Finally I was able to make an RP in return for the player of Blasa. I always like and really appreciate RP's in general but particularly when they of course any of my characters! hehe. Here Gomrin discovers the Warhammer and the few events that revolve him actually finding it and his way of thanking Blasa.
The Hammer of Doom!
The festivities were dying down again, the fights were fought and the honors exchanged. Noble had fought noble in a display of martial prowess in honor of the City being handed to the next generation. Duke Dunbore had given the city of Unger to Lord Althalos.
Tents lined the fairground where the great market usually stood. Colorful and rich in banners of course. Every shade of red, blue and green were vividly present. Not all of the tents were fine though and hardly all of the warriors were proper. This was especially true for Gomrin's men and his tent. It was a heavy hide tent, spacious but also framed with heavy timbers and the area was littered with sharpening stones, black iron braziers with remains of fires and lingering weapons worn with much use.
In the immediate area of Gomrin's tent there were gangs of men, soldiers perhaps but definitely hard men. Not 2 alike in attire or build, weapons as varied as the cultures of Beluaterra. A couple sat together in a small group on small stools or robust firewood logs casting bone dice around a small pile of coins. Their eyes all hawk-like and muscles taut in anticipation of the next winner. The only thing that marked any of this area as part of the same thing was the symbol of 2 axes, one vertical and one horizontal as it crossed the first.
A few dogs scurried around, not the sickly kind but half-breeds. Big, nasty and heavy furred wolfhounds probably. Like the brutish men they wandered the premises in packs. One particular curious one walked up to the discarded Warhammer that Blasa had left at Gomrin's tent. She herself still hid behind the wheat-cart on the opposite site of the road of Gomrin's tent. Gomrin's place was at the utmost edge of the fairground of course, not too many nobles actually wanted to be near him when not in battle.
The sturdy hound cautiously approached the Warhammer with flat ears but decided to stay a fair distance away from it. A soft whine escaped its maw as its body shook involuntarily. It pawed at the dirt directly in front of it as it lowered its head. It let out a strenuous howl as it arched its back and raised its head to the sky.
Dogs came scurrying from all over the compound and gathered in a semi circle around the Warhammer. Barking, whining, walking or rushing from left to right. Some answered with howls of their own but they didn't manage to keep it up for long though. A rumble came from within the tent. A metallic clang followed with a bronze washing dish rolling out from the tent flap. ''Axes and Blood! Damned unstable ground!'' A violent crash could be heard and one side of the tent gave a visible shudder as something connected with one of its supports from inside of the tent. The hounds gave curious looks, some of the older ones backed off expertly.
A heavy arm matted with dark brown hair pushed out from the tent and raked the tent flap to the side creating an exit. From here Gomrin emerged. ''What are you mongrels on about! Shut your traps and git!'' The near black curls of Gomrin's shoulder length hair danced around his broad face. Arms raised and firsts at the ready to deal out damage.
In his angry haze he slammed his bare foot against the Warhammer. Impacting his pinky toe full force against the head of the Warhammer. Gomrin's face froze and for a moment he seemed suspended in time. The spell shattered as Gomrin led out a mighty shout of pain! Leaping up into the air on one leg, cradling his foot in both hands.
The hounds that were about gave curious and surprised looks as some ventured a bark and mistook this silly human dance for an invitation to play. Waving frantically with one arm in the direction of the obliging dogs Gomrin spewed forth a torrent of curses in vain to get the dogs to leave him alone. ''You inbred ferret lovers! Get the nine hells of off me! You rat snapping, !@#$ eaters!''
One dog actually leapt against Gomrin causing man and beast to tumble to the ground. Helpless to stop any of it happening Gomrin crashed to the straw strewn dirt and cobble. Dogs rushed in to join the fun and licked their perceived master to silence.
When the racked finally ended and Gomrin managed to master the pack of dogs with pushed, head-buds and growling he noticed the Warhammer himself. Still sitting on the ground about an arms length away from the weapon he gazed at it for a moment, taking in the significant item. Still dressed in a simple and crude warriors tunic, shoe-less and without any weapon except his bare hands he looked very un-noble. His full and untended beard much added to this image and his many scars rather made him look like a mercenary brute or some such.
Peering left and right Gomrin reached out a hand to take the weapon, dragging it greedily towards himself. Getting up from the ground he didn't bother dusting himself off but instead looked in amazement to the magnificent weapon. ''Maybe Axes are for throwing and hammers are for smashing..'' Nodding sagely to himself at his newly discovered truth Gomrin tried the weapon in one hand. Heavy, the thought came to him. He tried two hands, clumsy this time. -Its a bastard Hammer!- His eyes lit up and he raised the weapon high up with one hand.
He returned to hold the weapon casually with two hands as he cast another look around. Wasn't this weapon supposed to be delivered to him by someone? Blaze or something.. Blazy? Recollection informing him of the true name, Blasa, a grin crept onto his features. ''Dinner is ready.'' Gomrin mumbled to himself followed by a shrug. He actually remembered their earlier correspondence.
Securing the warhammer to his belt Gomrin strode back into his tent only to emerge moments later again. He bore a huge chunk of boar roast, probably half a chest or something. From carrying it over his shoulder he slammed the roast of Boar rib cage onto a simple and small table. It was still sizzling and crisp but one half of it was horribly burned. Presumably left far too long over a cooking fire. The other side was pristine though!
''BLASA! Git 'ere we has food on the table!'' Gomrin roared in a battlefield voice. He grinned widely as he donned a bear-fur cape and strode off towards the main area of the fairgrounds. Leaving the food on the table and a pack of hungry hounds nearby.
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My thanks goes out to the Player of Blasa of the Barrons family. I really enjoyed this little string of RP's. It felt really special.
