Smashy

Melekar stares at Kahenraz out of the corner of his eye in a suspicious maner, "So, Kahenraz, where dose one aquire such a name? it sounds almost Dwemer, ah never mind that, so what brings you to the barfly?", Melekar then turns to his ale and peers at the copper peice in his ale, hesitant to drink.

Melekar's tune slows to a halt at the sight of this strange man reciteing such a bizare dream, he stares for a moment, then turns back to his lute, quickly checks the tuning and mutters, "bloody lunatic", and returns to playing his sorowful backround music.

Melekar suddenly snaps to attention, he looks around puzzled for a moment, then says, "my apologies, I just drifted-off there for a moment", Melekar turns and to the new face in the bar, he stares for a moment, suspicious of his presence, and suddenly very confused, then he shrugs, gets up and proceeds over to the bar to order a drink and to preform a sorrowful tune on his lute, a some what suitible backround "music" for the patrons.

"Bravo my freind, bravo... that large nord i saw on my way here must have been this Fode, looked like a very capeable fellow." Melekar sits up, and sets his lute down, "and Seran, you coldnt be more right, we are no better than the monsters and abominations that haunt our darkest nightmares and the darkest of nights, and one thing is for certain, we bolth take life to survive." Melekar leans back in his chair again, dowing the last of his flin.

Melekar, sits up and most heartily says, "well my freind, that is quite an amazeing story, but you must finish!", Melekar then signals to the bar-tender to bring a round of drinks over, Melekar then begins to pluck at his lute to add to the mood of the story.

Melekar drifts to attention at the mention of lycanthrope, "now i had heard of some trouble with a lycanthrope up here from a very large nord fellow, he seemed in a hurry to get out of the area, now im always up for a good tale, i would be more than happy to hear what had transpired here before my arival", Melekar leans back in his chair, takeing a swig of his flin.

Melekar quickly rises from his chair, and swiftly walks over to Seran, and offers his had as a show of good will, and as to help him to his feet, "there ya go, now why dont you take a seat here", Melekar pulls a chair over to the table with Armiena, "now have a sit and go easy on the booze".

Melekar strides back in to the bar, inspecting his reacently repaired rapeir, he stops abruptly and sheaths the blade, then notices Armiena sitting at the bar with her cure poison potion, he decides to go take a seat next to her. After takeing his seat at the bar next to Armiena, he orders himself a flin, then turns to Armiena, "ello there, had a lil too much to drink eh?".

A crash of glass is heard upatairs followed, followed by Melekar landing square on his back directly infront of the enterence of the tavern, then proceeded by a hollow thud as his boot lands directly on his head a few moments after his fall, he gets up curseing, "bloody hell, man cant get his bloody boot on with out fallin through a window around here, whole reason why i left that blasted ebonheart....", Melekar gets up and pulls on his boot, and proceeds tward the smithe so as to get his wepons repaired, and check out the wepons in stock.

Melekar looks at his reflection in the now gleaming surface of his sliver dagger, satisfied, he sheaths the blade, and turns to gaze out at the setting sun and corpses of imperial soldiers strewn about from the reacent battle. Melekar just shakes his head and walks over to the bar, and gets a room, proceeds upstairs and dozes off.

Melekar places his lute on the table after his maticulous tuneing. He then picks up his brandy and shifts in to a more comfortable position in his chair, and just stares in to the fire, muttering to himself in between sips of his brandy. After a good ten minutes of stareing in to the fire and savoring his brandy, Melekar pulls a dagger from a sheath at his chest and begins to polish its tarnished silver surface, whilst humming in a sorrowful tone.

Loq-Gar, senseing such civilizeation is not his place takes this opportunity to make his way back home to Blackmarsh, swifly he makes for a thick forest to the south west, and then on his way. Fode also has grown tired of life in the more urban places of Tamriel, and casualy walks out of town, seeking adventure, and riches. Finaly during the din of battle, and amongst the screams of dieing imperials, a young, male half elf bard makes his way around the battle trying his best to avoid falling arrows, as well as falling imperials on his way to the bar. After an ordeal with a templar knight thinking he was enemy assasin, and nearly loseing his lute he finaly makes it to the tavern, out of breath and shaken from the intense carnage so close to such a comfortable tavern. The young half elf finaly reaches the bar, and orders his drink,"Ello there bar-keep, how dose the day greet you?, well Ill have your finest brandy, oh and before I forget my names Melekar", he than takes his brandy and takes a seat at a table near the fire place, and begins to tune his lute.

Loq-Gar stares at Margoth, with and insaciable hunger in his eyes, "I thought you would be a more challengeing prey than your kin, Loq-Gar is insulted by this, you dont put up much more fight than his corpse, STUPID MANLING!! SUFFER!!!", Loq-Gar screams in Margoth's face, strings of viscus saliva flying about with every word spoken in his rage, Loq-Gar then picks up Margoth with one hand neerly able to encompass his arms and torso, "you know paind now...", Loq-Gar then stands up to his ful height, which seems to be around 9 and a half to a full 10 feet, he rasises his arm with Margoth in it high above his head, and hurls him at the ground. Margoth collides with the hard cobble stone road way with a very satifying crack of bone, and the sound of his steel armor colapseing in around him, "these manlings never learn", growles Loq-Gar as he plants his foot on the cripled body of Margoth, and ever so slowly continues to exhert more and more presseure on the foolish imperial's broken body.

Loq-Gar raises his gore-coverd head from the half eaten corpse of Morgoth, with a gleam of burning haterd in his eye he rises to his feet, clenching and unclenching his massive hands into fists, his rage becomes so horrible and great that the large iorn bracers on his wrists fracture and fall to the ground in two, a low rumbleing growel begins to eminate from deep with in Loq-Gar, strings of blood-filled saliva drip from his tooth filled jaw, finaly he yanks a massive club from a leather cord around his waist, he then begins to walk outside tward the over-confident imperial boasting his "athoraty" to everyone out side, Loq-Gar drowns out the foolish mans words with an utterly deafaning roar, folowed by a few obscure words,"foolish manling..... you dare speak of Fode like that.... he could kill you where you stand... but hes in enough trouble... you manlings good prey....", he then charges forth through the door way and leaps through the air at Margoth, knocking him from his mount, and pinning him to the ground, with his club across Margoth's torso and arms....... Margoth is now at Loq-Gars mearcy... OOC:ya know sludge, this has gone on far to long.... i dont think Peregrine will be to pleased to see more god-moding.... in the meanwhile, try to learn the finer points of RPing, try to put some feeling and action of meaning in your posts... and guess what, as you so aptly said before..." ", well guess what despite how childish that sounds....it describes your posts down to the finest detail, NO MORE GOD-MODING, i know this is meerly a forum, but you should at leats folow the posted rules, you are makeing your self look like an insolent fool.

Loq-Gar's eyes light up at the sight of a fresh kill, quickly he rushes tward the decapitated imperial's body, knocking over reacently righted tables and chairs in his wake, he then snatches up the body and returns to the spot he occupied before and continues his feasting, the bar tender and several other patrons eye Loq-Gar suspiciously, but he replies with, "you will have no worries from us, we know not to hurt you manlings while you still live, you let us eat now or Loq-Gar eat you!", he then quickly returned to his feasting, after his mediocure attempt at calming the locals.

OOC:Well Fode has been played to hell, guess he should retire or Peregrine take him over, im now gonna bring in a new character, so Peregrine do what you will with Fode, have him walk off in to the sun set, take every one out with him, what ever, but now it is time for a new and interesting character. A creature of unbeliveable muscle mass, resembleing an Argonian but far larger and obviously more adept to the more brutish and straight foreward sides of fighting, its crocodilian head alone seems to be a deadly wepon, the things jaw is filled with rows upon rows of jagged dagger like teeth, slowly and purposefuly it strides through the broken door way of the tavern, it walks past Fode, standing a full head higher than him, it made its way to the bar, intimidateing every patron it passed with its meer presence, with the exseption of Fode who seems to fear nothing and no one. The bar-keep seemed to shrink as it reached the bar, "Our name is Loq-Gar, you might not be familiar with us kind, we are a Lizardman, we come from Blackmarsh just like those pittiful Argonians, how bout something with meat, lots of meat, and a few bottles of greif", the creature now known as Loq-Gar is given what he asked for, and he turns and takes a seat near the back of the building, and begins to devoure an entire nix-hound leg as well as downing a few greifs with out even a grimace.

OOC: oookkkk um how could some one doge a cloud of magic frost?! your engulfed in a freezeing cloud of death! Fode laughs maniacly, and readys his claymore, "FOOL, there is nothing a legion you pittiful imperials could do here, leave with your life.....OR DIE WHERE YOU STAND!!!!"

Fode lets out a defening roar of rage and defiance, slowly a sheild of magika (ooc: nordic wood ability possesed by all nords) enveloped the rageing nord , the angry tavern patrons grew quiet as a steady gust of cold wind flows from Fodes direction, the angry mob parts for Fode as he strides tward Morgoth with a twisted and angerd grin on his face, "FOOLISH IMPERIAL!! YOU ARE DEALING WITH A BARBARIAN OF WIND HELM!!! YOU WILL NOW PAY FOR YOUR INSOLOLENCE!!!", Fode raises his hand to eye level of the bewilderd Morgoth, "FEEL THE WRATH OF THE NORTH!!!", Fode laughs maniacly and from his hand a burst of magik frost billows forth englfing Morgoth entirely (ooc: nordic thunderfist ability again all nords posses it).

Fode strides in to the bar wearing a new set of what appears to be adimantium armor, minus the helm or any kind of sheild, but at his side is a suspicious cloaked and hooded figure, armed with a massive warhammer, Fode points tward the bar and mumbles something to him, being polite enough not to interupt the bard's singing, Fode walks over to an upturned table and places it upright, finds 2 chairs and places them on oposite sides so that his both would have a fair veiw of the new atteraction, the cloaked figure takes a seat opposite fode and sets down two flagons of mead they both sit back and enjoy the preformance.

Fode just stands there, his eyes glazed over, suddenly he snaps t attention, and looks down at the limp and bloody body of Morgoth, then looks around the tavern, everyone meets his gaze with ethier fear, or bewilderment, then Fode turns back to Morgoth's corpse, and finaly reaturns to the bar patrons and says, "OK! he fell on his sword! the nord you see before you did NOT just slay an imperial knight of the dragon", Fode raises his claymore and proceeds to clean it of the imperial's blood, and sheaths the blade, and coutiously heads out the door, steping inbetween the fallen imperial soldiers, that Fode now reilizes the armor of these men has been hit with such force that it has collapsed around their bodies, Fode mumbles something to him self and quickly walks out of town, and as he reaches the road he is joined by a very tall figure with a massive warhammer resting on his sholder, the two then set off south down the road.

OOC:Peregrine, sludg has a point that was a tad excessive, you could have just had my nord knock him out, or had him shot through the neck with a sniper's arrow, anyways i dont see how that was fair to sludg, but he did say he owned a fortress... and that he had legion solders at his command... so yea i see your point he was going a bit uber.... ya cant make ur character invinceable, my charactrer Fode is for the most part a VERY lucky drunk who likes to fight, and is definatley as mortal and defeatable than the next warrior from skrym, so yea ive ranted long enough..... END RANT :ranting: EDIT:sorry shoulda finished my post earlyer, but Peregrine, very nicely done, you play a nord very very well

Fode runs his hand over his bald skull, and grumbles something about the imperials getting in everyones buisness, then says, "Ah, well a knight, this is most intreagueing, now you say you are here on the buissness of cleaning out bandits? what are you exspecting to encounter that requires 10 soldiers of the imperial legion?! i am most interested in this if it can get me near the dren plantation, i have my own reasons for wishing to be there, that may be of importance to you later but till then that shall be the buissness of Fode and no other", Fode then tosses his mead across the room, "thatll do me no good now", then he rifles arround in his only remaing pack, then pulls out a bizare vile containing viscous liquid, then he unsheaths a small dagger, resembleing an iorn one yet half the size, Fode proceeds to pry open the wound on his leg, and pour a quarter of the vile in to the wound, and downs the rest, Fode then takes candle from the next table over and cauderizes the wound closed, barely flinching the entire way, up till there was fire involved, then he screamed like a small child, since his last encounter with fire cost him all his hair, and his hair was one of his most prided attributes, Fode sets the candle down and growles, "well im ready for anything now!, so where are you begining in your little expedition, if i may accompany you that is", Fode sits back in his chair, for once glad to be some where safe.

Fode takes his mead from the bar and takes a seat at the table with Seran and Morgoth Deltian, Fode takes a swig of his mead and says, "takes more than a wounded leg, and some nasty burns to slow down the likes of me! im a barbarian of Windhelm!", Fode says this with undeniable pride of his upbringing and ignroreance of his wounds, Fode turns to the Morgoth Deltian and says, " well the likes of me are unimportant at the moment, tell me your self! what has brought you to the tavern?".

A hunched and ragged figure comes in to veiw, limping down the road, and eventualy limps his way in to town, dragging his claymore behind him, slowly the figure makes his way to the tavern, stoping at the door he says to him self, "aye... almost forgot, people round these parts dont like wepons out for no reason...", he then sheaths his claymore, and stumbles in to the tavern, people eye the man in an unapproveing maner, seeing as hes next to naked, only the tattered remnants of bear skin greaves, and some chared pants to make him sub deacent, he hurrys to the bar, as fast as his broken body can carry him, the man, limps past Seran and with out even turning his attention from the bar he says, "Seran! how dose the day greet you, sorry, I have buissnes to attend to, BAR KEEP!! KEEP THE MEAD FLOWIN MY WAY!!", the man, now apperantly Fode the Gory, yet oddly unfamiliar, due to the utter lack of hair, where there was once a full, untamed head of hair, there is now a compleatly bald and wounded Fode sitting at the bar, drinking him self in to oblivion (not the place the state of mind).

OOC: yeah sorry bout that, just developed as i typed!