Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » A call to arms! (open to all)

It’s always a momentous occasion when the army marches into town, a collection of armoured men baring weapons with the intent of traveling to some unknown front and as was tradition they had settled in this small border town in a rather large ramshackle camp that emitted a roar of activity, and the occasional gunshot.

But they wernt here just to party they had been massing, leaving letters around town and posters stamped onto buildings, even approaching young men.


The posters were bombastic and showed hand drawn images of men marching proudly into the sunset

“JOIN THE ANSTAD FOOTE, FIND GLORY!
APPROACH THE CAMP AND GET INVOLVED!”

Along with details on payment, perhaps a brief tour wouldn’t do you so bad?


The camp Was hardly quiet in the high sun, as men marched in carefully organised squares and musketeers practiced volleys into targets facing the ocean, one man stood out..dressed in the finest purple silk and scratching at a golden blonde beard.

Is this still open? And if so, Is this character welcome?

Yeah sure might he interesting

So do you want to do it here? Or on post?

Right here my guy, it’s an open play so it’s done here

Gotcha,




Redam was a curious man, as he glided over the encampment and circled above the clouds he would decide it was worth checking out. So he dove down rapidly towards the ground before arcing upward and planting his feet to slide to a stop. His plate armor clanked quietly, and he brushed himself off and shook out his wings.

Redam was a sight to behold, let alone standing in at 6'8'', he was a deep crimson red and tan dragon. Though he looked more like a man; stood on two legs, held two arms at his sides, his heavy tail swayed behind him slowly, yet he held his dragon head high, and flexed his wings before tucking them behind him. His dark steel plate armor was a stark contrast to his color, and the matching battle-axe on his back, though the sharpened head of the axe gleamed in the light.

His jade green eyes scanned the crowd, then affixed to the man in purple, but the golden color is what really caught his eye. He take his time walking towards him, his heavy steps careful to not carry him into anyone's way, and his tail followed him close so he wouldn't bat anyone with it. He snagged one of the letters hanging up and briefly read it as he walked. Then stopped once he had got to the man, he had ignored any passing glances or possible glares from anyone else, he had his attention on this man. He held the paper up for him to see before speaking, his tone was clear, gravely, and was deep enough that you felt it in your chest.

"This, I am welcome to join?" He asked poking the page with a clawed finger, "I would be interested. I am an adventurer and warrior. This I'd think I'd like to........Tag along.......i think that is the term. Yes."

He would add before lowing his hands to his sides, still looking down at the man. He may of had a dangerous aura to him, but his eyes were flickering with curiosity.

The fancy man on the horse swung when he felt the dragon approach, my my he didn’t expect this “Well…of course you are! One just needs to figure where to put you.” It wasn’t his first time trying to accommodate different physiologes into his force, although it would be difficult with one so tall.

“What can you do?” He asked stroked his beard some while men marched past in perfect squares, sometimes glancing at him.

"I've learned how to fight in a variety of ways, friend", a wisplike humanoid interrupted the man riding the horse with what could possibly be a smug look on his face, though it was hard to tell because the only visible part of his face were his eyes, "Sorcery? I'm the fastest Spellslinger there is. Close ranged encounters? They won't know what hit 'em".

Frontal talons and rear paws carried a rather peculiar creature into the encampment. In a manner similar to that of a Centaur, 2 semi-autonomous bodies made up its frame. Unlike the half man half beast, however, this one was fully animalistic. With an amalgamation of feline and raptorial attributes, one could make the distinction that this was a mutated Griffin of sorts. His silver feathered head towered 8 feet above the ground and he boasted an array of deadly limbs. Suffice to say, there was no denying how battle hardened he was and centuries of combat experience complimented it nicely.

Tharraleos was the designation of this nomadic traveller. As per usual, the mutant was aimlessly traversing without much of a destination in mind. Perpetually searching for an opportunity to put his talents to use, he came across a poster and had enough curiosity to investigate. Given his moral ambiguity, there often wasn't a job he'd decline so long as it piqued his intrigue. With goldenrod irises intently surveying the general area and other acute senses doing their own reconnaissance, Tharraleos would continue to trek forth.

Among the numerous individuals, a few in particular stuck out the most. Most notably a man donning distinguished purple robes . From what Tharr could deduce, this one was most likely the one in charge. Letting out an exhale from the nares of his golden beak, the heraldic hybrid proceeded to explore the surrounding area in search of anything interesting.

Redam would smile with his dagger toothed maw,

"Thank you Friend!"

He would then reach a hand over his shoulder and pulled the battleaxe from between his wings off his back, then rested it handle down beside him to where the double head of the axe sat at his chest, due to his size, this axe was roughly the size of the man's horse. He would then hit his hand on his chestplate and seem to snap to attention.

"I am Redam Clash, A warrior of my dragonkin, heavy fighter. A warrior that can dish heavy blows and receive even the heaviest from mortal men. Other than that, call myself a righteous hunter. If we need meat for camping night, I provide."

He would then seem to relax and deeply chuckled,

"Well, I do serve as a rather nice distraction too. Being as large and stand-off as I am."

He gestured to himself before looking to the man in purple,

"So what you'd like me to do? As I am of the straight-to-business."

Sarait sat cross legged on the rough-hewn wood floor of the hostel's room, wincing. The dagger was dull. Nonetheless, it did the job. Her thick, dark hair fell to the ground, covering the floor with a layer of gleaming ebony. A couple more cuts, she thought resolutely. Either way, she couldn't help but feel a bit sad. She had always loved her hair. But then... with every strand that fell away, so did every memory, every piece of her old life. Every little slight and royal manner.

The night had been warm. The sky was dark and clear, spangled with stars, when Sarait had taken a few things from her room and slipped out. To all who asked, she was going on a head-clearing walk. But she stuck to the shadows. Picked the saddest-looking horse from the royal stables, still an obviously regal chestnut stallion, and rode away. Simple as that. Her husband? Undisturbed. The guards? Probably suspicious, but what could she have done? At least she made it far in those few weeks, to at least another kingdom over. Hopefully.

Sarait stood up, and looked in the dirty mirror mounted on the scratched desk. Her hair was short and choppy, longer on top where it was harder to reach with the knife. It would do for now. Less burdened, the woman collapsed into bed.

________________________________________________________________________________

After a breakfast of salted herring and stale bread in the already shockingly full pub, Sarait cleaned up her room. Her hair, still on the floor from the previous night, was bundled into a bag to be burned. She took off her nicer dress, resolving to sell it, and instead got out a pair of dirty trousers, her scuffed boots, and a loose, manly-enough blouse stained slightly yellow. In the mirror, she studied her figure. I've never been curvy. I suppose that's a blessing, right now at least. If I just... she wrapped a length of linen around her chest, tight enough to smooth it into something more androgynous. There. When combined with her shirt, she looked boyish enough. Now. I don't know how I'll explain bleeding through my pants once a month, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

She packed her bags, and slipped discreetly out of the inn, leaving only a few coins on the counter for the keeper. Thankfully, she had thought to sell her horse the night before, leaving her with some local currency to spare. Though he was the least impressive in the royal stables, he still fetched a handsome price.

Sarait walked through the town, feeling the breeze ruffle her now-short hair. It felt lighter, nicer, and her clothes - save for the binder - were markedly more comfortable than the gowns and petticoats and cloaks and velvet and brocade she was stuffed into at home. A carriage rattled by, and she passed a group of older men smoking and spitting tobacco by the steps of a pub. "Headin' to the camp, young man?" They cackled, scratching their wispy grey beards in unison. Turning back to their vices, they said, quieter, "ol' Jerome lost 'is son, Samuel, to the Anstad Foote. Strappin' young man. Shame, shame. 'E was apprenticed to the blacksmith, could'a made a mighty fine livin'."

"Yes - er, yeah," Sarait called back, trying for a bit of the uncouth twang the people here spoke with. For good measure, she reached down and scooped up a few fingerfuls of dust and dirt from the road, rubbing it lightly into her hair and on her face. Better? Better. Have any of these people ever felt of lick of soap in their entire lives? Sarait heard musket shots. Previously distant, they had certainly gotten louder, as had the rumbling of people. It was all so different from the controlled perfection at court.

Finally at the outskirts of camp, she looked around, grey eyes landing on a tall, blonde man wearing purple robes, mounted on a horse. He was surrounded by people... and other... humanoids. Sarait joined the fray. "Hey, sir, I'd like to join up," she called, deepening her voice. "Ahm... Sarus. Sarus Xantara. Ah know ma way aroun' a musket." She stretched herself to her full five foot ten, and looked the fancy man in the eye, trying to suppress the sneaking disgust that still roiled in her chest.He is not him. He is not him. You will be around men. You will have to get over it.

Argyle saw someone who said that they were good with muskets. Never used a musket in a while, he thought to himself. Despite already awkwardly interrupting someone already, he decided it would be a good idea to introduce himself to any more new recruits.

"Have you ever tried a stun-gun?", Argyle asked Sarus and showed him a flintlock pistol and the rounds used for it. They were shaped just like any other bullet, but much more rounded, intended for incapacitating targets. He then proceeded to show of an odd looking weapon, which seems to be a combination of a sword and a spear.

"This here's a swordspear, a switcher weapon, you can remove the blade to use it as a sword or combine it with the pole and turn it to a spear. The name's pretty self-explanatory, really", He said with a smile, "Want a Switcher? I think I've got a few to spare back at my camp, assuming you'd pay me for it of course".