Dominions (Tails)

[Deleted]

“Name’s Urok lad, go’ a drink on ye? No?”



“Erm, I’m ‘eaded for Utgar’, see if I can bag meself a giant. ‘Eard dey go fer a pretty penny.”



“Well, Oi’m abou’ seven foot two. I got very dark green skin fer an Ork, almost blend inta the surroundings I was tol’ by an ol’ Dwerf frien’ a mine. Dark eyes, I guess. I got light green coloured ‘air, as is common wiff us Orks. Oi’m wearin’ patchy armour, mixture of leather and metal aroun’ the arms, shoulders an’ legs, while I keep the real good stuff around me chest an’ ‘ead, nice steel, polished ‘til it’s silver, crafted by the finest dwarf craftsmen ya know.” The Ork feels around his pointed left ear, then remembers, “Oh ya, I lost most of me right ear, luckily most of it were superficial, the eardrum is still intact so I can ‘ear jus’ fine.”



“Grew up in the rough an’ tumble of livin’ in an Ork tribe, stole a’ couplea things, killed an Orc or two, put choice knives in some choice backs an’ next thing I knew I was in line to the throne. If only that Giantfucker Umgrush hadn’t thrown me to the wolves an’ had me exiled for the fact I use ‘un-orky’ magick.” He’d go on to mumble several Orcish obscenities involving Umgrush’s father, and how they were particularly familiar with goat mating rituals.



“Youse really want ta know a lot, don’tcha? A’ight. Well, I gots me my trusty silver blade, helps with the werewolves and other nasty bastards that wandered around back where I used ta live. Got some coins, a backup knife, a backup backup knife.” He takes out a deadly looking serrated blade, which is his backup backup knife. “Got me a longbow too, only got a few arrers left though, gotta get some more of them when I get to Ulgar’,”



“Nah, not much, fair travels, ol’ man.” He doesn't tell the man about his magic type, so he has a couple of tricks up his sleeve. (He has 3 points in Alteration.)



You are an alteration mage, of moderate skill in your field. Alteration spells can, generally, be used on yourself, your allies, or your enemies. Assume this is the case for all spells unless directed otherwise. Buffs for you may be debuffs for enemies or allies, and vice versa. Use them wisely



Wheatstone of the gods: Makes your sword incredibly sharp, but has the potential to break your blade

Rabbit skin: Makes you skin easily pierced, but it increases your speed exponentially. You may also find your pelt selling for high prices at the market

Body ethereal: Makes you immune to all forms of damage, but your blows go right through all but other ethereal

Strength of atlas: Increases your power ten fold. Extended use puts great strain on your muscles, and can lead to minor, serious, or permanent injury

It's odd to see the old man not run after you begin describing yourself, as beings such as yourself are seen as little more than beastly things that go bump in the night. Akin to goblins, but a bit more brutish, but this one doesn't seem to mind. He tanks you for your time, before continuing his own journey. It isn't long before he's out of sight, and you're left to yourself to continue along this snowy, desolate road. You were heading through the snowy tundra that surrounded Utgard, land of the Jotun giants. All the metal you wore around yourself didn't do much to keep you warm, and it felt as though you'd freeze to death any moment, but the thought of a warm inn kept you pushing forward.

Eventually, in the distance, you spot a city; Adviskor. It is a quaint little place, sitting next to a great, frozen river. Farm land, noticeably devoid of anything really growing, surrounds the path leading up to the city. You pass through the city walls around mid day, just in time to weather out a blizzard that had been following you since the morning time. The town is quiet. Men, women, and children bustle around, but not in great number, and not loudly. All the shops down the entrance mid way appear to be open, and the tavern looks warm and welcoming 

[Death]

Urok moves forward with the sluggish, but threatening nature of an Ork, almost akin to a hibernating bear. His arms swing lazily in time with his slow, snow covered boots, with a slight tinge of frostbite; heck, if it wasn't for his biological Orky constitution, he would have died days ago out in that weather, he was lucky it was something he could treat overnight. His finely kept sword hangs loosely on his left side, inside a fine oaken scabbard with a large metal cap at the end of it. His longbow was slung over his left shoulder, the string going diagonally across his chest and wrapping around his right hip. His first knife was slipped behind his back on his belt, secured firmly so it wouldn't cut him; the second was slipped into his boot, with easy access to the handle.

He looked really threatening, but with a tiredness only days of travel could give someone. One lazy eye glanced into the inviting tavern, and he slowly clamped towards it, leather and metal creaking and squeaking with every move he made. Pushing the door open so he could enter, he ducked down slightly to not hit his head- he'd quickly observe the inside of the tavern.

[Deleted]

You look around the room. A lit fire sits in the middle of the room, protected from the rest of the wooden building by a circle of stones and dirt. A few men surround the fire pit, warming their hands and drying off their boots. The bar tender, a young, pale woman with long brown hair attends to a couple of drunkards as they demand more ale. Two groups of mercenaries fill the tables in the far left and right hand corners of the room. One seems to be intently discussing something, while the other group is getting drunk and laughing with each other. The remaining space is held by men of various sizes, sitting around and talking with one another.

[Death]

Urok sniffs the air, smelling the scent of merriment and ale. Not a big fan of the ale he smelt, too sweet for him, but it would be better than the goat's milk he has been living off of for the past couple of weeks. His snow-covered boots leave sizable, white footprints as he makes his way toward the bar. The Ork wipes the snow from his leaf green hair, and onto the ground; not caring much for the mess he has made. He drags a chair from under the lip of the bar-top, making a large scraping sound that echoes throughout the entire tavern. Sitting down he folds both arms on the table, waiting for the young-looking (human, he would assume) bar-tender to come over to him.

While waiting, he sizes up anyone that looks like they may be a threat, like the mercenaries who weren't pissed. He considers ways to take them out if push comes to shove.

[Deleted]

The drunkards could probably be persuaded with a good drink, but it's hard to say for the other group of mercs

You sit down at the closest open bar stool, making enough noise along the way to turn all eyes on you. Half of them were about as big and about as ugly as you, so no one seemed to pay you much mind after your little show was through. The woman who tended the bar comes up to you

"What'll it be, stranger?" The way she talks is like that of a child trying to imitate their father, and failing miserably

[Death]

Urok rests his head on his hands, his elbows on the table. He looks at the woman, his face giving an ever-present scowl. "Somefin' dats de least shite here," He grumbles back, continuing to glance around at the other bar patrons. "Also somefin' ta treat frostbite if ya 'ave it." He says this in a very bored tone, almost as if it doesn't bother him at all. He scratches the side of his head.

[Deleted]

"Coming right up." The little woman tries her hardest to seem tough, but her attempts fall flat. She pulls of a large bottle from under the counter, about half full, and pours you a tall glass "Best thing for a bit a frostbite is to sit by the fire for awhile, and hope your toes don't fall off." She directs you to the fire pit behind you. It's unlikely that she knows any proper medical care, so that's probably your best bet.

[Death]

Urok grabs the glass and simply chugs all it down in less than five seconds. He smacks the glass back down on the table, making an audible 'thunk' as it does so. Sidling out of the chair, making more really obnoxious scraping sounds as he does so, he plods over to the fire and sits down in front of it, letting the warmth surround him and begin to melt any left over snow on his body.

[Deleted]

The fire warms your body immensely. You'll have to remember to pick up some warmer clothing for as long as you intend you stay in these frozen lands. The other men around the fire seem a bit disgruntled

"Oi, could ya stop makin' so much god damn racket?" One asks
"It's givin' me a headache."

[Death]

The Ork simply looks at the man. His beady Ork eyes glare at the man an he snorts in amusement. The fact that this guy had the audacity to talk back to a seven foot Ork with muscles the size of his head makes Urok laugh- He was not taking this guy seriously. "Don' fuck wit guys who would krump ya right quick," He chuckles throughout the sentence. He has his hand on his boot knife.

[Deleted]

Another man, sitting just next to the first one, stands up. He is just as tall and muscular as you are, just without the green skin, and holds a Dane ax by his side

"And 'os to say 'e's the one fuckin' wit'cha?"

[Death]

Urok raises an eyebrow, uninterested. "Fing is, oi can kill people right propa, youse better sit yer shite-talking arse down or oi'll krump ya quick." He slowly rises to his feet, like a dragon awoken from it's slumber. His hand reaches for his sword, and it is drawn with a crk-shing sound.

[Deleted]

"Lissen you over sized goblin', you ain't jus' gonna walk in 'is tavern an act like ya own the place." The large man brings his ax up, gripping it firmly in both hands. He looks quite unhappy. "Now you stop actin' like a bloody bastard, and this don't gotta come to bloodshed."

[Death]

The Ork fumes, grinding his teeth angrily. Assholes he could stand, racists he could not. His boots clamp forward as he prepares a combat stance. "Oi was perfectly willin' to let ya go with bein' an arsehole, but when ye decided to be a racist cunt, now it turns to bloodshed." He slowly approaches, like a predator would his prey, and goes for a swing straight for his head, using his wrist to give it the power to just cleave into his neck. His other arm is very closely kept to his side, almost behind his back to protect it from any counter attack. The attack is short, quick, and professional- however it is a very simple, basic manoeuvre.

(I'm going to try and describe my attacks as realistically as possible, you're fighting for your life, not doing anything fancy after all.)

[Deleted]

(Good man. Stupid bullshit will get you killed in Dominions most of the time.)

The gruff man slips his hands down the handle of his ax, and brings it up to block the strike. Your blade strikes into the sturdy oak, sticking it a centimeter or so deep into the wood. The oak is strong, but you may be stronger. An incredibly powerful strike might cleave through the handle itself, but it could also stick, leaving yourself open.

[Death]

(Sorry for not posting, didn't have access to a computer yesterday.)

Urok brings around his other fist the second his sword connects with the wooden axe. His fist would connect with the man's stomach or pelvic region. He'd yank his sword back out and leap back about a metre to get out of the way of any wild swings- he brings his sword up with his right hand in a protective stance in front of his body. Subtlety, his left palm glows with a golden light, though it is muffled by his clenched fist.

(He is preparing to use Body Ethereal.)

[Deleted]

"You louts stop mucking up my bar right now! I do NOT want clean up blood."

The barkeep shouts at you both. Her arms are crossed, and she has a pouty look on her face

"Yes, miss, right away!" The hairy man says "Oi, uh, better do as the lass asks, lad. Unless you happen to be fire proof, 'at is." He slowly lowers his weapon, but doesn't put it down. He seems to be waiting for your response before doing anything more

[Death]

Urok takes this as a sign to put his sword down; like the man he doesn't put it down completely, but he's not going to immediately attack this guy. He glances around the tavern to see how the others are reacting.

[Deleted]

The entire tavern seems tense. Nobody moves, but everyone looks ready for a fight, or for something major to happen.

"Ya got till the count of three!" Shouts the maiden "...1..."

"Right, right." Your opponent puts down his weapon

[Death]

Urok feels better about himself knowing he was not the one to put his weapon down first. He sheaths the sword and collapses onto his butt, near the fire again having forgotten about the small brawl- after all, the only grudge he could hold was against Umgrush.

[Deleted]

(I will get back to you when I figure out exactly what I want to fucking do with Utgard.)

[Death]

[Deleted]

(I think I have a wee bit of an idea)

You hear a loud 'thumping' coming from outside, and you're suddenly made aware to just how tall the ceiling is as a giant squeezes his way through the tavern door. He stands at about 11 feet, a moderate height for a giant. He has a long beard, an old bronze helmet. He is accompanied by two guards, both large men in their own right. One wields a small ax and a shield, the other holds a Halberd.

"Good afternoon Astrid." The giants says

"Ah, hello there Wolffur. Take a seat." The bar keep responds

The bar keep moves her right hand a bit, and a magical aura seems to surround one of the bar stools. The giant proceeds to take a seat on it.

[Death]

Urok scowls at the back of the Giant's head- his jaw clenching as he does so.

[Deleted]

The man with the Halberd leans his weapon against the bar counter, takes a seat next to the giant, and orders himself a drink. The other man stands behind the giant, watching the room intently.

The barkeep brings the guard his drink, and then lugs a rather large mug of ale up to the giant. They both nod in thanks

"So, Astrid. It's been awhile since I've stopped by."

"You're damn right it has!" The barkeep attempts to mask her glee with a stern look. Nobody seems to buy it. "You need to stop by more often."

"Ha, yes, I probably should. Regardless, how have you been?" The giant leans his elbow on the counter, and puts his chin in his hand. He takes a sip of his ale.

"Well..." The barkeep begins to rattle on about how thing's have gone over the past few weeks. She talks very quickly, and you can only really make out so much. Something about some rowdy customers, a dog, some flowers. None of it seems very interesting, but the giant is enthralled with her tales, and quite distracted, for that matter.