Town Member
Posts: 390
Joined: Wed Feb 20, 2008 12:32 pm
Location: Where help is needed.
Wed Feb 01, 2012 8:44 pm
A figure strode along the road through the forest towards Woodhaven, a clear tunnel seemingly carved from the deep somber rows of soldier pines that filled this area of Haven. Their foliage, far overhead, stood as the only color against the winter snow carpeting the land, save for the crystal blue glint of a small lake far off and downhill to the east, shining occasionally through the ranks of dark trunks.
The man, as it appeared, was of small to middling size, though some of that probably came from a thick bearskin cloak and the black and blue lacquered plate he wore from head to toe. The black was broken only by a stark white tabard, emblazoned with a blue figure ascendant below an arc of stylized sun-rays.
In his hand he carried a great steel-shod warhammer, with a dire-wolf's tail hung from the pommel, and he wore a travelling pack upon his back. As he walked, he could be heard humming to himself.
Soon he came to the protective timber wall of Woodhaven, and the man looked about himself. Barely even six feet tall and of sharpened pine logs, they weren't nearly as thick, or even a third as tall as the stone walls he dimly remembered the ancient Castle Gravesbane being surrounded by, but they looked just as functional as they needed to be to keep people secure in these dark times. Several small holdings and farms were scattered without, and most of the building he had been told was deemed 'the hospital' could be seen over the wall, it's chimneys smoking up into the winter air.
He stopped a short distance from the single small gate leading inside the palisade, and after setting the head of his hammer to the snowy ground at his side, he reached up and removed his great helm. Rows of braided hair were pulled tightly into a ponytail, and the bushy sideburns along his jawline betrayed Guthrie blood- though he must have been half-human at the very least by his height. In opposition to the brooding black helmet now tucked under one arm, his face bore no ill will when he cupped a hand to his mouth.
"Hello, the gate! I say, is there anyone inside?"
The man, as it appeared, was of small to middling size, though some of that probably came from a thick bearskin cloak and the black and blue lacquered plate he wore from head to toe. The black was broken only by a stark white tabard, emblazoned with a blue figure ascendant below an arc of stylized sun-rays.
In his hand he carried a great steel-shod warhammer, with a dire-wolf's tail hung from the pommel, and he wore a travelling pack upon his back. As he walked, he could be heard humming to himself.
Soon he came to the protective timber wall of Woodhaven, and the man looked about himself. Barely even six feet tall and of sharpened pine logs, they weren't nearly as thick, or even a third as tall as the stone walls he dimly remembered the ancient Castle Gravesbane being surrounded by, but they looked just as functional as they needed to be to keep people secure in these dark times. Several small holdings and farms were scattered without, and most of the building he had been told was deemed 'the hospital' could be seen over the wall, it's chimneys smoking up into the winter air.
He stopped a short distance from the single small gate leading inside the palisade, and after setting the head of his hammer to the snowy ground at his side, he reached up and removed his great helm. Rows of braided hair were pulled tightly into a ponytail, and the bushy sideburns along his jawline betrayed Guthrie blood- though he must have been half-human at the very least by his height. In opposition to the brooding black helmet now tucked under one arm, his face bore no ill will when he cupped a hand to his mouth.
"Hello, the gate! I say, is there anyone inside?"
-Evil always prevails when good people do nothing.
-All knight, every night.
-All knight, every night.
