Fantasy /Detailed] The Guild

[Ayane]

Thanks for having interest in this RP!

The Twin Dragons Guild was the mightiest guild in all of Ellon. It brought many adventurers, mercenaries, scholars, and adepts alike in one unified guild. As years passed, the guild broke apart due to the debate over who truly ruled the guild.


My character, Ariella Silverwood, forms the guild again and welcomes anyone that meets the requirements to join.


Later, they will encounter strange occurances where there are raids of monsters. Explained further in overview - "Plot" tab.

​

 

[opyim]

Our prosperous regime of fabled myths and monumental legends within the disconsolate instance of our time, our arduous existence in which mothers and maidens slit their wrists professing sacrifice and benevolent reverence to predictable and doubtful divinities toward the empyrean heavens above and vague amorphous depths of the perdition below, even to the gloam and dispiriting limbo of purgatory inbetween had mortal entities decades and milleniums scouring for an answer of whose fit for worship to venerate. Alas the antagonistic brawn of evolving warfare sought merely the pathetic crusade of ethnic cleansing, exterminating those less cultured into submission. A swift rejoinder, a guttural resolution.


"War," spoke elders, their ancient heads hung bowed with either weariness or in respective prayer within the candle-lit hearthfire halls.


A woeful dilemma - and a tragic omission... this only beguiled the fateful omen of conjuring unwordly enigmas from the daemon hellscapes below. The people speak of hope - not yet depraved of wonders in this uncertain time.


Yet Etral is in flux, it's people cower from the forthcoming mongrel hordes of sagacious Orcs and devastating daemon.


Though, with the right ruler, one to provide just enough spark that the people need to proceed shall Etral and her eternal alliances prevail.


We are not without hope.


A thundering, cacophonous stampede of hooves slammed into the subtle mire, the defiling scum of mortal putrefaction lay dispersed in an array of slaughtered cruor and butchered carnage. The abominable scent of pestilence lingered over their rotting cadavers. Amidst the whimpers and lamentations of men, their features contort though an excruciating fluorescence of expressions. They displayed grief and torment, their inflicted wounds plead for alleviation. The minor cavalry then trot respectively, loathing the abhorred implores of wounded men as their stallions respired casual exertions.


The mounted men then began to canter within the dissipating blanket of mist as it trailed yonder the sway of their stallions, they rode hard toward the nearest roadside tavern, tethering their horses to the situated stands and then, with readied hands on the hilt of their gilded steel, entered the roadside tavern...

 

[opyim]

[no one is rp'ing ;^


Within, the astounding, cordial structure of the tavern was one to behold. It was no contrast from the exterior, homely and congenial. It appeared remarkable and pleasant, finely kept. An arrangement of stacked cobblestone and bronzed, spruce tree trunks make up most of the building's outer structure, supporting the golden thatched roof above. The stained, glass windows melt into their frames with intricate pleasing, detail as a lenient, tranquil stream of a golden haze flushed through the apertures and onto the narrowed gravel pathway. Inside yonder heavy planks fastened to one another and bolt to make the door, the scent of ale and mead is striking, almost pleasuring. It was a comforting atmosphere, those present were either engaged in hushed conversation or leaned over the bar, heads stooped over their ales and arms rest on the splintered table. Their gaze caught in a daydream.


One of the four mounted riders haggardly pressured the door open with some strain, granting them entrance.


"Hail friend!" called the tavern keeper, a rotund, jolly fellow with rosy cheek bones and squashed face, his head vacant of any hair. He wore a coarse, stained brown cardigan with leather patches on the chest, then a finely attired garment of a wool-white apron.


"We have food and ales, all for a reasonable price!" he merrily chimed, wiping the condensation from within the flask cupped under his arm with a light-grey rag. He smiled at them.


The soldiers greet the bartender with a sly, deceitful expression, as if scheming a devious proposal.


"We'll 'av som' venison," he spoke, the soldier deposit a minor, thick leather purse upon the table. The tavern-keeper unburden the lace and withdrew the coins, pushing back a vacated purse with a nod. He beckoned his daughter with a motion of his hand, whom straddled over. The soldiers eyed her.


In her silver, decorated platter there were slices of crimson, tender venison, glazed with honey and seasoned with mint. Her bangs fell gracefully, brushing past her cheek, then immediately feathered her brunette strands back behind her ear.


"You know," a soldier spoke with a Northern accent, "'all 'av som' barrels of wine for me lads," he smiled.


The tavern keeper chuckled to himself, holding his belly.


"Of course friend, have you the money for such a request?"


"No - but we 'av steel," suddenly, the cheerful and benevolent atmosphere was now a eerie, evocative past reminder of what was. The tension was unnerving as they held a stoic glare with the tavern-keeper.


"Aye and yer' daughter," the third soldier snarled through gritted teeth, his hand grasping her bottom and clasping, jerking her into his lap as she gave out a sudden timid shriek, confounded.


The tavern keeper scowled, louring at the men helpless.


"N-Now now lads, we don't want any trouble-"


"Shut yer' fockin' trap!" he retort, slamming his fist upon the oak table.


The door was perceived as its joints creak, distilling the atmosphere further, moaning against the rustic hinges before striking shut with a hefty impact as patrons abandon their tables and left.


They snickered, beginning to cause a raucous disturbance, hollering obscene profanities and distributing the girl among themselves for their own perverted pleasures. Tears began to mutely stream down her warm cheeks just as a brief hissing of glacial winds were heeded as the door crashed shut. They turned, peering at man clad six-foot in armour, merely a silhouette amongst the candlelight.


They all tensed, staring with dread.


The man emerged from the doorway, hauling himself a stool and seating himself next to the soldiers. They all glowered at his intrusion, then exchanged concerned glances, noticing his dispassionate and expressionless mantle, the mask upon his face. It was disturbing, unsettling how it just stared. An unresponsive, extinct contemplation. They shuffled, inhaling a transient gasp before exhaling the words, and raising a flagon.


"Wanna' join us mate?" the soldier offered as the contents spilled, brushing over like minor waves off the edge, then trailing with one coalition of ale, leaving a dark streak down the wooden flagon.


"Melmoth..." mumbled a few perplexed, dazed patrons whom remained.


He gradually revolved, glancing.


His features were defined by the reverent flicker of the gleaming candle and its luminescence, a balmy warmth accumulating upon the countenance of his armour. The side in which they regard one another had embraced a sultry and temperament warmth, divulging a deep red and orange glow. The incandescence and phosphorescent radiance deceived the expression of the soldier, appearing to make him seemingly petrified.


Melmoth grumbled an ephemeral chuckle, clenching his fists.


The leather of his gauntlets squealed lowly, then loosened.


"You think you're a hard man," he groaned, resonating as a cavernous chunter, reverberating from the metal. There was a momentary pause, yet before it could attain no more the soldier broke the unbearable silence.


"You know it's warm in 'ere, a nice place to rest an' settle down friend... and all you want, is to put one of us in the fucking ground-"


Melmoth gyrate and lurched at his collar, grappling his neck and seizing the Eltran soldier's throat with an agonizing clasp. He growled from the back of his throat and through gritted teeth.


"Not one, but all your pathetic fucking retinue in the shitting ground," his frigid, bitter cold mantle of the mask staring without emotion, without empathy shook him.


Then,


the resonance of a blade shrieking from it's scabbard...


[fuck too long.

 

[Ayane]

[no one is rp'ing ;^
Within, the astounding, cordial structure of the tavern was one to behold. It was no contrast from the exterior, homely and congenial. It appeared remarkable and pleasant, finely kept. An arrangement of stacked cobblestone and bronzed, spruce tree trunks make up most of the building's outer structure, supporting the golden thatched roof above. The stained, glass windows melt into their frames with intricate pleasing, detail as a lenient, tranquil stream of a golden haze flushed through the apertures and onto the narrowed gravel pathway. Inside yonder heavy planks fastened to one another and bolt to make the door, the scent of ale and mead is striking, almost pleasuring. It was a comforting atmosphere, those present were either engaged in hushed conversation or leaned over the bar, heads stooped over their ales and arms rest on the splintered table. Their gaze caught in a daydream.


One of the four mounted riders haggardly pressured the door open with some strain, granting them entrance.


"Hail friend!" called the tavern keeper, a rotund, jolly fellow with rosy cheek bones and squashed face, his head vacant of any hair. He wore a coarse, stained brown cardigan with leather patches on the chest, then a finely attired garment of a wool-white apron.


"We have food and ales, all for a reasonable price!" he merrily chimed, wiping the condensation from within the flask cupped under his arm with a light-grey rag. He smiled at them.


The soldiers greet the bartender with a sly, deceitful expression, as if scheming a devious proposal.


"We'll 'av som' venison," he spoke, the soldier deposit a minor, thick leather purse upon the table. The tavern-keeper unburden the lace and withdrew the coins, pushing back a vacated purse with a nod. He beckoned his daughter with a motion of his hand, whom straddled over. The soldiers eyed her.


In her silver, decorated platter there were slices of crimson, tender venison, glazed with honey and seasoned with mint. Her bangs fell gracefully, brushing past her cheek, then immediately feathered her brunette strands back behind her ear.


"You know," a soldier spoke with a Northern accent, "'all 'av som' barrels of wine for me lads," he smiled.


The tavern keeper chuckled to himself, holding his belly.


"Of course friend, have you the money for such a request?"


"No - but we 'av steel," suddenly, the cheerful and benevolent atmosphere was now a eerie, evocative past reminder of what was. The tension was unnerving as they held a stoic glare with the tavern-keeper.


"Aye and yer' daughter," the third soldier snarled through gritted teeth, his hand grasping her bottom and clasping, jerking her into his lap as she gave out a sudden timid shriek, confounded.


The tavern keeper scowled, louring at the men helpless.


"N-Now now lads, we don't want any trouble-"


"Shut yer' fockin' trap!" he retort, slamming his fist upon the oak table.


The door was perceived as its joints creak, distilling the atmosphere further, moaning against the rustic hinges before striking shut with a hefty impact as patrons abandon their tables and left.


They snickered, beginning to cause a raucous disturbance, hollering obscene profanities and distributing the girl among themselves for their own perverted pleasures. Tears began to mutely stream down her warm cheeks just as a brief hissing of glacial winds were heeded as the door crashed shut. They turned, peering at man clad six-foot in armour, merely a silhouette amongst the candlelight.


They all tensed, staring with dread.


The man emerged from the doorway, hauling himself a stool and seating himself next to the soldiers. They all glowered at his intrusion, then exchanged concerned glances, noticing his dispassionate and expressionless mantle, the mask upon his face. It was disturbing, unsettling how it just stared. An unresponsive, extinct contemplation. They shuffled, inhaling a transient gasp before exhaling the words, and raising a flagon.


"Wanna' join us mate?" the soldier offered as the contents spilled, brushing over like minor waves off the edge, then trailing with one coalition of ale, leaving a dark streak down the wooden flagon.


"Melmoth..." mumbled a few perplexed, dazed patrons whom remained.


He gradually revolved, glancing.


His features were defined by the reverent flicker of the gleaming candle and its luminescence, a balmy warmth accumulating upon the countenance of his armour. The side in which they regard one another had embraced a sultry and temperament warmth, divulging a deep red and orange glow. The incandescence and phosphorescent radiance deceived the expression of the soldier, appearing to make him seemingly petrified.


Melmoth grumbled an ephemeral chuckle, clenching his fists.


The leather of his gauntlets squealed lowly, then loosened.


"You think you're a hard man," he groaned, resonating as a cavernous chunter, reverberating from the metal. There was a momentary pause, yet before it could attain no more the soldier broke the unbearable silence.


"You know it's warm in 'ere, a nice place to rest an' settle down friend... and all you want, is to put one of us in the fucking ground-"


Melmoth gyrate and lurched at his collar, grappling his neck and seizing the Eltran soldier's throat with an agonizing clasp. He growled from the back of his throat and through gritted teeth.


"Not one, but all your pathetic fucking retinue in the shitting ground," his frigid, bitter cold mantle of the mask staring without emotion, without empathy shook him.


Then,


the resonance of a blade shrieking from it's scabbard...


[fuck too long.

(Psst, you didnt tag anyone )

 

[Ayane]

[no one is rp'ing ;^
Within, the astounding, cordial structure of the tavern was one to behold. It was no contrast from the exterior, homely and congenial. It appeared remarkable and pleasant, finely kept. An arrangement of stacked cobblestone and bronzed, spruce tree trunks make up most of the building's outer structure, supporting the golden thatched roof above. The stained, glass windows melt into their frames with intricate pleasing, detail as a lenient, tranquil stream of a golden haze flushed through the apertures and onto the narrowed gravel pathway. Inside yonder heavy planks fastened to one another and bolt to make the door, the scent of ale and mead is striking, almost pleasuring. It was a comforting atmosphere, those present were either engaged in hushed conversation or leaned over the bar, heads stooped over their ales and arms rest on the splintered table. Their gaze caught in a daydream.


One of the four mounted riders haggardly pressured the door open with some strain, granting them entrance.


"Hail friend!" called the tavern keeper, a rotund, jolly fellow with rosy cheek bones and squashed face, his head vacant of any hair. He wore a coarse, stained brown cardigan with leather patches on the chest, then a finely attired garment of a wool-white apron.


"We have food and ales, all for a reasonable price!" he merrily chimed, wiping the condensation from within the flask cupped under his arm with a light-grey rag. He smiled at them.


The soldiers greet the bartender with a sly, deceitful expression, as if scheming a devious proposal.


"We'll 'av som' venison," he spoke, the soldier deposit a minor, thick leather purse upon the table. The tavern-keeper unburden the lace and withdrew the coins, pushing back a vacated purse with a nod. He beckoned his daughter with a motion of his hand, whom straddled over. The soldiers eyed her.


In her silver, decorated platter there were slices of crimson, tender venison, glazed with honey and seasoned with mint. Her bangs fell gracefully, brushing past her cheek, then immediately feathered her brunette strands back behind her ear.


"You know," a soldier spoke with a Northern accent, "'all 'av som' barrels of wine for me lads," he smiled.


The tavern keeper chuckled to himself, holding his belly.


"Of course friend, have you the money for such a request?"


"No - but we 'av steel," suddenly, the cheerful and benevolent atmosphere was now a eerie, evocative past reminder of what was. The tension was unnerving as they held a stoic glare with the tavern-keeper.


"Aye and yer' daughter," the third soldier snarled through gritted teeth, his hand grasping her bottom and clasping, jerking her into his lap as she gave out a sudden timid shriek, confounded.


The tavern keeper scowled, louring at the men helpless.


"N-Now now lads, we don't want any trouble-"


"Shut yer' fockin' trap!" he retort, slamming his fist upon the oak table.


The door was perceived as its joints creak, distilling the atmosphere further, moaning against the rustic hinges before striking shut with a hefty impact as patrons abandon their tables and left.


They snickered, beginning to cause a raucous disturbance, hollering obscene profanities and distributing the girl among themselves for their own perverted pleasures. Tears began to mutely stream down her warm cheeks just as a brief hissing of glacial winds were heeded as the door crashed shut. They turned, peering at man clad six-foot in armour, merely a silhouette amongst the candlelight.


They all tensed, staring with dread.


The man emerged from the doorway, hauling himself a stool and seating himself next to the soldiers. They all glowered at his intrusion, then exchanged concerned glances, noticing his dispassionate and expressionless mantle, the mask upon his face. It was disturbing, unsettling how it just stared. An unresponsive, extinct contemplation. They shuffled, inhaling a transient gasp before exhaling the words, and raising a flagon.


"Wanna' join us mate?" the soldier offered as the contents spilled, brushing over like minor waves off the edge, then trailing with one coalition of ale, leaving a dark streak down the wooden flagon.


"Melmoth..." mumbled a few perplexed, dazed patrons whom remained.


He gradually revolved, glancing.


His features were defined by the reverent flicker of the gleaming candle and its luminescence, a balmy warmth accumulating upon the countenance of his armour. The side in which they regard one another had embraced a sultry and temperament warmth, divulging a deep red and orange glow. The incandescence and phosphorescent radiance deceived the expression of the soldier, appearing to make him seemingly petrified.


Melmoth grumbled an ephemeral chuckle, clenching his fists.


The leather of his gauntlets squealed lowly, then loosened.


"You think you're a hard man," he groaned, resonating as a cavernous chunter, reverberating from the metal. There was a momentary pause, yet before it could attain no more the soldier broke the unbearable silence.


"You know it's warm in 'ere, a nice place to rest an' settle down friend... and all you want, is to put one of us in the fucking ground-"


Melmoth gyrate and lurched at his collar, grappling his neck and seizing the Eltran soldier's throat with an agonizing clasp. He growled from the back of his throat and through gritted teeth.


"Not one, but all your pathetic fucking retinue in the shitting ground," his frigid, bitter cold mantle of the mask staring without emotion, without empathy shook him.


Then,


the resonance of a blade shrieking from it's scabbard...


[fuck too long.

( your post is so detailed, my god I can't write like that, but I'll try )


An adult female gazes at the scene before her---soldiers thinking they actually owned each place they walked into. She can take each one of them out in the shadows if she wanted to---well not really, but it was fun to daydream about. She drinks the alcohol, before slamming it against the wooden table. She wanted to deal with these bastards. The female glanced at all the odd expressions the people of the bar had when the door creaked open. She honestly didn't recognize the individual---perhaps if she had a closer look she would remember. The female crossed her arms as the armored man confronted the soldiers, mentally applauding him for his actions. The girl stopped this as she reached for his blade. She pushes herself away from the wooden table, the chair making a loud and disturbingly noise.


"Blood isn't going to drawn in a place like this, sir. Put away your blade if you know best." The girl spoke as her her armor clacked as she crossed her arms. Though the man was taller than her, she kept her stance. Her elven ears were shown as her hair was back in a ponytail, creating for emphasis to her lavender colored orbs.


( @DeviousDilbert @Blue Fire @SP3CT3R @

 

[RaikuKawisa]

Roman sighed with relief as he passed the walls of the town he had been travelling towards for the past few weeks. Luckily the wages from the caravan he had been escorting was enough to fun his little adventure through the drivers were sad to see him go. After He brought down a trio of harpies seeking to making a quick meal of the drivers and their horses in the middle of the night, they were exceedingly kind to him, but traveling from town to town on the same roads over and over was making Roman bored. Luckily one of the towns they stopped at heard a rumor of a long dead guild looking for new members. So he left the caravan and now finally made his way to the town where the Guild was supposed to be forming.


A quick glance at the sliver of sun that still showed over the horizon told him that searching for the Guild Hall at this time of night would not be wise. Walking up to one of the gatekeepers, who were about to start blocking off this gate for the night, he asked them, "I'm in need of a place to rest for the evening as well as some warm food. Whats the best place in town for such a thing?"


The guard looked up from his duties and took in the sight of the stranger before him. Dressed in leather armor dyed black, it wasn't the armor of any of the local militias or mercenary groups and the great bow made of bone with equally large arrows strung in a quiver almost hidden behind the dark cloak also discredited the thought that this was a common foot soldier. "The tavern is just down the road. Can't miss it. Try to avoid making trouble, we have enough to worry about than random strangers causing issues." The guard told the hunter.


"Thanks for the information," Roman replied fishing in a belt pouch for a moment before tossing the guard a coin. "For your next drink at the tavern." The guard bowed his head and went back to back to work clearing the gate of anything that would clutter the entrance.


Roman walked down the road the guard gestured to and found the old, but welcoming sign on the outside of the tavern. The entire place had a warm atmosphere to it, even in the dying light of the sun. With a smile on his face he pushed open the door expecting the inside to be as welcoming as the outside... What he got was a different story. The atmosphere inside was so thick he doubted one of his arrows could even pierce it. He shut the door behind him and took a seat to watch the events unfold, he would hate to inconvenience the guard's day after being told not to cause trouble. Besides, In a cramped enclosed space like this his bow would be rather challenging to use effectively.

 

[RaikuKawisa]

@Ayane @Opium


Forgot the tags O.o

 

[akumashioni]

[no one is rp'ing ;^
Within, the astounding, cordial structure of the tavern was one to behold. It was no contrast from the exterior, homely and congenial. It appeared remarkable and pleasant, finely kept. An arrangement of stacked cobblestone and bronzed, spruce tree trunks make up most of the building's outer structure, supporting the golden thatched roof above. The stained, glass windows melt into their frames with intricate pleasing, detail as a lenient, tranquil stream of a golden haze flushed through the apertures and onto the narrowed gravel pathway. Inside yonder heavy planks fastened to one another and bolt to make the door, the scent of ale and mead is striking, almost pleasuring. It was a comforting atmosphere, those present were either engaged in hushed conversation or leaned over the bar, heads stooped over their ales and arms rest on the splintered table. Their gaze caught in a daydream.


One of the four mounted riders haggardly pressured the door open with some strain, granting them entrance.


"Hail friend!" called the tavern keeper, a rotund, jolly fellow with rosy cheek bones and squashed face, his head vacant of any hair. He wore a coarse, stained brown cardigan with leather patches on the chest, then a finely attired garment of a wool-white apron.


"We have food and ales, all for a reasonable price!" he merrily chimed, wiping the condensation from within the flask cupped under his arm with a light-grey rag. He smiled at them.


The soldiers greet the bartender with a sly, deceitful expression, as if scheming a devious proposal.


"We'll 'av som' venison," he spoke, the soldier deposit a minor, thick leather purse upon the table. The tavern-keeper unburden the lace and withdrew the coins, pushing back a vacated purse with a nod. He beckoned his daughter with a motion of his hand, whom straddled over. The soldiers eyed her.


In her silver, decorated platter there were slices of crimson, tender venison, glazed with honey and seasoned with mint. Her bangs fell gracefully, brushing past her cheek, then immediately feathered her brunette strands back behind her ear.


"You know," a soldier spoke with a Northern accent, "'all 'av som' barrels of wine for me lads," he smiled.


The tavern keeper chuckled to himself, holding his belly.


"Of course friend, have you the money for such a request?"


"No - but we 'av steel," suddenly, the cheerful and benevolent atmosphere was now a eerie, evocative past reminder of what was. The tension was unnerving as they held a stoic glare with the tavern-keeper.


"Aye and yer' daughter," the third soldier snarled through gritted teeth, his hand grasping her bottom and clasping, jerking her into his lap as she gave out a sudden timid shriek, confounded.


The tavern keeper scowled, louring at the men helpless.


"N-Now now lads, we don't want any trouble-"


"Shut yer' fockin' trap!" he retort, slamming his fist upon the oak table.


The door was perceived as its joints creak, distilling the atmosphere further, moaning against the rustic hinges before striking shut with a hefty impact as patrons abandon their tables and left.


They snickered, beginning to cause a raucous disturbance, hollering obscene profanities and distributing the girl among themselves for their own perverted pleasures. Tears began to mutely stream down her warm cheeks just as a brief hissing of glacial winds were heeded as the door crashed shut. They turned, peering at man clad six-foot in armour, merely a silhouette amongst the candlelight.


They all tensed, staring with dread.


The man emerged from the doorway, hauling himself a stool and seating himself next to the soldiers. They all glowered at his intrusion, then exchanged concerned glances, noticing his dispassionate and expressionless mantle, the mask upon his face. It was disturbing, unsettling how it just stared. An unresponsive, extinct contemplation. They shuffled, inhaling a transient gasp before exhaling the words, and raising a flagon.


"Wanna' join us mate?" the soldier offered as the contents spilled, brushing over like minor waves off the edge, then trailing with one coalition of ale, leaving a dark streak down the wooden flagon.


"Melmoth..." mumbled a few perplexed, dazed patrons whom remained.


He gradually revolved, glancing.


His features were defined by the reverent flicker of the gleaming candle and its luminescence, a balmy warmth accumulating upon the countenance of his armour. The side in which they regard one another had embraced a sultry and temperament warmth, divulging a deep red and orange glow. The incandescence and phosphorescent radiance deceived the expression of the soldier, appearing to make him seemingly petrified.


Melmoth grumbled an ephemeral chuckle, clenching his fists.


The leather of his gauntlets squealed lowly, then loosened.


"You think you're a hard man," he groaned, resonating as a cavernous chunter, reverberating from the metal. There was a momentary pause, yet before it could attain no more the soldier broke the unbearable silence.


"You know it's warm in 'ere, a nice place to rest an' settle down friend... and all you want, is to put one of us in the fucking ground-"


Melmoth gyrate and lurched at his collar, grappling his neck and seizing the Eltran soldier's throat with an agonizing clasp. He growled from the back of his throat and through gritted teeth.


"Not one, but all your pathetic fucking retinue in the shitting ground," his frigid, bitter cold mantle of the mask staring without emotion, without empathy shook him.


Then,


the resonance of a blade shrieking from it's scabbard...


[fuck too long.

(Yeaaaaaa....)

 

[Blu3]

Aioki had just recently got into the town of Capalidi and was looking for a place to stay. She was asking around for a place to stay and people said to find the tavern that she was now heading to. She had came to look for a guild called The Twin Dragons guild. She had heard rumors that it was recently heard that it was being refounded by a new owner. She walk to the tavern and heard some noise's and she carefully walked in and stood to the side and wondered what was happening.


She had managed to get a idea on what was happening. There was a few group of people who seemed to be causing trouble to the bar owner and she saw a girl who looked young and looked like the tavern owner being forced to sit on a guys lap. There was guy drawing his sword threating the guys and a girl who looked pretty young trying to stop him. She went for her sword not pulling it out all the way but getting ready if someone attacked each other.

 

[SP3CT3R]

Romulus had wandered the whole town trying to find where the recruits for the guild were supposed to meet. He'd asked around and none of the residents of the town knew either. Eventually, he came across a tavern. There were lots of people in the street who stopped to stare. Out of curiosity, Romulus let himself in. Inside awaited more staring. There was a small group of people staring each other down, and everyone else was staring at the table in fear. "Wow, you could cut the tension in here with the badass swords that are gonna be drawn in a few seconds," Romulus quipped.


((Intro posts are hardly my forte, sorry.))

 

[Clairvoyance]

_____


___


_________


Venus

_________


___


_____


Bright yellow eyes surveyed the scene before them, darting from one person to the next as the soldiers carefully considered their next moves. A big brute of a man had challenged them head on, ready to slice and dice, while a half-Elf had stood up and forbade violence. Three others happened to come inside the tavern then as well, all capable-looking characters who looked ready to go if a battle ensued.


Venus, on the other hand, was sitting at a small table near the door, feet comfortably propped up on the adjacent chair as she observed the bystanders' attitudes towards the ill-mannered men. She'd never been one for bar fights, but now was as good a time as any to cause a ruckus. "I'll have to disagree with you, ma'am. These men need to be taught a lesson." Her words rang loudly in the stark silence of the room, and her boots hitting the floor even louder. "After all, we all just wanted something to drink, and in they come causing such a disturbance for the good people of this town."


The Elf grabbed her bow from the table, nocking an arrow and pulling back to remain half-drawn. "If you aim to teach them not to fuck with civilians, then I'm with you, sir." The corners of her mouth turned up, forming a wolf's grin as she slowly paced back and forth, waiting for something to happen.

(Not my best opener, but eh...it'll suffice. And by the way, @Blue Fire

 

[Devious Dilbert]

The day was young and the sun was raised as if it were the flag of Ellon as a whole.


There was a man who had journeyed for a time in between three and four years, and had no specific destination.


His only purpose was to see the world and to write home about it.


He had a life of his own. He wanted to live it to the fullest. He wanted to see the world through unbiased eyes.


An ex-soldier, he was, a man with a past that was bound to him. No matter how far he had traveled from his origins, the burdens from long past were always creeping along with him. No matter how much of the world he had touched, his horizons remained undefined. But this pleased him.


He craved an adventure. He longed for experience and knowledge. He desired to escape the boundaries of his own mentally-induced confinement.


His whole life was war-oriented. From his beginning and probably to his end, it will always be. This was how he thought.


And so, he wanted to distract himself. Of course, distractions were only temporary relief.


War, when hearing, has no impact on those who did not participate. It inspires nothing, nor arouses any emotion.


War, when living, leaves no chance of freedom. It will force a man to remember each and every of his scars.


And his name was Serna.


It was an insignificant detail. And the man had interrupted his set course of travel to stop at a small town that had reminded him of home.


Perhaps visiting a place that brought him comfort would ease his conscious.


Serna, being the man that he was, was always looking for opportunities to wind down and relax.


He should be restocking on supplies for the road like any good soldier, but those days were long since gone.


Instead, he decided to drop by the most fun-looking joint in town. The boisterous tavern, of course.


But once he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, he quickly realized that he would be rewarded no rest for his exhausting journey.


Serna had stumbled into some kind of skirmish.


A woman with a bow in her hand and an arrow aimed at three soldiers, Eltran, stood straight and bold.


A large- humongous- man was also physically threatening them.


Without much thought or hesitation, Serna spoke, intrigued, "What is the matter, here? What is the disturbance?"


His hand hovered over to the sheathed blades at his waist. He was not going to draw without reason, but it was a precaution that he always took.


His ex-soldier instincts had kicked in. It was not his place to enforce peace anymore, but the inculcation to keep public order from his past training had led him to act this way.

 

[Comet]

Caroline walked quietly through a garden that was outside her castle like home. Her hands folded neatly together in front of her as her feet made soft squishing noises on the grass, two maids walking behind her and ready to be at her beckoning call. She had a lot on her mind today, and a lot that was going on today.


Of course, she didn't want to attend what would be happening today, hearing that the guild was being put back together. She was anxious to leave and rejoin the group, but as mother said, "you're staying here and attending your duties." Duties that she didn't want. She would have to find a way to sneak away tonight, seeming as her family was holding a huge banquet for a award her father received. All morning her mother has been prepping for it, prepping Caroline for it. Now was the first time she got away from it all and having some peace and quiet to herself.


Well, almost to herself. She still had two maids and they couldn't leave her side, under her mother's strict orders. She could hear her mother calling her name within the large house; "oh Caroline!! I'm not done with you yet!" She sighed deeply, picking a small pink rose off of a bush and heading inside, picking up her silk light pink dress so as it doesn't drag on the grass as she walked towards the open doors of the back, calling, "Coming mother!!"


(Anyone can go to the banquet, they could know her or not know her, or they could try to help her escape.(; )

 

[Theflamre]

He walked into the tavern covered head to toe in blood claymore out of sheath and already prepared to be used. This was originally suppose to be for dramatic effect but as he looked around it seemed more useful by the second. There was a guy making jokes at the whole issue by the way the bartender was crying while looking at the woman on the guards lap he would have to assume that the guards were getting a bit frisky but that's not what concerned him it was the foolish she elf who was about to get shot stabbed and he was sure if the guard could get to her before she fell used as a human shield. he walked over to the she elf and placed his hand on her should no doubt leaving a hand print in blood on her "I would step aside there is not way this does not end with blood if the guards do not surrender." he new the heroin type the kind of person who would do the world good even if it meant kill everyone on it to do so.

 

[Angelostar4]

Jinkuro jumps from tree in quick speed. It was his/her's favorite way of traveling, and he doesn't like to travel on the ground very often. As he jump from tree to tree, he spots a castle in the distance. "Finally, some civilization..." He thought as he get out of crouching position, now standing up from the tree branch. Leaping off the tree branch, he lands on the ground with grace, and walk towards the castle. "It seems this place is holding an event of sort" Judging from the amount of people heading inside of the castle. It was mostly noble folk, with the occasional commoner string about. "Bah, I don't care why this event is being held, but I must look into it all the same" With the blade Muramasa on the left side of his lower body, Jinkuro pushes past the people, and goes inside the castle.

 

[Blu3]

Jing Walked Into The Town or Sneaked Her way into town and maybe killed a half orc on her way there. She sneaked her way over the way over the wall and she made her way there unnoticed and not hurt. She came here for a guild being rebuilt and she wanted to join for a purpuse and for revenge. She walked by a girl seemed annoyed by two maids following her and a girl yelling at her to come back. She back up to a wall trying to act natural and she watched the girl. @Comet

 

[opyim]

Melmoth persist to not phase his vehemence. A multitude of blades were attentive with quarter-delineate, drew to a mere fraction, posed in a trance as if to astute the plight.


Yet as soon the idiosyncratic resonance of steel being deprived of its scabbard had Melmoth retaliate.


His rapacious gauntlets clutched the man in his predatory grasp, then seizing the iron handle where a smoldering wax candle was perched upon its stable in his vicinity. Melmoth strode rear, circulating his victim's torso as the soldier's steel pounced forth, thrust absent of affliction. The simmering wax was then plastered upon the man's features as Melmoth gave it an almighty thrust, he recoiled in anguish, bellowing in agony as Melmoth then tore down the mail coif over his face, blistering wax reposing as it melt into the iron headgear and his visage.


Another, presumably his comrade, proceed to welt Melmoth just as he was obliquely aslant, his Odlam* steel partially unsheathed. It sang out with a melodic vibe as their blades impact one another with a hefty belabour. As Melmoth fussed to writhe free his steel the soldier took the opportune moment for another swing, yet slumped, subsided as his cranium gave a horrendous fissure of a crack as his moribund form lay wheezing. An ornate, gilded arrow neatly bore into his neck. He had flailed and smashed his head on the bar.


Melmoth was appreciative, owing (@Blue Fire ,@SP3CT3R ,@Devious Dilbert ,@Comet (nice cat btw) ,@Theflamre


*Odlam is the ore which his swords were made. A fictional meteorite ,chill?

 

[dorkling]

holdonletmetakeselfieMazdl Khazdar

tag ;; @Blue Fire @SP3CT3R @Clairvoyance @Devious Dilbert @Theflamre


health/mood ;; healthy / amused


location ;; tavern

A hooded figure bent its head slightly as she heard the foolish men speak so disrespectfully towards the tavern owner.


Days earlier she arrived at Etral and took shelter to this tavern, renting out a room for a couple of nights until she found a reliable job. The halfling was hoping for a


job in blacksmit-


A squeal broke through the bittersweet smelling room, causing her to shift her seemingly souless orbs


towards the source.


The innocent brunette, daughter of the round old man of this place. Mazdl shared a couple words with her, and she didn't seen to care for her Orc complexion or beast like teeth. Kind girl she is.


And boy did she not appreciate what those brutes were doing to that kind girl. Even the proper Orc had more respect of the oppisote sex than this! Grim reminders of the past and the gritting of her teeth, she shifted to stand, wanting to spit a few words at the group when


the door creaked open.


An eerie figure clambered in calmly, his mask glinting in the amber candlelight.


Something is so very familiar about him..


I feel like my father talked about him. Especially that grungey mask..


Anger slipping into interest and curiosity, she perked up slightly and kept watching the scene lay out, just the way she wanted it.


Observing a half-elven girl encounter the new figure, she couldn't help but snicker, rolling her coal colored eyes.


New people began to stroll in..





Oh this would get very interesting.





Licking her lips, the hooded female waited for drama to ensue, the good kind at that.


Hearing the clanking of wood, she leaned back in content, a tall pureblood stepping out now, egging on the man.


Hm.. Etral is just as interesting as Atrea.. Or even better-

Oh joy! A yummy looking human enters, questioning and about to unsheathe..

Mazdl chuckled quietly, taking a swig of the ale provided. It was quite sweet compared to the liquor in Atrea.

Settng her mug down, she heard squelching, glancing up to see a man covered in blood.

Oohh. Scandalous.

holdonletmetakeselfie Asura Eun

health/mood ;; healthy & exhausted / curious & hungry


location ;; tavern

The small foreigner wearily darted through the crowds of Etral, some giving her strange looks, completely alien.

She assumed that Ellom didn't get many outside of its region, considering the cautious and curious glances.

Maybe I should've wore a cloak..



Running a hand through her silky dark hair, she approached a kind looking, pudgy woman selling pastries. Stomach growling, red began to crawl across her cheeks and she bowed her head, apologizing to the woman who only chuckled in reply. "Excuse me ma'am, may I ask where The Guild is meeting up at?" Asura clearly had a hint of an accent.



Though she clearly wasn't from here, she heard word of the Guild as soon as she arrived. And healthy word at that.

They must know something about the evil that attacked! They are a group full of honorable fighters after all! Hopefully I can grt answers and find my brother-



"Oh dear. That once powerful Guild is actually getting together again! I believe at the tavern, not far from here." The rosy cheeked woman informed, smiling.

"Thank you miss-" The amber eyed female bowed her head again, stomach rumbling. Putting her hands to her stomach, she grew flustered, biting her lip. "I-im sorry for the interrup-"

The stout woman laughed softly and produced a basket full of mouth-watering pasteries.

Eyes widening, she swiped her hand across her mouth, making sure she wasnt going to drool and disgust the nice woman.

Fishing for her coin bag, the pale haired lady shook her head. "Oh no no! Its a welcoming my dear. Its on the house."

Gingerly taking the basket, she felt guilty for just taking it. So, she 'accidentally' slipped a jewel onto the vendor counter, quickly walking off.



Popping open the lid, she gracelessly pulled out a loaf of warm bread, beginning to stuff her face with it as she carried on to the designated tavern.



Kicking open the door lightly, face full of carbs and sugar, she paused, realizing the atmosphere here was.. Intense.



Standing behind a tall, dark haired human, she swallowed her food and looked around, not enjoying the sight.



Shrugging, the small foreign approached a short elven woman that was scolding a bunch of rowdy and obnoxious looking men.

Casting her glance from side to side, she leaned forward, whispering.

"Excuse me miss. Are you part of the Guild? Im looking to join"



And then fighting ensued, blood staining her cheek and she huffed. "S-seriously? Does no one have manners here?!" She wiped her cheek in annoyance, about to whip out her fans until she realized all the assilants were dead. "Oh great.. Now my appetite is ruined!"

​

​

(( i shall post Eiras soon ;3

​

​

 

[Ayane]

Melmoth persist to not phase his vehemence. A multitude of blades were attentive with quarter-delineate, drew to a mere fraction, posed in a trance as if to astute the plight.
Yet as soon the idiosyncratic resonance of steel being deprived of its scabbard had Melmoth retaliate.


His rapacious gauntlets clutched the man in his predatory grasp, then seizing the iron handle where a smoldering wax candle was perched upon its stable in his vicinity. Melmoth strode rear, circulating his victim's torso as the soldier's steel pounced forth, thrust absent of affliction. The simmering wax was then plastered upon the man's features as Melmoth gave it an almighty thrust, he recoiled in anguish, bellowing in agony as Melmoth then tore down the mail coif over his face, blistering wax reposing as it melt into the iron headgear and his visage.


Another, presumably his comrade, proceed to welt Melmoth just as he was obliquely aslant, his Odlam* steel partially unsheathed. It sang out with a melodic vibe as their blades impact one another with a hefty belabour. As Melmoth fussed to writhe free his steel the soldier took the opportune moment for another swing, yet slumped, subsided as his cranium gave a horrendous fissure of a crack as his moribund form lay wheezing. An ornate, gilded arrow neatly bore into his neck. He had flailed and smashed his head on the bar.


Melmoth was appreciative, owing (@Blue Fire ,@SP3CT3R ,@Devious Dilbert ,@Comet (nice cat btw) ,@Theflamre


*Odlam is the ore which his swords were made. A fictional meteorite ,chill♥

Well fuck, that just happened )

 

[Devious Dilbert]

Melmoth persist to not phase his vehemence. A multitude of blades were attentive with quarter-delineate, drew to a mere fraction, posed in a trance as if to astute the plight.
Yet as soon the idiosyncratic resonance of steel being deprived of its scabbard had Melmoth retaliate.


His rapacious gauntlets clutched the man in his predatory grasp, then seizing the iron handle where a smoldering wax candle was perched upon its stable in his vicinity. Melmoth strode rear, circulating his victim's torso as the soldier's steel pounced forth, thrust absent of affliction. The simmering wax was then plastered upon the man's features as Melmoth gave it an almighty thrust, he recoiled in anguish, bellowing in agony as Melmoth then tore down the mail coif over his face, blistering wax reposing as it melt into the iron headgear and his visage.


Another, presumably his comrade, proceed to welt Melmoth just as he was obliquely aslant, his Odlam* steel partially unsheathed. It sang out with a melodic vibe as their blades impact one another with a hefty belabour. As Melmoth fussed to writhe free his steel the soldier took the opportune moment for another swing, yet slumped, subsided as his cranium gave a horrendous fissure of a crack as his moribund form lay wheezing. An ornate, gilded arrow neatly bore into his neck. He had flailed and smashed his head on the bar.


Melmoth was appreciative, owing (@Blue Fire ,@SP3CT3R ,@Devious Dilbert ,@Comet (nice cat btw) ,@Theflamre


*Odlam is the ore which his swords were made. A fictional meteorite ,chill♥

(maaaaaan. Took all the action for yourself)

 

[opyim]

[had prove a point ,whn I post his char profile I was not gonnr miss a single fucking detail ;'


but nah ,noted ,ill refrain frm any fights soon ((:

 

[RaikuKawisa]

Roman sighed and slipped Skytalon off his shoulder and set it in the corner before taking a seat himself. With the metal masked man having gone outside, he could breathe easier. As a professional hunter, he understood the joy of the kill. He even knew some Hunters who took contracts with shit for pay just so they could get out there and allow their blades to drink in the blood of their prey... but when one's prey was of their fellow man, it concerned Roman. If they enjoyed killing so much, what was to stop them from going on a rampage through the town other than their own fragile morality and the knowledge that they would be hunted down like the monsters they've become.


Even without the masked man that sent shivers down his spine, there was a wide variety of other people who entered the tavern. So many he wasn't even sure who would could be declared the most interesting among them. From another blood soaked warrior, to a maiden of such great beauty that he almost couldn't believe she could be here to join the guild. Nonetheless the group promised not to be boring should they be here for the same reason as he.


Thinking back on his real reason for coming to this town he wondered if the Guild Leader would be in the tavern. If she was it wasn't as if she had a giant sign over her head saying 'New Guildleader'. He doubted it would be that convenient. He waited for the tavern owner to escort his shocked daughter to the back. After having that gore thrown right on her dress, she did not seem to be handling it well. A change of clothes and some rest would do her well. When the tavern owner returned to the main room, Roman called him over while pulling out his coin purse. He had so meager few left, probably only enough to pay for tonight's meal and lodgings before he would be out of funds.


Still, he told the tavern owner that he desired food and lodging for the night. After the owner did a quick count of the coin offered he nodded, giving Roman a Room number upstairs as well as sending another servant to fetch Roman a plate. Roman leaned back in his claimed chair an waited for the meal to brought out, but not before the owner returned with an ornate looking key with a ribbon attached with the same room number that the owner gave him before.

 

[Clairvoyance]

An ornate, gilded arrow neatly bore into his neck. He had flailed and smashed his head on the bar.
Melmoth was appreciative, owing (@Clairvoyance ) his regard, even if her words were disdain thus concluding violence.

(ASSIST, LOL)

 

[Ayane]

The elven girl flinched when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and pulled her daggers out to point at the individual that touched her. He seemed friendly enough, but still was spooked by his presense. She gave him a small glare before seeing the situation in front of her unfold.


She might as well called the man an orc---what a savage he was. The half-elf folded her arms lightly, and asked, "Are you done mutilating the men? By Ellon, you sir are clearly a savage." The girl proceeded to walk away, her daggers secured in her belt when the savage man uttered two words. She stopped in her tracks, and turned around.


"I am recreating the guild, but I'm uncertain if someone of the likes of you should be able to join. My father would be ashamed if I did so." The half-elf glanced at him before walking out of the tavern, "If I change mt mind find me, Ariella." Ariella takes a finger, and presses it against her shoulder. Red, and had a distinct scent. Of course it was blood.


Cursing to herself, she took a cloth from her pocket, and spat on it. Ariella proceeded to wipe the blood from her shoulder, and tossing the bloody cloth on the ground. The elf had no time for standing around---the guild needs members. She made her way to the newly renovated Guild Hall, and opened it's large wooden doors with a pair of metal keys.

The elf stepped inside, her memories reawakening as her father used to take her here years back. Her hands gripped a stool that she placed in the center, and sat on it as she gazed at the logo in the center of the back wall. Ariella closed her eyes as she pictured the guild members inside, cheering loudly as they completed a difficult mission.


Will opening the guild again make it as great as it was before? (Make twin dragons great again)


( And @Blue Fire @SP3CT3R @Thane Korino @Alias @Opium @Vampunk @Devious Dilbert @RaikuKawisa @Angelostar4 @Comet

 

[Ayane]

(ASSIST, LOL)

Lel ))