Romancing the Battle's Edge

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Astaroth, Mar 16, 2012.



    It was upon a day like any other that our story begins: a day which dawned on glinting spacesteel and the soft glow of phasers in the gloaming; a day where blood was bitterly shed; a day where a millennium-old hatred was perpetuated and reaffirmed on the silty soil of an unclaimed planet.

    It began on the day that Alfarin Oddson fell to Tumen Arslan swords.


    Our story, however, has its roots not on the battlefield, but on an unspoiled, peaceful planet half a system away.
    This planet was called Hespera, and it was on this world that the Khagan's son and his closest men had taken respite. The marital arrangements with Clan Dashtai were beginning to take their toll on the young warrior, and so he sought the comforts of this green paradise when the diversions of war were denied him.


    Although his required guard detail accompanied him to the planet's surface, Vachir soon slipped away, preferring the solitude for his thoughts. After all, no hostile soul was to be found on this sacred tract of forested land. What harm could possibly happen upon him which he could not best?

    Little did he know that he was not the only young and prominent warrior who had chosen this day to visit Hespera.


    Little did he know that he was to be bested, in ways he could never imagine.

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    Yrsa hopped out of her fighter, landing lightly on the springy loam of the clearing she had put down in. She was tired, worn out from days of listening to her family arrange her life. Though she was loyal to them, the woman needed a break. It didn't help that she was tired from battles, and her family had been certain to comment on the fact that she needed to stop, to rest and have a family of her own.

    For a time, she had been content to allow them to control this part of her life. But the closer they got to actually making any sort of arrangements for her courtship, the more she withdrew. Loyalty to family was only so powerful a motivator to a girl not yet ready to lay down her sword and take up the loom. So she'd fled, coming to Hespera.

    She made her way through the unspoiled forest, moving gracefully through the trees. Her armor was back on the fighter; no one should be able to find the girl here, after all. She wore simple brown breeches and blue tunic, a glass beaded necklace with Mjolnir as the amulet hanging from her neck. Her sword, Sunna's Kiss, hung from her swordbelt which sat low on her hips.

    As she walked, she felt herself begin to relax. The place truly was pristine. She found a shallow creekbed, one that showed signs of only recently diminishing from a spring swell, judging by the way the rocks had settled and debris had been washed to a high waterline. But now, it was simply a clear running brook and she contented herself with taking her boots off and sitting with feet dangling in the water. After a while of this, she tucked her boots into her belt and began to walk carefully along the rocks. Music began to swell, Yrsa's feelings voiced in song, feelings she'd worked so hard to conceal, even from herself. Her longing for freedom, and for her own choices, taking precedence.


  3. View attachment 9729 As the long ship cut through star splashed blackness, it's bow mounted with the molded metal bust of a wolf head, one man stood with his hand firmly clenched on an oil soaked torch. It had been lit and was now burning fiercely. He touched it to the dome of the wolves head. It's pitch filled inside began to smolder, then caught fire as flame coughed out through the holes of it's eyes and snarling mouth.

    "Den kjøkken kriger!"

    The man screamed, casting an unnatural reverberation as his words echoed through space. His thick red hair was pulled taunt behind his head and tied off in several braids. Around his neck was a strand of leather laced with bone. His name was Alfvin Skoglund. He was a warrior, and ally to The Clan Björningr.

    It had been too long since the dusk clan had left their home planet of Óspaki and although deep space was a far cry from the warm fires and dark ales, it was still a glorious experience. Unlike most of their travels through space, this journey would not yield a trail of dead bodies from the helpless planets they pillaged. This was a mission of politics! Although Alfvin was a warrior and not in the least bit concerned with prearranged marriage, he knew providing his service to the Bjorningr would cement a relationship between their two clans. In times of war it was important to have strong allies, in times of peace it was important to gain their trust.

    Alfvin bellowed again, announcing his clans name into the vast galaxy. Hespera was not far away now and in the distance Alfvin could see the blurry outline of Oddson's longship. Lars Oddson, a hulking man that was feared and respected throughout the galaxy, had personally requested Alfvin's service. This made Alfvin proud as he had always seen eye to eye with the man.

    He would bring him a barrel of the finest ale as an offering along with his promise of servitude. The ale, made naively on Alfvin's home planet of Óspaki, is called 'raven stormbrew' (Hrafn stormier brugga). A highly sought after ale in the galaxy, known for it's strength and smoothness. The Dusk clan are very proud of their brew and take drinking very seriously, whether in celebration or medicinal use.

    He left his own longship in the hands of his dependable crew, telling them that they would stay here for 'as long as need be' and with that Alfvin boarded Oddson's ship, the barrel of ale clutched in his arm, hoisted over his shoulder. He was met by a few hulking guards that didn't look thoroughly pleased by his apparent dis interest for them or their blades that hung at the ready. Had they been expecting his arrival? It was a ballsy move not sending message first, but Alfvin assumed the Höfðing would be expecting him.

    "Alfvin Skolgund, Den kjøkken kriger."
    He said calmly, setting the barrel of ale to the plank lined floor with a hearty thump. "I've come on request of Lars Oddson!"

  4. The silent dance of battle in the void. The glint of beams and flare of explosions. The grim yet exhilarating task of conquest. Another world to add to the crown of the Tumen Arslan. Aboard the Khagan's flagship, the Arighgal the impending victory was not the only thing on Burilgi's mind. He sat on his throne his cheek resting on his fist as he stared at the battle unfold. Its was exactly as he had planned. The resistance in the void swept aside like leaves against the storm. Soon him men would land on force surrender.

    They were lucky he needed their planet intact. Still any formal surrender by their heads was not enough. He would make them beg for their lives before lifting his boot from their throats.

    "Everything is ready?" he asked as one of his generals. A man in gilded armor approached past the men leaning over their consoles and instruments.

    "All except the victory celebrations Khagan."

    "Yes... the wedding."

    He looked at the battle once more then stood, his sword slapping against his leg. "To the feast then. Once this world is ours. We can tell Vachir whats hes missed when he returns."

    The general nodded and left moving once again past the bridge crew, today however the Khagan would not enter battle. Even without his son preparations would have to be made.

    "Vachir, today of all days you take off. If you were merely a general I'd call you a traitor."
  5. The crown jewel of Clan Dashtai sat comfortably in a chair. She had sent her attendances away, feeling that until the more legal aspects were needed to be discussed that there was no need for hangers on. Gelerdene was well aware of the political importances of this alliance, this marriage, but she had no intention of making the whole affair about everyone else. She was fond of her bethrowed after all and wanted him comfortable in the arrangements. Wisdom beyond her years perhaps, but mostly just listening to the wisdom of others, she knew that if her and Velchir were to be happy they would need time away from obligation.

    Thus when it was not Velchir but his father that entered the suite she sighed in resignation. Time away from obligation indeed! Politely the daughter of Dashtai stood and greeted the head of Tuman Arslan. "Welcome mighty Khagan. It is an honor to see you once more. What might I thank for this honor?"

    Gelne knew of course this wasn't a social call. Not that she would have minded. Quite the contrary, but this was a man on a mission always it seemed. Right now his mission was in the dealings of his son she was sure. Still though she smiled politely, even maybe warmly at the warrior.