Cry Havoc and let Slip the Dogs of War!



Prologue

Carrick surveyed the tiny village before him, making sure he stayed low, out of sight of the solitary sentry standing in the middle of town. It was a dark night, the moons were hidden behind dense banks of cloud. A perfect night for a raid. Carrick's stomach growled suddenly and he dropped quickly into the ditch paranoid that the guard might have heard the tiny noise. This earned him a couple of worried glances from some of the others, packed as they were into the undergrowth surrounding the hamlet. They were gaunt, desperate faces. Hunger and lack of sleep had taken their toll on the men. Carrick smiled to himself as he stared back into their desperation, winter was always the best time to recruit, when people were starving they'd do almost anything to stay alive.

Pushing himself up once more through the dank earth of the ditch so that he could just peek over the lip, Carrick watched the guard yawn and sit down on the lip of the village well.
"Totally unaware"
Carrick thought, carefully checking for any other sentries that he hadn't noticed before, he doubted he'd find any: The town was quite small and he suspected that the local lord would be hidden behind the majority of the town guard at his manor, just over the hills to the east. There was going to be a surprise in store for them, as well as the villagers; Carrick had sent another 10 from his band to 'confiscate' the squire's goods. Smiling at the thought of what was to come, Carrick raised his crossbow to his shoulder, carefully sighting at the man by the well. The bolt went straight through his throat. The guard could only force a strangled gurgle as he plummeted, helplessly into the well.

Splash.

The tiny noise was the signal. Carrick watched as a pair of shady figures slipped into the church at the opposite end of town. It was the logical first move, make sure the villagers can't sound any kind of alarm, the church bells were the obvious choice. A minute passed. Carrick waited, tense. If anything went wrong here... A figure emerged from the church, the bandit squinted, trying hard to discern from the sillhouette who it was. He'd sent in two men... The figure raised a hand at the ditch. Carrick breathed once more, everything was going to plan. He tapped the man to his left on the shoulder and rose quickly out of the ditch, trying hard to keep quiet. As he stood, he unsheathed the hunting knife from his belt, he doubted he'd have the space to use the crossbow. A few of the men lit torches and soon the silence was shattered by shouts and screams as the villagers awoke to the smell of their homes burning.




Introduction

50 years ago, the Oblivion crisis and the death of the emperor finally toppled the empire. The crisis had hurt Cyrodil far worse than the other provinces who promptly took advantage of the weakened legion to revolt. At the same time, many of the Cyrodyllic Counts saw the opportunity to increase their own strength and, as the whole of Tamriel dissolved into civil war, the Elder council parted ways, members abdicating in favour of their own peoples. A new emperor was never named and gradually people ceased to care, more concerned as they were with the local wars that were springing up as more and more nobles decided to break from their liege lords and to join the power contests. This was especially true in Cyrodil. The province had no native government to take over from the empire as many of the occupied nations did, the counts declared war on each other and, apart from a few of the major cities, law ceased to be enforced. No one cared if bandits raided a hamlet? There was a throne to win! The bandit groups themselves became steadily more and more powerful, growing rich as hirelings for the Counts. The guilds disbanded as it became impossible to operate between several cities. Society as it was once known had collapsed.

This is where you come in, you are from the small village of Harrow which has recently been assaulted by a group of brigands. The rp starts the morning the raid, after as you emerge from hiding to find the blackened remains of the village at your feet. This is going to be a group rp as the remaining villagers try to make their way in the harsh new world. There''l be room to join in as we go along and the plot expands.




Rules

If you've rp'd before on this site then you'll know what the basic rule set is going to be.
For fighting I trust you to resolve it but be realistic
Same with looting
I'll just jump in if I want something specific to happen
My word is law
On top of that, I'd like people's characters to start out weak, you aren't mighty Mages or professional soldiers, you're the kind of person that would be found in a small hamlet. You could be a soldier or a mage or anything else you can fit into the setting but bear in mind that you were in a small hamlet and you weren't competent enough to handle a bandit raid so you're fairly weak to start with. I will however give you plenty of opportunity to improve.
Pm me your sheets
I make the first post

Anything I've missed anywhere please ask



Characters

You can be any character that has a reasonable explanation for being in this village, you could be the local priest's apprentice or retired if you fancy a mage, or the Lord of the estate's son (mine )etc...

Sheet

Name:
Age:
Gender:
Race:

Talents :

Appearance:

Personality:

Short Bio:

Equipment:

Misc:

Name:Guillaume de Bergerac
Nickname: Guy
Race: Breton
Gender: Male
Age: 21

Talents:
Despite all his faults, Guy has received a classical education and is a well read and sometimes intelligent individual. Most of his skills however are physical. Guy is potentially a talented swordsman though his lack of experience holds him back greatly, he can also ride and, to a certain extent shoot a crossbow.

Appearance: At 5,9' Guy isn't unusually tall, nor is he very bulky instead rather thin and wiry though surprisingly fit and healthy thanks to a passion for hiking in the hills around his father's manor. Classically pale and blue eyed, Guy is a model Breton and it's was quite obvious that he lead a comfortable life. Now though, the once finely dressed young man is looking decidedly ragged as the stresses and strains of his new life are introduced to him.

Personality:
Guy, was raised from a young age on tales of great heroes and evil villains. This has stuck with him through to advlthood and he holds very strong ideals about life and chivalry and his place as the son of a noble. Unfortunately, Guy doesn't fit into his own vision of the world. An untested soldier, behind his bravado and delusions of nobility Guy is a bit of a hothead, the only time he has ever gotten into a fight was in a bar where he nearly killed a drunken farmer. Not quite the flawless hero of the fiction then. Guy hides from this reality by lying, (according to him the farmer was actually abusing one of the barmaids although nobody else backs up his claim.)

History:
Guy was born the son of a minor Daggerfall 'noble' and was raised from an early age in a typical fashion for a noble's son. He received a good and varied education in what was at the time a comparatively stable kingdom whilst the rest of the world attacked itself. When he was fifteen, his father moved the family East, to Cyrodil where he bought an estate off of an old business partner. Though curious about his father's motives for moving from their relatively stable life in Daggerfall Guy never discovered the true reasons for their sudden departure.

In actual fact, Guy's father, Cyrano, was part of a network of nobles who profited off of the local smugglers by providing safe places to store their goods. Eventually, Cyrano was exposed by a neighbouring noble, greedy for the extra land, and was forced to flee the country, using his illicit contacts to get passage to Cyrodil and to arrange for the 'accidental' deaths of the previous Squire of Harrow.

Guy's life has become decidedly less stable since his arrival in Cyrodil and he has had to put his combat training into use on one or two occasions during his six years in the province. Despite this he has never really been in a proper fight and, though he thinks of himself as noble warrior, he doesn't have the personality or the skill to back up this self image.

Weapons: Guy has managed to escape the manor with his trusty steel sabre which he has had since his time in Daggerfall.

Armour/Clothing: Guy is currently dressed in what is left of a servant's tunic and trousers which he used to disguise himself as he escaped from the bandits.

Misc. Items: Guy has managed to hold onto his family signet ring, as well as a pencil which is now a useless stub.

Name: Quintinius "Quint" Verginix
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Race: Imperial

Talents :
Quint is a rather un-physical person, most of his skills are located in the realm of the mind, ranging from being a rather skilled artist to a rather over-enthusiastic poet, but Quint's skills lie most heavily within the realm of music. Quint is, for lack of better words, a musical genius. He is also a rather talented singer. Quint is also surprisingly skilled at sneaking.

Appearance:
6'2" tall, Quint is tall for a Cyrodillian native, though his tan skin, dark hair and eyes make him obviously an Imperial. Quint is incredibly skinny, the lack of physical activity and the barely eating has lead to many calling him malnourished. Has very long fingers.

Personality:
Quint is what many people, including his family, would call bat-[censored] crazy. He has spent hours talking to trees and birds, he has attempted to make cheese fly. Not surprisingly he is rather excluded and talks to himself alot


Short Bio:
Quint has had a rather boring life. Raised as the son of the miller in Anvil he had to move to a small out-of-the-way village when his father's gambling debts became too much and the local gang started trying to kill them, besides that and the one time he was caught praying to Sheogorath he has had a rather uneventful exsistance.

Weapons: An old kitchen knife he managed to grab on the way out of the village

Armour/clothing: Just his clothes, a dark blue robe with leather reinforcements at the shoulders and elbows as well as a sturdy pair of boots he stole from another villagers room on the way out.

Misc: He carries his violin and the battered dark brown case for it

This is my first RP, so don't be too harsh if I do something wrong.


Name: Vincellus Baun
Nickname: Vince
Age: 53
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Height: 5'8
Eye Color: Dark Brown
Hair Color: Reddish Brown
Hair Style: Greased Corn Rows
Talents: Vince is very fast for a Dunmer. He has very good perception, and can think quickly he is very skilled in the art of the shortsword, which was taught to him by his saviors from a bandit slave camp.. Alteration is the only magic Vince can use.

Appearance: Vince is an average weight, a little bit skinnier than normal but muscular. He wears a suit of low quality silk and leather. Vince's face wasn't all too extraordinary, his sunken eyes spoke of long nights spent awake, a scar across his forehead spoke of some past battle. Baun's facial hair consisted of a very short black beard. His leather boots are spiked on the top. He usually carries two daggers on his belt, and a shortsword strapped to his side. A bow and a quiver of arrows are slung across his back usually.

Personality: He is very friendly, and can charm people very easily. He is not extremely smart, but he can think on his feet and is useful when the going gets tough.

Short Bio: Vince used to be a slave working for one of the marauder bands working for a Count. The band was slaughtered by several freelance Vampires, and they saw potential in him. They gave him training with the blade. They also offered him the gift of Vampirism but he turned it down to their dissapointment.. That was twenty years ago, and after attacking bandits for eight with his fellow Vampires, he decided to settle down into a village. Harrow seemed a good choice, so he made a home there twelve years ago.. Since so much time has passed since he fought against marauders and warlords he has lost much of his prowess in combat, but still retains his ability to emerge himself into a sword-dance, or a Dance of Death, which is a complicated maneuver taught to him by the Vampires, though it isn't as effective as it was when he was almost abnormal with his blade skills.

Equipment: Vince carries on him two extremely sharp daggers, a shortsword, a bow, and dwarven arrows.

Misc: Vince spends his time in the bar or hunting usually. Most of the villagers are in a neutral or friendly relationship with Baun. He loves to gamble, and has developed a skill at reading peoples' faces. He is addicted to skooma, and keeps a little stash in his basemant that he steals from bandits when he says he is going hunting. Sometimes he can get loud while in the bar, due to alcohol or the general desire for attention.

Alright, glad you both joined up but please read the rules, I did ask that you pm me your sheet before joining.

William you're fine

Holy, please don't make a vampire, they're too easy to make overpowered. If at a later date you want to become one during the rp, that could be alright but for now please don't.
Your sheet is fine and I had a look at your fan fic and you look like a good writer, if you need any help changing your character sheet pm me.
You said it was your first rp so, if you haven't already, you might want to have a look at the How to guide stickied at the top of the page, it's very good.

Srry. I'll change it right now. An' thanks for reading Son of Crimson :] I'm glad yah liked it. I'll check out the How To Guide after I fix up my sheet.

Update: I've read the How To RP thing and it helped a lot. Thanks for the suggestion.

Holy, your character is still overpowered I'm afraid, despite the changes. If you put it in terms of the TES games then your character isn't above level 3 to start with ie he can probably handle a bandit in a straight fight but would die if he fought any professionals. Given how old your character is it's fine if you're actually able to fight but would you mind changing you bio a bit, I mean you would've thought that one of those vampires would have had a bit of a nibble during those 20 years

He didn't spend the full 20 years with the Vamps. Sorry if I made it a little unclear.. I don't quite see what you're saying about the overpowered thing.. I don't see how he is. I'll try and change it though.

Update: I changed the sheet and added a little bit more detail. Tell me if it needs to be changed again. If it does I might just change his bio completely.

Alright, the new version is better. Personally I still don't like the bits about raiding with vampires - it's like giving drugs to an addict and having him live with them for 8 years without touching them. But if you don't want to change it thats fine, we'll see how it goes in the rp.

I'd like a couple more people to join before we start so I hope to getthis thing on the road in a day or two.

Well yeah but the vampires had plenty of blood to drink from the bandits.

Name: Alkash Hasbi
Age: 27
Gender: male
Race: Khajiit

Talents : Jumping, speed, agility, and perception, also skilled in using blades. He's also talented climbing, as he usually climbs on the tops of trees to and looks out to see if there's any bandits or other dangers lurking near town. But his greatest talent is solving puzzles, as he's has an amazing natural talent at solving such things as riddles and puzzles.

Appearance: Alkash usually tends to wear a headband style hair and is about 6.2 feet tall. He has unusually pointy ears for a Khajiit, short golden brown fur all over excepte for his long hair that he keeps tied with a headband, and is also a full bred Ohmes-raht type of Khajiit. He also perfers to wear a Coarse Linen Shirt, a pair of Rugged Pants, and Braided sandles. And also due to the fact that he is a Ohmes-raht Khajiit he is unable to fight with his nails as they are short and small, similar to humans. (So don't expect me to try and do something like that in this RP.)

Personality: He is annoying, jumpy, and seems to be constantly excited. He's also very paranoid and often feels as if someones out to get him. This is most likely brought on by the horror story's his father had told him about his slavery days. He also considered a complete coward and goes so far as to build a basemant under his house which he keeps barricaded from others getting inside with large sheets of steel. Not only does he use this there's an attack on the village but even sleeps and stores food down there in case someone tries to slip a knife on him in the dark. He's also called the town idiot and sometimes the village drunk.

Short Bio: Alkash was born into slavery as a child but has no memory of it due to the fact he was only 2 when his parents fled Morrowind. His father served for nearly 30 years in slaver from when he was a small child to when he was a fully grown man. Soon after the escape from Morrowind his father took his family and moved them to Cyrodil, where his father later joined the blades and served for nearly 10 years before he was slain in battle. Alkash was later given his fathers Akaviri Katana shortly after his death. When Alkash turned 17 he was moved to Elsweyr due to the fact that his mother was going broke and couldn't afford to support him anymore. In Elsweyr he lived with his aunt and uncle who he actually despised since they were one of the richest familys in the province but refused to acknowlege Alkash's side of the family due to his father being an ex-slave and cosidered their slavery to be a disgrace to their family. When Alkash turned 20 he moved back to Cyrodil and began work at the Black Horse Courier, a news paper buisness in the Imperial City. But due to his paranoia and cowardiness he was to afraid of traveling from city to city as he feared he might be attack by bandits, or bears, or wolves, or his worst fear OGERS!!! This of course caused him to quit his job at the Black Horse Courier, and since he quit his job he couldn't afford to live in the imperial city anymore and was forced to move, and at the age of 22 he moved to Harrow where he started a small ranch or farm inside the settlement. When he was 23 news of his mothers death reached him when she had fallen ill and couldn't afford the medicine. This increased his hate for his Aunt and Uncle even more, as they hadn't even attended the funeral service. When he turned 25, he recieved news of his cousins promotion to the elder council. This he considred to be a disgrace, as to why anyone would give a damn for that rude loud mouth house cat. Then finally at 27 he found that he might not be a farmer much longer. As news that the merchants were buying less and less food due to being unable to make it to Harrow since battles had broke out all across Cyrodil and it was becoming increasingly dangerous to be traveling. Now Alkash was seeing himself running out of money fast, and he was on the road to being homeless.

Equipment: Carry's around a katana his father recieved from his years as a member of the blades. He holds tightly to his chest when he feels danger is around and he hides with it in the basemant

Misc: Has a cousin who's a former member of the elder council before they broke apart. He also has a large family that consists of one brother and one sister, his sister is currently Daedric worshiper in the summerset islands, and Alkash's brother is a scum bag in an imperial jail who is currently on death row. He also has to aunts and uncles, one of his aunts and uncles are a rich family living in Elsewyr and his other is middle class family living in Skyrim. Of that that middle class family in skyrim, the aunt and uncles son is currently the heir to the Elesweyr seat on the Council.

Some interesting facts: He calls his basemant, his happy place.

He tends to use beer and mead when he's sad. Espically more often than usual now since he's worried about his money.

Has never had a love life

Villager find him annoying, pretty much to the point of plotting to kill him.

Does nobody read the rules!? I did ask you to pm me...

(this is why)

Dark Fox put some effort into your sheet please, I use them to judge how well people are going to post in the rp. Now I have no problem with people joining if they haven't rp'd much before but I won't let you join if I don't think you're going make an effort. That sheet can't have taken you more than a minute to write. Please prove me wrong and improve your sheet, if you need help I'm happy to be of service but your problem is that you haven't made any effort to expand beyond a very bare skeleton of a sheet.

Look at some of the other sheets in the rp, they're written in prose (even you bio isn't written in a proper sentence) And they actually go into enough detail for everyone else to get a feel for the character. Your character at the moment is simply a bog standard Khajjit wearing a headband. Who, despite his parents being slaves is somehow related to one of the former Members of the elder council which means that he is related to one of the most powerful and wealth people in Tamriel. Not only does this make no sense with the background that you've given me, it says nothing about the character at all.

I'm not asking for much, just a small amount of effort.

Name:Seres Vallen
Age:63(In wood elven terms,little more than a teenager)
Gender:Male
Species:Bosmer(Obviously)

Talents:Spry in body and with a keen mind,as well as a skilled bowman,he can speak fluently to animals and dislikes leaving wooden areas,he is skilled at both medicinal and magical forms of healing,and bosmeri wildmagic.Wildmagic is a rare art that can be learned almost exclusively by wood elves,with a few cases in half-bosmer and certain kajiit with a close akavir ancestry.He is followed around by woodland creatures because they are attracted to his presence.He can also seem to communicate to plants through physical contact,in some cases even making the grow in certain ways r to drop their fruit.In a combat setting,these skills can be used offensively,as his companion wolves will fight to defend and assist their adopted alpha,or defensively,by making thorned bushes grow behind you to slow an enemy,or have vines snare on their armor to slow them down.His abilities have limitations,and he shuns using them for violence.In times of great danger he will go "feral",he will go into a rage,attempting to kill his foes with his bare hands,in times like these he seems unnafected by wounds or pain.When he is in this state,the animals and plants will react in kind,wolves and bears will rip his foes to pieces,and trees and vines will try to strangle and injure his foes.

Personality:Confusing,intellighent,and quick witted,he tends to shoot out quick,short responses to any question,and is often difficult to understand because of this.His cheerful appearence disguises his deep,calculating,philisophical mind.He is angered easily by anyone who appears to draw pleasure from the pain of others and strictly follows the three rules of bosmeri.1.Never kill for pleasure,only survival.2.Never burn a living tree,collect what you need from the forest,do not greedily take from nature.3.Pay your respects to all living creatures of the wilderness,bury a slain foe and forgive.

Appearence:He has tan skin,with green markings tatood over his chest,arms,and legs.His hair is reddish gold,and he has blue-green eyes with disturbingly slitted pupils,like those of a wolf or fox.He tends to be shunned by other races because of the markings and his eyes,because they mark him as something strange and dangerous.

Bio:Seres lived on his own in a small treehouse outside of the hamlet and put out any of the fires that got too close to the forest edge.He lives with a trio of wolves,two males named Fang and Fear,and a female named Fell.He rarely entered the hamlet other than to trade for items he could not make or find on his own.He is a strict follower of bosmeri religion and allways pays his respects to the creatures he hunts.He is fairly unknown by the townspeople and often reffered to as "That treehugging psycho of a woodsman",But they accept him enough due to his charity when it comes to food he has found and snared,and he vows never to send a hungry traveller from home until they are fed and prepared.He commonly nurses wounded travellers and animals back to health.

Equipment:A hand-carved yew bow with wood-and-antler arrows,as well as a short spear made of sharpened oakwood and a pair of short-bladed hunting knives.

Armor-A small wooden shield and a pair of fur breeches.He wears no shirt to reveal the elegant tatoos covering his torso and arms,marking him as a devout user of bosmeri wildmagic.

Items:A large doeskin bag attached to his belt containing bull-horn flasks of medicines and ingredients.

PS:I am not trying to overpower him,for thw most part,he is a pacafist,and the "Feral thing will only happen if something really,really bad happens,like if hes facing down like twenty highly trained,armed,and armored mercenaries.The wildmagic will be reserved for when the going gets tough.Mainly he'll rely on just listening to the forest to find a path or locate a hidden enemy,Havd moss and brable form a kind of camofauge over where he is hiding,or use small woodland creatures to spy on or harass his foes.(Steal their supplies,bugs bite them while they are sleeping,snakes scare them away from his path)

done i edited it. Did i do it correctly

Lol 4th person not to read the rules

Right. Serles you need to add in appearance and personality sections

Also Dark Fox, that's much better thanks, I've pmed you about a couple of small things but thats about it

Also now that we have a good number of people (Lycanthropic Nerev has sent me a sheet too) we can start. I'll wait for him to post the sheet then I'll post the intro. Hopefully we can get this going tonight.




EDIT: First post will come as soon as I've written it, check back in about half an hour

Name: Sevarius (Sev, Brick) Atius
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Race: Imperial

Talents: Sevarius was raised the son of sons of blacksmiths, and can shoe a horse, repair virtually anything metal, and craft items very well with the right equipment. While he's had his share of fistfights, he's never once held a weapon he or his father hadn't made, and even then never in combat. Theoretically, he could turn his hammer to battle, but he has never done so and never had intention of doing it.

Appearance: Brown eyes, with short brown hair and a slight stubble. His hands are rough and calloused from years of hard work, his arms are thick and muscled. He is somewhat short, but not conspicuoulsy so, and coupled with his rough, burly appearance he tends to look somewhat like a "living brick" as his friends would say, leading to his nickname.

Personality: Hardworking and gruff when in his forge, but outside fairly average. He drank with the other men of the village, cared for his wife and son, and tried to raise enough money to perhaps expand his forge or move to greener pastures. He is often stubborn to a fault, but is comfortable with himself and who he has become. He had no desire for turmoil or adventure, just the desire to continue to live in the relative comfort of his lifelong work and it's quality.

Short Bio: Born the son to a blacksmith, who was also son to a blacksmith for generations back, his childhood he was apprenticed to his own father, and he learned the trade well. he learned to make horseshoes of iron first, then as he grew was taught how to craft and repair armor and weapons from iron to ebony. While daedric craft eluded both imself and his father, anything else could have been crafter or repaired by them, although they never had call to do much more than fix the odd adventurer's cuirass, craft a scythe-blade for a farmer or shoe a horse here or there.

One winter, his father caught fever and died, and the young man took over the forge, maintaining much the same level of quality. However, the workload was much greater with one man, instead of two. Despite that, he did marry and have a son. His wife was a Breton named Elisa and his son was named Lucius. Both were killed in the raid.

Equipment: He managed to keep a single hammer, and has only that and the clothes on his back, an open-chested shirt and a pair of plain, common pants as well as his boots and work gloves.

Misc: While too stubborn to simply kill himself over his loss, and also too stubborn to take it out on random bystanders, his rage at his own inability to protect his family as well as his survivor's guilt gnaws at his mind constantly.

Act 1, A new Dawn

Sunrise was greeted by a great plume of smoke from the smouldering remains of the village. The bandits had gone, having long since looted the town of anything of value. All that was left were the bodies, strewn across the broken shell of the settlement. Now and then amongst the dead stirrings could be seen as the few survivors began to pick their way out from their hiding places.By now the raiders were far away, off over the hills just in case the late Squire had friends strong enough to retaliate. Despite this, the remaining villagers weren't safe, a damaged settlement meant easy pickings for other raider bands throughout the area and sunrise was but a brief respite before more predators closed in.

A short way from the village, a man struggled down a steep, muddy hill. Halfway, he slipped in the dewy wetness, leaving a muddy scar in the ground behind him as he slid downwards. Eventually he managed to recover slightly, propping himself up on a sword. Even on the flat at the bottom however, he barely looked steadier on his feet. Closing in on the man, it seemed at first that he was servant, or had been. The rags he wore were once cheap, simple clothing and any of the locals could have told you that he was wearing the uniform of one the late Sir Bergerac's men. Any local could also tell you however that man in the uniform was de Bergerac's son, Guillaume.

Guillaume crested the next small hill with a sigh of incredible relief, the village was finally in sight. He'd been walking most of the night, the manor was a long way from the village. His father had never enjoyed the company of the degenerate peasants who worked his land. His legs ached from the trek and sharp pain in his side constantly reminded him of the arrow that had grazed him as he fled the family manor, leaving his father to fend off the bandits and the pair of guards who had promptly switched sides when they saw how heavily they were outnumbered.

As he trudged Guy relived the previous night's events, remembering the deep orange glow of the flames in the background as he fled through a wood. They had seemed to blot out the stars as if to show that the Nine had abandoned Guy to his fate. The breton stared blankly down at the sword in his hand; it was covered in an ooze of mud and blood, killing that cow was probably the most use Guy had ever gotten out of the thing. You need to have at least pretended to fight if you're going to play the hero.

Guy neared the village, gagging slightly at the scent of burnt flesh that washed over him with a change in the wind. Passing through the gates, he could see very little movement amongst the burnt out shacks. He stopped outside the shell of what was the local inn. The stone building was one of the few still recognisable after the raid.

Sevarius wasn't sure what to do. With all the burns, he didn't even know which bodies were his two to bury. Several groups of burnt dead lay in piles, put aside not out of piety or kindness but to allow the raiders less obstructed access to the few possessions they in thier simple hamlet had. Somewhere inside him, rage and dispair were strangling what little hope he had that those screams were not truly thiers, that in the panic and dark and smoke he had imagined them. He dug through the ruins of his home, next to his stone forge which still stood but had been virtually emptied, finding nothing. No bodies, nothing that they overlooked.

His hands, he began to notice, were cut and somewhat burnt after tossing aside so much broken and charred remnants of his life. He was finished with his home, and he knew it. As the pain of his loss began to sink in, his mind offered one final hope that they had hidden and perhaps went to one of the few more secure buildings, such as the inn. It was a long shot, but he decided to try it. He got up and began to walk.

He stayed to the streets, although the burnt husks of the houses would have been simple to pass either through or over. It was simply habit. However, before even the first turn, he found what he had hoped not to.

One of the corpse-piles consisting of seven people had at least one child in it. At the base of the pile, a simple knife, sharp and usable but not worth any money, lay sheathed. He knew the knife well. It was the first weapon his son made. The child was clutching another body. Both were burned beyond recognition, but some force, perhaps his own mind, perhaps not, told him that this was them.

"Elisa..." He managed to get out, as his hand stroked the charred face in the gesture he usually made. "My beloved Elisa..."

He knew that he had to do something. Helplessness joined his rage and dispair and guilt, constricting his mind. He knew he couldn't do much about the other three, but he'd be damned if he let the helplessness take him. He determined first to head to the inn, and hopefully find some survivors.

Inside the inn, beneath the smoky ruins, a Breton lay huddled into a corner, desperatly clutching his lute. The basemant had been untouched by the fires and havoc that had destroyed the rest of the town. If one had been in the basemant with him, they might have thought the young man had gone made, muttering incoherently to himself in whimsical tones. But he was, in fact, running through the night in his mind, transforming the raid into an epic ballad of slaughter and massacre. The scenes he imagined in his mind of villagers being beheaded, dismembered, and burned alive were as real to him as if he had seem them with his own eyes.

However, in reality, he hadn't seen a thing. He had been awoken by the shouts and screams of the villagers, the smell of smoke, and the heat of the fires. He had ran down to the basemant immediately, only grabbing the lute that he always carried with him. He hadn't seen a single bandit, gnarly and bloodthirsty. He hadn't seen a single blade, cruel and deadly. He hadn't seen a single corpse, burned and blood-soaked.

Bradon chuckled as that thought crossed his mind. "Imagination is the eye of the soul," he said to himself.

Sorry to interrupt, but it's let "slip" the dogs of war

OOC
lol I get hits on google for both but I'll trust you

Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

"Blood and destruction shall be so in use
And dreadful objects so familiar
That mothers shall but smile when they behold
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war;
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds:
And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Ate by his side come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial."

I believe the one you're using is just a modernization of Shakespeare's line.

OOC: Sorry I was a bit late.. Slept all day.

Vincellus surveyed the burnt village, the scorched remains of people would haunt him for the rest of his life. The inn looked somewhat untouched. Maybe the survivors were meeting up there, he thought to himself.

The burnt and [censored] form of his close friend Raylaie brought tears to his eyes. He stumbled over to the corpse, yelling curses to the vile bandits.

"Why! Why didn't you survive?" Vince howled, beginning to get angry at Raylaie for leaving him in this forsaken world alone.

He got back to his feet and trudged over to the miraculously unburnt inn. Baun burst through the door, over to the closest chair. He sat down and propped my feet up on the table in my usual pose.

Vince saw a curled up Breton huddling a lute in the corner. He recognized him as Bradon, one of the best musicians in the town. He was glad that Bradon survived, for he could really use a song right now.

"Oi Bradon. Get off yer [censored] and smack out a tune would you? As you can imagine I could use the boost. Eh you think there's any beer left in 'ere? I'm dyin' for one," Vincellus called out to the Breton, his voice low and gruff for his throat was damaged by the smoke from the fires.

OOC

Holy, the inn has been burnt to the ground, what is left are the stone walls because they aren't flammable and the cellar

Lol sorry man. I didn't realize that. I didn't completely read that other guy's post. I'll fix up mine