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Viewing Single Post From: The Tragic Tale of Tyrius
Jack Mccloud
CDF Sergeant Major
The bodies of the raiders still lay where they had fallen, bleeding out onto the dirt.

Baltazar paid the groans of the still living no mind, sifting through pockets for spare units of currency, bits of Manarock they might have collected on the march here or from previous conquests. His lance was balanced up against his steed as he sifts, throwing away meaningless personal baubles with flicks of his wrist.

"Hey you!"

Baltazar slowly stands, a smile forming on his muzzle as he turns around. Three of the town guard stood watching him, clutching their weapons tightly.

"What are you doing here?

Baltazar looks at the half stripped corpses beside him, inclining his head a such an obvious answer. "Recycling." He makes a move to return to his scavenging, but a shouted word of warning gives him pause. His smile fades. "If i am not welcome then i shall bid a leave."

With grace he steps into his stirrup and flings himself aboard his Horse, his lance balanced on his shoulder.

"Did you know these men?" One of the guards asks, clutching his crossbow tightly as he tracks Baltazar's movements.

"Personally? No. Saw them coming a mile away though" He shoots back, enjoying the stunned silence that came after.

"Y-you didnt warn us!"

Baltazar tisks in response. "It is a tough world out here now. Men have to watch out for themselves. Why would i butt my head into other's business?"

He is responded with the mechanical shrieks of the crossbow being cocked, and the violent swears of the guard as he slams a bolt into the mechanism. "You think you can play games with us?!"

Baltazar kicks his horse, the clearly enhanced beast lumbering forward at a decent trot, leading away from the guards. As the horse bobs, the banner hanging from his lance unravels with the two pronged image of a great roaring bear.


Baltazar grunts as the Bolt smashes into his cuirass, the great metal denting, but not piercing his mighty plate.

"My turn"

He lets loose a great roar, letting the spittle in his mouth decorate the Cross guard of his helmet. "Charge Wojtek, Charge!"

The thunder of hooves, the creaking of metal, the panicked screams of the guards, and then the sickening thunk of lance meeting and separating flesh.

The Tragic Tale of Tyrius · Rp Thread Archives