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The Iron Dynasty, DeLaRose Role Play Group » Valerian Story's » The Vandenburg Coven » Runes and Roses -Official Vostra Log 1, Part 1-

Runes and Roses -Official Vostra Log 1, Part 1-

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-Castle Zarkov, Four Years Before Sephiria's Summons to Braidwood-
[See Braidwood RP on Discord for More Details]



KafzielLaVayne: With a far looking expression the 7 foot 4 Viking walked through the barren lands. The heat surrounded him and even with his endurance it could be seen that it was not an easy task. With a bare chest covered by nothing except dried up blood and scale leggings he walked barefoot over the dry ground. In one hand he hold by the long hair of what once was a man a head. Its moment of death was still clearly portrayed by an expression of terror. A rune was scribed upon the forehead from which a blue hue consistently glowed. In the other hand met with the same glow on the outer side he with one hand held onto a Great Axe. Its wooden handle was coated in beaten up bronze that fell from the wood made from an old oak. Its steel end covered in dried blood and pieces of it had already broken off. It was a brutal weapon that showed its age just like Bior. A 36 year old Viking rune caster, a warrior group from the forever cold lands. His steps showed its strength and dust covered his uncovered feet. The way he walked showed a clear purpose. Sometimes he stopped in its tracks until a ghastly voice came from the severed head after which he kept walking or made strange maneuvers. The traps of which he did not know were avoided with the help of magic. A rune inscribed upon flesh. A foul way but a needed way for him to reach his destination. He had no beard a rare sight for a Viking but his hair was long and blond. His eyes a piercing light blue that had slight traces of white in it. The skin that could be seen pale and covered in runic tattoo's with the remnants of a burn mark upon his left shoulder. A old wound that plagues him still in combat. It is for this reason he holds the Great Axe in his right hand and fights with only his right arm. The head was simple, a simple kill and easy carry. A smirk showed itself on his lips. The curling of his smile at the edges of the right pressing against a scar underneath his right eye. He could not see as well with this eye as he could with his left. But he could handle most blunt attacks. His body showed a history of battle. As an outlander even in his own lands he stayed away from cities and towns. He liked being on his own, like the might Thor, it was himself upon which he relies. Yet the promise of ale and booze moved him to the taverns of the world. This dry land of heat certainly promised that too. The head when it was still bound to a body spoke of a city in which he could find such booze of which he did not know the taste. He would change this, and show it to the head when he was done. The city was not far anymore. A few flaps of a dragons wings and he would stand at the row before the gates. He was excited for booze he did not know the taste of, and the fights with the others that drank with him within the tavern or bar. Nothing would stop him from reaching it so far he cared about it. A guard, dead. City folk, dead. He will keep walking, those that stop him met the same fate as the head that he hold by the hair.



SophitiaEien: The head had managed to help him avoid the traps, and he was able to find the correct passage without much trouble. However as he approached Vostra the man had expected gates, surely, but was met with four large Drow males with a rather surly expression on their faces. Given the fact that the man not only carried an open weapon but also a severed, runed head, they spoke amongst themselves as he approached and one took off running toward the stables. The other three stood as a form of barricade while the one who ran mounted one of the trained riding spiders, allowing it to carry him to the crumbling ruin of a castle a meter or so from the entrance to Vostra. The city itself was otherwise mildly noisy, not near as much so as the usual the man would have encountered as most kept to their circle or kin. Not many would speak with strangers, as this was known for being a safe haven for the criminal mind and silence was one of the many currencies. Anything could be bought here. One of the Drow guards drew his weapon, a massive battleaxe which he wielded with both brawny arms, shouting at the intruder. “Oi! You've got to register like everyone else here, and there are no drawn weapons allowed! Put it away or we'll take it by force!” The other two moved closer to the first, drawing their own weapons – a scimitar dual wielder, and an archer respectively. Townsfolk within view paused and whispered, as they'd not seen the guards draw their weapons in some time, before eventually finding it safest to return to their homes and lock their doors. Meanwhile in the castle, all was quiet and a little too still. No sound, no scent, no light.



KafzielLaVayne: Like the towering behemoth that he was he looked down upon the drow guard that stood not far from where he had stopped walking. He showed little interest in any of them. Instead his head turned down towards where he holds the severed head. It spoke in a ghastly voice which informed him no traps were before him, only guards. He nodded as its last words were to be free from the rune upon its forehead. With a simple throw the head flew over his shoulder behind him. He addressed his patron god then. ”Thor, may thee strike.” A unneeded thing but great for a display of power. From the sky a strike would follow and the head was burned to nothing but ashes by lightning. A ghastly scream followed and then the spirit was freed for the rune was no more. It was only him now and the tiny guards that stood before him. He cared little for their words. Their weapons meant little to him and neither did their commands. He is after all a viking and protection for a city never kept his kind out of it for long. A smirk adorned his facial expression as he brought up the Great Axe. The blue hue shined upon its face as it closely passed it. He desired his ale and it had to be sooner rather then later. Thoughts went through his head as he considered the possible ways of dealing with it all. He could but only guess which was the best way. A fight would be simple but one had already escaped his grasp so many would definitely follow. However at the current time only two guards were here, and tiny they were. So he raised his arm holding the Great Axe and with a mighty throw it flew spinning directly towards them. It was a clear miss and it was intended to be so, it dug itself deep into the deep ground between them both. He then started walking towards them while nodding along the way. Registration it was but if it would take to long then he would still slay them and enter regardless. He need no weapons. Viking blood courses through him and his blood lust covered him like the clothes he was not wearing except the leggings.



SophitiaEien: At first the guards braced for an attack, only stepping back in case they needed to avoid his throw. When it dug into the ground, they straightened and put their weapons away, allowing him to pass while a female Drowess with a short haircut and a beefed up figure approached to lead him to the registration stand. There he was only to give his name, a record of weapons, and his purpose for coming. The process only would take a few moments, and then he would be released to go about his business. His axe would be returned to him upon finishing up, delivered by one of the guards who gave him a look that said 'Impressive', and a pat on the back. The closest tavern, or taverns as there were several for the different races as they all had their tastes in local alcohol, was directed to him as being about twenty paces north and to the right. The sign would read “The Dreamweaver”, and it was rumored to be the best and a local center for gossip, jobs, and good ale. The guard who had taken off now arrived at the castle doors, making his way in and approaching the throne which was almost completely encased in darkness – this was thanks to the hearth being unlit and no candles lit as well. “Your Highness, there is a man of the North here. He carries a head that is runed with an unknown enchantment, and an axe. We advise you to remain here, in case he is dangerous.” To these words movement stirred, a pair of bright crimson eyes burning holes in the Drow's own garnet gaze. Out of the darkness a figure stood from the throne, walking forward until its face was only inches away from his. The Drow bristled, feeling intimidated by the gaze and the closeness and even moreso as the being's clawed hand rested on his chest. “Go back to your post. I have never needed protection from danger...or should I remind you of to whom you speak?” The voice that rasped out against his pointed ear was feminine and viciously cold, enough so that the Drow instantly took a few steps back and bowed his head in apology. “Y...Yes, Your Highness,” was all he said as he practically sprinted out of the castle and mounted his spider once more, returning to the entrance of Vostra. The woman then sighed, pulling out a pair of gloves from the chest of her gown and sliding them over her clawed hands. She was curious, but she'd have to be careful.



KafzielLaVayne: An hassle, dear god it was such a hassle. For just simple drinking and he had to fill in so many things. Compared to his cold home it was so much work. Where he came from he only needed to walk in, punch a guard and be lead to a tavern. Yet here, here it was so rigid. Like the head outside clearly their heads to had burned out and made them go insane. He did not like it here. Were it not for the cooler temperature which he felt now he was inside and the promise of good ale he would never have stayed. His Great Axe which had been with him for so many seasons they were to many to count he even had to leave him behind. What he didn't do for ale. It broke his heart many times over to see his Axe go out of his line of sight while he walked further into the city. The streets did not make it great to walk. It was hard even harder then the dry ground outside and the people looked away from him and walked in every direction he did not take. He finally spoke because of these acts. ”Children, it would do thee well to grow. Bunch of bullshit.” His voice was hoarse and dry. Heavy like thunder but sharp like lightning. He did not like the people and it seemed the people did not like him either. At least it meant the tavern may prove for an experience he is familiar with. Good ale and a brawl to shed his annoyance for a better mood. The guards mentioned that the ale would prove to be of good quality, and a taste he would not recognize. They better be right he thought to himself, and accidentally said towards a small man in stature. He did not look for the reaction it would get him, not even noticing he had addressed him. Instead he kept walking on until the tavern was within his eyesight. The doors looked more fancy then he preferred them and he could not quite hear the sound of brawls. It did not feel like a tavern to him, but he pushed on and with large hands he throw open the doors to the tavern and stepped inside. With his size he almost had to lower himself to go through. His gaze now that he was inside traveled over those that were present. His loud entrance probably did garner him some attention. He did not care though his aim was the bar and he stormed straight towards it with large stomping steps.



SophitiaEien: The people who had all been steering clear of the large man gave him a foul look upon hearing his words, some shouting variants of “Go home” and “outsider” in different languages. They did not care for his kind, it seemed, but he was every bit as rightful to be there as they were. Once inside the tavern every head turned to glare at him, annoyed with his loud entry as it was an unusually quiet place, but quickly turned back around to go about their business. Though it sounded as though there were no brawls on the outside, it was made clear that this was due to either very sound dampening house material, or magic was involved to prevent a stir – the back half of the bar was absolutely riotous. The rest of them ignored it, including the bartender who simply thumped the counter with his large hand in an offer for the towering man to take a seat. “What'll it be, northerna?” The gruff giant said, and it was funny – he seemed a tad short for what he was. The being was of Giant birth, but deformed and shrunken as though he were also half Dwarf. As a result, the keep stood about 7'0” and was rather fat with a long red beard and a bald head. At the castle doors on the inside stood Sephiria as she prepared for the venture into Vostra's inner workings, wanting to see this individual for herself. With one lift of her gloved hand the bolt rose and fell to the ground, creating a rather large collision noise followed by a deafening creak as the iron doors opened for her. She stepped out from them, wearing a fully covering black cloak and gown so that nothing could be seen except the bottom half of her face, as well as her feminine silhouette should she remove the overcloak and fur capulet. Once at the bottom of the crumbling steps she snapped her fingers and the doors slammed shut, the thud of the bolt replacing itself to be heard on the other side. After this she walked at a lazy pace into the city, causing more than a few gasps, whispers and yelps of fright along the way. It wasn't often people actually saw her leave the castle and walk amongst the people, and it showed in how they completely avoided her but also stared as though they viewed a ghost.




KafzielLaVayne: His voice hoarse and deep addressed the giant like it was an old friend. Every man behind the bar was his friend, almost family. They gave him the only reason to enter a city willingly even to the point it seems that he would give up on his Axe. His heart broke once more at this thought. Such a beautiful Axe and it was his through thick and thin but he was not for her in the end. The familiar feeling however of the tavern warmed his heart. Like a home to him when he was away from it. Every tavern just the same though this one bored him when he stood outside. Inside however a whole different story and it made him smile for the first time in the city in a sincere way. ”Your finest ale bar father. A taste I have never tasted, one I will remember.” Reaching to the leggings he from the pouch presented two pieces of gold. They were not his, well they are now, but its previous owner did not need it anymore. It was after all to busy with showing him the way into the city. Perhaps he could given the kind head a better farewell. It helped him so well with all those traps even if it did not had either the choice or the free will to make him step into a trap if it wanted to. The rune did not function like that, it only drew upon the knowledge and information he needed. The spirit was trapped and like a tap by asking he could open it to let the info flow out. He looked to his left, and then he looked to his right. There were a few seats open at the bar but not one was in the solitude he looked. A brawl comes often when he was not left alone, but a brawl too was welcome. So he sat down near the corner at the wall. The first 3 nearest to the wall were taken but the fourth was now his. With a thump he sat down upon it and with his nail he scratches a rune in front of him. It would hold no power and it only meant sky, a token to Thor his patron deity. Would he imbue it with an incantation then usage could be pulled out of it. His lightning strike instead of the sky coming from the rune. Did he need it however, no. But he always did it to show honor to Thor before he drank in his name and enjoyed the pleasures every Tavern had to offer.



The half-Dwarf, half-Giant bartender gave a heavy chuckle and a knowing glimmer in his eyes and she nodded, bowing low to grab a dusty bottle from the back of a shelf. He cleaned it off and popped the top, handing it to the man himself rather than simply sliding it across the bar like most did. “I took ye fer a strong drinker, lad. Tis me finest, a hybrid of Drowish and Dwarauger herbs to craft a drink so potent ye'll e'en try t' seduce Her Lady Grave Digger. Ha! Th' thought makes me almost wan t' see that...enjoy yerself.” With that he bowed his head again and tended to another drinker who requested a meager draft in comparison to the one he'd just given. A few men shouted in praise and awe as the towering Viking conjured a lightning strike by rune magic, impressed with the feat and hailing him with toasts. The show of his honor to the God earned him some brownie points with the locals, it seemed. Meanwhile not far from the Dreamweaver, the hooded figure had begun to ask after any strange visitors from the locals. After catching word that he had gone into the tavern she paid them for their information and headed that way, stopping at the door. A smile crept on her face as she could see through the window what the man looked like, sensing his magical ability but quite unsure of its origins. She was not familiar with many Northern magics, but she was now curious. Walking past the threshold, even the brawlers went silent as they caught sight of the woman who so casually strolled up with deliberate and slow steps toward the bar, paid the keep a gold coin and was presented with a distinctly marked bottle. Without a word, and as every person in this tavern watched her, she withdrew a vial filled with vitae and popped the cork on the bottle, pouring the contents of the vial into it and swirling it around by the neck. She then took a drink from it, the iron scent of blood filling the air mixed with notes of honeyed mead. Utter silence and stillness fell over the entire building, so much so that not even the barkeep dared speak. It was clear they knew who this was.




KafzielLaVayne: “Agh, thy liver is but a baby compared to mine good Sir.” He spoke with laughter in his voice and with his back he leaned against the one sitting next to him towards the wall. In the meat time he did so he had the bottle open and balanced with the bottom up between his lips. The contents of the bottle would fall into his mouth, and with barely a need to swallow it all followed down into his throat. Once it reached his neck it would be gone and never come up again. The bottle did not take long for someone like him to be empty and done for. And he slammed it in his fist upon the bar as he sat back up right. ”Oh that is some good foreign ale. Don't you think so tiny creature?” With a turn of his head he stared down towards the one he first leaned again. Though he did not expect an answer or hoped for one even as he already started to laugh and slam with his palm upon his back. Again and again he did it until he silence got noticed by him. All eyes seemed to be looking at a woman, covering her face and drinking the drink she bought. To him this was not something he could understand. Even the brawls had stopped and he almost never saw that happen in a tavern. Taking the tiny one beside him that he befriended he picked him up by grabbed his chest and brought him close to his face while he looked to the woman. ”Whom may she be my little friend?” Raising his brow he looked to him from the corner of his eye with his one good eye and then to the woman with a curious gaze.


-Part 1 End, 5/2/2018-

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