Post by Valcoda on Mar 31, 2015 14:24:14 GMT -5
Like a moth drawn to a flame Valcoda moved west, across the expanse of Kyngfeld between Bluemere and several towns that rested within the shadows of of the Ridgeback Mountains. Just a day earlier Valcoda had been holed up inside the Navahla Chapter House of Nefarious Works, growing more irritable and bored with each passing day. It had been some time, too much time, since his hammer had provided any sort of offering to Tymril and it was if the frustration of the War God himself was flowing through his loyal Vindicator. Had the news that the Underdark raiding season had recently started and already the attacks were almost double than what they had been during the same time the year before come when it had it was very possible Valcoda would have just started attacking the capital itself: battle was battle, death was death, war was war.
Almost shaking with anticipation bordering on wanton desire Valcoda polished and buffed his armor, boots, and weapons: he had to be presentable when sending his offerings to his god after all. After several hours of meticulous cleaning his form was slowly adorned by the armaments of Tyril, the War God. Though most of his substance would come from plundering he wasn’t a complete animal and as such packed a sack of various provisions of dried meats and fruits, hearty bread, and some biscuits. Making sure all was in order he would leave a note at the front desk before exiting the Chapter House and making his way toward to the Port Authority in the nicer part of the city.
It truly had been some time since Valcoda had basked in the glory of battle, and while his body was far from saggy or unrefined, he did wish to make sure all kinks had been worked out of his muscles before stepping into the frays that would surely be waiting for him. Due to such intentions he decided to port into Bluemere so that he would have roughly a week to make his way to the raiding area by horse and foot. Wishing to not be noticed too much he made his way from the Port Authority to the port itself, finding the The Vulgar Duchess ready and waiting as the saying went. Booking a room, and a near raw meal, he would eat alone upstairs as the sounds of arguments and bar fights below teased his senses like foreplay. As if it were a blessing from Tyril himself the Vindicator slept well that night, saying nothing to the various attempts of an array of insects keeping him company. He would definitely need to bathe after leaving town.
The next morning he would clean up as best as possible before making his way from Vulgar Duchess and through town. Near the west gate he would acquire a horse, his gear alone acting as a bargaining tool to get a beyond reasonable price. To think, he didn’t even need to free his warhammer! Making his way out of Bluemere, the rising sun at his back making his armor glow an eerie red hue, Valcoda made his way steadily toward the mountains in the distance. It wouldn’t take long before his excitement got the better of him though and soon he was covering the distance before him at a steady canter that was, as he demanded from the stable hand, comfortable and controlled. It was mid morning, several alternating lengths of walking and cantering having passed, before he came upon a stream large enough for him to get cleaned up. Moving off the road he made for a thicket of trees there were up against the edge of the stream before sliding down with a grunt. Soon the grunt became a groan as he stretched his muscles beneath the smooth hissing of sliding metal plates that comprised his armor.
Almost shaking with anticipation bordering on wanton desire Valcoda polished and buffed his armor, boots, and weapons: he had to be presentable when sending his offerings to his god after all. After several hours of meticulous cleaning his form was slowly adorned by the armaments of Tyril, the War God. Though most of his substance would come from plundering he wasn’t a complete animal and as such packed a sack of various provisions of dried meats and fruits, hearty bread, and some biscuits. Making sure all was in order he would leave a note at the front desk before exiting the Chapter House and making his way toward to the Port Authority in the nicer part of the city.
It truly had been some time since Valcoda had basked in the glory of battle, and while his body was far from saggy or unrefined, he did wish to make sure all kinks had been worked out of his muscles before stepping into the frays that would surely be waiting for him. Due to such intentions he decided to port into Bluemere so that he would have roughly a week to make his way to the raiding area by horse and foot. Wishing to not be noticed too much he made his way from the Port Authority to the port itself, finding the The Vulgar Duchess ready and waiting as the saying went. Booking a room, and a near raw meal, he would eat alone upstairs as the sounds of arguments and bar fights below teased his senses like foreplay. As if it were a blessing from Tyril himself the Vindicator slept well that night, saying nothing to the various attempts of an array of insects keeping him company. He would definitely need to bathe after leaving town.
The next morning he would clean up as best as possible before making his way from Vulgar Duchess and through town. Near the west gate he would acquire a horse, his gear alone acting as a bargaining tool to get a beyond reasonable price. To think, he didn’t even need to free his warhammer! Making his way out of Bluemere, the rising sun at his back making his armor glow an eerie red hue, Valcoda made his way steadily toward the mountains in the distance. It wouldn’t take long before his excitement got the better of him though and soon he was covering the distance before him at a steady canter that was, as he demanded from the stable hand, comfortable and controlled. It was mid morning, several alternating lengths of walking and cantering having passed, before he came upon a stream large enough for him to get cleaned up. Moving off the road he made for a thicket of trees there were up against the edge of the stream before sliding down with a grunt. Soon the grunt became a groan as he stretched his muscles beneath the smooth hissing of sliding metal plates that comprised his armor.
