Maid of Marvels
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The Voyage
- Thread starter Maid of Marvels
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Maid of Marvels
Lurking with Intent
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milfhunter23
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my bad vikings rule
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Maid of Marvels
Lurking with Intent
- Joined
- Jul 30, 2001
- Posts
- 5,184
Last edited:
milfhunter23
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Kaleb stood with a sack and his father sword slung over his back he stored toward the ship laying on the beach. A long dragon ship that had spent many years at sea long with slots for the round shield he carried.
Kaleb was leaving home or the first time the youngest of three brothers he had little choice. He moved slowly the unsalaried sword bouncing off his back. He looked around trying to find someone to talk to about joining the raiding crew.
No one was at the ship so h moved of towards a large building like a mead hall he could smell beer. He moved slowly as he reached the door a strong push and the door swung open.
The room was full of able men and women drinking heavy from large steins and eating meat. he moved searching around the room for someone that looked like a captain the stories of another raid was spreading fast.
He spotted someone the captain no doubt “Are you still looking for crew” he asked moving closer he could see her better now. he smiled trying to appeal to the new captain he wanted to join the crew in the worst way.
Kaleb was leaving home or the first time the youngest of three brothers he had little choice. He moved slowly the unsalaried sword bouncing off his back. He looked around trying to find someone to talk to about joining the raiding crew.
No one was at the ship so h moved of towards a large building like a mead hall he could smell beer. He moved slowly as he reached the door a strong push and the door swung open.
The room was full of able men and women drinking heavy from large steins and eating meat. he moved searching around the room for someone that looked like a captain the stories of another raid was spreading fast.
He spotted someone the captain no doubt “Are you still looking for crew” he asked moving closer he could see her better now. he smiled trying to appeal to the new captain he wanted to join the crew in the worst way.
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Maniac_ski
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Olaf Arnorsson
It was not an request that brought Olaf Arnorsson to stand before Jarl Magnus Jarnulf. A request would mean his presence was asked for. The Jarl did not ask. He commanded and demanded. In this case it was a demand that had Olaf in front of the powerful man.
"She will take the dragonship, Skidbladnir." The Jarl had his eyes fixed on the big norseman. "As well you know it is a fine wessel. A wessel i rather not part with." With a slight smile he offers Olaf some mead. Olaf accepts and gulps it down.
"Yes a very good ship." Olaf are slightly confused in what way this concern him.
"I gave her the ship. She need wolves to man it. I need you to be one of them." The jarl continues as he ignores Olaf's confusion. "Do not let her know it was me who sent you to her."
With a wave of his hand the jarl dismissed the norseman that was feeling quite annoyed. A fact he did not hide very well from the jarls watchful eyes.
It was not an request that brought Olaf Arnorsson to stand before Jarl Magnus Jarnulf. A request would mean his presence was asked for. The Jarl did not ask. He commanded and demanded. In this case it was a demand that had Olaf in front of the powerful man.
"She will take the dragonship, Skidbladnir." The Jarl had his eyes fixed on the big norseman. "As well you know it is a fine wessel. A wessel i rather not part with." With a slight smile he offers Olaf some mead. Olaf accepts and gulps it down.
"Yes a very good ship." Olaf are slightly confused in what way this concern him.
"I gave her the ship. She need wolves to man it. I need you to be one of them." The jarl continues as he ignores Olaf's confusion. "Do not let her know it was me who sent you to her."
With a wave of his hand the jarl dismissed the norseman that was feeling quite annoyed. A fact he did not hide very well from the jarls watchful eyes.
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clan_destine
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Fergus Frostreaver
The stillness of the day was broken by the rapid muttering of a gravel voice, and the faint flopping of loose leather. From the far side of a hill, the sounds got louder, then the hilltop was crested by a grumbling dwarf, his helmet pulled down to shade his face as he powered along.
Fergus had been having a run of poor luck lately. He had left Dwarrowknell at the holiest night of his people - the winter solstice, when the powers of the ice were at their height. Unfortunately, less than a week later, his party had run afoul of a group of ice trolls, and he had been forced to proceed on his own. His map had blown away in the night winds, his ship had run aground far from an actual harbor, and he'd been forced to fight and barter his way across lands strange to him. If it hadn't have been for the strength of his arms and the surprise meeting with a family of large bears, he'd have had nothing to trade at the last town for transport to the vicinity of a community likely to have use of him.
He'd run through his provisions some time ago, as well as the last of his valuables that he could afford to trade. His pack now carried little except his spare clothes, his bedroll, his butchering kit, and his faithful hammer - Rimesmasher . His shield was lashed to his pack, and his other weapon, an axe the color of fresh frost, was tied to his chest.
He hoped that the village ahead - what had they called it? Oh, yes - Skjullhofud - would have something to offer for one of his kind. As with his race, he was stocky, strong, unconcerned with most magics, and familiar with the secret ways of the winter and ice. Surely, someone would have use for his skills.
The thought caused him to propel himself along at a faster pace.
The stillness of the day was broken by the rapid muttering of a gravel voice, and the faint flopping of loose leather. From the far side of a hill, the sounds got louder, then the hilltop was crested by a grumbling dwarf, his helmet pulled down to shade his face as he powered along.
Fergus had been having a run of poor luck lately. He had left Dwarrowknell at the holiest night of his people - the winter solstice, when the powers of the ice were at their height. Unfortunately, less than a week later, his party had run afoul of a group of ice trolls, and he had been forced to proceed on his own. His map had blown away in the night winds, his ship had run aground far from an actual harbor, and he'd been forced to fight and barter his way across lands strange to him. If it hadn't have been for the strength of his arms and the surprise meeting with a family of large bears, he'd have had nothing to trade at the last town for transport to the vicinity of a community likely to have use of him.
He'd run through his provisions some time ago, as well as the last of his valuables that he could afford to trade. His pack now carried little except his spare clothes, his bedroll, his butchering kit, and his faithful hammer - Rimesmasher . His shield was lashed to his pack, and his other weapon, an axe the color of fresh frost, was tied to his chest.
He hoped that the village ahead - what had they called it? Oh, yes - Skjullhofud - would have something to offer for one of his kind. As with his race, he was stocky, strong, unconcerned with most magics, and familiar with the secret ways of the winter and ice. Surely, someone would have use for his skills.
The thought caused him to propel himself along at a faster pace.
HalfCircleMoon
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Amonn finished the rest of his ale and signaled to the barmaid for a refill. The tavern had quieted down over the past few hours, as many patrons had retired to their abodes for the night.
"must be nice to have a home to go to," he muttered underneath his breath.
As a mercenary, Amonn state of living depended on his employer. When his drink arrived, he reached into his money-pouch and pulled out the last remaining coins. He was obviously in dire need of a new employer.
In the corner, he spotted a woman in a fur-lined coat, talking to a man with a sword and shield. Without any other prospects in the tavern, Amonn took one last sip of his drink.
He slung his quiver of arrows over his back, picked up his bow, and made his way to the pair. His chain metal boots clanged as he walked. Upon arriving, he extended his hand.
"greetings. I am called Amonn. I am the best ranger you'll find south of the 'sea of mists.' I'd like to offer my services to you."
"must be nice to have a home to go to," he muttered underneath his breath.
As a mercenary, Amonn state of living depended on his employer. When his drink arrived, he reached into his money-pouch and pulled out the last remaining coins. He was obviously in dire need of a new employer.
In the corner, he spotted a woman in a fur-lined coat, talking to a man with a sword and shield. Without any other prospects in the tavern, Amonn took one last sip of his drink.
He slung his quiver of arrows over his back, picked up his bow, and made his way to the pair. His chain metal boots clanged as he walked. Upon arriving, he extended his hand.
"greetings. I am called Amonn. I am the best ranger you'll find south of the 'sea of mists.' I'd like to offer my services to you."
Maid of Marvels
Lurking with Intent
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Varg strode into the tavern, having only been in town a few minutes. He wanted to leave behind a lot of bad memories. With any luck, there would be a ship ready to sail in the morning. After all, there wasn't much left for him here. And none of those back home would have him either way.
He had very rugged features for one as young as he was. His eyes were a strange, bright yellow, and his long rusty hair was tied loosely back by a leather thong. He was lean but broad-shouldered and in need of a shave, looking like some feral animal that had just learned to walk upright.
His eyes swept the room, and he proceded toward an empty table to remove the burden from his shoulders and rest a moment.
He had very rugged features for one as young as he was. His eyes were a strange, bright yellow, and his long rusty hair was tied loosely back by a leather thong. He was lean but broad-shouldered and in need of a shave, looking like some feral animal that had just learned to walk upright.
His eyes swept the room, and he proceded toward an empty table to remove the burden from his shoulders and rest a moment.
clan_destine
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Fergus
By the time Fergus found the town, he'd decided that springtime was not his favorite season. In order to make sure that he kept his course straight, he'd chosen to make use of the road, only to discover that dwarves did not mix will with mud. A mile from the town, his boots had developed a nasty habit of sticking in the thick sludge, slowing his travel as he relied more and more upon fortitude to drive through it. At the town limits, he'd discovered that one of his boots had a leak starting, leaving him with a squelching step and a soaking foot.
Communities tended to be built along similar lines, ones that generally meant little needed wasted time searching for places he needed. In this case, the local gathering was easy to see, and the dwarf squelched his way into the Blood Song. He found a corner to drop his pack in, noting with satisfaction the dark environs, the smoking torches and fire, and the preference for decorating with antlers. All signs of a solid people.
His brief reverie was broken by someone stepping on his foot. While the incident did assist in driving the excess liquid from his boot, it also served to anger him, and Fergus only allowed himself a brief moment to feel the pain before he decided to return the favor.
Quickly stepping around the man, Fergus planted himself firmly in his path, his eyes glaring brightly from under his helmet.
"Oy! Ya dropped something, there!" While his voice was kept to a conspirital volume, his tone was nothing short of a challenge. The man paused, blinking around the lip of his greenware mug. In a prime example of drunken logic, he leaned forward, looking over Fergus in search of whatever he had dropped. Fergus assisted him with his quest by snapping his head forward to the point where his chin touched his chest, then hopped upwards, the apex of his helmet meeting sharply with the man's chin. As the man started to tumble backwards, Fergus neatly caught the dropped mug, and managed to empty it down his throat befoer the man's limp form could strike the floor. With a satisfied belch, Fergus turned to address the crowd.
"I'm Fergus Frostreaver, dwarf o' the northen floes! I'm here lookin' for adventure and a chance to prove that although I'm half y'r sizes, I'm a match f'r any o' ye." With a wink, he lifted the empty mug in a toast. "Any takers?"
By the time Fergus found the town, he'd decided that springtime was not his favorite season. In order to make sure that he kept his course straight, he'd chosen to make use of the road, only to discover that dwarves did not mix will with mud. A mile from the town, his boots had developed a nasty habit of sticking in the thick sludge, slowing his travel as he relied more and more upon fortitude to drive through it. At the town limits, he'd discovered that one of his boots had a leak starting, leaving him with a squelching step and a soaking foot.
Communities tended to be built along similar lines, ones that generally meant little needed wasted time searching for places he needed. In this case, the local gathering was easy to see, and the dwarf squelched his way into the Blood Song. He found a corner to drop his pack in, noting with satisfaction the dark environs, the smoking torches and fire, and the preference for decorating with antlers. All signs of a solid people.
His brief reverie was broken by someone stepping on his foot. While the incident did assist in driving the excess liquid from his boot, it also served to anger him, and Fergus only allowed himself a brief moment to feel the pain before he decided to return the favor.
Quickly stepping around the man, Fergus planted himself firmly in his path, his eyes glaring brightly from under his helmet.
"Oy! Ya dropped something, there!" While his voice was kept to a conspirital volume, his tone was nothing short of a challenge. The man paused, blinking around the lip of his greenware mug. In a prime example of drunken logic, he leaned forward, looking over Fergus in search of whatever he had dropped. Fergus assisted him with his quest by snapping his head forward to the point where his chin touched his chest, then hopped upwards, the apex of his helmet meeting sharply with the man's chin. As the man started to tumble backwards, Fergus neatly caught the dropped mug, and managed to empty it down his throat befoer the man's limp form could strike the floor. With a satisfied belch, Fergus turned to address the crowd.
"I'm Fergus Frostreaver, dwarf o' the northen floes! I'm here lookin' for adventure and a chance to prove that although I'm half y'r sizes, I'm a match f'r any o' ye." With a wink, he lifted the empty mug in a toast. "Any takers?"
milfhunter23
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Trying to get some attention he pulled out his sword a hand breath wide and as long as he was tall. Slicing through the table it buried itself in the floor “now I know I don’t have a cool name like elkfucker her” he said making fun of the other warrior in hopes of getting him into a fight. “but I wrestled a boar out ran a horse out swam a shark and if I could fly I would beat a hawk at that to” slowly he placed the sword on his back his frame shrinking by an inch under the weight. He then pushes aside one of the men truth was if it was not a living sword he could never have lifted it much less wielded it he watches the other content now that he would get a tiny amount of attention he prayed.
There was a young man from Bombay
No not again he thought
who made a false fanny from clay
Please shut up sword
but the heat from his dick
No no one heard that
turned the cunt to a brick
God ill never live this down
and wore all his foreskin away
The sword finally finnished
There was a young man from Bombay
No not again he thought
who made a false fanny from clay
Please shut up sword
but the heat from his dick
No no one heard that
turned the cunt to a brick
God ill never live this down
and wore all his foreskin away
The sword finally finnished
DRxBlue
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- 891
Starkynd arrives
Just approaching 1000 years of age, Starkynd had grown up in Greece. He spent his formative years (his 20's and 30's) in the Roman Empire as a scholar and student of magic.
It was there that he learned of the medicines which would prolong his life. Little did he know that long life means protracted periods of intense boredom.
He was a musician at heart and soon became the doctor and entertainer on many a sea voyage. How he ended up in Skjullhofud was a long and tortuous tale...but it wasn't boring.
The word was out that a great ship was about to go on a tremendous voyage. Hearing that Thrudd, a formidable Godha and adventuress was in charge of the radho, he knew that he could find a berth on the Skidbladnir.
He stepped into the Bloodsong to find much commotion. He wasn't tall, but his black cape and shouder length auburn hair caused a chill to set over the crowd. A flute seemed to magically appear in his fingers and he soon had the whole room swaying to his music. Except for Thrudd.
She gazed upon him with equal parts of interest and disdain.
"She ain't buying it" Starkynd mused, with flop sweat brimming at his brow.
He wandered to the bar and "whistled up" a horn of mead then closed with a merry tune which stopped the fighting that had been going on.
"I'll get close to her soon and get on that ship" he thought as he filled a pipe of "medicinal herbs" and lit it with a flame from his thumb.
"Every ship needs a Doctor...and an entertainer"
Just approaching 1000 years of age, Starkynd had grown up in Greece. He spent his formative years (his 20's and 30's) in the Roman Empire as a scholar and student of magic.
It was there that he learned of the medicines which would prolong his life. Little did he know that long life means protracted periods of intense boredom.
He was a musician at heart and soon became the doctor and entertainer on many a sea voyage. How he ended up in Skjullhofud was a long and tortuous tale...but it wasn't boring.
The word was out that a great ship was about to go on a tremendous voyage. Hearing that Thrudd, a formidable Godha and adventuress was in charge of the radho, he knew that he could find a berth on the Skidbladnir.
He stepped into the Bloodsong to find much commotion. He wasn't tall, but his black cape and shouder length auburn hair caused a chill to set over the crowd. A flute seemed to magically appear in his fingers and he soon had the whole room swaying to his music. Except for Thrudd.
She gazed upon him with equal parts of interest and disdain.
"She ain't buying it" Starkynd mused, with flop sweat brimming at his brow.
He wandered to the bar and "whistled up" a horn of mead then closed with a merry tune which stopped the fighting that had been going on.
"I'll get close to her soon and get on that ship" he thought as he filled a pipe of "medicinal herbs" and lit it with a flame from his thumb.
"Every ship needs a Doctor...and an entertainer"
Maniac_ski
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Olaf Arnorsson
Olaf was in a terrible mood as he entered the Bloodsong. He had been fuming ever since he spoke with the Jarl. Or rather, the Jarl had spoken to him. There had been no way Olaf could reject the mans wishes. But being commanded by a woman was a thing he did not do lightly.
The bloodsong was bristling with activity and didn't improve his mood much. He saw Thrudd being surrounded by some fools and with a heavy sigh he started to move in her direction, shoving drunks to the side as he went. On another day he might had considered joining them in their state of drunkeness.
The scabbard with the heavy broadsword at his hip was an enough sight to let most of the men and women there know that it was wise to step aside from the big norsemans path. Finally he stood in front of the woman he was aiming for. He ignored every one but her as he stood patiently waiting for the commotion to stop. When he saw that she sent a look his way he just barely tilted his head.
"Heard you sought men for your little trip. If so i am one of them. The name are Olaf Arnorsson." He said with his dark voice.
Olaf was in a terrible mood as he entered the Bloodsong. He had been fuming ever since he spoke with the Jarl. Or rather, the Jarl had spoken to him. There had been no way Olaf could reject the mans wishes. But being commanded by a woman was a thing he did not do lightly.
The bloodsong was bristling with activity and didn't improve his mood much. He saw Thrudd being surrounded by some fools and with a heavy sigh he started to move in her direction, shoving drunks to the side as he went. On another day he might had considered joining them in their state of drunkeness.
The scabbard with the heavy broadsword at his hip was an enough sight to let most of the men and women there know that it was wise to step aside from the big norsemans path. Finally he stood in front of the woman he was aiming for. He ignored every one but her as he stood patiently waiting for the commotion to stop. When he saw that she sent a look his way he just barely tilted his head.
"Heard you sought men for your little trip. If so i am one of them. The name are Olaf Arnorsson." He said with his dark voice.
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