The Brutish life of Gomrin Renodin

[Renodin]

Here I'll try to capture some of the Roleplays I've written with Gomrin Renodin. He is a crude, bearded, warrior of Thalmarkin that has issues reading, talking nicely and all such things.

As before I would like to this as an ode to the people that make this game fun and would like to view this thread also as a potential source of inspiration.

Enjoy!

[Renodin]

Thalmarking went to war with Sint, a neighboring realm. A border sign read: Beware of dragons. It was fun hehe.


Dragons and the Border

After a long march with the army it was Gomrin's turn to arrive at the border of Sint. A lonesome stone roadsign portruded from the earth. It was jagged, slightly scorched and looked quite heavy indeed, like it had been there for ages.

Gomrin halted as he arrived at the roadstone, his eyes working the surface of it as he traced the carved out letters. ''Dr.. Draa.. Draggos.. Dragin..'' His face a network of interconnecting frowns.  Ulf, his luitenant walked up to him and pointed out as much with his hand as with words ''Dragon.''

Gomrin looked at up Ulf for a moment in wonder but quickly replaced it with a gruff and slightly angry visage. ''I knew that!'' But quickly returned his attention back to the roadstone. ''Dragon food eh?'' Gomrin mumbled to himself now that the message was deciphered. ''We'll see who's eating who! I've never had dragon before!'' As much in comical laughter as in an attempt to reassure his nerves at the thought of actually fighting dragons he let out a raor of laughter.

Noticing that his laughter had drawn some attention from nearby soldiers Gomrin decided it would be good to make a show of strenght. He hefted his grey edged axe up high above him and with a mighty swing slammed it down on the carvings of the Roadstone. Splinters of stone shot in various directions and one of his own men was pieces by a stray bit of it. The man yelped but was only laughed at by his comrades. ''Just a little scratch Jondor!'' Was all they would offer him.

With that Gomrin and him men moved on and deeper into Sint-ian lands, ready for the gold that awaited their greedy hands and fearing the sighting of the first dragon. Even if none of them would admit of even speak of it.

[Renodin]

A little RP I wrote about the first looting run of Gomrin and his men on a temple of the enemy.


Not too far away from the army camp in Sniika Gomrin and his men were seen stalking away in the last rays of daylight and didn't return until the next morning. When they did however they were cheerful, laiden with small chest, fine cloths. jewelry and some of them covered in splashed of dried blood and soot.

Curiously more than a few of them wore medalion depecting images of Hemaism.

[Renodin]

After one of the battles with Sint the game decided to spawn some undead! This called for RP of course.


Eternal Vengeance

A cold wind gushed over the battlefield. It was a tree strewn plain of uncountable dents in the soil and bushes everywhere. It was a bad place to have a big battle but the Wolves and Bears of Thalmarkin were content. Their enemy was not even a real force of fighting men, it were peasants with sticks, sickles and pitchforks.

Among the great surge of iron, arrows and the press of men was Gomrin. His near black beard fraying in the wind as he roared at the puny farmer warriors. In great strides he covered ground much like a leaping fox, his agility almost awkward for a man of his size and build. Like a hailstorm behind him where his men. In loose formation, the only formation they really knew. They hurled weapons of every kind at the poor peasants. Knifes, short swords, stones, daggers, javelins and much more. It all took flight and it all promised anguish.

After a short lived slaughter where the very winds seemed to howl displeasure he saw the first ones emerge. Rising from a small natural ditch where a tree had overgrown it came the vision of a blood drenched and mangled man. He pushed himself up from the ground and ignored the gaping wound at his side, he never even tried to dislodge the axe that was trapped there. There were others..

''What in the Flying F.. is happening 'ere!'' The astonishment as clear as the rage that accompanied. Soon Gomrin found himself surrounded by the rising dead. Their flesh not even drained of blood so that as they rose a second to time to fight, from their bodies small fountains of dark blood rushed. In their wake a trail of gore was left and their hands singular in their pursuit of the living. The fallen were rising again as the unliving.

Gomrin's men broke away like whipped dogs. Among their number Gomrin had secured a relatively safe place and together they retreated to the Thalmarkin lines. The army reformed and it was clear that he wasn't the only one that was startled, shaken and disturbed by what they were seeing right before their eyes.

Facing them from across the battlefield stood a horde of the undead, fresh and hungering for the flesh of the living.

[Renodin]

Somewhere during the war a brave enemy announced he would duel anyone to the death! Gomrin couldn't refuse.


To the Death

On the corpse strewn fields of Daisha the wind tugged at all the leafs of the trees, the cloaks of men and the hair on Gomrin's scalp. Sitting in his camp surrounded by his soldiers, dog warriors each of them a man bearing his own banner appeared.

His armor well made and his features austere, resolute and courageous. He walked into Gomrin's camp and due to his bold display of Bravery the ruffians that were Gomrin's men allowed him passage. Their eyes following this other Alpha wolf that bore the name of Brandon Salvatore.

Gomrin and this man stared at one another for a long while. Brandon spoke but a few sentences but what he said was clear. To the Death, you and I. Gomrin despite his brutish ways and ignoble habits couldn't refuse so sincere a challenge of battle.

On the Plains of Daisha they were to fight, until one of them no longer took in by breath the air of life.

[Renodin]

Scribes should learn to be more careful and tactful.


Somewhere deep in the lands of Sint

''Yes, yes, yes and of course the peasants responded with a cheer and then they moved off to resume daily work. And the next day he continued his encouragements and more worked and uhm and harder!'' The thin and overbearing scribe continued to jibber away at Gomrin who with increasing difficulty resisted the urge to wring the life out of the beak nosed and oogly eyed scribe.

''YESssss yes yes, and then he did this.. and that and that and a bit more of that and this and like so..''  Was all that Gomrin was hearing. He wouldn't stop! That scribe just wouldn't stop!

Gomrin received the man about an hour before and was very surprised to receive word from Luhgrethen. Nobles were at work in his region and improving it with works. Strange works.. But it worked and he felt happy about it. Happy enough to endure an hour of this frustratingly annoying scribe's  japping. ''Did you know he also used these things to make then do that and when he did, this also happened and then and then and then..''

''Hwwwrraaaa!'' Gomrin raised his heavy bronze rimmed shield into the aid with his thick arm and swung it down at the scribe's head. The shield like the embodiment of a metal lightning bolt crashed into the face of the poor scribe. His head not able to resist the impact, it gave a hollow ''Clonk'' and the jabbering ended.

The unconscience scribe now sprawled over his feet Gomrin grunted as some of his men started to snicker.''Mhwee, get him out of here. Take him back to the Marhal.'' His men responded with sighs and disapproving looks. The Marshal meant order, strictness and behaving themselves. They liked none of that but didn't dare refuse their leader, they knew what that would lead to and it was a lot worse than what the scribe endured.

[Renodin]

Away from my region of Lugrethen I tried to make a nice RP out of one of the reports. The region still needed attention.


Foul weather and Foul news

Under pelting summer rains Gomrin and his men arrived at Yipinalke. The region a blanket of slugging green hills dotted with white sheep like lost little clouds on a heaven of green. That is if you would imagine the grey rain-clouds away and the sun bright.

Plodding through the pools that collected on the muddy road the company reached a roadside inn. Gomrin disliked the villages here. Soft farmer people, soft Grehks of the earth. His rain washed face turning about to his men who were shivering despite it being summer. Water and wind will do that to you. ''Get your wet asses in here and huddle around the fireplaces, Git!'' His words accompanied by a gruff motion of his arm towards the Inn door.

It creaked in protest as the swollen wood of the door scrapped against the doorpost and frame. With the opening door a cat darted in through the door from under a bench that leaned against the outside of the inn. The cat was in shambles as rain  had also demolished its coat of fur and reduced the being to a shell of its former self.

Arching an eye at the creature Gomrin stepped into the Inn himself. The cat shock its fur dry and a fresh rain of droplets assaulted Gomrin. He couldn't bring himself to kicking the cat out of the way though, it was kinda a battle companion now, it weathered the same storm as he had.

Gomrin's men trickled in one by one after him. They rubbed their hands and wiped their brows clean of droplets that hung like liquid icicles from their eyebrows, red noses everywhere. It didn't take long before they shuffled towards the hearths, drawn in by the promise of food as the scent of roasted boar seduced them.

With bold steps Gomrin walked towards the Innkeeper though, before he reached the portly man though he heard his name called out by an unfamiliar force. ''Baron Gomrin! A message for you.'' A man clad in sturdy traveling cloths offered him a bundle of letters. The first one was a report. Its details clear and unpleasant. The gist of the letter was:

Luhgrethen
Low morale leads to unrest and strikes, which hurts productivity.

Cold left as blood rushed through his veins. Words mumbles under his breath but none of them pleasant. ''Blasted Dirt-diggers!'' Gomrin shouted as he with a single hand hurled a bar stool through the Inn. The rest of the day was spend resting and warming up though. When the company left the Inn it was in a worse state then they found it. Gomrin had been in a bad mood all that day and it showed itself in broken stools, tables and noses.

[Renodin]

An RP I wrote about Gomrin staying in one place for a bit too long, don't drink too much.


Grekian Blue Ale

Gingerly he placed a foot outside the door and onto the cobble of the road. His ears were assaulted by the hub bub of daily city life, the life of Ossmat was torturous to Gomrin's ears. ''Grrrnnnnn!...'' He heavily rubbed his hairy hands over his face and pressed onto his temples.

A shove from behind caught him off guard and before he could catch himself on.. anything really, he went down towards the ground. The snap of a clawing fingernail crystal clear in his mind as his hand failed to firmly grab hold of the wooden doorpost. A black shade covered his eyes and then a bright light shot vision back into his skull as his head met the grey cobble of the road and bounced of it before it settled down onto the street.

Fingering his forehead with a finger sporting a broken nail Gomrin released more curses from his lips. He was't even able to finish a complete sentense as a burb forced its way through his mouth. A small pain made itself known to him as a boot softly kicked or shoved him aside. The man who had previously pushed Gomrin out of the doorway now probably further cleared the way from the tavern door towards the road, the only obstacle the drunk Gomrin on the road.

The noise of carts, fishmongers the spilling of grain from a sack and the yelling of people blurred into a grey goo of sounds as Gomrin sat himself up. His arms instrumental in pushing his bulk up from the road and back onto his ass. Sitting there in his leather under-armor and his somewhat curly, shoulder-lenght, dark brown hair a mess he tried to shield his eyes from the sun with his hand.

A whaft of dust assaulted him next as a donkey drawn card thundered past at completely reasonably speeds, for sober people at least. ''Five Hells of Dragon Turd eatin' Barstards Die! Die! Sit on the Thorny jewels of Sint you rat eating Snot!'' The torrent of words howled at no one in particular and intermingled with coughts as the insidious dust found its way deep into Gomrin's throat.

Degenerating into a shuddering huddle of a man Gomrin coughed violently for a while. When it finally finished his head felt like two rampaging bulls were deliberately crashing against his skull again and again in an never ending cycle. With eyes shot with red Gomrin peered down the road and spied out a barrel of rainwater.

With an intake of air he asserted himself and got himself to his feet. With a staggered trudge he arrived at the barrel  of water and proceeded to dash his face into it entirely. It looked more or less like he just released his muscles and his head just lolled forwards into the water.

10 seconds later his head emerged again from the water and this times his eyes were slightly more open. ''F...ng Grekian blue ale, never again!'' He wildly looked to his right and startled a young boy who all but jumped onto a vegtable stand.

With his usual lumbering way of walking Gomrin moved off but still unsure to where exactly. A bed most likely, it would be the wisest choice. But then again, its Gomrin and wisdom has never been his strong point.

[Renodin]

After a long wait in city the order to move arrived. Gomrin naturally, wasn't in the best of shapes.


Mekoter

Snoring loudly sat the fleshy bulk of Gomrin clustered to the bar. His head deposited where it had fallen and that currently was on said bar, facing the door. ''Baron!'' A hissing voice urged him. ''Baron! Wake up!'' This time the voice was accompanied with a prod.

"Damn it he's too far gone again..'' The voice seemed to indicate to the third source. ''Just shove him.'' Came the reply. A long moment passes as nothing happened, the scuffle of feet could be heard though. ''You shove him, I'll hold him down.'' The original voice said in a somewhat accusing tone. ''Fine..''

In a dark dream Gomrin was chasing a fair maiden with golden.. dark... red hair? Like the flames licking from the furious sun that hid behind the black devestation that was behind him in his dreamscape. The world tumbled and everything went stark white!

His eyelids parted as Gomrin's body responded to the heavy shove that propelled his body off his barstool and towards the ground. The light that spilled into the room from the doorway blinding him as he went down. ''Hold him you Bastard!'' a voice almost shouted.

There was no holding anyone anymore, that particular dawn became a red dawn in all its bloody glory. The men who tried to do their duty to their leader will forever remember that day as the day that they both broke their lips, noses and achieved the questionable honor of double blackeyes.

At least the gang was now on their way to Mekoter, ''You're the Koter!''  was the mocking phrase that was used for those that had to wake Gomrin in the future. A task none of them really wanted to do, at all.

[Renodin]

An RP I wrote after a major battle between Thalmarkin+Old Grehk against Sint. The first assault on Keffa city. I love writing RP's after battles. People really appreciate being mentioned in them I've found so far and it creates real history for everyone. Enjoy!


The Battle of Keffa prt. 1

A giant of a man, clad in menacing armor and draped in a magnificent cape of pristine bear fur stood at the font of the Thalmarkin war host. His voice clear and easily carrying over the first rank, past the second and well beyond the third line of warriors of the north. Heaving his sword and axe high in the sky his spoken message was mute already for his symbolism was radiant towards all that beheld it. War, battle and glorious combat awaited! General Marlboro gave the signal to attack, the strong winds that blew past the city of Keffa seemed to flow at his direction and with a new surge of wind so did the lines of Thalmarkian warriors towards the City.

The horde of the North fell upon the walls of Keffa like an avalanche, the deafening rumble of their battle cries, the chaos of their charge and the fearlessness of the overconfident. In the thick of it one man stood among many. His dark beard as wild as his eyes, flailing in the wind. A mad gleam in his eyes and with arming axe held high above his head Gomrin charged with the throng.

Down the lazy hill and towards the grey and steadfast walls of Keffa. Several of Gomrin's men close by their leader as they all merged into the same euphoric battle frenzy. The only fracture of their external impetus the fleeting glances they gave one another to check if their brethren still charged towards uncertainty. The warriors of Sint waited patiently upon their high walls, with pikes in hand and with bows ready to rain death upon the foolish.

The first casualties were of course Thalmarkin. The hundreds of little, iron angels of death flew from the bows of Sint towards the oncoming horde of human flesh and unbridled rage. The screeching arrows matched the roars of battle hardened men that soon turned to screams of agony as the screeching of the arrows abruptly ended. Gomrin saw a man slammed to the ground as an arrow violently tore off the arm of a man that stood just in front of him. The half moon shaped arrow heads were able to cut off limbs like axes and the severed limbs were tossed into the air and often against comrades.

The spray of warm blood washed over Gomrin's features as he tried to dive through the fountain of blood that erupted all around him as arrows cascaded from the heavens above. ''Raise shields!''  ''Get down!''   ''Hold formation you bastard!''  and more such could be heard all around from the throats of seasoned veterans. Fear lanced through Gomrin as he saw a handful of his men get cut down by a descending cloud of arrows. To combat this feeling that festered in the pit of his stomach he screamed hell and fire as loud as he could and tried to feed of any drop of anger he could muster.

The arrows came down on the Thalmarkins like the steady waves of a calm ocean upon the beach. Taking men back with them into the depths of death. The walls of Keffa grew in size and hight as the men from Thalmarkin got closer to them, some looked uncertain, some displayed fear but more than enough showed bravery and pushed on. Among their ranks the towering form of General Red. The Giant of a man already peppered with arrows sticking out of his shield, his chest armor and even his thigh. Nothing seemed to slow him down, perhaps his armor was just that good.

Barreling through the ranks Gomrin pushed aside men left and right, to prove his strength to himself mostly, he slammed his shield into the sides of men too slow to move aside in time. His own men followed suit but with far more caution that himself. They loathed to leave their master alone but they put a high price on their own lives and as such, were slower.

Sint did not wait idly by, arrows weren't the only weapons they had ready for the invaders. Rows of pikemen, spearmen and arms-men were ready as they poured from the gates. Some stood, formed up and ready below the walls and some few waited on the walls. They now in turn advanced, they would deliver battle to the Thalmarkinian warriors on equal terms.

It wasn't long before the first Sintian warriors met death as they also received the kisses of iron borne of wooden shafts as the Thalmarkinian archers fired on them. Gomrin saw his chance and roared towards his men ''Let them have it! Kill those filthy Dragon Nuggers!''. His men, the collected bastards of Thalmarkin. The vagabond warriors none else would hire answered their master with a ragged cheer.

Axes flew from their hands and bit into shields, into shoulders and dug deeply into the chests of men as they sought beating hearts. Battle raged as the lines met and swords crashed together until sparks danced in the air. Shield splintered and the smell of sawdust competed with the stench of blood, guts, bowls and death, it never won. The fighting as always was terrible. Men begged for their lives, they screamed the names of loved ones and shat their pants as courage fled them. Death took them all, never caring to which king they had sworn allegiance.

A grey spearhead shot out towards his face, time seemed to slow down as his brain realized the incoming danger. His hand moved to intercept the seeking iron head and got cut in the process. His hand gripped the shaft just behind the spearhead and with all his might he pushed to the side. Gomrin watched as the man wielding the spear fall forwards as he became unbalanced. The man, a Sintian crashed against Gomrin and their chests banged together as did their heads.

The spearman recovered first and attempted to draw a knife from his belt. Gomrin's fought to clear his groggy head, the sensation of danger contained in the recesses of his mind. Sound flooded his ears as his wits returned. He saw the mud and blood stained spearmen ready to punch the knife into his gut. The hand already withdrawn backwards. Desperation set in as no solution presented itself. With a feral howl he threw himself towards the spearmen. A blooming pain spread across his belly but he tried to ignore it as fury mingled into his
outcry. His arms flung around the spearmen and Gomrin could smell the sweat on the man, holding on with all the strength his arms could provide him with. He tasted salt and then iron, it filled his mouth. Gurgling sounds erupted just beside his right ear. The spearmen was drowning in his own blood.

Wiggling the piece of flesh around in his mouth Gomrin tried to spit it out. His eyes taking in the grim wound he had inflicted upon the man with his savage bite to the neck. Managing to eject the lump of human flesh with his tongue he looked around him. The battle was going badly. He sat in a field of death where the mounds were made of corpses and the blades of grass from arrows. The rivers of !@#$ and blood.

He tried to get up but a sharp pain in his side stopped him. He looked down and saw a grinning slash through his armor. ''Damn it! Damned Knife!'' Gomrin shouted at the dying spearman who was holding on to vital breath but failing. In anger Gomrin kicked him in the ribs as he crawled to stand up. The moment he did so he felt a pang of regret. He may be brutish but he wasn't a monster. The man expired.

Gomrin fled the battle. Thalmarkin was whipped and the walls of Keffa still stood. Her grey stone now black with a cover of blood turned to obsidian with the fall of night.

[Renodin]

Found another RP I did with Gomrin in some tucked away word-file. Its about a random fight between some of his own men while they are traveling. Enjoy!


Ruff!-necks struggling

Somewhere on the road towards Coness quite close to a rundown roadside inn. Some would argue it all happened in the inn but hey.. this is my version of how it went down.

It was just after midday, the sun just beyond it's apex and the shadows were still minimal in its rays. You could actually see the sun again for it had snowed for a full day the day before. The land coated in fresh snow, the sticky variety. It dusted gently on the trees and the alleged doghouse that was supposed to be near the entrance of the inn was nowhere to be seen. It was all white.

During summer the small lake near the Inn would be a perfect place to sit down and relax, fish perhaps and definately bathe. At this time of year, not so much. It was currently hidden by the snow and most quite thick with ice. It did however present the perfect and naturally formed 'ring'. Gomrin had told his men to take an hour's worth of rest before they'd continue traveling. Rough men and an inn should mix quite well, were it not for the regular patrons that inhabited the inn.

It didn't take long before a fistfight erupted indoors and destroyed several pieces of furniture. It was dealt with quickly however as Gomrin in a battlefield voice roared at them and smashed their faces in with the nearest object at hand. Which just happened to be a broom and a tankard of tin. The cheap ale that resided in the tankard now dripping down the dazed man's face and chest onto the floor. The other combatant was rubbing a new bruise on the back of his head. ''Out!'' Gomrin growled at them. ''Out and settle it there! Boys! there's a match upcoming!'' he said with in a crudely inviting tone which still easily carried in the Inn.

As Gomrin personally ushered the two previous combatants out of the Inn and onto the snow covered ice of the small lake a stream of people followed them. His own men of course but also the other patrons who were more than eager to see some soldiers bash eachother's faces in. Even the Innkeeper himself who was less than happy that his daughter insisted on joining him. The crowd easily fanned out on the ice and formed a circle. Their feeting making short work of the fresh snow and quickly stamped it solid.

The two troublemakers found themselves in the center of the man-made arena and eyed one-another for a moment as the realization sunk into their brains that they would probably be fighting for this weeks wages. The man that lost would most likely loose his pay entirely. Gomrin was not a forgiving man they knew.
The first was a tall and solidly build man who obviously had spend a conciderable amount of time as a lumberjack, forester and probably banditry. He had well developed arms and a powerful neck with thick cords of muscle. His eyes were a bit too close to eachother and his nose flat on his face, broken one time too many.
He wore a scruffy beard that was untended for quite a while and his face was framed by long strands of dark brown hair that fell all around his head. His opponent was a short and stocky man, a beard that naturally curled was the first thing you would notice about him and then his wide shoulders. He was a guardsman in a previous life who got bored of village life and had signed up with Gomrin. He had keen eyes and a temper that scared away a she bear once, or so he claimed himself.

The crowd was getting excited as several of Gomrin's men started to take bets and did so quite vocally. The very act inspired sneers, boasts and claim from friends of both of the fighters in the arena. It all lulled as Gomrin started talking though. ''Shut it you miserable !@#$s!'' He cast a dangerous glance about the group. ''For breaking the rules of Hospitality these two men will fight for your enjoyment!'' Gomrin said with much sarcasm and in a rough voice at that. ''Whoever loses will not get paid this week, that should teach you.'' As he finished his sentence he gaze fell on the two men about to fight. In a louder voice he added ''And with the coin of the other I'll buy you all drinks until its all spend!'' The crowed roared in approval, even Gomrin's own men but a few of them looked cautious, they probably knew that they made some mistakes yet to be discovered by their leader.

The fight that ensued was much like rabbit dogs over a meal, both men didn't want to loose a week's worth of pay and they disliked one another already before that fact. The tall one of the two fighters, the ex-lumberjack delivered a jaw breaking punch to the shorter man that went off his feet and into the air, he landed badly and was sprawled on the ice and snow. The tall man threw up his arms and cheered wihth got him much vocal praise from the crowd but granted the stocky one time to recover. Rage burning his eyes and his teeth bare. He rushed the tall one and crashed violently into him. Slaming his shoulder into the tall one's stumoach. Eyes bulging the Tall one went down but not before he grabbed a fistful of the short one's hair. They went down together and the short one struggled against the hold with his face burried in the Tall ones chest. Driving punches home to the Tall one's chest and gut.

Several of the Tall one's friends looked worried and gave ample of advice. The friends of the short one cheering and throwing abuse to the friends of the Tall one.
A fistful of hair rose and lifted the stocky one's face up and he could see the crowd for a moment, then the crowed blurred and he heard a wet splat! The crowd made anguished faces as they imagined the pain and saw the red mess that was the stocky one's nose and face. Splat! the world was blurred and his ears rung as his face smashed against the Ice again. He managed to break free of the hold though and was staggering backwards as much as he could. In reality he was crawling.

The Tall one was getting up from his feet but gingerly felt his gut as he had difficulty standing errect. They looked at one another for a long moment and then the stocky one made a lumbering rush that looked pathetic. The tall one flinched from it as he tried to shield his stumoach with his thick right arm but easily blocked the weak punches the stocky man threw at him.  Both of them breathing hard and were weak on their feet. The tall one made a lousy feint, he arched his left arm for a punch but made a quick jab. He intended a quick jab but instead both of them got in a tangle as the stocky one countered with a grapple that saw them both crash down onto the ice.

The people were roaring their approval of the fight and much of the ice in the ring was now stained with patches of blood. Both fighters were panting like dogs and their hair was slick against their skulls. The short one managed to straddle the tall one but didn't have his hands free to assault his opponent as he was busy keeping him down. He arched his back and threw his head back in a desperate move. His fingers clenched his opponent and with all his might tried to keep him from wiggling out of the way. Down came his head and with a crunchy sound, a splash of red the two skulls connected. The Tall one lay still and the people cheered their lungs out. The short one sat up for a moment and then fell to the side, exhausted. His face caked with not only his own blood, some of it drying. But also the fresh blood of the Tall one. His nose now also broken and his heart very much out of the fight.

Gomrin shrugged as he watched the fight. ''It's drinking time!'' he shouted over the crowd and walked towards the Inn. His gaze meeting his Luitenant Ulf's and the man understood. Ulf went to the two fighters and helped them up and made sure they were alright.

[Renodin]

Back again with more goodies uncovered from the long lost Word-file. Here a scene I painted about Gomrin getting back into the city of Unger for a refit. Mainly to repair though and thought why not just write an RP about it. Have fun reading!


Anvils of Unger

After days out on the tundra's, barren plainlands and far enough north, the frosty tracks of land of Lugrethen. Gomrin and his company of gruff men arrived at the gates of Unger. Marching through its impressive gatehouse and towards a smaller square nearby he was greeted with 2 men he had send on ahead. The people of Unger were used to rough warriors and these new arrivals fitted quite well into that description and thus drew no more attention than any other body of armed men would.

Several abysmally poor merchants came up to his men in an attempt to sell them goods, any goods really. They met with some success as the men did have coin to spend after being away from civilization for so long. The grins the merchants gave Gomrin's men were littered with holes were teeth had rotten away or were broken by fists. The food they sold his men was probably just as bad but hey, they hadn't had a decent meal in a while now and any ale would do at this point.

The burly form of Gomrin could be seen talking with the 2 men he had send ahead and they were indicating with their arms at a section of the town well known for its craftsmen. He nodded at them and then threw a glace at his men and saw them starting to loiter. ''Oi! drink while you walk and get a move on!'' He shouted at them and the men responded like a pack of hounds. Like a mesh of ringmail they linked together and moved to follow their leader. Gomrin had not waited to see which kind of response his words got him. He went straight towards the craftsmen district being flanked by the 2 scouts.

Truth be told however, even if his men had lost sight of Gomrin they would have little difficulty following in his wake as people parted for the dark brown maned brute. Making their way through the winding streets, crowded little markets and main roads of the city it became clear that they were headed towards the ring of metal on metal and the plumes of black smoke. The foundries and smithies. His men taking fruits or vegetables from stands and giving sneers in return. Loudly announcing their pressence with laughter, bad remarks and noisy belching. Several stand holders who objected to their foodstuffs being taken got pelted with pieces of apple for example spit back at them and were then laughed at. Gomrin didn't see any of it though as he was in the front and in the press of people traveling through the city.

A particular large foundry seemed to be their final destination. It sported 4 very large smelters and at least 9 lanes of casting 'tables', where the metal was poured into a form and then cooled down and sharpened. Off to the left there were 2 workshops full of metal workers creating ringmail, a tedious process but it created skin-like armour. As Gomrin strode into the courtyard of the foundry he was met by an immense man. Huge and broad shoulders, heavy ebony curled beard and arms that would be legs for most other men. His head was as bald as a baby's butt however and his blue eyes as clear as the summer sky.

Gomrin considered himself physically impressive but he felt a certain awe at the appearance of the Human Giant of a smith. ''You here as well for repairs?'' The giant smith all but barked at Gomrin. He in turn was visibly thrown off guard by the brisk manner of the smith. A craftsman he may be but still a commoner. Forgetting such differences in station Gomrin instinctively fell back to what had always worked for him so far. He growled back at the man and met his stare with one of his own. One that spelled pain and bloodshed. ''Only if your armour is any good..'' Gomrin's men streamed into the courtyard from behind their leader and quickly filled most of the courtyard.

The giant smith and Gomrin stared at each other for a long minute with both their men, soldiers and craftsmen, quietly watching their leaders standoff. The Giant smith's face split in half with a smile that exploded into laugher and Gomrin joined heartily in soon after. Their men perplexed for a moment but soon joined in as well. People in the vicinity of the foundry must've wondered what was going on but they never got an answer.

It seemed the two leaders had sized one another up and were satisfied to both have concluded they saw a kindred spirit. It sometimes happens, either laughter or violence ensues. Fortunately this time, it was laughter.  ''I need repairs mostly but some new pieces as well.'' Gomrin said to the Giant smith as he indicated his men. Looking at the shabby state of their equipment spoke volumes to the master craftsman and he was being sympathetic towards the general state of Gomrin's men. They were a collection of battle hardened roughnecks, but still roughnecks and an odd collection of men at that. They had no uniform dress, no general equipment standards and definitely didn't all use the same weapons or even preferred the same style of fighting. They all fought the way they felt had the most chance of killing their opponent and keeping them alive.

The haggling wasn't really all that hard or long, the Giant smith named his price, Gomrin nodded and countered. The master craftsman pondered and they exchanged looks, a moment later they shook hands and that was that. That day and several that followed filled the air of Unger with the ring of hammers on anvils, the donkey's balking at their heavy loads of coal, ore and iron mixed with the roaring flames that urged the metal to bend under the skilled hands of the smiths. There was much armour made, repaired and replaced. Gomrin's men still looked like a band of misfits but misfits with good attire and with deadly intent.

Gomrin and his men, the Axethrowers of Unger were once more ready for the world beyond the gates, the world that had to face true men from Thalmarkin.

[Renodin]

Back again with a snipped of the life of Gomrin! This time he and some other Thalmarkinians were ordered to ensure the capture of Keffa City by Old Grehk. This meant lounging about until something happened. Something did happen. OG decided to take the city by fearful means. Killing officials etc. Gomrin couldn't just sit around and do nothing when he heard that hehe.


Uninvited?!

With his boots nestled atop the heavily scratched table top and with his hand guiding a rope bound decanter possessed of rich wine to his lips Gomrin listened to the news of the city. ''F..k.. Lady piss is better than this Keffa Red.'' Gomrin muttered as he drank red wine rich in flavors that he entirely couldn't appreciate.

A red furred cat meowed attentively as she heard her name being spoken by Gomrin. Lady jumped up the table and meandered expertly over his legs and walked gingerly onto his stomach. Feeling the sudden addition of weight on his belly Gomrin looked over as some wine spilled from his mouth onto the black coils of his beard. His thick eye brows arching into an angry V he spurted a mouthful of the sanguine wine at Lady the cat. "Meow!'' She shrieked and with a thick tail she jumped to the ground and scurried away. Only to stop at the door to turn to Gomrin and quickly hiss at him before resuming her retreat.

Gomrin's heavy head swung back to the origins of the voice speaking to him. ''Wha'? Random ackts of Violents, Violence?'' A wolfish grin marched onto his face making his eye twinkle. ''Gresks are having fun outside and didn't invite us?!'' Gromrin heaved his boots off the table and swung his body into an upright position as he left the chair.

''Men!'' He roared through the dimly lit inn they had commandeered the day before. ''Get off your Arses and bring your axes! Its time to have some fun!'' With that Gomrin blundered towards the exit of the inn. Axe in hand and eyes wild he spied out his first target of wanton violence, rampant destruction and random molestation.

Ulf his most trusted luitentant was astute enough to have provided an Old Grehkian banner so that they wouldn't be seen as Thalmarkian raiders or worse, thugs. Was that really worse?

So Gomrin and his band of lawless warriors, bandits and run of the mill thugs set out to add to the rampage that was Keffa City.

[Renodin]

Hey again everyone. This time I'll post a short series of RPs. They started as an Advy contacted Gomrin informing him she had found a Weapon in Luhgrethen. The region he was baron of. This is how it all started.

This was written by the player of Blasa,  Barrons family.

In the snow swept forests of Luhgrethen, on the northern shores of Beluaterra, a young girl hid behind the green foliage of the timbers. She was gasping for breath and calming her palpitating heart, focusing her center for the battle ahead. There for surely would be a battle, as she looked all around her at red eyes in the darkness. She could not hear the howls of these half wolf, half man beasts for the wind was whistling and baying in her ears. She was lucky to not hear, for they snarled and dripped black venomous saliva as they slowly approached her, stalking with one quiet paw in front of the other. The paws were the size of tree stumps she could see scattered from past harvesting.

When the largest beast stopped in front of her and lowered its snout to sniff her fear, Blasa was absolutely still. She had learned how to be quiet here in the north, away from people and hiding from monsters, but she could not be quiet enough- for the beast now stood on his hind legs in a show of true unnatural strength. She knew her time was up and she pointed her sharpened sword with all her weight behind it and flew to the beast's left. He had not expected her to move so fast, used to deer who stand frozen until their killed, the beast stumbled on his two feet and Blasa spun around to slice the belly open exposing guts filled with bugs and worms and blood. As the alpha dropped, she rolled to right to prepare the beast's minions assault. Looking through her frozen hair and long white frozen eyelashes, through her steaming breath, she saw the other beasts run. Scattered, panicking, they had never seen their leader wounded this bad. Blasa looked at the beast bleeding out and noticed a darkness on the snow, an absence of light not two meters from his body. Without thinking, she scooped up the heavy mass and ran for her life, not wanting to push her luck with the wounded alpha.

She ran for hours until she could see the smoke rising from a lumber camp she had spied the day before. Resting now, she studied the object that shone like a black hole. It was a giant hammer with odd inscriptions on its handle that winded around like the magic words she had seen on some mages staff. She could not read anything, let alone decipher this mess of symbols. She noticed it was colder than the ice and snow around her though, and had to wrap it in rabbit furs she found discarded around the camp, in order to hold it. The aura it gave off was one cold and doom. She did not feel happy to have it and knew that as long as she carried it, she would be haunted by the strange wolf beast and his blood on her sword. She decided to be rid of it immediately.

Blasa crept closer to the lumber camp and feigned injury, until a young mill hand ran to her aid. Once he approached, she told him to fear not, it was only monster blood soiling her. She suggested that she had an important item that Baron Gomrin may desire, found in his woods, a warhammer of doom that would represent the gruff warrior well. She assured him that he would gain favor with the Baron for carrying such a message. The young man agreed and remembered the words that Blasa carefully spoke. He ran off, excited to offer the Baron such a weapon.


-=-=-

The RP led to a couple of letter being send back and forth. Basically Gomrin scoffed at the idea of using a hammer over axes but eventually ''invited'' her to bring it to him anyway.

[Renodin]

The next RP is the continuation of Blasa the Advy of Thalmarkin. She delivers the Cold-forged Warhammer of Doom.

Entire RP was written by the player of Blasa of the Barrons Family.

Creeping into Unger just as the sun was setting, she stopped in awe to gaze upon King Fingolfin the Great's statue. Carnage lay beneath his throne and a cold magical flame burned. Blasa began to get frightened as she felt a tingling on the back of her neck. She turned to gaze down on the city, the people here seemed to glorify death and destruction.

Blasa gasped! She could see the King's banners himself among the streets and were there tens of nobles here?! Briefly, she sat to gather her wits, nothing frightened her more than the noblemen and noblewomen. This led her to remember the disturbing letter from the Baron she had received. As the young millhand had read it to her, bile had risen in her throat. Such an ugly weapon for an ugly man, she thought. Determined to make the exchange quickly, she got up and began asking the children for Baron Gomrin's whereabouts and everyone had grimaced and shuddered as they pointed the way.

As stealthily as she could, no one noticed the plain brown haired girl's presence. Indeed, they never looked twice. Such was the advantage of being completely ordinary looking and meek. No one would ever guess that she had killed monsters and undead. Even she had been surprised at every kill, mostly due by accident or mere luck. Heaving the scary warhammer, she finally slammed it down outside the ugly Baron's quarters and silently hid behind a wheat cart to  wait and ensure the weapon fell into the Baron's hands. She expected nothing in payment, but her life. Once he claimed it she was gone.