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    March to Talabheim

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    Banather
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    March to Talabheim

    Post by Banather on Fri Feb 11, 2011 4:20 pm

    First topic message reminder :

    The Old World is a dangerous place to live in. Humanity is always threatened, from all sides. Everywhere one goes, he or she faces horrors unknown, from bandits, to the Undead, and even Daemons. There are even legends of a race of vicious Rat-Men, called Skaven, who live in underground tunnels all throughout the world.

    The Empire is the largest nation of Men. It is ruled by the Emperor, who is elected, and rules unto death. The current Emperor is a valiant and noble man, named Karl Franz. The Empire is divided into several provinces, each ruled by an Elector Count, who, in the even of the emperor's death, become candidates for his successor. This is a nation which is ruled by religion. There is a god for every aspect of existence, such as Morr, the god of the Dead, Ulric, the god of Winter, War, and Wolves, or Sigmar, the first Emperor, and patron god of the Empire.

    Even within the Emperor's borders, humans are not the only people to exist. Elves live in the forests, and Dwarfs in the mountains, both of which maintain good, or at least tolerant, relations with the Humans. There are others, such as the Vampire Counts of Silvania, or the Beastmen of Drakwald Forest, which threaten the very existence of humanity.

    -------------

    We are all part of a caravan, travelling towards the city of Talabheim. You may be a warrior, priest, or simple peasant folk. Human, Elf, or Dwarf. It doesn't matter. What matters is why are you in this caravan, what do you expect to find in the city we make our way to? Are you running from something? Or someone? Will you tell others, or keep your secrets? It's up to you.

    The technology level in this setting is akin to the Renaissance era, particularly Germany. So basic firearms exist, but they are expensive and typically reserved for the military. Swords and other weapons are much more common. Magic also exists, for those who are trained to wield it. A human can only learn to control one of the Winds of Magic, such as Fire, Alchemy, Shadow, Death, Life or Light.


    Here is a map of the Empire (click it to view the entire thing). Talabheim, our destination, is on the western border of Talabecland, in the center of the Empire.
    Spoiler:

    Banather - Konrad Falkenheim, Warrior Priest of Sigmar
    Mercy - Arabel, Gypsy
    Allen - Tarell Diederich, Rogue/Assassin
    Skye - Nadya Purrum, Gypsy
    Capri - Felixa Cassius, Tilean Noble?
    Murdoch - Varkash, Disguised Chaos Sorcerer

    Current time/conditions: Dusk, with a few clouds and a slight breeze. It's early summer.


    Last edited by Banather on Wed Mar 02, 2011 4:10 pm; edited 4 times in total
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    Banather
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Banather on Sun Feb 13, 2011 11:50 pm

    Konrad noticed not one, but two young women approach and sneak into the caravan. No one else seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn't care. It was common for people seeking safe passage somewhere to join up with large groups like this one.

    Deciding that they didn't pose any threat, he returned his gaze to the forest. A couple shadows seemed to move deep in the trees, but when he looked again, everything was still. The cry of a raven pierced the air, to which many people looked up. It wasn't a strange occurrence, but to the people of the Empire, a raven's call could mean many things.
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    Mercy
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Mercy on Sun Feb 13, 2011 11:56 pm

    I take out a small red velvet sack, undoing the gold drawstring and slip the coins from the cup into the purse. I quickly slip the bag back into a small pocket on the inside of my cape and catch up to the man. I look him over, raising an eyebrow.

    "Where are you heading?" I ask him, who seems to be paying no attention to me.
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    Murdoch
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Murdoch on Mon Feb 14, 2011 11:40 am

    Ooc: Let’s get rocking : )

    Ic:

    The sun beats down on the small clearing in the Talabec Forest, the midday heat forcing down upon everything in the woods. The animals all move around a little sluggishly in the heat, the crawl of the predators offset by the crawl of the prey. The leaves on the trees stir gently in response to a gentle and sudden breeze, and several animals stop to enjoy the feeling.
    Oddly enough, no birds can be heard in the trees around the clearing, and almost no movement can be found in the outskirts of the meadow. It’s as if something inside the clearing is repelling them, or otherwise silencing them. A lone bird decides- against its instincts- to fly through the area in search of prey.
    There could be food, the bird thinks, that others have missed. I should take a lo-

    The birds thoughts are silenced suddenly as a small bolt of purple energy strikes it from the sky. It plummets, tail smoking and crashes to the floor.
    Varkash The Twisted, Sorcerer of Tzeentch and advisor to Garsharak The Bloodthirsty, spares not even a single glance for the innocent animal. Stupid creature for ignoring its instincts.
    Varkash stands in the centre of the clearing, alone, dressed head to toe in his blue-and-gold Sorcerer Battle Gear, his staff standing next to him. He is looking down with contempt at a shape at his feet, something motionless. He kicks it sharply, and the figure coughs as it comes to. A small fountain of blood appears from his mouth, spraying the grass around him.

    “Awaken, Worm,” Varshak snarls, his voice distorted and echoey through his helmet. “I am not yet done with you.”
    The figure awakens fully, coughing some more, and attempts to shift its golden-armoured form. Varshak places a boot on the mans chest and forces him down, slowly and deliberately. “You will not move until I say so, Maggot.”
    “I am not the Maggot here, barbarian!” the man spits weakly. Varshak simply laughs.
    “Who is the one crawling on their belly, praying to a false God for help? Sigmar cannot help you, ‘priest’” he spits the word out like a foul-tasting piece of meat.
    “I shall not hear a word more of your blasphemy!” The priest of Sigmar growls, struggling to get up. Varshak simply pushes him back down with his boot.

    “You do not have a choice,” Varshak sneers, “Your petty magic has been defeated. Your men slaughtered. You are at my mercy. You are helpless. Now,” he said, not giving the priest time to answer, “Tell me. Why were you out in the middle of nowhere in such force?” The priest doesn’t answer. Varshak suppresses his frustration; he has been questioning this man in his moments of consciousness for the better part of an hour, and still nothing. He twists his staff- embedded in the mans leg- and sends a jolt of agonizing energy coursing through the priests system. The Warrior Priest convulses, but grits his teeth. Nonetheless, a small grunt of pain can be heard.
    “Tell me.” Varshak insists, but the Priest staunchly remains silent. Varshak sighs. Stupid priests; enduring all this pain, all this suffering for a False God. Can they not see that the only true power is that of Chaos? Chaos is the past, the future; Chaos will consume everything, in time, and can never be vanquished. Surely they see that theirs is a fools task?

    He idly sends another jolt through the priests system. If he is not going to tell him anything, he may as well dispose of the Priest. No more time for gloating; he already broke a personal rule by keeping this one alive. Warrior Priests were at their most dangerous when they were cornered, all set to become Martyrs…save for the fact that they tended to survive. Like cockroaches. No matter how hard you stamp on them, they continue to scurry around.
    His musings are cut short by a movement from the priest; Varshak looks down just in time to see the Priests hand clench around his hammer, and his eyes begin to glow golden. Brilliant white and gold light flows from his eyes in streams, and his hammer begins to glow in a similar manner as well. Roaring defiance, the now-empowered Priest strikes at Varshak with all of his remaining strength.

    Yes. They can be most tiresome. Binding the Priests arm with a tendril of Tzeentchian energy, he merely twists his staff around- ripping the counterweight from the mans leg sharply, leaving bits of torn muscle and flesh behind- and buries the bladed end straight into the Warrior Priests face. The glowing stops immediately, and the priests hands go limp. Varshak removes the staff and his boot from the priest casually, turning around and paying no heed to the now-dead priest with the ruined, blood-drenched face, giving no attention to the blood that has drenched the surrounding area and the mans once-immaculate and now-battered-and-bloodied armour in a crimson colour.

    He watches the trees for a short while, until a figure can be seen approaching. It is a boy, of Brittania stock, enslaved on their way through a small hamlet. The village had traded the boy for the warband to leave them alone…unfortunately, they had overlooked one fatal flaw; Chaos doesn’t make deals. The hamlet is no more, even though Varshak didn’t agree.
    The boy himself was strong, though, and anxious to please, and beyond that Varshak didn’t care. He cared not about the features, only that the boy know his place in all of this. Namely, to serve until he used up his usefulness.

    “M-milord…” the boy stammers, prostrating himself on the ground before Varshak. Good; the boy remembered his last lesson. A day at the mercy of the Warhounds has taught him proper respect.
    “Speak.” Varshak orders coldly.
    “Garsharak requests your presence, Milord…” request? Garsharak? He never requests anything, only orders. The boy probably changed the words to offend Varshak less, which he appreciates. Oh, the boy will be punished for lying- maybe a night in with the captured beastmen?- but his curiosity has been piqued. Garsharak usually wants to forget that he has a Sorcerer with him.
    “Very well.” Varshak strides off towards where The Legion of Blood was last time he saw them, leaving the boy to scramble to his feet and follow at a distance.

    Ooc: No one notice them yet; not ready XD



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    Banather
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Banather on Mon Feb 14, 2011 6:16 pm

    Konrad looked down at the girl, and respond, "I am accompanying these merchants as far as Talabheim. After that, I am heading wherever Sigmar wishes."

    He then returned his gaze to the trees. There was something in the air that just didn't feel right. His hand instinctively went to the Twin Tailed Comet pendant around his neck. The unusually warm metal felt comforting in his hand, and he felt himself relax.
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    Allen
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Allen on Mon Feb 14, 2011 7:33 pm

    Tap. Tap. Tap.

    I rolled over on my side, the hay under me snapping from my movements.

    Tap. Tap. Tap.

    I opened my eyes and looked to the far wall, the sun breaching into the small cracks in the wood paneling.

    Tap. Tap. Tap.

    I rubbed more forehead. The leather gloves stuck to the sweat and dried blood on it.

    Dried blood? I sat up quickly, the bale of hay I was resting on crumbling under the sudden shift of weight. I slipped to the dirty covered floor with a thud.

    "Bad dream?"

    I looked to my right. The girl standing there had long wavy brown hair.

    "...Leave me alone Elsa."

    "But, we're together. We have to stay that way."

    "I can't think straight Elsa."

    "I can help you think." She said sweetly, smiling brightly at me. She was wearing a simple dress. Like she always did.

    "Not now. I need to think now." I murmured. I shook my head vigorously trying to rid myself the lethargy clouding mind.

    "They're still looking for us." Her small voice was serious now. Her expression stern.

    "I know. Stay quiet. I have to think of a way out of here." I looked at the wall, the sun's rays being blocked by the people walking by.

    I heaved myself up and pulled up my hood, readjusting the straps on my armor and weaponry.

    "A man is looking for you. Didn't you hear him this morning father?"

    "I heard, I heard." At least. I thought I did. I heard asking the townspeople. Asking for a man dressed in black with a mercenary's armor.

    As if she knew my every thought the little girl walked closer, her step so light it left no mark on the dusty floor. She lifted her hand to touch me get my attention. I looked down at her.

    "A caravan full with a man in armor passed through. The priest is a goodly man. He will allow passage. Where you can continue to right passed wrongs. To defend us."

    I nodded, amazed at how the girl at deduced my exact thoughts. She reinforced the already apt plan. Elsa always knew what I was thinking.

    I walked towards the door and opened it up. The stench of sweat and manure wafted through.

    I looked towards Elsa. She nodded as I walked outside into the midday light.
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    Mercy
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Mercy on Mon Feb 14, 2011 7:47 pm

    I frown, "If I go with you, I give you my powers to protect the rest from harm. If you promise me to lend me a hand when I need it." I say compromising, my voice low.

    I raise an eyebrow at the man and try to match his pace, which is difficult since I am considerably shorter then he is.
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Banather on Mon Feb 14, 2011 8:00 pm

    "If you can fight, you are welcome to help guard these innocent people. Any aid you require from me, I shall give, so long as it does not go against my faith."

    Noticing that the girl was struggling to keep up with his long strides, he slowed down slightly. It was strange for a person who was not a part of the original Caravan, to make their presence known, but Konrad was glad for it. It made it easier for him to keep an eye on her, and judge her motives. So far, the priest could discern no ill intent, and for that, he was glad.
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Mercy on Mon Feb 14, 2011 8:13 pm

    I laugh lightly, "Your steel, my magic. We'd be a good team." I say with a reassuring smile.

    "Who else is in the caravan?" I ask, my grey eyes fill with curiosity as they flick over to the caravan.

    I notice him slowing his pace and we hold a steady pace. I enjoyed the small jingle of my bangles on my ankles and the way my toes sunk into the soft dirt of the earth.
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    Allen
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Allen on Mon Feb 14, 2011 8:46 pm

    Hood up I walked further down the street, my eyes darting back and forth.

    My left hand was to the sheath of my blade. My right in a seemingly casual position at my hip. Near the pistol.

    "Left." Elsa said. Her voice was clear among the shouting of merchants and complaints of buyers.

    I turned left as she suggested.

    "Where'd the caravan go Elsa?"

    "Out of the city. The man in armor will mark it out." Again, I marveled at her consistency. For some reason hearing Elsa speak like that also pained me. Maybe knowing she thought like me. Was like me. Was included in this mad quest.

    "Father. Look out." I heard her voice squeak. Too late.

    I stumbled into a burly man. His face was covered with sweat, rags and furs covered his body, almost obscuring some armor under the heavy pelts.

    I looked down and kept going. It was him. I knew it. I could smell it on him. Could feel Elsa tugging at my cloak in worry.

    I could hear him stomping up.

    "Hey."

    I kept moving. His hand reached up and touched me.

    "HEY! You deaf little man?"

    I turned quickly, my right hand pulling my cloak to cover the mail-breaker on my hip. I gripped the hilt and gritted my teeth under my bandana. One flick on my wrist and lunge would drop him. Mentally I checked for escape routes.

    "Do it." I heard Elsa whisper sweetly. I gripped the hilt tighter.

    The kidney, through the fur and weak mail. The blood would drain slowly. I'd have to time to tear the blade out and sprint.

    Under the crowd, past the market stalls. To the gates. One guard would be shot dead. The others may have to be fought off.

    "Kill them too." Again, I felt compelled to agree. My eye twitched.

    "I'm talking to you." The man said impatiently. I imagined the blade embedded in his hip. I withdrew it from under the cloak. I smelled the stench of blood.

    "Which way is it..?" I sheathed the blade.

    "Don't know." I answered vaguely. Turning on my heel.

    "I'm talking to you little man!" He pulled my around.

    "Teach him a lesson. One less man after you." Elsa whispered.
    "I will Elsa." I muttered.

    I smashed my head off his. He wheeled back. Stunned.

    He slurred and tried to call. But that call for help was replaced by a grunt. The blade was in his stomach. I viciously tore it up. Elsa giggled childishly in my ear.

    The stench of blood filled my nostrils. The thrill of the kill rushed through my arms. My blood filled muscles. I looked around the crowd. No one heard. Or cared. Just another discussion about money to them I guessed.

    I walked swiftly towards the gate, hearing a thump as the now dead bounty hunter hit the ground.
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Allen on Mon Feb 14, 2011 9:27 pm

    "Who did this?!" I heard being called from the crowd. I was sprinting now. Shoving past men and women.

    "Bad plan Elsa." I muttered to myself. The girl was behind me somewhere.

    I stopped for a second. Took in my surroundings. I was in a muddy back alleyway, the sun obscured by the dessicated and ruined corpses of buildings surrounding me. They were running in behind, shouting curses. They were wearing chain mail.

    I pulled out my pistol. I deftly pulled out black powder and poured it into the barrel. I packed it down with a wad, before adding the lead round and packing it further in.

    They were close. Around the corner. Two. Maybe three. It was hard to tell.

    "Two." Elsa told me. I nodded in agreement.

    One quick shot, alerting the soldiers in city. But it was better than a two on one fight.

    I pulled a canteen out and took a long swig, before replacing it next to my pouch. I held the foul liquid in my mouth.

    "There he is!" I pulled the hammer back.

    I turned on my heel, took aim pulled the trigger.

    The resounding boom echoed across the city's rooftops. Birds flew away from the area. Dogs barked.

    A man fell over.

    I was moving before the smoke cleared, replacing the pistol, drawing out my longsword in my right hand and mail-breaker in the left.

    The bewildered man just managed to bring his blade to parry.

    His shield followed. He was skilled. Smart. I was better. I fought dirty.

    I swung low, he stepped back, brought his shield arm to bear, I cleaved up from the swipe. A seemingly awkward move. I positioned my feet to catch the riposte. As he smashed his shield up catching my right arm, I turned right, dodging the expected lunge, pushing the blade wide with a quick snap of the mail-breaker.
    As I did this I spat the water/mud mixture into his face.

    He grunted and stumbled back. I followed up with a deft charge, rolling my longsword from the shield and slashing at his unarmored calf.

    He slashed widely at where I had been standing. Bad move. Instead of withdrawing the fool kept swinging. I quick-stepped around driving the mail-breaker in his shield, letting it hang. I could see me now, but the shock proved too much.

    I pulled a hard right, around him as he stumbled back. Two-handing the longsword I hacked at him as he tried to recover. I pulled in close to him, putting my foot behind his.

    He tried to cover his exposed shoulder by turning quickly. He hit my foot and stumbled.

    To his credit he didn't fall over. But the stumble was fatal.

    I spun left, swinging the blade with my body's momentum. The blade struck his cheek, breaking and snapping his head back.

    He was mortally wounded. Not dead.

    I walked up to him, as he squirmed on the ground screaming. I observed he had dropped his sword.

    I kicked his sword away, leaning over him.

    Images flashed through my mind. Beating his torn and cut face with the pommel was predominant. I twitched and shouted at my mind to stop.

    "Who are you..."

    The man tried to speak, but just gurgled weirdly, his jaw was fractures, cheek split opened.

    "Beat him." Elsa's voice again rang out, sadism dripped from her every word. I felt sick.

    I looked at Elsa, standing off the side, by the first man I shot.
    "No. I can't Elsa." I said simply. I turned my head and looked at the man.

    He was terrified of Elsa I thought. Looking at me with pain and fright in his eyes.

    The bells were ringing. The screaming in my mind wouldn't stop.

    I cleaved down. Killing the man. I collected my mail-breaker and ran for the gates. Elsa kept pace somehow.
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    Skye
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Skye on Mon Feb 14, 2011 9:45 pm

    "Nadya! Come, come. I have something to show you. It will do you good, my dear." The man's voice was fragile and quiet, his shouts more like whispers to all ears but his own. He held up a small black velvet pouch which immediately caught Nadya's attention. She walked across the cold dirt to the man, taking the pouch into her hands gently. A large smile appeared over his wrinkled face as her delicate fingers untied the ribbon that held the bag tightly closed. As the bag opened she felt her jaw loosen, leaving her mouth slightly open. As she pulled the silver blade from the bag she began to shun him.
    "Tsk, tsk tsk. Salvania, you need this more than I do." She turned as she spoke, putting the small knife in his pruned hands and wrapping his fragile fingers gently around the blade.
    He protested immediately, using his petite frame to his advantage and slipping around her side, slipping the knife into her skirt's pouch. "No, no, my child. You are leaving today, seeing as they are getting closer. I have a new name now, and with age they will not recognize me. You, you have the face of a child. They will easily remember you." He smiled as he sat on a small rocking chair with a light 'Ofph.'
    Nayda smiled, taking the knife from her pocket. "Thank you." She bent over to kiss the man on the cheek, to which he blushed. "Thank you for everything, Salvania. Don't let them get you, now."
    "Oh, you don't worry a slightest bit about me. I still have the others, you know." He nodded as three people came in from the other room, obviously other travelers. Nadya gave a last nod and slipped out of the door without another word. She had said her goodbyes and paid her debts to him. He had saved her life by pretending he was her daughter, and it was time for them to part. As she closed the door after her, she quickly walked down the alley way to the bustling market. She quickly walked into the crowd as she pulled her hood over her head, her eyes not daring to look up as she walked. Two minutes until she would reach the entrance of the city.
    "Halt!" She heard, along with a hand clamping down onto her arm. She only gave a glance to realize it was a guard. With her free hand she took the blade, swinging it across the man's face. He staggered back, and she took the opportunity to make a dash.
    "Fuck." She mumbled as she began running, pushing her way through the people. She tripped on her skirt, to which a merchant knocked her to the ground. She rolled over, picking up the ends of her skirt and sprinted to the gates. The guards, one busy with a man's cart and another with a priest, didn't seem to notice when she slipped out behind two cattle.
    As she reached the outside of the city, she discovered the roads empty. No caravans within sight. Only those travelling into the city for market day. Nadya gave a wretched curse under her heavy breaths again and squinted against the morning sun, looking for a caravan of some sort.
    Her face beamed with happiness as her eyes set on a travelling caravan. They were travelling on a far path away from the city. She lifted her skirt again and began running towards it, her bare feet rising a small cloud of dust in the wanning morning light.
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Eljordo on Tue Feb 15, 2011 3:33 pm

    Warhammer? IM SO IN! Very Happy

    Bio:
    Name: Aymarr Leonardo
    Gender: Male
    Age: 27
    Sexuality: Straight
    Status: Single
    Height: 6'1
    weight: 197
    Occupation: Questing Bretonnian Knight
    eyes: blue
    Hair: light brown, short
    Backround: Aymarr was born in Bretonnia, a country just west of the Empire. He was born of Bretonnian nobillity, thus he strove to become a knight. Aymarr became heavily devoted to religion (In Bretonnia they worship the Lady of the Lake, not Sigmar) thus desired to join the fabled Grail Knights. To do this, he must prove himself by venturing to far away lands in search of an important item. Aymarr set off with seven other hopefulls to nearly every corner of the world. Of his group, he is the only one still alive, and is currently still on his quest in the Empire.
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Murdoch on Tue Feb 15, 2011 4:11 pm

    Varshak strides through the bushes and trees, casually waving his hand to blast the low hanging branches from his path until he reaches another break in the trees, a slightly larger clearing than the one he left the Warrior Priest in. This one has many more bodies littering the ground, some in battered and once-shiny silver breastplates and conical helmets, others in the tunic and breeches of archers. All lie dead on the ground, blood soaking faces, chests, legs and arms. Some are missing limbs that are lying elsewhere on the battlefield, and already the crows and ravens are swooping down to eat their fill.

    In the middle of this, the members of The Blood Legion prowl, searching for survivors to put an end to. Most of the band is made up of Northern Marauders, about 100 of them, large, brutish looking men with hard, angular faces and wild eyes. Some of them are clean shaven, some of them not, but all of them share the lack of armour; a pair of breeches and some leather straps criss-crossing across their chests, knives strapped to them. Some carry billhooks, others spears, others flails, some with sword and shield, others with axe, axe and shield or even two axes. They are the ones searching the battlefield for those with only wounds, and they are the ones who are silencing the moans.

    In the middle of the prowling marauders stand the Warriors of Chaos themselves, great, hulking eight-feet tall monstrosities in thick, body-encasing plate armour, painted a grisly shade of red with the golden skull of Khorne emblazoned on their shoulders. Most of them carry large, wicked-looking blades with hooks and shards along with full-body shields that are flat at the top and curve inwards towards the bottom, each of them having a spike in the center for more effective attacks. There are only around 20 of them, but those 20 can easily take on 200 ordinary southerners; although, that isn't saying much, considering how easily these weakling southerners break. They run even at the sight of the paltry 10 Warhounds the band has brought with them. These too, twisted versions of wolves with all manner of horns, fangs and snouts on their leering, evil faces prowl the clearing, taking their fill of the dead.

    All of the warriors are facing inwards, standing in a fairly large circle, and Varshak feels his curiosity pique despite himself. What could possibly hold the attention of these moronic followers of The Blood God?
    He strides over to them, stepping on and over the bodies littering the meadow towards them, clearing his throat as he passes. One of the Warriors looks back, and reluctantly clears a path for the sorcerer. The followers of Khorne dislike Sorcerers immensely, but even the most stubborn follower acknowledges the usefulness, if only in calling daemonic allies.

    Stepping into the center of the circle, he moves to stand beside and behind Garsharak. Garsharak is large, even by Warrior standards, towering a good eight and a half feet, a good foot and a half above Varkash, with large crimson and gold heavy armour. He can still move easily in that, and can wield his twin hand axes with extreme ease. He looks the same as his other warriors, save for the belt full of skulls of champions he's killed- other marauders, Elves, Dwarves, Humans and others- and the helmet shaped in the golden skull of Khorne himself. The eyes seem to glint a dangerous dark, dark red when he speaks, hinting at the perpetual rage buried shallowly in the warlord. Varkash follows him out of necessity, and frequently puts wards on his tent; he doesn't sleep, but he does meditate, and it's a good thing; three times has he caught and prevented a Warrior trying to set fire to his tent, or even barreling in to bring an axe down on his head...once he caught Garsharak himself! Yes, there's no love lost between himself and Garsharak. Garsharak killed his previous Warlord, nothing more.

    Garsharak is observing something at his feet with his usual barely suppressed fury, and Varkash can almost hear the enraged breathing from the Warlord. Varkash takes a slight step forward to get a better look.



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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Eljordo on Tue Feb 15, 2011 5:44 pm

    Aymarr rode alone through the trails of the Empire. His plate armor clanking as his horse walked down the path towards Talabheim. The days have been stretching out, every day his quest became less and less plausable. Still, out of the eight hopefulls sent out from Bretonnia, he was the last that remained. For three years they have been searching, gradually dying off along the way. Brothel was the first to die, he fell from his steed while on the trails, falling to his death. Garren, Horris and Farenov were next, all slain in an ambush by the brutish orcs. Aymarr himself barely escaped from the fight. The others all met diffrent deaths, Donnolai died by the brutal cold in the north, while Jaynor and his steed fell through the ice and drown. Finally, Marikov was stabbed in the back by a bandit here in the empire. Aymarr himself killed three of the dishonorable men before he was forced to disengage.

    Though he was now alone in his travels, his quest was too important to give up on. Apon completing his journey, he would be inducted into the Grail Knights, thus he may serve the Lady of the Lake.
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Capri on Tue Feb 15, 2011 7:39 pm

    The gypsy was talking to the man now. What am I waiting for? Sucking in a breath, she took a couple of quick steps and walked along the other side of the man. Felixa took her chance.

    "Excuse me, sir." she said, accent very thick and Tilean. Her tongue rolled as she spoke and she made her green-gold eyes seemingly friendly.

    Felixa continued after pausing, "I would very much like it if you'd allow me join your caravan...I-" she broke off, trying her best to be polite as she was raised, "I have just been having trouble lately. And I...I can help in anyway you desire. I have...an ability, you can call it." She said referring to her powers. They were quite strong, having practiced them very diligently. She could make someone forget, lose their train of though-and more. This could help if the caravan got into any trouble.

    Felixa raised a dark eyebrow in question, looking to the gypsy and then back to the priest. Footsteps sounded behind her. With a glance back, she saw that yet another girl was running this way. Mio Dio, this poor man.
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Mercy on Tue Feb 15, 2011 7:48 pm

    My eyes drift over to the other woman talking to the man now. She had gifts too, I laugh lightly. I watch her for a moment, taking note she was attempting to be nice.

    "No need to play nice." I say, my voice smoky, and dark. I chuckle and raise an eyebrow.
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Capri on Tue Feb 15, 2011 7:58 pm

    Her dark lips curled into a brief smirk. Ah, so the gypsy had seen through to my eyes. Felixa wasn't hiding much, just being polite. "Manners are to expected from a Tilean like myself, stranger." her words were a tad bit difficult to understand, but they rolled elegantly off her tongue, "May I ask your name?"
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Skye on Tue Feb 15, 2011 8:04 pm

    Nadya slowed her pace as she neared the caravan, turning to a fast walk towards the three girls and a man. She frowned as she realized the odds were not in her favor. She turned to the cart, pulling herself onto it. After all, it was not the man's caravan, but the Merchants. Spotting two men riding along on white horses, she jumped from the wooden cart and ran to them. "Aye, what is a gyp doing here!?" The first man asked, a long graying beard hanging over his large stomach. The other man laughed at his question, taking another sip out of a metal flask as Nadya's hands went to her waist. She took a quick step to the man and raised her hand, ready to light a fire on his beard. She stopped as she pursed her lips, allowing her hand to collapse back to her side.
    "Well, my dear men," she started, using a lustful voice and a devious smile in attempts to fool the men. "I have a proposition for you. I will stay in you caravan if I help protect you." She smirked as the man at the left looked to the bearded one, obviously tricked. She held back a laugh as she realized how easily it was to trick a man.
    "Hm." The bearded man leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at Nadya, obviously questioning the situation. "How do I know you won't gyp us out of our money? Steal a horse?"
    Nadya forced a laugh and spun as she walked along with the horses. "Men, I am not a fool. For I need travel arrangements away from the city. I will get attacked by myself. But if I am in a caravan...it provides safety. I have no need for a horse, as they are useless to me." She stopped turning and looked to the bearded man, her smile still there.
    "You've got yourself a fine deal. But if you dare gyp us out of one cent..." He chuckled and shook his head "Tsk, tsk. You won't see daylight."
    Nadya nodded and quickly thanked the men before running to a cart and pulling herself on top of it. She crossed her legs and looked to the side, watching as the others conversed with the man. She laughed quietly to herself, seeing how easy men could be bent in the presence of a woman.
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Murdoch on Wed Feb 16, 2011 2:22 pm

    The figure at Garsharaks' feet is a pitiful sight, if Varkash could feel pity, huddled into a tiny ball and racked with occasional sobs. Varkash can't help but feel...what's the word? That feeling that some humans regularly have, that feeling where you can't bear to watch them?
    Ah, yes. Contempt. Stupid, weak human, crying when he should be standing tall and fighting to the death. This tiny figure can't be fully grown, but that is no excuse. Even a youngster should be brave; even more so!

    Garsharak is looking at the sobbing creature with a mixture of fury, contempt and his usual bloodlust. Huh. Varkash hadn't thought he could feel that variety of emotions at once; he supposes that his theory that the Warlord has the emotional range of a statue has been blasted to The Realm of Chaos, after all. Still, that is almost as exciting as if his theory had proven to be correct; it means that he isn't done studying pre-civilization Northerners!

    He turns his attention back to the crying figure. Although he is likely to be killed soon, he can at least get something from the pathetic creature before that.
    He kicks it sharply before Garsharak can do so- if he starts it is unlikely that he will stop- and snarls from within his helmet. "Get up!" He snaps sharply at the creature. It only curls up tighter, and Varkash growls, lifting the prisoner up with his magic. The surrounding Warriors shift angrily, and Garsharak glares at him, but they remain silent. They've all seen what he can do, and they have no doubt that attacking him now would mean the end of their campaign to gather blood for Garsharaks ascension.

    The youth is a skinny one, only 16 winters old, with stringy blonde hair and blue eyes now-red from crying. It is a pathetic sight, and one that Varkash plans to put an end to soon.
    "What was a Warrior-Priest and a contingent of Imperial soldiers doing all the way out here?" Varkash demands harshly.
    "I-I d-don't..."
    "Consider your next words carefully," Varkash whispers, voice suddenly dangerously quiet as he steps closer, "For they may be your last."
    The boy swallows, and takes a breath. "Speak!" Varkash demands, and the boy flinches, tears welling up again. Pathetic.
    "I don't know, sir, honest I don't, I was only taken along because I saw something that they wanted to know about, up at the farm over on the hill, I don't know what it was but they seemed interested and then they took a detour because the Priest said he sensed something...." The boy babbles in a rush. Varkash simply nods slowly.

    Garsharak steps in, voice loud and angry. "Maggot!" He shouts, forcing the boy to flinch. "Tell us where this item was and I may show mercy on you!" Yeah right. Mercy being killing him quickly. "And for Khornes sake, stop your pathetic snivelling!"
    Varkash, puts a hand up, and Garsharak subsides, somewhat angrily. Time to get to the bottom of this.



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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Mercy on Wed Feb 16, 2011 3:10 pm

    I hear someone sweep through and jump ontop of the caravan. I sigh, debating if I should look over or not. But curiosity kills the cat slowly and I decide to look at the new intruder. My eyes drift up to the woman upon the caravan and I chuckle.

    "Nadya." I say, my voice is dark, humorous, a smile creeps onto my lips slowly, "Long time no see." I raise an eyebrow at her.
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Eljordo on Wed Feb 16, 2011 3:47 pm

    Aymarr continues down the path. The cool air whisping through the small crack in his plate helmet. a caravan came into view in front of him, travelers no doubt. what he saw next came as a shock, a warrior priest of Sigmar leading the group. Though he was not one of his own, he could be of use to him. Aymarr raised his arm.

    "Ho there! Priest!"
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    Allen
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Allen on Wed Feb 16, 2011 5:56 pm

    I leaned against a small cairn of rocks on the exterior of the wall.

    I looked at my hands quietly.

    Two.. No three men dead. I had to remember who I killed? What was happening.

    "We did what we had to." I said quietly to myself, while sweat mixing with blood slipped down my forehead. I wiped the sticky mess away and pulled down my hood and bandana. I breathed in the fresh summer air. The birds chirped merrily, and the buzz of insects in the fields and small copse of woods north of me had it's branches sway gently in the wind. I pulled off my leather gauntlet and rubbed my eyes.

    Quiet now. Where was Elsa? I thought to myself.

    Again, I heard the tell-tale sound of light footsteps on the dying grass.

    "Father?" Elsa's sweet voice asked. She sounded upset. She was always upset when she seen me upset.

    "What is it Elsa?" I asked, my mind ran through memories of the fight. The messy cleave I delivered to the man. The image of his splintered jaw and cheek bone. Then the dark red blood spilling from the deathblow.

    I noticed Elsa wince.

    She didn't speak however.

    I closed my eyes again, and opened them. She disappeared.

    For a moment I questioned myself. What was I doing? I thought back to the betrayal. The death of my wife. The memories were hazy. I purposefully pushed them back.

    That voice in my head came back. Screaming at the top of it's lungs. It grew louder. I couldn't block it out. I started shouting back. Against it's growing volume.

    I covered my ears and slipped from maturity into a dark place. I felt pain, cold stone. Tears. Anger. The embrace of something dark within me.

    I screamed until my voice was hoarse. To block back the images. What I knew to be true.

    I started coughing and stopped screaming. I rolled onto my side. The birds weren't chirping anymore.

    I was alone. Elsa must have run off my mind rationalized. I closed my eyes, and listened to the dying echo of my shouting.
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Murdoch on Wed Feb 16, 2011 6:28 pm

    "You will show us where the item is," Varkash says quietly, dangerously, "or things will not be pleasant for you."
    The boy pales and nods furiously, and Varkash releases him from his bonds. He collapses to his knees, then looks up fearfully. "Go on." Varkash says simply, and the boy takes that as his cue to run for it. Varkash nods after the boy, and a pair of Warriors peel off to follow him towards the farm and the item. Varkash highly doubts that it is anything of any value, but it is better safe than sorry.

    Garsharak turns on Varkash swiftly. "How DARE you Sorcerer!" he roars, taking a step forwards, "You presume to stride in here and take my authority for your own?! I should gut you right here you worthless, cowardly Maggot! I can always find another Sorcerer to do my will!"
    "Where?" Varkash says the word quietly, without emotion, and it has more effect on Garsharak than a shout ever could. The tone...it felt like a physical blow against the Warlord, laden with power and authority. He hesitates, and Varkash continues.
    "Where would you find another Sorcerer powerful enough this far south? We both know that I am the most powerful Sorcerer not involved in a major Warband."
    Garsharak snarls at that comment, and draws himself up. "How DARE you call my force weak! We are Champions of the Blood God! We gather Skulls for His Throne, Blood for His Cup! We Are Unbeatable!" A loud cheer erupts from surrounding men, a deafening one that sends several birds flocking from the trees nearby. Varkash doesn't even flinch.

    "No." The word cuts through the cheers, silencing them instantly, restoring the deathly quiet. "No," he repeats, "you are not. There are Warbands far stronger than yours, and we both know that you will not kill me until after your Daemonhood has been granted. I took over questioning because this could be of some import, and you would have killed that pitiful whelp before he could tell us out of your temper. No, don't deny it," he adds as he sees the Warlord gathering breath for a protest, "You are a follower of The Great God Khorne, so you will have a temper. Now. I suggest we follow that boy and see what he found. Maybe it could help us-"

    A sound interrupts Varkash's orders, and he turns around, his back to the obviously enraged Garsharak. There, stalking across the battlefield, is one of Varkash's scouts that he sent out earlier. Tall and dressed entirely in dark flowing robes and turban, the 'Heretic' scout, as the Empire calls them, glides to a halt before Varkash. Ignoring all others present, he knees before the Sorcerer.
    "My Lord..." he rasps, his voice the sound of a dagger being drawn from its sheath, "I have news...a Warrior Priest is approaching, leading a caravan of several merchants and other creatures of interest." Creatures of interest? As in Creatures of Magic? This could be interesting.

    "When will they be passing by?" Varkash demands.
    "In a matter of minutes. They do not appear to have heard the ruckus that the men just made, however, so it should be easy to lay an ambush...."
    Garsharak steps forwards. "Yes! We shall bathe our blades in their blood again today! Let the Empire fear Garsharak The Bloodthirsty, Scourge of The Empire!" The Warriors begin to cheer again, but are cut of swiftly by Varkash.

    "No. Warrior Priests hardly ever go anywhere without reason. We must discover where they are going."
    "Bah! More trickery, Sorcerer?" Spits Garsharak. He never was much of a thinker.
    "You could call it that, yes. But look at it this way...this way, you could end up with thousands to butcher instead of hundreds. Your Daemonhood would be assured."
    Garsharak sniggers evilly at that, looking at his men. Yes, Varkash thought that would appeal to him. Now just to plan the infiltration...



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    Capri
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Capri on Wed Feb 16, 2011 6:51 pm

    With one more glance to the gypsy who hadn't answered her, Felixa gave a slight nod, then turned to walk to the caravan. She chose a car with the least people in it, and there happened to be the gypsy from earlier sitting atop it.

    This reminded Felixa of when she was little, and used to climb olive trees. She wondered if she'd ever see home again, ever be safe. Probably not.

    Felixa hadn't really grown impatient with the Priest, she just got the vibe that it was alright. So, walking quickly up to the caravan, a couple of men in rags acknowledged her. Felixa gave a quick, but fake smile and disappeared to the back of the car. There was a thick railing and a small ledge next to the door of the car. She swung herself over the railing, and felt the rhythmic beat of the wheels rolling along the dirt road. Felixa pulled herself up on the railing, then leaned against the wood paneling of the caravan car. One of her sandal-strapped legs dangled off the railing, revealing the slightly sun-kissed skin of her knee to her ankle from under her white tunic. She sighed.

    Leaning her dark-haired head back, Felixa's golden-green eyes fluttered closed as she tried to calm herself. Try to get her mind off things. A small, undetectable orb of her Magic glowed around her, setting her into a trance and making her aura a tad bit brighter. No, this could not be seen by anyone but her. Unless another had the same skills as Felixa, but she'd never met anyone that did.

    Felixa had noted the other's auras earlier. She'd be keeping a trained eye on them. But now, to stop worrying. Stop scanning the forest and relax. It is daytime. I have my knife., she thought to herself. She knew it wouldn't do much, but she relied on her Powers more. The Powers were her life.
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    Re: March to Talabheim

    Post by Banather on Wed Feb 16, 2011 7:11 pm

    Up ahead, a heavily armoured man rode into view on a strong looking horse. The heraldry on his shield, and the style of his armour spoke of ethnic origin. Konrad recognized the lettering on the shield as Breton, a language he himself did not understand. The priest raised his hand, signalling the caravan to halt it's progression. He muttered a slight curse to himself, before calling out to the new stranger.

    "Hello there, Knight of Bretonnia. What brings you here, into the heart of Sigmar's Empire?" He called out.

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