague gestures later, they pass titanic columns of age-worn marble  upon which serpentine tendrils of ivy cling. Together they enter an immense space replete with ancient fountains of what must once have been a magnificent hall, now conquered by an onslaught of grenery that drank in the sunlight falling through a caved-in portion of the ceiling. A subtle smirk creases her lips as she watches him clean its surface with a pristine cloak only for her plump yet mud-speckled rear to plop down in its place. A rangers' leathers are rarely pristine, especially when marching through the field to face the enemy.

Smirk breaks into full-blown grin as she takes the cue and sits upon a stone bench of decidedly ancient build, patting the vacant portion Hrafn cleaned moments before.

"Let me entertain you before they send us back to bleed in Sordidus..."

Half-lost in thought, Sigrid barely acknowledges his statement as thoughts coalesce into two distinct paths: one regarding their military activities, the other returning to a crystal eye coated in strange coins. With a candid smile her thoughts spill forth unto the river of consciousness taken form and an opportunity is pursued. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but that cat told some damn-good stories.

"Tell me, Hrafn, what's with those merchants earlier? You didn't even haggle, which was weird enough in and of itself. On top of that, you gave them some weird coins I've never seen nor heard of. Not to mention the fruit tent exchange... I smell a story! Do tell, young 'Sultan'. I love a good tale."
Title: Re: Assorted RP's of Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Post by: CryptCypher on January 23, 2018, 11:23:00 AM
Title: Re: Assorted RP's of Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Post by: CryptCypher on January 23, 2018, 11:23:42 AM
<Reserved 2>
Title: Re: Assorted RP's of Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Post by: CryptCypher on January 23, 2018, 11:23:57 AM
<Reserved 3>
Title: Re: Assorted RP's of Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Post by: CryptCypher on January 23, 2018, 11:24:25 AM
"Commander, the body of the lost scout has arrived from Negev. The stolen report is torn but otherwise intact. Shall we proceed?"

A sigh of relief spills forth unto the cool night air.

"Aye - dispatch the runners. Talon Kinsey requested these reports personally. First man back earns an all-expenses paid trip to the brothels of Avamar. The second earns a warm bath and two rounds at his choice of tavern. The last gets a cold bath and "volunteers" to run back with Kinsey's response."

Accustomed to her peculiarly brazen sense of humor, captain Helmut's eyes sparkle atop splitting grin.

"Barring strenuous circumstances, any who deviate from their orders will relinquish all reward and immediately assume the volunteer role."

Helmut's smile fades to sober grimace as nearby soldiers suddenly find reasons to be elsewhere.

"A fine lesson, commander. If the boys are sensible they'll converge and conclude the mission as a team, earning all three a fine trip to the Red Light District. Yet if greed gets the best of 'em... A sobering wake-up call where there should be a fine pair of soft, warm-"

"AHEM. Nothing quite like marching 'til your soles bleed..." Her glare cleaves the air as Helmut reconsiders finishing his sentence.

"Err, right. Apologies, m'Lady."

A wayward boot sails off in an arc as Sigrid's toes wiggle freely for the first time in weeks. Dried blood and grime cakes blistered feet as a markedly unladylike stench wafts free. Such is the price of leading the charge, as opposed to hiding in the vanguard as nobles are oft to do.

"Kindly remind the runners how vital their mission is to the survival of Xavax. Failure to complete their mission is second only to failure in safeguarding their brothers-in-arms. No man shall be left behind. If any Xavax runner is obstructed, injured, captured, or otherwise purposely abandoned for the sake of another runner's greed, I will march back to Krimml through hell or high water and wait until the South begins their assault. Then, I will bind, gag, and personally launch them off the walls. If they survive, they will be given exactly 30 seconds before the Avenging Exiles' open fire. If they reach the Southern line, they live. Whoever gets a confirmed hit on the traitor takes his place in the brothels of Avamar. Any who refuse to fire will reinforce the frontlines. Any who obstruct these orders will be stripped of rank. Any who betray the Xavax will be put to death."

Helmut straightens and salutes - his eyes wide and expression dead-serious.

"What of the thieving runner who killed our scout in Negev?"

If looks could kill, one need only dispatch Sigrid to Krimml and half the continent might set ablaze.

"For the murder of his countryman; obstruction of justice; bearing false witness; dereliction of duty; treason against Xavax; and endangering a critical mission during wartime... I sentence him to death. Sew the insignias of dead or captured Southern forces into his coat, then sew that into his flesh. Cut off his hands, carve "TRAITOR" into his forehead, then dump him in Negev."

You could practically hear a pin drop in Oligarch.

"I... Aye, commander. The traitor will be punished immediately."

Seething with rage, Sigrid could only nod.

 --- --- --- --- --- ---
| Later that night |
 --- --- --- --- --- ---

"Helmut, dispatch a runner to the Caligan embassy. There's someone I must speak to as soon as possible, and only the Caligans can help."

Curiosity stifled by the grimness of his recent charge, he bows and takes his leave. All is silent as her eyes trace the stars above Fontan, wondering what madness drives honorable men to betray what they claim to love.

High above the rest, a beacon shines its light: an exiled star of gold blazing bright.

"...Where are you, Ayden?"
Title: Re: Assorted RP's of Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Post by: CryptCypher on January 30, 2018, 10:04:52 PM
Roleplay from Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Message sent to everyone in the region Sordidus (72 recipients)
"Lady! Stop! Wait! Hey! Sig- OOF!"

One moment there's an idiot stranger running straight for a lady of the court; then there's a human pretzel with a face full of mud and two daggers across his throat. Another day in the life of a supposed princess who'd much rather be stabbing people than serving as a glorified scout.

"Speak - carefully."

The black Phoenix "Fate" barely glimmers as the crimson-winged "Faith" rightly glows - parallel blades wrought in an age few men might recall - now resting gently at the throat of one more man who might not live to know their names.

"I- g'ah! !@#$ - Sorry, I- urgh-"


"Wretch - spit it out."

As if waiting for his cue, the fool retches and spits out a disgusting mixture of bile, partially-digested rations, and mud. It spills forth like a weak geyser, radiating outward and arcing away from Sigrid's already miserable leathers. Unfortunately, it still manages to splash onto her boots.


Coughing up a storm, the idiot struggles to intonate his own given name over a pattern of intermittent burps, retches, and something inhumanly non-verbal along the lines of,

"Uuuurgh... F-fitz-Blaaaeeeuuurghhh-"

Patient as a feline, she waits for the man to cough up whatever other organs he can spare. When his final gastric false-starts prove futile, her patience is rewarded. Unfortunately the proverbial dam implodes in her face when he realizes she'd put away her blades a solid 2 minutes into the ordeal. Oops. She broke him.

"Urgh... Thank ye', M'Lady. Almost died chokin' on me own innards, that I did. Name's Fitzgerald, son of Robin, coincident'ly husband o'Robin, hur hur. Me wife'll love tae meet ya, Princess Sigrid, yer a good lass, sorry fer runnin' into ye' all o'sudden, is just I've a message from Talon Kinsey an' I can't run too well on account o'my bum knee, but where was I - he needs ye' back at Sordidus immedit'ly, firget th' temple, the whole bloody southern army just shown up on our doorstep an-"

"I liked you better when you were choking... What am I supposed to tell your wife now? Sorry Ma'am, I think I broke your husband..."

Suddenly Fitzgerald laughs - and so does she. After a minute or two of absolutely hysterical cackling, they wipe tears from their eyes and clasp arms as a sign of peace and brotherhood.

"If you promise not to vomit, you can ride back-saddle with me."

The two grin and head off on their way back to Sordidus - as nonchalant as one can be - straight into the open maw of war.
Title: Re: Assorted RP's of Sigrid Gudrun Auru'in
Post by: CryptCypher on January 31, 2018, 01:03:19 PM
Phoenix and the Raven

Princess Sigrid,

I stand here before the nobles of Redhaven to fulfill my oath. My life is yours to take.

Hrafn Skovgaard, Son of Serpentis, Bastard in Exile;

By order of Ehrendill Eyolf Serpentis, heir of the Eye, your life is hereby forfeit.

By Fate our pact is bound - in blood thy oath manifest.

Whence flies the gilded Phoenix, a brooding Raven shall follow - my Will thy willing cage.

By  light of embers a shadows is cast - and within it you shall always tread.

You belong to me now, and forevermore.

...Forgive me. It was the only way I could save you.