Author Topic: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Renodin  (Read 953 times)


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The Carefree Adventures of Asher Renodin
« 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.

« Last Edit: July 04, 2017, 08:01:13 AM by 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.


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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  ;)
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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. ​Lionel 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.


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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.
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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Rendorin
« Reply #5: May 24, 2017, 03:56:04 PM »
Right! So imagine the following. the Army is camped in a recently conquered region. The men and women are tired. There was a rousing song and singing really, the night before. Asher is waking up and is making some of his very first attempts at forging bonds and relations. This is a rather descriptive RP but I hope you'll enjoy it!

The Night After

The shade was pleasant. A veil to shield his eyes from the intruding sun. The temperature had already been climbing and his cloak felt stuffy. Poking a hand out informed him that he didn't quite want to shed his cover though. A surprisingly cold breeze had snuck up from behind the tree against which he lay cuddled up and had ambushed his exposed hand. Breaking the sleep from his eyes Asher blinked several times, forcing his hand to brave the chill of morning and ran his fingers through his wild and tangled blond hair. Smudged with a bit of dirt, a bit of coppery, dried blood and sprinkled with whatever the tree had given up in bark during the night.

Peeking through a single slid of an eye he looked out over the military camp of the Xerarch's army. Remembering the song that had beckoned men and women along with hounds. That eve he himself felt exhausted and opted to nestle at the tree that was still his sleeping spot. From his slightly elevated location Asher could see that the camp was stirring. The campsite of Sir Godric showed the signs of a struggle. Heavy boot-prints in the dirt, knocked over tankards and even an upturned table beside the big tent. Was that a tear in the tent's side he saw? He rubbed the side of his head and felt how dry his mouth was and gave a light cough. Willing his tongue to feel around his gums in a meager attempt to moisten the inside of his mouth. He coughed again and finally resolved to get up. Pushing the cloak away with his hands and then trying to push himself up from the ground resulted in failure. The cloak wasn't the problem but his left leg was asleep. Pin's and needles rendering him immobile save from his facial expression. That very much resembled an ancient raisin. Fortunately, the tree was a steady ally in getting him up.

Dressed in a light brown military tunic, simple leather trousers and with a belt of oaken brown circling his waist it was exactly the very same outfit as the one in which he went to sleep. Though it smelled even more of him now, him and of dirt. Stretching to full length Asher's angular face brushed against the leafs of the low hanging branches of the tree which in turn didn't want him to let him go as his tangled hair got caught on the many little twigs that the branches were rich. Clumsily slapping at the branches Asher eventually managed to free his hair. Smoothing it back as best he could with both hands. A light stubble having appeared overnight on his chin and cheeks.

Preparing to head down towards the military camp Asher threw the cloak around his shoulders and made it into a simple yet elaborate scarf come half cloak. He picked up the leather bag that held his light chainmail hauberk and other combat gear, like his gloves. Although he noticed that one was lying on the ground and wasn't actually in the bag. He stooped low and picked it up without bending his knees. The blessings of youth. The one thing he did strap to his belt was his sheath. Can't walk around without your sword, or so the words of his instructor rang in his head. As his head felt clearer his stomach let out a growl. It made him sigh and then smile.

Strolling into the camp, bag slung over his shoulder, Asher exchanged looks with guards. His tunic looked dirty but of good quality, the fine hilt on his sword and demeanor hinting at his Noble birth. Still, he was a boy in the eyes of many of these Veterans. Asher picked up a piece of bread from a table set out for the camp guards. Rising to the challenge of one of the more senior warriors at said table. as he looked Asher directly in the eye. A short stalemate ended with the Senior Guard looking away and taking a swig from his drink. Asher nodded and proceeded to take some dried meat from right before the Aged warrior and then a piece of cheese, before turning away from them.

Munching down on the food Asher passed the rather small encampment of his own men. The only reason it wasn't described as tiny was the fact that there were five horse as well as men. The captain saluted but Asher motioned for him to stand down. ''Everything alright here?'' Asher asked. The captain nodded ''Seems there's another peasant uprising Sir. Word is that the locals declared for Vix Tiramora.'' A confused look flashed over Asher's face. ''Uhm, alright, get the men ready. I'm sure the army will want to crush them.'' The captain nodded again. ''Yes Sir, consider it done.'' Asher left the man to do what he did best and shrugged.

His feet carried him to the tent of Godric Tórrarin ka Habb. A most imposing warrior sat outside of it, whittling down a piece of wood with an oversized dagger, practically a short-sword. ''Tinder?'' Asher asked the grizzled man, feeling he had to initiate a conversation. A single look informed the youth that he was a piece of walking horse [email protected]#$. Not only that but if Asher would adres the man again he would prove it to him. At about that time, the flap that covered the entrance to the tent was pushed aside and a man bearing the insignia of captain emerged.

The captain eyed the youth before him and his nose wrinkled as his face barely hid a scowl. The fact that the boy-man wore a signet ring was perhaps the only reason he didn't violently remove the youth from his presence. Instead, a very flat voice he uttered ''What? Start talking boy.'' The sheer radiant menace glowing from the captain like an aura made Asher flinch. ''I errr.. '' Asher's eyes tried to meet those of the captain but failed. Instead they beheld the captain's steel sabatons crushing the dirt beneath them. Dried mud caking the side of them, adding to the grim veneer. ''I am Sir Asher Renodin and I wish to hand this letter to your Master.''

The parchment was bound in a soft, beige rabbit skin. Almost making it seem like a very thin parcel. Asher stuck it out towards the captain who took it without ever tearing his eyes away from Asher. Feeling his discomfort rise Asher turned around and made off again. The grizzled warrior and his captain eyeballed him all the way until Asher vanished behind a stand of tents. ''Pray the Paragons. What has Xavax come to if we're stuck with that for Nobility.'' The captain nodded solemnly in agreement.

The captain however, wasn't going to ignore a message from a Noble brought to his master and dutifully placed on the pile of other correspondence that his master would tend to, sooner or later.


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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Rendorin
« Reply #6: May 24, 2017, 04:46:14 PM »
And so, the letter itself! I send it to the entire Realm so everyone could enjoy the RP. It is an RP in which a letter is described and all that entails. Enjoy!

The Rabbit Fur Letter

Before you lays a package. It is not thicker than your thinnest finger and your eyes inform you that the skin in which it is wrapped is clearly rabbit, or, perhaps if you are not a discerning hunter, that of a weasel or even the coat of a very well washed ferret. The plush bunny tail should be a dead giveaway though. Unwrapping the fur your eyes will behold a fresh piece of parchment. New and bereft of the usual finger stains, ink or ash. Folded thrice, the bottom part upwards to about the middle. The top part down to the middle and the whole again doubled over. Making the initial bottom and top folds rest on one another. This bundle in turn is tied with two flat strings decorated with very thinly hammered silver. The strings are bound crosswise and meet in the middle of the folded parchment. It is here that a rich crimson seal of wax rests lazily. Upon it the crest of House Rendorin.

Unfolding it, you see the following:

A message containing characters penned by a hand trained for many years. The lettering meticulous and carefully arranged. Displaying not only ability but also an inner calm possessed  by the one that wrote it. The ink is a shade of black but not the kind purchased from a quality vendor. Instead it's rather a deep Anthracite.

Vice Marshal Godric Tórrarin, Scion of House ka Habb,

The hand that writes this letter belongs to Asher Renodin. I am the son of my father, the former Emperor of Luria Nova, Knight of the Phoenix army, Knight of Isadril and Faithful Subject of the Xerarch Selenia JeVondair. She that protects, the Flaming wing under which I shelter as it was offered to me.

That is about as grand as I can make my name. Yet it is hollow to me. I journeyed away from my father. His shadow is long and his legacy great. If I had stayed I would never have been my own man. The Sword and the Lance are not strange to me. For years have I studied both under the tutelage of great teachers. Culture, writing, decorum, etiquette and scholarly pursuits. Then why do I feel an empty vessel.

The moment my feet touched the rock and timber of the docks at Isadril I knew that I really knew nothing. This land, these people. Two days ago I killed for a Queen that I have never met. She invited me to speak to her wisemen and men of war. I think I made more enemies than friends by doing that. My plans and idea's folly. You said so yourself. I need a teacher. A mentor.

You know the way of the world. Of Torren and the true god. When I was till in Dwilight I had heard of this ancient faith or was it more a path and way of life? That is one thing but you are more than that. The few interactions we have had show me that. My father is a very different man. I am his son and I have learned much from him and perhaps am a bit like him but I don't want to be. I don't want to be a duplicate, a shadow that has no body of its own. I want more.

Godric will you teach me the way? I will swear to the land and to the sky to follow your instructions. To be like you are and to learn from your teachings.

Ever Chasing the Sun,

Asher Renodin

So the letter ends. A question asked and a proposal of a lifetime. At least, for one of the two men. Somewhere out there, there is a very nervous or very calm young noble. Waiting, on a response.


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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Rendorin
« Reply #7: June 09, 2017, 10:37:41 PM »
Hello again and welcome. Please, come closer. Take a seat, sure you can take mine, No Problem. I got a bit of tale for you here. Its a battle RP. First really big fight Asher ever got into. Its between Xavax, Alara and Minas Nova. Forces are 10k vs 16k in favor of Xavax. Without any further spoilers, enjoy!

p.s. This'll be a bit of a read, might want to wait till later if you don't have the time right now.

p.s.s. I am horrible at spelling / grammar. Don't kill me plz plz.

Pettifog in Priotness

Daybreak was long behind them as the sun was ever climbing closer to its zenith. Watching a pair of dismounted cavalrymen argue with a small group of locals it was becoming clear to Asher that it wasn’t going to work. These Priotnessians were hardy folk. Under the yoke of the bandits for too long. So long even that they doubted the word of men from Xavax. We really were here to save them though, not that they were easily convinced of that fact. So Asher thought.

Jogging along the path that led out of town and deeper into the bandit lands were a couple of weather beaten men. Strong jackets of quality leather, rough faces often enough sporting beards and personalised weapons. The luxury of being a scout really. You got to choose your own weapons and if you were good enough, were paid well. Asher looked at them with a curious eye, they strode with intend and that could only mean one thing. The bandit army was close. Throwing a last glance at his men trying to convince the locals of their good intent he pushed himself off the wall against which he had been leaning. ‘’Best get to the command tent. Gotta look at Strategy and tactics now.’’ The words spoken to himself in encouragement but his cheeks puffed as he said the words. Slowly blowing out the air as he walked towards the tent of the Xerarch.

The pavilion of the Xerarch looked as fierce as a tent could really. Crimson red and raven black. With guards in garb to match. Strong men selected for their ability and their proven loyalty.  They still looked on little Asher like he was a dreg from the deepest sewer. A turd made man. His eyes furtively scanned the Royal Guards, not wanting to draw their attention anymore than he already did with his presence. One of them moved to intercept but was too slow as Asher darted for the main entrance into the pavilion. Nearly tripping over the rug that heralded the interior floor.

Once inside he straightened himself up, paced his walking and tried to put on a regal face as his father would’ve done. Why was he trying to imitate his father? The thought invading his mind. ‘’There you are Master Asher. So good of you to attend. Swiftly now, the scouts are nearly done with their report.’’ The steward of the Xerarch said teasingly. Not wasting more time than a quick nod that he hoped would indicate his thanks to the man, Asher rushed for the main room in the pavilion. Pushing through another flap he entered a cloth walled room filled with the Imperial High Command. ‘’Yes, that is correct my Lord.’’ The scout intoned. ‘’The bandits led by King Robb have crossed into Priotness. By our best estimate they bring with them some 1.000 men. From what we could see half of that number were bowmen with the rest being infantrymen. Spear- and Swordsmen mostly of those and the remainder of the number, really 50 or so, cavalry.’’ The Scout stood candle straight as he delivered the information and the gathered men of gravitas nodded sagely.

Asher’s mind raced. That meant Xavax outnumbered their infantry but slightly trailed behind in the number of bowmen. Then again, we had the numbers in cavalry. Not to mention we also had special forces, although it was unclear which role they would take at this time. It did seem Asher arrived at the end of the meeting as the important men of the Imperial High Command filed out and left the pavilion. Asher tried to put on a brave face as he spotted Godric Tórrarin ka Habb. The man that agreed to mentor him. Not his best effort for Asher felt the failing corners of his mouth descending instead of rising. Soon the room was empty and Asher looked over at the battle map that lay on the main, big table the men had stood gathered around just moments before. It showed battle formations for the army and that of the enemy. At least, how they had predicted it. His eyes roamed over the map and spotted his own unit. In the back, ready to ride out and skewer the enemy infantry on their lances. Strangely enough had the High Command decided to put all the Archers and Infantry together in one big line with the Cavalry behind that. Looking at the map Asher assumed it was because of geography. There was no hill and neither any streams or thicket to use as cover or obstacle.

The rest of that morning and early afternoon was spend waiting. Strangely enough perhaps but it takes a long time for an army to move. More so when it decides to attack and you got to form lines and organize the defences for the camp. The same is true for the side that gets attacked, in this case Xavax. Asher had spend the time trying to inspire the men with simple words and gestures. The pad on the back he gave one man only earned him chuckles. The forty or so man appreciated the gesture but it was just awkward when a boy not even half his age tried to assure him, a veteran of 20 odd years, that things would be alright.  The rest of the time Asher made sure his gear was in tip top shape. His horse well groomed and he tried to eat something but his stomach would have none of it. He had to throw up right after he forced some broth down. Leaving a nasty taste in his mouth that some watered down wine annoyingly couldn’t wash away.

The banners of the enemy came into sight. They had opted to deploy their forces well outside of bowshot and in front of a flat plain. Asher rode on his spare horse, a slightly aged Rouncey horse  with a spotted brown coat, spots of white tilting to grey. His eyes straining and his hair being tugged by the wind. Which he noted was picking up. As he perused the enemy lines he could only make out nine banners. Some of them looked to be from Alara, the bandit realm but the others? A frown marked his face. ‘’Those are from Minas Nova.’’ The gritty voice startled Asher which in turn made his horse skittish for a moment. He turned to look who spoke and saw a man decked in partial plate. Slowly nudging his horse forwards to stand next to Asher. ‘’Euhmm, Thank you. Sir?’’ Asher managed to say. ‘’I’m not a Sir but I’ve seen enough battle and earned enough honours to have earned the privilege.’’ The battle scarred man proclaimed. Judging by his face and the multitude of little scars it bore, he may very well be right. Asher thought better of it than to make a dispute about decorum and simply urged his horse to return to camp and to his men. The battle would soon be upon them.

The Xavax lines were forming, the whole two of them. The first line a massive one that easily stretched over four times the enemy front line. As he had seen on the battle-map, archers were mixed in with Infantry and he had all the time in the world to observe them marching to their respective places. Elbows and shouts were employed as were horsewhips and even entire spears to dress the lines. Pushing men into position. Then a strange thing happened. Two banners pushed out from the massive Xavax front line and formed up a little bit ahead of the front line. One of Asher’s men pointed it out and chuckled. Followed by more nervous chuckling. Men will grab every opportunity for distraction just before battle. Asher’s face sported a thin lipped grin. That was all he could manage. The carnage ahead would be great and in the pit of his stomach, empty stomach at that, he felt dread.
His mind worked as he stared at the two banners who so boldly deployed ahead of the army. One he figured belonged to Lyanna of House Perry. The other though, proved harder to place. The man to his left, a young man only barely his senior spoke up. ‘’I believe that’s the banner of Noiram of House Kah, a Knight.’’ Asher nodded his thanks but didn’t speak a word. He recognized the banners of Robb of House Starfall, King of Alara. The Royal had amassed an enormous unit of infantry that had deployed in the second line, behind their archers. Looking over the Xavax host it was clear that based on Nobility present the Bandits were vastly outnumbered, nine to twenty-nine.

The flags were raised, the horns blasted and feet started to churn dirt into mud. The fresh grass being trampled until no green could be seen anymore. A solid wall of spears and swords and shields marched forwards. Leaving behind several huge groups of archers whom started to let arrows take flight. Some with practiced ease, others with an air of professionalism and others still stumbling to get a single volley properly timed. Overall it looked encouraging to Asher as he rode on towards them. Beside him, in the same mass of horseflesh he spotted The Vice-Marshal Godric’s unit. The man rode at the head of  over triple the number of horsemen he himself commanded. Beside the Vice-Marshal rode Elessa of House Raven, flanked by her Sister’s Justice. A unit of horsemen almost double his own number. And of course how could he miss it. Selenia of House Jevondair, the Xerarch of Xavax, their Queen, rode at the head of her Royal Guard, the Fearless. Cavalry only bested in numbers by those of the Vice-Marshal Godric himself.

The Bandit army congealed around their front rank. Receiving arrows and losing men. However, for every arrow they took, two were send in vengeance. Sir Noiram’s unit, the archers that pushed beyond the initial front line, were decimated. They started with some three dozen men, barely five lived after as long as it takes to tell you this. They ran from the field as fast as their legs could carry them. Sir Noiram’s banner fell to the ground and the Knight took arrows to his body. All Asher could see was the man being slammed to the ground with the great force of the impact of several arrows. A loud growl came from his left and with a surprised look Asher found it was coming from the Vice-Marshal Godric. The man’s eyes like hot coals.

Turning his eyes back to the battlefield Asher saw how Dame Lyanna’s unit took a battering but didn’t waver. The men stood their ground. Sheltering behind shields they wished to be a whole lot bigger than they actually were. The Dame of Igno wasn’t so fortunate however. The seeking steel of arrows had found her body and buried deep into her flesh. She collapsed back against one of her men and was dragged away to safety.

Asher’s heart fluttered with fear as his horse gained speed, trying to keep up with the other riders. His mind blank and grasping for answers as he saw Dame Lyanna’s men push forwards towards the enemy line. They were not only the tip of the spear but also being hammered with missile fire. Behind them it was easy to be courageous. Those men were showing what true heart was, couldn’t lag behind now. And the men and women of Xavax didn’t. They pushed as a solid mass towards the Bandit army.

As the lines came ever closer to one another it was time for Thunder. Hooves dog deeply into the soil and kicked up clods of dirt behind them. Mouths were frothing and nostrils flaring with hot, white steams of breath making long, ethereal moustaches on the horses. Cold sweat dripped from Asher’s brow and he hadn’t landed a single blow yet. Arrows flew overhead and he could hear them land behind him. Rattling off shields and burying into men who screamed in agony or suddenly ceased to make any sound ever again. Right next to him, as he passed a company of archers just about to fire, a hail, nay, a sheet of steel slammed into them. Killing them to a man. Arrows riddling the corpses. ‘’The gods smile upon us young Sir Asher! Only an arm’s length or we’d be dead too!’’ A battle-drunk horseman shouted over the carnage, followed by maniacal laughter that ended in a battle roar.

Suddenly a wave of steel and leather making the earth rumble. They appeared out of nowhere or Asher had been blind the whole time perhaps. Bannermen of Minas Nova were crashing into the Xavax line. A massive force of cavalry cut through the warriors of the Phoenix Army with glee. A perfect charge that sowed death that day. By sheer luck the enemy cavalry had missed Asher’s men but instead surged through the units of The Xerarch Selenia, Godric the Vice-Marshal and even the Gilded Company. A famed unit of infantry if for no other reason than that their leader, a man named Nicolas of House Harkle, was a man devoid of fear and led by example. Few were spared the lances and swords of the Minas Nova Horsemen but they themselves were spared none. After their action, and Asher had to twist in his saddle to see it happen, the Bandit Cavalry was massacred. Of the near one hundred horsemen only a fraction managed to escape instant death. They didn’t break though, they didn’t run. Men braver than Lions.
Somewhere in the fighting another Knight of Xavax went down. One those few remaining Minas Nova Horsemen brought down his broken lance upon Smiddich of House Fontaine inflicting a horrifying wound that saw his flesh ripped from his body. Replacing it with shards of wood and dirt. This wasn’t the last Noble wound however for the men of Raurin of House Cortosisskin found their mark. They had aimed high and fired over the Bandit front rank and right into the unit of King Robb of Alara. Much to their surprise did they hit the King himself. Rousing a messy cheer from the Xavax lines that blanked the battlefield for at least 5 heartbeats that devolved into animalistic screaming. A very long time indeed.

Now was the time. The lines were all but touching. Spears sought exposed flesh. The eyes of men and horse wide open. That silence that envelops every warrior at some point during any fight seemed to embrace every single one of them. The crunch of steel and bone tore everyone back to reality. Blood splattered upwards as polehammers devastated shields and armour. Men cries for their mothers and for mercy. Limbs were severed and warhounds strangled men where they lay, injured and helpless. Sobbing where men couldn’t move but still tried to avoid being trampled by friend and foe.

Still no target was close enough to engage for Asher and his men. He bit his lower lip in frustration. He felt pain and was shocked for a moment, where?! It came from his lip. He had bit it too hard. First blood can be inglorious if it happens like that. The Alaran King’s men weren’t ready to concede the battle yet, despite the large force ready to descend upon them. They rushed forwards in a mini charge, five paces perhaps, no more. And delivered a tremendous blow to all the men and women of Xavax that had crossed the entire battlefield just to fight them. Swords flashed and shields knocked men off balance. The King’s men were superbly trained and knew they could rely on their fellow man. Xavaxians died there, facing the King’s men. Asher lowered his lance to strike. He aimed for the closest of the King’s men and urged his horse on to greater speeds. ‘’On me!’’ His battle-cry. A bit too high pitched perhaps but his men responded. The Vice-Marshal Gordric had the same idea and together, unknowingly, charged King Robb’s elite. There was little space to manoeuvre. There was no time to hesitate. One moment Asher’s eyes were open and he saw his target. The next he blinked and in that tiny window of darkness he felt the impact. The lance cocked under his arm and gripped in his hand pulled violently until it snapped. His mount rushed on and crashed against something but it was too light to remain in place. It was knocked aside and Asher felt pain in his right leg as something struck it. When he opened his eyes again he saw that he was holding on to a short but sharp stick instead of a steel tipped lance. His leg was the vocal point of his attention as pain blossomed from it. He saw blood but he could still move his foot, it was fine a voice in the back of his head assured him.

Not wasting any more time, his hand instinctively went for his sword. A simple but good piece of steel that bore his crest upon the blade. Engraved just above the guard. Seeing enemies all around him he started chopping at anything in range that even remotely resembled an enemy. His lungs started to burn from the exertion but he didn’t stop. His horse, a beautiful beast, looked out for his safety like a guardian angel. Biting and kicking anyone that came too close.

Three heartbeats passed. Then three more and his sword lodged into the skull of a man. Never strike a man in the head with anything but the tip of the sword! He had ignored his teacher’s lessons.  Giving a feeble yet determined tug on the blade did little. The man to whom the skull belonged started the sway and down he went. Wrenching the blade from Asher’s hand. Fear paralysed him for a moment. His eyes darted from left to right, Sword! His mind screamed at him. Get a Weapon! ‘’Sir!’’ Asher looked to the left and but barely caught the sword that the blood covered horseman had lobbed at him. Was he friend or foe? The question shooting through his head. Confusion clear on his face. Looking back at the man, Asher saw him go down with a pike through the neck. His own blood filling in the few spaces where blood hadn’t stained him yet.

The feeling of rising bile greeted Asher as he took in what had just happened but he fought it down with all his might. All around him he saw Xavaxian warriors surging through the bandit ranks. Converging on any knots of bandits strong enough to remain in formation. Axes shattered shields and spears corralled any that tried to make a move. King Robb’s men tried to carry him away. Dragging at times, pushing at other.  The King was bleeding but fire of fire. Dame Gia of House Dragonfyre rushed forwards, her men and wolves making a beeline for the King. They surrounded his defenders and broke them piece by piece. The King Robb struggled but he was no Match. His honour once more stained with the reality of capture.

What remained after that was just a mob. A mob that tried to flee and to disengage. Battle was slaughter but from now on, only carnage could be applicable. Horsemen rode down any that they could. Hooves breaking bodies and lances stabbing at backs. Archers firing at will at whatever targets still presented themselves. Decorum? None of that today. The ground was mud. Not black or brown but the rust stained red kind. The kind that smelled of Iron and that saw islands of watery refuse float in it. The dead released their fluids and the flies were already feasting. Crows gathered in great numbers and eyes where but the first delicacies they would dine upon.

Where was Sir Asher though? His banner was still up. His men, or rather, some of his men still lived. They looked over the battlefield and saw hundreds of bodies. One screamed towards another. ‘’Here! Come quick!’’ They had found him. Asher had taken a huge slash across his thigh from which he had bled until his wits had departed his body. Fallen from his horse and presumed dead due to his sudden paleness. His men freed him from the small pile of dead he lay amongst and saw him to the medicus. ‘’Don’t you die Sir! Don’t you dare die!’’ A short pause. ‘’I don’t wanna be stuck here with all these foreigners.’’ His Lurian accent thick.


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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Rendorin
« Reply #8: June 14, 2017, 03:04:08 PM »

Hey again! Today another Battle RP. It is once more rather long but I get a sneaking suspicion you don't really mind. If you do, let me know. This is again an unedited version and I simply wrote it for fun and didn't proof read it much if at all. Sorry for the inconvenience should you experience any. Then again, let's call all those instances moments for personal interpretation. Add to the story rather than feel dissuaded from it eh?  :-*

Into the Fray called Ejarr Puutl

The gods laughed this day and their voices manifested themselves in wind. Men make plans and think they rule the world but little do they truly know. Young men in particular. That most arrogant and dashing among their broad spectrum. We’ll get it done and throwing caution in the wind. Like none else can do but a man too young to have the advantage of experience.

Riding through the camp Asher was fully prepared this time around. The enemy, the bandits of Minas Nova had come to stop the Take Over Xavas was conducting of the rich region of Ejarr Puutl. That was if you believed the Scribes, historians and the songs. Sung in the taverns of days long past. So long in fact that you’d have to take the lyrics with a grain of salt and a sceptical eye. The land was devoid of the lush fields worked by steady hands. The towns weren’t bustling with activity and there certainly weren’t many carts on the roads hauling logs and woodcrafts. No sir, empty buildings lined the streets and the forests reclaimed the land where lumberjack previously prevailed. Years of good stewardship perhaps could restore the squalor of Ejarr Puutl but today did not mark that beginning.

The Xavax war camp was situated between a small thicket and a tiny lake with snaking brooks escaping from said thicket. Disgorging their meagre amounts of water into the body of water that beckoned all manner of animal life to it. Birds in particular loved the brooks. They bathed to their heart’s content and sang their praise for all to hear. The trees full of their expertly constructed nests.

Scouts had long ago informed the warriors of Xavax that the Novans were coming. They came straight at us. Asher could see them just beyond the narrow plain upon which the two forces would class. Narrow because trees crowded either side of the field and it had to be this particular field because it was the only one able to host all the combatants at once. That wasn’t even really true. Asher’s eye discerned that the field would function as a funnel. The bandits of Minas Nova would be safe from the full brunt of the Xavax host. They simply wouldn’t all fit through it. It would be a staged assault then, Asher thought to himself. His horse made an appreciative noise which surprised Asher, could the Noble Creature read his thoughts? It simply continued to munch on a fresh mouthful of grass it had just tripped from the earth in front of it.

The captain of Asher’s men formed them up in a simple formation. Two ranks deep with ten horsemen in each rank. Noticing that the captain began to order the men to set up behind the main Xavax line Asher rode up to the men. ‘’Halt! Go over there!’’ He indicated just to the left of the center of the main Xavax battle line. ‘’Sir? Yes Sir!’’ The captain quickly caught himself and executed the order. ‘’You heard the man, ride!’’ And promptly the freshly recruited cavalrymen repositioned themselves in among the frontline just off center. Receiving some strange looks but just as many approving ones. The last battle all manner of units were mixed in together as well and that battle was won. Why think this was strange? Besides, as infantry, it’s nice not having to be the first to make contact with the enemy. Let the horsemen do it if they want to.

To the far left of the frontline Asher spotted the banner of the Vice-Marshal Godric of House ka Habb, his mentor. The man’s letter snugly tucked away in the breast-pocket of his shirt. It should be safe enough under the layers of leather and mail that covered it. ‘’If this battle goes well I might loot enough to afford a new lance. I mean, look at this piece of crap. See that crack along the tip? It’ll be a miracle if that even pierces raw cowhide!’’ One of the cavalrymen under his command commented to a fellow soldier whom simply grinned back at the man.

Feeling uncertainly flush over his cheeks, red, Asher locked eyes with his captain whom understood. Bless the man Asher thought. ‘’Quiet in the ranks!’’ The berating roar came. ‘’Worry about staying alive you bunch of mangy pony riders. Plenty of time to talk about loot when you’re knee deep in it. That’s what you’ll be if we win. Now shut it!’’ The words conjuring a spell of greed that put some iron in the backs of the men and anyone within earshot really. Men are simple like that. Their minds distracted from carnage and death by simple material greed.

Before he was even ready Asher heard the horn. It’s blast clear and it carried over the army like a wave. Head turning upwards and bodies rigid as the sound reached them. The enemy, the Novans had fielded almost no infantry and only nominally more cavalry than they had infantry. From what Asher could tell there was only a single banner being carried among the enemy Cavalry. Thinking on that fact made him shudder as he realized that there had to be one impressive commander over there if he or she could lead so many horsemen. Nearly a hundred.

A second blast from the horn came and the Host came alive. ‘’Forwards! Ride with me!’’ Asher shouted as he felt fear battle with excitement. There would be very few spearmen or pikemen. Archers meant easy pickings once they reached them. Once they reached them being the key term of course. The thoughts shooting through his mind and he glanced to his sides. ‘’Ride Hard! We have to reach them before they fire their second volley!’’ He called out as confidently as he could. A voice that carried no further than the men right next to him. The noise of hundreds of men marching drowning his voice out. Fortunately the voice of his captain carried much further.

Bending low and all but hugging his horse’s neck Asher thanked all the gods above that he couldn’t afford a proper breastplate. It would’ve made impossible to do what he was doing right now. His eyes keenly informing him of the cloud of arrows that rapidly flew towards him. Under it, under it, go straight under it, they will overshoot. The words repeated in his mind.

In the periphery of his vision Asher noticed how the mass of Xavaxian warriors started to meld away. Open field replaced it. Suddenly from the left he saw a large group of horsemen catch up with him. He risked a glance. They were the men of the Vice-Marshal. Godric, that devil of a man had also ignored the Marshal’s orders to deploy his cavalry in the rear. Now they both rode well ahead of the Xavaxan host and together formed the tip of the spear. The first to make contact with the enemy. Clods of dirt flying in their wake. Flowing manes and horsetails along with rippling capes in the wind and sheer willpower urging the horses to go faster. A few of the men let out cheers as they noticed Godric’s men come in along side them. Furtive nods and grins were exchanged. A strange sort of confidence and reassurance flooded Asher. A fierce happiness blossomed from deep within in. He wanted to get stuck in. A thin and wicked smile appeared on his lips.

Then they started to land. They may have avoided the main cloud of arrows, riding straight under it but some they could not avoid. A horse behind Asher screamed. He looked. An arrow had buried itself into the beast’s rump. About a finger’s length of the haft still showed and the feathering. In pain but not disabled the creature charged on.

Looking front Asher roared out his battle cry. ‘’ For Xavax! Xaaaaavaax!’’ The latter part of his cry taken up by his men as they lowered their lances and urged their beasts on for a final burst of speed. His young and higher pitched voice like a key note before it is overwhelmed in the heavy timber of his men. A mass of lances some forty across from left to right. Vice- Marshal Godric’s men alongside Asher’s. The Novian frontline buckled, men with bows in hand dropped them and tried to retreat into their own lines. Pushing, flailing with their arms. Desperately trying to get away from the incoming hammer that would break them.

Plunging like a heavy rock into water. A massive splash, sound deafening your ears and a hole quickly filled with even more horsemen. Asher saw his men stream past him as he himself had knocked over three archers and finally had planted his lance in the face of a fourth like he was claiming a plot of land. His luck betraying him once more as the lance was trapped in the man’s skull. Annoyance flashing over his features he was quick enough in accepting his fate and relinquishing the lance to the faceless man.

He drew his sword as he tried to manoeuvre his horse with his knees and a single hand. One of the fallen archers looked up at him from his prone position. Asher guided his horse to trample the man, almost instinctively. Without thought the beast responded fluidly and a single hoof and the beast’s weight crushed the man’s chest as it kicked him. Condemning the archer to a death by suffocation.

Looking around him Asher saw how his men were laying about them with abandon. Like they were children in a very grim and bloody candy-store. Their attire quickly becoming drenched in blood and all around them fountains of blood as the blood of their enemies arched high into the sky. Some of the archers were defending themselves but they didn’t stand a chance. Their daggers too short to really do anything. That changed when they began to recover from their initial shock and began to haul men from their horses and stabbing them en mass.

Flashing his sword left and then right, Asher cut a man’s hand off and then hacking into another man’s shoulder. The teaching he had been receiving for years since childhood flowing through him like a steady stream. Lesser men died around him especially since they were so woefully unequipped to deal with him. Horse and man wrought havoc upon the Novan warriors.

A howl and a scream pulled Asher from his murderous trance. His hands and arms covered in little nicks and bruises, not to mention his legs. He looked up and towards the source of the howl. The Vice-Marshal’s men were pulling Godric’s horse away from the fighting. Atop it a wounded man. The Vice Marshal himself. Several arrows sticking out of him but refused to bend his back. One in his shoulder, another in his thigh and a third sticking out the side of his boot. Wham! A fourth striking the man in the lower back. Right before his eyes, Asher saw it happen. Godric’s captain turned about and charged back into the fray like a daimon. His men forming around their Lord as they retreated from the fighting. Asher noticed how half of Godric’s men lay dead in area.

Almost at the same time Asher took in how the Cavalry of Minas Nova delivered an anvil blow to the Xavax infantry. The near one hundred cavalry belonging to Lord Walsh of House Adam, High Justice of Minas Nova, charged head on into the Xavaxian lines. Destroying formations and reaping more souls than the local graveyard could house. In their action they were slaughtered to a man. In but moments the Novan cavalry was obliterated in their one glorious charge. A sobering thought as Asher turned back to the Novan Archers and rushed to the aid of his nearest soldier. A man laughing manically as he fought three men with daggers. Too afraid to really get within his reach.

Dancing around upon his horse Asher moves like contortionist bending and stretching and bending yet again. Dodging blows, lunging his attacks and striking out at anything that came within reach. He and ten of his men did this for what felt like an eternity. Alone in a sea of enemies. Horses kicking out with blood covered hooves. Breaking teeth, hopes and definitely shattering dreams. They were like lions among goats, not even sheep.

What they didn’t notice or rather didn’t have time to notice as they fought for their lives were the rains of arrows that washed over the Novan formation. Miraculous really, that neither Asher nor any of his men were hit by friendly fire. Perhaps they were but none could tell. The arrows fell from the sky without end. It tripped men as they stumbled over them, trying to shield themselves with the bodies of the fallen. Crimson spectres of death standing proudly among them. The Rendorian Companion Cavalry. Exacting their dark toll upon the living.

A man flew past his vision. It didn’t register. Then another, in slow motion. Asher turned around and saw the magnificent sight of Dame Viktoria of House Von Striga and Xerarch Selenia of House JeVondair charge in with their cavalry. Utterly wrecking the already weakened Novan line. The Queen herself had chosen to support him. He smiled through the blood and gore that covered his body. His hair matted to his skull with the blood of his enemies. Pearly white teeth, those of a young man shining through. Fuelled by exhilaration he called out ‘’The eyes of the Xerarch are upon you! Show her why we are here!’’ A ragged but fierce growl responded. You could see it more in their eyes than hear it from their voices. The men swelled with pride. Their arms willed on for a final burst of energy. Minds trying to push aside the exhaustion they all felt.

Right behind the Xerach’s charge followed the Xavaxian infantry. The men and woman of Minas Nova knew their end had come. They stood no chance. The remaining archers dropped bows and drew daggers, readied cudgels and tried their best to resist the oncoming wall of steel. They never stood a chance. They were massacred and that was the end of it. Asher saw it happen and called out these words ‘’Dead men fight no battles!’’ He paused. ‘’Retreat, leave them to the infantry!’’ And his men heard him. Sadly two of his men were found by seeking and vengeful arrows as they obeyed his command to retreat.

That day would be with him for his entire life. The day he rode ahead of the army and charged the enemy lines. Causing mayhem the entire time. The faces of the dead, the pride he felt at the Xerarch’s presence and the bruises and pain he would feel for at least a solid week after.


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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Rendorin
« Reply #9: July 01, 2017, 08:11:48 PM »
Hey there. Come 'round and take a seat. You'll need a moment to read this one if you intend to. Its a battle RP. For the liberation of Isadril, a big city in the south of the East Continent. The forces of Greater Xavax try and push the Forces of Vix Tiramora out. Right after the Vix had succesfully Taken the City over but faced a near instant peasant rebellion. Enjoy!

Before the Walls of Isadril

Looking down from its little perch atop a branch of a great old oak the tiniest of ravens curiously scanned the ranks of men marching past. Its beak opening to taste the air. Each breath filled with the aromas of worn leather, horseflesh, oils, the sweat of warriors and delicious food. The truest of its goals. Watching humans was intriguing but only because they always had so much food and better yet, wasted much of it.

Asher looked to his right, the lines on his face betraying his emotions. He swayed in the saddle as his riding horse ambled on but it did little to distract him, however much he wanted to be distracted, of that accursed noise. Riding right next to him was one of his men. Big of body with shoulders that wouldn’t look out of place on a blacksmith, or a mason perhaps. Sporting a throat without stubble but despite of that, possessed a rough face. The tangle that was his hair didn’t help much either. He was, while loudly eating a cold piece of mutton, perfectly oblivious to Asher’s annoyance. Gripping the meat by the yet linen wrapped end of it. His teeth crudely employed to parts saw, parts rip, pieces of it.

Feeling thoroughly fed up with the situation Asher cleared his throat. A single eyebrow arched high as he cast his gaze onto the soldier. Men kept marching, the wind kept blowing and the soldier remained utterly oblivious. A small piece of meat even flopped out of his greedy mouth as he attempted to stuff it too much. Accompanied by a set of drops of saliva that stained his livery just above his right nipple. The half chewed morsel cascading down and landing in the dirt where it was ground into the soil, never to be seen again.

The tiny raven tensed and un-tensed  as it perceived its chance and saw it lost again. Its feathered neck blooming big in frustration while its little talons gripped the branch just so slightly tighter. Another chance would present itself it hoped. Black eyes fixed on the burly, eating man that sat atop the horse.

Feeling the fool Asher spoke up. ‘’Would you mind?’’ His voice sharper than he had intended. ‘’I’m awake! I’m awake! Wasn’t asleep!’’ A voice came. Asher glanced behind him to catch the last quick movements of a man trying to straighten his kit out. Looking back at his intended recipient Asher looked into grey blue eyes that were brimming with confusion. ‘’Swir?’’ The man replied with a full mouth. ‘’Are you done eating yet?’’ It really wasn’t a question. ‘’We’re about to give battle to the Vixians and you’re just sitting there, eating. Like its nothing!’’ A vein had revealed itself on Asher’s right temple. The soldier swallowed hard, a lump clearly visible going down his throat. ‘’Well Sir, if this is going to be my last meal, I better eat it. Cost me a fair copper you hear.’’ The man’s voice a mix of seniority over the young Noble and in part protective of his meal.

Breath was forced hard out of Asher’s nostrils. ‘’With talk like that it will be your last meal. Finish eating already.’’ With no further or any real argument Asher turned his face front and held on his now, anger. The soldier secretly gave an ugly smirk. His lips gleaming with grease. He was no fool however and after taking a huge bite of the remaining mutton cast what was left aside. The linen wrapped scrap of meat sailed through the air. A certain, patient bird very keenly aware, as its discarded prey landed in the brush next to the road.

The combined armies of Greater Xavax marched past as the tiny raven gorged on his prize. The wastefulness of men once more proven and because of it, it’s belly full.

The sight of Isadril arose from the horizon. The road that led to the great city familiar but not a man nor woman was at ease. The enemy had claimed it for their own but didn’t expect the peasantry to resist them as they had. Casting aside the false masters, the low born had risen up and rebelled against the Vix Tiramora. Rumour had it that the Vix were already going about installing new officials and crushing opposition within the city. Not today however. The banners of a defiant Xavax fluttered in the wind.

As the Xavax war host approached the city it became very clear that the Vix were not afraid, impressed even one might suspect. Their warriors came streaming out of the city. The great festival ground and at times, caravanserai, the site of their deployment. Exiting the mild and subdued hill-lands the Xavax forces gathered themselves up and began their own deployment. Asher send his captain to meet with the Marshal and get instructions. His eyes and mind too busy looking at the enemy. They deployed a good chunk of their infantry way back and behind their archers. Whom incidentally took up the first rank along with a few infantry bodies mixed into it.

Almost like a link between the first and third row of deployment Asher could see a large unit. Men carrying arming axes and javelins and shields. Mixed infantry he reckoned and they were flanked by two units of regular infantry. Perhaps reserves for the first row he mused. But they were too few for such a role he thought. A frown of uncertainty danced on his face. ‘’Sir!’’ The voice of his captain came. ‘’We are to deploy with the Xerarch in the third row.’’ The man clearly believed this to be an honour. To be placed alongside the Ruler of Greater Xavax. Asher nodded. ‘’Inform the men, get them ready and formed up. I’ll join you soon.’’ The captain saluted and rode off.

Asher stared at the enemy formation. It made no sense to him. They outnumbered us with infantry, why put their infantry so far back? Especially since they fielded no cavalry. Wouldn’t they need their spearmen to keep the Xavax horsemen off their archers? The Vix vexed him. Consigning the intricacies of Vix strategies to the proverbial box that held all mysteries, Asher rode towards his men. Passing the banners of Godric of House Ka Habb, his mentor. He tried to catch a glimpse of the man but couldn’t. Right nearby was the Royal Guard of Selenia of House JeVondair. They commanded respect. Simply by their station but also because of their professionalism. Quality horsemen each and every one. Asher fancied his men would one day equal them. A grim voice whispering in his head that they’d have to survive first. Mortality among all Xavaxian warriors was rather high after all.

Before arriving at his men Asher passed the bannermen of Grepthar of House Farlarien. These cavalrymen equalled his own in number and would be rivals for glory and distinction. That might’ve been true on any other day but today was about survival for Xavax. They had to liberate the Great City of Isadril and the odds were against them. Looking once more at the Vixian war host his eyes informed him that numbers wise, the two forces looked rather equal. Where the scout reports false then? The captain of his troops heralded his arrival. Asher greeted his men with a raised hand. As if to rein in their enthusiasm, would there have been any. The men looked sullen, casting glances at their Commander. A boy-man not even twenty summers of age. Asher was getting used to their depreciating looks not that he liked them. Sensing the need to say something he nudged his horse forwards a bit. Just enough so that he stood before the formation that was his men. ‘’We’ve been here before.’’ His brows heavy as he instinctively braced them against the sunlight that threatened to fall into his eyes. Unintentionally making him frown heavily. ‘’That. Is our City.’’ He stuck out a hand and arm in the direction of Isadril. ‘’Not a week ago she paid our wages.’’ His voice picking up some force. Some of the men grunted their support or displeasure. ‘’These Barbarians of the North, these Vix. They are robbing from us our deserved pay! Your pay!’’ Asher paused a moment to see how the greed card was playing out. Many of his men looked angry, like boys from whom toys were stolen. ‘’They’ve been taking all our money and lining their pockets with it! With your money!’’ A few men shouted abuses, some very creative and some really base. ‘’When the General gives the go, how about we ride them down under our hooves and we take back what is rightfully ours?! Take what you find and keep it!’’ Especially that last earned a cheer albeit short.

Both armies tensed, the lines became more rigid, horses whinnied or snorted and men grew silent. The Marshals of Xavax, Solomon of House Steele, the Marshal of the Steele of Xavax and Marshal and Talon Lionel of House Kinsey, Marshal of the Phoenix of Xavax both gave the command for the Army to advance in the Infantry Advance Formation. This meant that the Xavax Infantry would lead the charge instead of the Cavalry that usually did so.

As for the Vix and as far as Asher could tell, the Vix didn’t care. Their Marshals snug with their units and they moved as they wanted it looked like. Noting behind him, Asher saw a small unit of friendly cavalry. Men in the employ of Viktoria of House Von Striga. He didn’t think much of it.

As the horns call, the banners started to move. The din of armour and shield rose, as did the strength of the wind. Like a plaything of the gods they saw to it that any arrow that flew would have to be shot by a master to hit their mark. The Vixen had many masters. From their front rank a hail was unleashed. It crossed the battlefield and like hungry lions lunging for their prey did their arrows rip into the Xavax. Riding with the Cavalry, Asher saw the unequal exchange between archers from both sides. His eyes beheld the first men dying a death come far too early. Glory snatched from them as they fell first before the hundreds yet to fall.

Riding hard through the ranks of friendly marksmen Asher gawked at what he saw next. A contraption of wrought iron, rested upon heavy timber and handled by half a dozen men. A creation of dark wonder that belched fire and commanded thunder to sprout from its tubular mouth. A deafening roar knocked two men flat to the ground and they were merely standing near the thing. A gap had formed in the Xavaxian lines as the warriors of Gia of House Dragonfyre executed a practiced manoeuvre. A perfect gap through which Arched death fluttered in amongst the Vixian lines. Tearing limb from limb. Destroying men and armour without discrimination. A mist arose so fine and crimson that it blocked view until the wind itself pushed it aside. Leaving a hellscape of blood for all to see.

Right after, the archers of Vix targeted the Gia and her wolves and her fighters. They were pelted until forced to slow, to halt and finally they broke. What they took in punishment the rest of the Xavax infantry took in encouragement. Roaring battlecries and the intelligible shouting of men pushed beyond the brim of sanity, rage. The lines touched and the groan and crunch of melee cut the air. Men suffocated as they were crushed between friend and foe. The very breath that gave them life, forced from their bodies under the pressure. Halberds chopped down onto shoulders, daggers grasped in desperation and everyone cursed the mud that formed with the inundation of the soil with the blood of the dead and the dying.

Charging down the field Asher glanced left and then right. He saw Godric roar and Xerach Selenia scream. Grepthar thundered along with his men and Elessa’s face was a mask of murder. Asher’s spirits lifted seeing his fellow Nobles so emboldened. His unit moving through the fight and found a target. ‘’Lances!’’ He screamed at the top of his lungs. He pointed his own first and a heartbeat later those of his men followed suit. A land-bound arrow propelled not by horn and wood but by horse. Their victim a small group of warriors that was engaging the men of Dame Kyn of House Hyral.  As their struggle ensued Asher’s horsemen fell upon them like a razor upon stubble. So clean the cut and so total the devastation. The Vixian braves fell like pebbles in a stream, never to be seen again after vanishing under the surface. Their leader, a man known as Stefen of House Kingly unfortunate enough to be snatched from the ground by Asher’s lance and hurled at least two bodies lengths away. Only to land in a mess of bend armour and blood.

The Vix infantry was pushed back. Their men dying and by choice divided and thus now overwhelmed by the infantry of the Xavax and their Cavalry. Fighting through the melee and breaking free to reform for a second charge Asher shouts for his men to rally on him. His eyes darting across the battlefield. His body having collected at least a dozen bruises without the recollection for earning any of them. His left greave held his calf uncomfortably, bashing it against the flank of his horse did little to adjust it.

He saw Godric charge ahead. They had rallied faster than him, or was this their first charge? There was no way to tell. They targeted a large unit of swordsmen in heavy armour. These iron men were protecting archers and Godric’s horsemen would dislodge them from their duty. Arrows descended upon him and his like a sudden spring deluge. Their charge didn’t falter and they fell upon their target. A raw exchange saw the iron men weaver but not enough to break. Against, for the second time in as many weeks Asher saw his mentor fall in battle. Vanishing in the thick of combat. Too far away for him to do anything.

Steeling himself Asher began to give the command to charge those very same Iron Men. Then he heard the voice of the Xerarch, she was calling warriors to her side for a charge. Not a call to ignore and Asher answered it. Riding in step with the Royal Guard they rode up behind the Xavax infantry, looking for an opening and it presented itself. A unit of infantry under the banner of House Drake, led by Lady Sevonne. Staunchly holding the line against the Xavax horde. For that was what they looked like now. A bloodthirsty horde bend on revenge. The Sword of the Xerarch flashed and the target was given. A roiling noise came from the throats of the cavalry that responded to her and hooves dug deep into the soil.

That noise one hears when an avalanche is in full swing. Not of snow but of rock. That was the sound that penetrated Asher’s ears when the combined force of his cavalry and that of the Xerarch crashed into the Vix infantry. Kudos to them for they tried to hold. Lances punctured through mail and through cuirass. Flesh was the prize and it was claimed greedily. Asher couldn’t count the faces he was seeing. They sped past so fast he could barely keep up his attacks. Never stopping his horse but desperately trying to make it go slower was a titanic task under the circumstances. He felt something strike his foot and stabbed at it. Then a man fell against his side. A big man but he slumped to the ground fortunately. A moment’s respite allowed him to look around and he saw how he and his Xerarch, the Queen of Greater Xavax had routed the unit with a single charge. His white teeth flashed in a spellbound smile. His men still seemed to all be here, give or take one that he couldn’t see.

The Xerarch wasted no time and pushed the advantage. The Xavax infantry right behind her and catching up with Asher even. ‘’Form!’’ Having just enough breath for that single word without his voice breaking. The odds seemed in his favour, Xavax was doing well, the enemy pressed. Would they soon buckle? The thought crossed Ashers mind.

‘’There!’’ Asher pointed with his crimson lance, stained with the blood of his enemies for half its entire length. He indicated a small gap that was forming in the Vixian lines. It showed a small ray of a path that led directly to a small band of enemy archers. ‘’Let us fall upon them! They have our purses! Your Purses!’’ His youthful voice broke but his men didn’t care. They roared their ragged cries of approval.

They rode on and it took a while. Asher saw how the Xerarch led another charge into a similar band of archers as Asher had targeted. It crumbled under her charge but the Xerarch wasn’t left unpunished though. A precise volley of missile fire felled most of her Royal Guard and even knocked her off her horse. A ripple of unease reverberated through the ranks. At about the same time Aramon of House Abjur, Arbiter of Greater Xavax was taken out as well. The judge of Xavax had been leading his warriors on foot and while he fought bravely, he could not resist forever. His body kicked and punched by mailed fists. Asher couldn’t see what became of him but it was clear he was in trouble.

Seeing the visible effects of these two notable Xavax Nobles fall in battle Asher led out a fierce battlecry. Shrill but fierce. Urging his horse on for more speed and the wonderful creature responded. Beyond expectation but she managed it. Asher and his men fell upon the small group of archer whom had tried to break away and run but were far too slow and had decided far too late. They were run down and trampled where they fell.

Having planted his lance in the back of an enemy archer, Asher drew his sword. A fine arming sword that was Spartan save for his family’s crest engraved just above the guard. Look about he realized they were alone. His twenty or so horsemen and himself. Where had all the Xavax infantry gone? Where was the Cavalry? A voice in the back of his head whispered in a slimy voice. ‘’You are going to die Asher!’’ and he knew fear. 

With eyes wide open he tried to find a way out. Vix infantry and archers everywhere. Wave after wave of arrows descended all around him. Those where Xavaxian arrows he realized. Why are they firing at him? He looked left and saw enemies converge upon him. Climbing over bodies, pushing through the fading melee. ‘’Sir! We Have to retreat!’’ His captain was shouting at him. ‘’We’ve done what we came to do and more! There is no shame in going back!’’ The captain implored. Asher’s face was troubled. His eyes dark, blood dripping from the side of his face and his left greave still annoying him to no end. ‘’No! We won’t retreat. We have to fight!’’ He locked eyes with the captain and the man bend like a young tree in the wind. ‘’At them! Let them know what happens to those that try to take our home!’’ His heels dug into the sides of his horse and the creature responded.

Riding at the enemy they could see no friends, not left, not right and not behind. At least, for a good long distance. ‘’Yaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!’’ Asher screamed as he raised his sword for the final leg of the charge. His men joined him and the sun of the late afternoon glittered of off their blades. They fought four individual units, all against their one. Men died and while over half of them perished they fought with abandon. In the end the captain gained control over the unit. Not because Asher signalled the retreat but because an arrow had found him in the lower gut. Just above his left thigh. T’was a small arrow but it had been shot from close range and landed just right, if you asked the archer. With pain unmanning him, Asher deferred to his captain and the unit retreated.

As they disengaged and rode for the Xavax warcamp news reached them that the Vix had won the day. Not a single man at arms stood in the end. Not a single horseman. It resulted in a slugfest between archers and the contest very much in the balance for a long time.

So the first battle for the liberation of Isadril concluded. A narrow victory for Vix Tiramora over the attacking forces of Greater Xavax.


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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Renodin
« Reply #10: July 16, 2017, 08:05:27 PM »
Back again.

This time I wrote a little piece about some religious musings. Tor is a rather unknown god specifically portrayed and fleshed out by one particular player in the game (as far I as I know) and decided Asher might try to learn about that god. Note that Asher already asked this noble to be his mentor and has learned a bit about Tor. The backdrop is a rogue region that is being peacefully taken over by Great Xavax, Asher's home Realm. Enjoy!

Somewhere In Aeng

Pondering the meaning of Tor, Asher walked past the lodgings of Arbiter Godric Tórrarin of House ka Habb. It was a tall building that once served as a temple of some sort. The details eluded him as his thoughts took up most of his attention. A deep frown depressed his young face and made his usually cheerful demeanor rather dim. He took short steps as his feet planted themselves neatly on the small yet soft sandstone tiles that made up the road.

''If Tor comes first and all is permitted in his name, and everything is permitted for family before Tor, does that mean kinslaying is ok..?'' The question vexed him. The word vex vexed him. Vex sounded so very much like Vix and he had begun to hate the Vix of the north. ''Tor surely hates the Vix, they try to destroy all I fight for and all that I fight for inspires me to heed Tor. Therefor, the Vix are enemies of Tor.''

The sparse stubble that had collected on his chin and throat sharp as he ran his hand along it. Eventually ending up rubbing his cheek before cupping it. ''But what if Family lives among the Vix, are sworn to the Vix. Do I then hate them and must destroy them so that Tor may fulfill me?'' Asher glanced at the Temple building. Envisioning the grim visage of Godric. The man had no time nor compassion for his uncertainties. Asher believed the man to be a tower made of granite, unwavering and unshakable. No matter the odds. The thought made his stomach flutter. He would be that strong one day. Unawares how he had straightened his back and how his shoulders squared as he was thinking all this.

''Boy! Get me those logs will ya?'' A crooked voice called out to him. Asher's radiant blue eyes spied out an old man leaning heavily on the door-frame of his house. A dilapidated structure if ever he saw one. Thatched roof with holes in it and populated with birds nests. Little swallow heads peeking out on the side. Asher raised his eyebrows as his face turned to the pile of firewood stacked under a little awning that the elderly man indicated with a bony hand. A mild yet sudden itch manifesting itself just under his right ear that he duly scratched. ''Ermm, yeah.. sure.''

With that Asher set about helping the time worn man and was promptly rewarded with more remarks that implied his young age and thus required deference to the old man. Such was life when the commoners had to be convinced to join your Realm, or so Asher thought to himself.


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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Renodin
« Reply #11: July 26, 2017, 08:16:04 PM »
Hello and welcome!

Today I got a battle RP in a fashion completely unusual. I won't spoiler it, just go ahead and read it. Promise it will be different than what you're used to. Cheers!

Waking up to Betrayal

The orders were clear. Find a way back to the capital of Xavax, any way possible. Next to Asher stood his captain. The man studied the young Knight. Entirely too unconcerned about what he, his men and his Liege, the Knight, were about to do. ‘’Sir, shall we just get on with it then? Little point in delaying now.’’ The tone of the man’s voice casual, bordering on careless. The word Sir his only attempt at decorum.

Before them stood a huge, combined army of the Realms of Minas Nova and Alara. They had blocked the way to Xavax City and knew they only had to wait. Asher tore his eyes away from the enemy host and eyed left and right, counting the banners of his fellow Noblemen, trying to get to a  conclusion other than utterly outnumbered. Numbers didn’t lie, it was at least three to one. He nodded. As much to himself as to the Captain. ‘’Ready the men, signal the General that we are in position.’’ Asher’s voice dry like a mountain stream in winter, waiting for the waters of spring. The captain squared his shoulders and saluted crisply. ‘’Sir.’’ The way he said the word and the way he looked at Asher. The stuff you expect to find in the last chapter of a book or a very good story. A herald signalling the end.

Half an hour late the horns blasted and the order to attack had been given. Asher saw it all for he was ordered to keep his horsemen way in the back of the army. This allowed him to witness the slaughter of the front ranks. Arrows fells from the sky onto the Xavax warriors and they were rooted to the ground. Some alive and screaming but most were silent, in death.

The Xavax men pressed on but their resolve was flagging. The lines backed up on one another. Formations reluctantly merged and caused men to trip. All the while the stars of the enemies kept falling on their heads. The enemy bowmen never paused in their killing.
Asher rode past a block of infantrymen hiding behind a fallen tree. Their captain dead. His corpse pinned to the very piece of dead wood his men now sheltered behind. ‘’Move! Stay behind and die!’’ Asher managed to shout at them before his was past them.

Finding himself breaking through to the frontline along with his horsemen Asher discovered a familiar sight. The Great Banner of House Magdalen. It belonged to Bracka Magdalen, Captain General of Alara and one of the greatest Horsemen of the war. She led a huge force of Cavalry and she led them away and ahead of her own forces. Riding straight for the wavering, Xavax lines. Asher jerked his head towards his men. ‘’See that banner!? That’s where our hammer will fall!’’ He licked his lips. ‘’One blow before the Dawn of our time! Let’s ring that Bell!’’ Not waiting for a response he grabbed the reins with force and his horse surged forwards.

Like a trail of vocal smoke the roars of his men bellowed behind as they followed him. Riding like madmen they broke away from the Xavax Host. ‘’One before the Dawn!’’ Asher Shrieked. ‘’Before the Dawn!’’ The chant around him before it devolved into baseless screaming and shouting.

The two groups of horsemen crashed into one another. One thrice as large as the other. Asher rode at the tip of the wedge, first to land a hit or to die. His eyes fixed on a man in quality ringmail over leather. His hips broad and firmly clutching his beast. A professional then, Asher’s mind concluded. The calculating thought banished as sound flooded his skull once again. Horses screamed, men screamed. Asher’s lance nearly missed its target as the man expertly but yet failed to dodge out of the way. The tip of the lance veered further left and up than intended to salvage a hit. A loud pang was audible, the lance snapped in his hands as ripped his hand wide open. Making short work of his fine riding gloves. For some reason Asher could make out the crunch of metal and bone that was his victim as the man crashed into the dirt. His left shoulder unrecognizable after the explosion of wood and force.

Eyes wide, Asher’s heart fluttered as his veins coursed with liquid exhilaration. Something in his mind told him to look front. He obeyed and knew a heartbeat of utter panic as he saw a blade from for his face. Wielded by a second rider that was set to decapitate him at full speed. Willing to mimic a turtle Asher wished to push his neck into this torso. His helm protested against his shoulder and collarbones. A magnificent ding, deafened him. He saw black and then thought his eyes would explode. Followed by his ears and all he could hear was an incessant ring. He felt warm liquid pour from his nostrils and the uncontrolled swaying of his head, lolling, made him aware of the impossible flexibility of his nose. It had never been in that position before, ever. Deep within his mind, Asher wondered about these things. He felt like he was floating. Suddenly the feeling changed towards one where he was falling, slipping. Clawing to the forefront of his consciousness for all he was worth Asher managed to push open a single eye. The world was glazed in red. His eye stung horribly.

Realizing that he was slipping from his horse Asher focussed on his right arm. It moved a bit, seemingly aimlessly. His left arm was useless. With his right he tried to hold on to the horse. Grab its mane, the saddle, the reins, anything. All he managed was feebly patting the horse’s neck. It was enough to precariously remain in the saddle though. Looking down at the horse he beheld a waterfall of blood. His livery and armour were glistering in the crimson fluid. His mouth fell open, or he expected that but it didn’t. Instead it but cracked open a tiny slit. Slick, metallic goo entered his mouth. Snot and blood and sweat. With shock he realized it was his own blood.

Fear spread to all his limbs and he tried to utter the name of his captain. His whimpering utterly drowned in the cacophony of slaughter. Tears formed in his eyes, one still firmly shut and beyond his control. They ran down his cheeks in hot streaks where they mingled with the blood that flowed from his nose and forehead. A wound he didn’t even realize he had.
Asher tried to turn his head to look for his men but learned he couldn’t. His helmed warped and his neck in agony. He awkwardly turned with his shoulders and saw a glimpse of the Xavax host being annihilated. Tears ran freely. He turned back. A rider came at him. A big man on an ever bigger horse. The man wielded a typical cavalry sword. Longer than that of an infantryman and designed to purpose. Dread warred with fatalism as Asher allowed himself to wonder for a moment. He then pushed himself as far as he could down towards his horse’s head and urged the animal to go fast. He whispered in the noble beast’s ear. Begging. At the last he looked up at his attacker. The man grinned broadly. Like a hunter delivering a final blow to trapped quarry. Asher never even felt the blow. Too far removed from consciousness and his brain too shaken to continue to function properly afterwards.

Nightfall came. The earth was blanketed in her darkness and fireflies danced in the quiet that is only broken by the songs of grasshoppers and bats. That following morning a bright light, like the phoenix that is Xavax, pierced his eye. Asher tried to turn away but pain wracked his body. He tried to shield his eyes with his hand and white hot agony shot through his entire limb. He croaked in pain. In pain but alive.

Over the next four hours of so he learned that he lay among the dead. Crows feasting all around him. One even pecking at the dried and caked tangle that was his hair. He lay against the carcass of a horse with his neck rend open. A small ocean of blood had coagulated around him. Broken spears lay around him like a grizzly perimeter and the limbs and bodies of the dead enshrined him on the battlefield. Fury, futility, despair and comical shock washed over him that day as he tried to liberate himself from his situation. Failing and failing until finally, he failed no more.

Crawling onto a shattered wagon which still had a single horse strapped to it. His final salvation and means back to civilization. Sleep claimed him as the horse took him from death to life like an aberration of fate.


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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Renodin
« Reply #12: August 22, 2017, 10:36:02 AM »
Hey there! A small, atmospheric RP. Just to give the people gathered, four odd realms preparing for a battle, a sense of what its like being in a military camp. A day to day activity if you will. A sight you might catch if you glanced over while strolling by.

​At camp in Greatbridge

Walking among the horses the Blond haired young man, dressed in a simple yet sturdy tunic didn't stand out. His friendly blue eyes scanning the noble creatures for illnesses, weariness or forgotten grooming. His hands a bit rough after wielding lance and sword since early childhood yet the animals didn't mind his touch. Caressing their flanks like a gentle wave does the sandy ocean floor of some tropical island.

All around, voice rose as the sun made great efforts to ascend ever so slowly towards the heavens above. Casting long shadows and bathing the world in an amber glow that lazily turned to fine topaz, the color of ripe white wine. To Asher's ear, many of the words spoken were strange. He didn't comprehend the dialects and he didn't recognize even a handful of the banners. Not even those from Sirion for whom he now rode. His will momentarily shaken but one of the horses nuzzled his hand urging him to take up the brush,  calling him back to the here and now. Horses are selfish like that.

His men, all riders from the far south sat about and ate their fill of military rations. Some sharing pieces with their steeds but enough of them didn't. Consigning the equines to forage for tufts of grass. Nearby. over a makeshift campfire, the contents of a cooking pot bubbled angrily. A testimony to the ineptitude of the cook. Both in the building of the fire and his professed skill at cooking. To an outsiders, the captain, a woman called Carlota looked to be in charge. Not only that but she, more than anyone, including Asher, most fit the bill of being the Noble Commander of this unit of Cavalry. Little mind did Asher pay, he was content to check the iron shoes of the horses and be left to tranquility for a while, before the next storm hit.


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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Renodin
« Reply #13: September 13, 2017, 10:53:17 PM »
Right, back at it again. A battle Rp. This one is about the Siege of Oligarch City. Last vestige of the Realm of First Oligarch. The Realms of Sirion, Nivemus, Shadowdale ad Eponllyn have combined their armies to fight the lonesome warriors of First Oligarch. Hope you Enjoy!

Broken Walls

Silvery streaks fell from high above. The clouds were grey where they could be distinguished from one another. For the most part however, it was a great, grey slate blanketing the world. The fine rain was worse than actual rain in some senses. It was like taking a slow dive into a lake. You’d get just as soaked and the feeling of inevitability was the same. Asher rode with the combined army. It had made quite a detour as it travelled all the way to the southern mountains known as Evora. A place that belonged to the Realm of Eponllyn but before that the army had traversed the lands of Shadowdale and even Caligus. Only to finally be here. To look at the walls of Oligarch once more.

There used to be a road leading to the great city. With roadsides that tell would be travellers how far they still had to go and where. Some sections were cobbled but most of the road used to be just plain dirt. Packed, but still just dirt. Looking behind himself upon that ‘road’ Asher saw a great sludge of mud. Almost like a brown river. The rain dissolved the hard mud into a melange of water, [email protected]#$, snot, spit and whatever else the solders left in their wake. Not to forget blood and vomit. A nasty melange that would leave the inhabitants of this land with pestilence for sure. Unburied corpses of hunted down scouts and watchdogs festering as they would. A feast for the flies but leaving questions to their former masters.

The otherwise bright and golden hair that Asher prided himself on was slack and stuck to his skull. Before him he saw a great host of Sirionites. They had brought many siege engines and so had the Nobles of Nivemus. From what he could tell those from Shadowdale all wore bows and masks. Or at the very least very concealing cowls or cloaks. The horselords of Eponllyn didn’t boast a single commander of cavalry. They too seemed lovers of archery to Asher’s eyes.

Beyond his eyes beheld the City. Oligarch. The Great Rebellion, the Changers, the Betrayers some said. Looking at it now it was a sad place. All its fields, from each direction of the wind, corpses. While in varying stages of decay and with the weather being unkind to one’s vision the sense of being in a horror story was laid on thick. A light fog did its best to shroud the worst of it but the gnawing of scavenger beasts was unmistakable and constant. The crows feasted while men blanched. Averting his eyes, Asher looked to his men. Some twenty riders. They too shared in his sombre mood. Hard not to when you are faced with so much death. One forced a half hearted smile but it crumbled as it spotted a new vista of death.

The walls of the Great City lay in ruins. All the signs where there. Huge blocks weighing more than entire houses, scattered and fallen. Small mountains of brickworks that once comprised impressive fortifications now lay where they cascaded to. A gradient most ardently attempted to be erased by the defenders. Too much work. How do hands that have mere weeks take away the labour of hands that had years to build. Upon the ruins of the old walls new hope flickered though. Wood had arisen proudly where stone and brick stood sentinel before. Not as high, not as strong and not as impressive.

Riding through the massive warcamp Asher noticed many banners he recognized. Some from Xavax and some from Sirion. Most he had no clue about though. Those from the Shadowlands were intricate and it made him think that those people had too much time tailoring.  Occasionally he took a deliberate right or left. Avoiding some banners and thus Nobles. Ever before he made it all the way to the front of the warband a horn blared. Shout rose swiftly afterwards and the camp came alive like some giant creature. Tents emptied, campfires were stamped out and a forest’ worth of banners and standards whirred about. The command was given to form up. At last the generals had decided on a plan of attack. A final assault to see Oligarch humbled.

Asher left the details to his captain, Gerolf, an impressive man and horseman to boot. Their orders were, if he recalled correctly, to stay in the back and avoid getting killed by arrow-fire. It would probably mean that his horsemen would never be able to penetrate through the allied infantry. Not up the rumble and not through the breach or amount to anything important. It already bothered him thinking about it but he resolved not to waste any of his men’ life. That at least he could do.

Taking his time riding back to his men, his eyes informed him that nearly all of the archers, marksmen and any unit even vaguely involved in ranged combat rushed to the front. There they packed together tightly and formed a massive wall. Ready to unleash death on an untold scale. Suddenly the meaning and purpose of the walls took on an entirely different meaning. Not so much for keeping people out than to keep the people inside safe from the onslaught about to be poured onto their heads.

More horns blasted and more shuffling of units and formations. A strange second line materialized. A handful of infantry contingents along with a cavalry unit and some marksmen took up position together. They looked out of place, perhaps a miscommunications. Not wasting more time on the matter Asher pressed his horse on and arrived with his unit. They looked ready although he sensed the captain already informed the men of the unlikely chance of seeing actual combat. Not that they objected, a day without violence was a good day in their books.

With the combined army ready, the horns blasted in unison. The order to move and the army did. Crossing the wet plains they marched up to firing distance. The drizzle made men slip and lose their footing. Mailed gloves instinctively went to rub wet eyes only to be halted by wiser minds, blinking would have to do. The defenders looked on from their timber walls. A pup build upon the broken shoulders of a wolf. Her bark was death and it was shrill.

As the first clouds of iron and steel fell from the sky men shuddered with their impact. Not being able to see clearly due to light fog and rain made the wait all the longer. That dreadful span of time from realizing the enemy fired upon you. Having time to wonder when it will hit but not being able to gauge their trajectory properly. Some whimpered.

Steel burrowed itself deep. Into the wet soil and into flesh. Asher could see simply dressed people tumble down the battlements. Leaving crimson streaks where their heads bashed against the fortifications before splattering on the rubble below. A ripple of panic blossomed from the allied ranks. A single bannerman furiously waved his banner. It belonged to the House of Tezokian. Ecthelion Tezokian, Lord of Sirion, Former Prime Minister of the Realm of Sirion and Commander of one of the most impressive units on the field today. The shape of a finely dressed man was being rushed off the battlefield. The man himself. Luckily the warcamp was close behind and he would be in safety soon. The effect on morale was palpable. One of the great lords was wounded and incapacitated in the very first exchange. The walls weren’t even reached yet.

Morale is a strange thing though. From the centre of the Allied army a contingent of horsemen charged through the lines. Fierce, proud and bold. They overtook the frontline and burst out like water jumping upwards after lobbing a rock into the pond. ‘’Lord Godric!’’ Asher utter as he strained his eyes to see. The banner of House ka Habb flew high.  There was nowhere for them to charge at though. The walls stood defiantly and the rubble made it hard on Lord Godric’s horsemen to advance.

Men belonging to McTavish of House Weisz dealt the next significant blow. Not that Asher knew that at the time but scribes told him afterwards, going by the banner he described to them. They were bowmen and Lord Godric, former Arbiter of Greater Xavax, unknowing or with full intent perhaps, made himself a big target. Teeth that were flashing but could never bite. The threat was perceived however and a storm of arrows descended upon Godric and his horsemen.

Before the eyes of the whole army were the dauntless horsemen were shredded. Arrows bounced of shields and deflected on sturdy armour but that only does  so much. Horses screamed and men crashed off their charging mounts. Arrows slid into tight embraces as they vanished under chest-plates and into necks. Shattering bones and piecing organs. The bodies deformed as they impacted the earth. Arms in unnatural positions. Some of them snapping off and fouling other riders. Mud flew into the air and mingled with the crimson-dust coughed up by men trying to clear their lungs of the flooding blood.

Horror crossed Asher’s face like a wave. The first banners to reach the fortifications were those of House Steele and House Ketchum. Their men had sprinted forwards and made it to the walls. They weren’t first up though as they were soon joined by many, many more.

Ladders were deployed and the slow moving battering rams chugged on, promising destruction when and if they would catch up. Asher could see the initial fighting on the walls. Swordsmen and axemen going toe to toe with desperate bowmen but also with other infantry. They didn’t belong to any Noble and heeded no commands it seemed. An organic mess best described as rabble. The inhabitants of Oligarch themselves had taken to the walls for this perhaps last and fated defence. One of the Nobles clawing out a foothold on the walls was the Count of Morshes, the Treasurer of the Eponllyn, the Lord Fydor. Leading his men from the front he hacked and swung his weapon like a lion. He was no mere Horselord, he was a Manticore. A great, winged Lion surrounded by sheep. A sneaky pitchfork pushed the man off balance though. Another viciously toppling the man off the battlements entirely.  He fell a great distance and Asher counted him among the dead instantly.  The man proved either incredibly lucky or in possession of supreme constitution for he yet lived.

Come what may though, what Fydor started marked the beginning of the end. The foothold he purchased with blood was now transforming into a veritable staging ground for invasion. Men poured onto the walls and the battering rams forced all to brace lest they follow Lord Fydor’s fate.  The gates were shattered and burned. A piece of the wooden wall collapsed and the Allied Infantry surged forwards. Scythes, daggers and clubs stood against forged steel swords and spears. Mercy was forgotten and murder reigned king. Bodies plugged holes and formed impromptu barricades that were fought over. Desperate men in burlap clothes faced off against knights. Their lives ended and the Knights laughed.

It went fast after that. Asher and his men rode closer and closer but there was no opportunity for him nor any of the other cavalry to enter the fray. The Allied infantry overwhelmed the defenders completely. Their infantry collapsed. Imagine a piece of fine pottery being tossed against a wall. It wants to stay in one piece but it utterly shatters. That’s about as close a description as it gets. The archers of Oligarch stood their ground bravely. They fired their volleys and then fired at will. With shields raised the allied infantry pursued them. The Baron of Sermbar reportedly took an arrow to the chest. Cleanly puncturing his breastplate. A Knight of Oligarch, one Kaya of House Kalkandelen fought to   the last. Facing off against half a dozen men at arms from the Black Swan Guards, led by Lady Beck of House Mozzoni. Knight Kaya fell in battle. The Silver Guard under the command of The Shadow King himself, Lindow of House Moonsun claimed another. Dame Lucienne of House Kessler was likewise surrounded and fell prey to superior numbers. Not before giving a good accounting of her virtue however. Taking more with her than any regular man would’ve.

Asher could hardly make out what was happening. He and his horsemen waited outside the fortifications. Unable to pass through the mass of warriors. All wanting to push to the fore and do their part. A horn blared roughly and uncontrolled. The sound gleeful and uncontrolled. Word spread that the Magister of Coin of Oligarch was wounded. Apparently he was shot down by the warriors of Dame Flavia of House Arindal. The great city became a hunting grounds. The defenders had no chance. They couldn’t hide, not for long at least.

Men rushed through the streets and like baying hounds they chased their quarry. Men were butchered in doorways and dismembered in the square. No place was safe and as the morning’s light fog lifted. Carnage took centre stage. With nothing left to obscure her. Bodies littered the ground, blood filled the gutters and tonight, the crows would feast again.

At the last there was King Garas of House Gabanus. The Master of First Oligarch. He and his men stood as the last defenders of their great city. An old acquaintance faced him. The Lord Speaker of Sirion, the Lord of Avamar, Thoman of House Foxglove. Where Garas stood his burned self, along his archers. Thomas led his Scarlet Sentinels forwards. Arrows were fired upon him but his men didn’t slow. Swords already bloodied hacked into the ill prepared archers under Garas’s command. Ill formed and ill equipped to deal with the onslaught. Death found them that day and The Lord Speaker struck down the lonesome King.

So Asher lived through that day. That perhaps final day of First Oligarch. A Realm borne out of conflict and ended with bloodshed. A great amount of it.


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Re: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Renodin
« Reply #14: September 25, 2017, 06:52:11 PM »
Hey there, welcome back. Now, if the next rp is a bit raw. I say raw because it may not be a very pleasant depiction you may read about. If this sort of thing could upset you I suggest you don't read it. Nothing elicit or anything, just, maybe a bit disturbing and most certainly unfriendly. With that said, it is a piece of writing and potentially, plausible given the situation.


The day had started once again. Smoke rose from a thousand different places all across the huge city of Oligarch. Perhaps half from actual hearths but the rest were borne from malice. Riding through the winding streets Asher's face was covered with a bordeaux scarf. The fabric coming from the good people Gadlock, swamp linnen. A haze of smoke escaped a crumpled building. Slithering past some exposed support beams and engulfing a section of the street. Not quite obscuring the view entirely but certainly cladding passers by in a gauzelike cloak that stung the eyes and beckoned forth tears.

The same could be said for the soldiers that strode through the main boulevard. People were being dragged from their homes, their bodies bruised as angry hands forced them to comply. Strung up along the buildings where roof ornaments where being used as makeshift gallows. Long reed canes used as whips that cut their flesh and left a patchwork of red lines on their raw skin. Asher eyed it as he passed by, not saying a word. A young woman, someone's daughter, was dragged across the streets from her family home. An older man, presumably her father, begged the soldiers to spare her. His balding head a little chubby but only because life had been good to him in the past. His wife clutching the doorframe she stood in. Nails burrowing deep. Falling to his knees, the father wept as his voice broke into a besieging screech. One of the soldiers got annoyed and turned around. Deftly fishing a dagger from its sheath and grasping it firmly in his hand. Before the balding father knew what had happened he was reaching for his throat and gurgled a few more words. His hands tried furiously but could only make a defunct dam and blood gushed through the gaps. Despite the fact that his life was literally slipping through his fingers, he never took his eyes off his daughter.

She had been dragged to the center of the street and now the soldiers had formed a ring around her. Each taking turns in ripping clothing from her fair body. Pushing her around and each time she was shoved into the arms of yet another malicious man, more hands groped her, did her pain, beat her, felt nails scratch her body and eventually, when lust turned to frustration in the soldiers, they beat her again. This time with vigor. They wanted to brutalize her but those orders hadn't been given. As the fair maiden fell to the ground, her body only nominally clad, the skin on her knees broke with the impact. Army boots, the kind that were reinforced and armored, found her body and kicked her without remorse. One particular fat soldier, his mouth frothing as his beady little eyes roved over her exposed body, viciously kicked her in the mouth. The entire tip of his boot vanishing in the action. The corners of her mouth ripped, blood exploded from where her front teeth used to be and what came next from her mouth was a quiet, anguished noise that could not be described with words.

Not waiting for what would come next, Asher looked away and urged his mount on.