WARBAND & M&B Pendorian Stories

Mariacello

Veteran
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0
Hey everybody, I'm back from a long absence that I'm almost sure no one noted. I can't find the old stories thread for Pendor, so I thought I'd just leave this here. Tell me what you think, how to improve it, what's lacking, what's good. Open, for ze criticize c: The mercenaries have just arrived at Ravenstern to help defend it. The next bit will be some sort of combat scene, I think. Anyway, here's what I pulled out so far tonight.
They would have raped her, no doubt, these three. They were soldiers, or smiths perhaps, bushy-bearded and low-browed, hands rough and bodies burly. Not pillars of intellect, to be sure. In their last moments of life their eyes had shown no recognition of their death approaching with swift step, only surprise and a sort of animal anger at being disturbed from their dirty pursuit. The girl in question was scrabbling back across the cobbles in a sit, making little panicked ah-ah-ah noises as she held up her ripped dress with her free hand. Her plain brown eyes flicked rapidly between the spectre standing before her and the three twisted corpses at his feet, seemingly trying to determine which scared her more. The black figure, limned in silver moonlight, turned its head to contemplate her. She stopped dead, gasping, as the figure quarter-turned to face her, some kind of feathered cloak swishing softly around him. The gleaming deadliness in his hand caught the moonlight as he turned, a long thin blade with slow drips of cooling blood running off the tip.

Sigurd realized he must have cut quite a figure, appearing out of the night in his raven-cloak to slaughter three would-be rapists in the space of four heartbeats, and allowed himself a small smile. He hadn't intended it to be quite so cinematic, but the moon limned everything in sharp silvery relief, edging the shoulders of his armor in white and glinting off his Ravenstern longsword. Realizing the girl, a tavern server by the look of her, still wasn't breathing, he returned the long, slender blade to its place at his side and bowed slightly to her. When she resumed her frightened noises, Sigurd extended his hand.

"Hush now, little bird. I will not hurt you." She swallowed hard, then took his hand and stood, staring at him in stark shock and disbelief. The wide brown eyes stared at him out of a plain, pale face that reminded him of the moon. She stammered for several moments, then suddenly dropped a deep curtsey.

"M-m-my l-lord," she managed, head lowered.

Sigurd laughed properly at that. "No, my dear, no lord am I. Lords sit in castles and write letters to get men to build bridges for them. We common folk must look out for one another," he said with more bitterness than he had intended. Fortunately, the serving girl did not seem to notice. "But we must get you home. Whoever let a pretty young lass like you run around at midnight in a town full of soldiers shall catch a slapping, I do declare," he said in a stuffy accent. She giggled, a high-pitched nervous sound. Still, a laugh nevertheless.

"I work in the Crooked Cob, the tavern by Lorec's stall." Sigurd looked at her blankly. "Oh, not from round 'ere then. I'll show you, milord, er, ser."

He delivered her safely to the warm, glowing bustle of the tavern, leaving her in the care of her (somewhat dithering) father, an old man who did not quite grasp the situation at first. When he realized what had happened, his profound white brows shot up and he began to shower Sigurd with praises and thanks, pouring out promises like they were going to spoil. Sigurd took his leave as quickly as he could once the inundation began; he had always been uncomfortable with gratitude as a whole, never knowing what he ought to say in return. He preferred the thanks of the man's son, holding his sister as she broke down and wept. He shook Sigurd's hand vigorously, palming him a gold coin at the same time. Sigurd left the gold with a wink. The look in the brother's eyes was all the thanks he needed.

He was too sensitive to be a mercenary on some subjects, Sigurd pondered as he walked back down the moonlit street, the light of revelry behind him. He had a very low tolerance for criminals, rapists especially. They were ranked on a par with slavers in his mind, in terms of people he would kill on sight. Personally, and in a very painful way. Gorza the sellsword had explained it to him. "Sigurd is woman's name, ja? Woman's name, you feel for the womans." Gorza had furrowed his brow at that. "Not bad though. Sigurd is strong man. Stronger for knowing the woman-mind." Perhaps Gorza had the truth of it. In any event Sigurd had no patience for rapists, slavers, and others who preyed on the weak and those who wandered off the safe path. His company was unusual in that his men knew very well to avoid raping and pillaging as many of the more prominent adventuring companies did; offenders were stripped naked and presented to one of Sigurd's newer companions, a young common girl named Kaverra, known more readily by her nickname, the Castrator.

Sigurd came back across the scene of his strike, the three men still sprawled and oozing blood onto the cobbles. Gorza was squatting between two of the bodies and Kaverra sat on a stoop nearby. "Morning, Sigurd. Making diplomacy easy as always, I see," Kaverra said, raising her eyebrows like an impatient mother. One of the reasons he'd hired her to fight was her refreshingly sharp wit. A commoner like himself, but possessed of a sort of casual genius that made her a joy to talk to and camp with. Wonderful lady, he thought to himself.

A single shout and a sudden clamor of jingling mail heralded the coming of the late watch. "Speak of the devil, here come the diplomats," Sigurd grinned.

"HOY! What's all this then, you three? Murderin' citizens in darkest night, in the very shadow of milord's castle?" The lead guardsman leered at him out of one good eye. A crew of the night watch stood behind him, spears at the ready, dressed in the blue-and-quilt of Ravenstern.

"Citizens who thought they'd have a little fun with someone who didn't want to. I do hope these aren't your soldiers," Sigurd said calmly.

"What's that meant to mean? Rapers, these three?"

"Not quite, but they tried. I believe Blackbeard here was in the process of undoing his breeches when I undid his entrails." Sigurd toed the corpse nearest to him.

"Who'd they try after? The young lass here?" The guardsman turned his leer to Kaverra until he saw her amused expression and the shining glaive rising prominently over her shoulder. "Eh, not her then. Who?"

"A young serving girl from the Crooked Cob. I saw her home safe. Gods know what she was doing out here."


The guardsman snorted and gazed down at the red ruin of the corpses, rolling over the man who'd made it furthest, about three steps. When he saw the dead rapist's rent face, he grimaced and straightened. "Did a bloody deed on these three, didn't ye? At least young Celine is safe."

"I did indeed. They're lucky I caught them before it went any further, or I would have been angry." The guards reacted with varying degrees of discomfort, some raised eyebrows and muttered curses. Sigurd regarded them with very cool blue eyes, and smiled openly at them. "Will you fine fellows want help cleaning the filth off the floor, or are we finished here? I must sleep before tomorrow."

"No, I don't know these wastrels. Or, these two I don't. Couldn't say for the one you hit in the face. They're no soldiers of ours, I don't think. Sellswords from the west or something, I imagine. You have our leave to..." the guard captain lifted his one good eye to find the three strangers vanished. "Well, bugger you too then." His men, bemused, laughed and began the unpleasant work of dragging the corpses away.
It's a wall, sorry... once I continue I'll try and make that less ugly.
 

Lord Tristan

Knight
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Mariacello said:
Hey everybody, I'm back from a long absence that I'm almost sure no one noted. I can't find the old stories thread for Pendor, so I thought I'd just leave this here. Tell me what you think, how to improve it, what's lacking, what's good. Open, for ze criticize c: The mercenaries have just arrived at Ravenstern to help defend it. The next bit will be some sort of combat scene, I think. Anyway, here's what I pulled out so far tonight.
They would have raped her, no doubt, these three. They were soldiers, or smiths perhaps, bushy-bearded and low-browed, hands rough and bodies burly. Not pillars of intellect, to be sure. In their last moments of life their eyes had shown no recognition of their death approaching with swift step, only surprise and a sort of animal anger at being disturbed from their dirty pursuit. The girl in question was scrabbling back across the cobbles in a sit, making little panicked ah-ah-ah noises as she held up her ripped dress with her free hand. Her plain brown eyes flicked rapidly between the spectre standing before her and the three twisted corpses at his feet, seemingly trying to determine which scared her more. The black figure, limned in silver moonlight, turned its head to contemplate her. She stopped dead, gasping, as the figure quarter-turned to face her, some kind of feathered cloak swishing softly around him. The gleaming deadliness in his hand caught the moonlight as he turned, a long thin blade with slow drips of cooling blood running off the tip.
Sigurd realized he must have cut quite a figure, appearing out of the night in his raven-cloak to slaughter three would-be rapists in the space of four heartbeats, and allowed himself a small smile. He hadn't intended it to be quite so cinematic, but the moon limned everything in sharp silvery relief, edging the shoulders of his armor in white and glinting off his Ravenstern longsword. Realizing the girl, a tavern server by the look of her, still wasn't breathing, he returned the long, slender blade to its place at his side and bowed slightly to her. When she resumed her frightened noises, Sigurd extended his hand.
"Hush now, little bird. I will not hurt you." She swallowed hard, then took his hand and stood, staring at him in stark shock and disbelief. The wide brown eyes stared at him out of a plain, pale face that reminded him of the moon. She stammered for several moments, then suddenly dropped a deep curtsey.
"M-m-my l-lord," she managed, head lowered.
Sigurd laughed properly at that. "No, my dear, no lord am I. Lords sit in castles and write letters to get men to build bridges for them. We common folk must look out for one another," he said with more bitterness than he had intended. Fortunately, the serving girl did not seem to notice. "But we must get you home. Whoever let a pretty young lass like you run around at midnight in a town full of soldiers shall catch a slapping, I do declare," he said in a stuffy accent. She giggled, a high-pitched nervous sound. Still, a laugh nevertheless.
"I work in the Crooked Cob, the tavern by Lorec's stall." Sigurd looked at her blankly. "Oh, not from round 'ere then. I'll show you, milord, er, ser."
He delivered her safely to the warm, glowing bustle of the tavern, leaving her in the care of her (somewhat dithering) father, an old man who did not quite grasp the situation at first. When he realized what had happened, his profound white brows shot up and he began to shower Sigurd with praises and thanks, pouring out promises like they were going to spoil. Sigurd took his leave as quickly as he could once the inundation began; he had always been uncomfortable with gratitude as a whole, never knowing what he ought to say in return. He preferred the thanks of the man's son, holding his sister as she broke down and wept. He shook Sigurd's hand vigorously, palming him a gold coin at the same time. Sigurd left the gold with a wink. The look in the brother's eyes was all the thanks he needed.
He was too sensitive to be a mercenary on some subjects, Sigurd pondered as he walked back down the moonlit street, the light of revelry behind him. He had a very low tolerance for criminals, rapists especially. They were ranked on a par with slavers in his mind, in terms of people he would kill on sight. Personally, and in a very painful way. Gorza the sellsword had explained it to him. "Sigurd is woman's name, ja? Woman's name, you feel for the womans." Gorza had furrowed his brow at that. "Not bad though. Sigurd is strong man. Stronger for knowing the woman-mind." Perhaps Gorza had the truth of it. In any event Sigurd had no patience for rapists, slavers, and others who preyed on the weak and those who wandered off the safe path. His company was unusual in that his men knew very well to avoid raping and pillaging as many of the more prominent adventuring companies did; offenders were stripped naked and presented to one of Sigurd's newer companions, a young common girl named Kaverra, known more readily by her nickname, the Castrator.
Sigurd came back across the scene of his strike, the three men still sprawled and oozing blood onto the cobbles. Gorza was squatting between two of the bodies and Kaverra sat on a stoop nearby. "Morning, Sigurd. Making diplomacy easy as always, I see," Kaverra said, raising her eyebrows like an impatient mother. One of the reasons he'd hired her to fight was her refreshingly sharp wit. A commoner like himself, but possessed of a sort of casual genius that made her a joy to talk to and camp with. Wonderful lady, he thought to himself.
A single shout and a sudden clamor of jingling mail heralded the coming of the late watch. "Speak of the devil, here come the diplomats," Sigurd grinned.
"HOY! What's all this then, you three? Murderin' citizens in darkest night, in the very shadow of milord's castle?" The lead guardsman leered at him out of one good eye. A crew of the night watch stood behind him, spears at the ready, dressed in the blue-and-quilt of Ravenstern.
"Citizens who thought they'd have a little fun with someone who didn't want to. I do hope these aren't your soldiers," Sigurd said calmly.
"What's that meant to mean? Rapers, these three?"
"Not quite, but they tried. I believe Blackbeard here was in the process of undoing his breeches when I undid his entrails." Sigurd toed the corpse nearest to him.
"Who'd they try after? The young lass here?" The guardsman turned his leer to Kaverra until he saw her amused expression and the shining glaive rising prominently over her shoulder. "Eh, not her then. Who?"
"A young serving girl from the Crooked Cob. I saw her home safe. Gods know what she was doing out here."
The guardsman snorted and gazed down at the red ruin of the corpses, rolling over the man who'd made it furthest, about three steps. When he saw the dead rapist's rent face, he grimaced and straightened. "Did a bloody deed on these three, didn't ye? At least young Celine is safe."
"I did indeed. They're lucky I caught them before it went any further, or I would have been angry." The guards reacted with varying degrees of discomfort, some raised eyebrows and muttered curses. Sigurd regarded them with very cool blue eyes, and smiled openly at them. "Will you fine fellows want help cleaning the filth off the floor, or are we finished here? I must sleep before tomorrow."
"No, I don't know these wastrels. Or, these two I don't. Couldn't say for the one you hit in the face. They're no soldiers of ours, I don't think. Sellswords from the west or something, I imagine. You have our leave to..." the guard captain lifted his one good eye to find the three strangers vanished. "Well, bugger you too then." His men, bemused, laughed and began the unpleasant work of dragging the corpses away.
It's a wall, sorry... once I continue I'll try and make that less ugly.
Hello, it's me again, mate. Try to indent. it'll make it MUCH easier to read :smile:
 

Bloodbane

Regular
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This forum is just LITTERED with trophy sentences... I'm gonna copy them all into a word doc for preservation in case the apocalypse happens and the internet breaks down.

Seriously. Some really good stuff in here :O Amazing jobz u guyz!!!
 

Evelyn

Goblet
WF&SWBNWVC
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Writing out a long and detailed story of things my character has done/is doing is pretty boring to me, are works of fiction set in our PoP games [I.E. stories not from the perspective of our player character, but rather a creative work of, well, fiction. No better way to put it.] permitted here, or should they be somewhere else?
 

noosers

Grandmaster Knight
M&BWB
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0
Not really.
I´ve always encouraged people to post whatever PoP stories they come up with, wether it´s an AAR or a short story here so it´s all stored in one convenient place

So bring it on!
 

Evelyn

Goblet
WF&SWBNWVC
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0
No.

This is horrible.

It's gone now.

May it never see the light of the world again.
 

noosers

Grandmaster Knight
M&BWB
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0
Fix the formatting and spoiler it once you´ve left your daily coma.

Then I may be able to read it without beeing offended. :wink:
 

Puking Panda

Sergeant
WBNWVC
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noosers said:
Instated and entitled in 320 by the Emperor of Barclay to raise a unit of soldiers from the Barclay province of Aysenmontana, he was happy to oblige and quickly gained a reputation fighting off the rare Vanskerry Raiding parties evading the stalwart Order of the Dawn in Barclay. He supported them during the ensuing bloody struggle against the Order of the Eventide and together they cleansed Eventide off Barclay.

Despite the dire need of armed forces in Aysenmontana he was refused to leave the heartlands of Barclay for his homelands by the Emperor, who feared the evergrowing influence of the Snake Cult in Bacchus. Growing ever wary of that sect, Heynrich of Papen saw plenty of action during that period and honed up his skills as adequate field and infantry commander, gaining outstanding knowledge in anti cavalry tactics and anti guerrilla warfare rooting out the heresy caused by the new serpent cult.

Heynrich was sent back to Aysenmontana in 330, when Azi Dzhaka finally reached Mettenheim. Unfortunately his force did not arrive in time to turn the tide and prevent the disaster which befell Wolfgang the Mercenary and had, as matters stood, to return to Barclay without seeing any action or achieving anything at all.

However, a successful surprise landing was undertaken a year later in 331 and Heynrich managed to land in force and join arms with Mauritz in the decisive battle of Ijzerstat, the capital city of the island. Despite the overwhelming victory and the decisive help provided by Obrist of Papen which turned the battle, the common atmosphere shifted more and more towards an independent state which was finally founded in 332 by Mauritz, now called of Mettenheim.

Since Obrist Heynrich of Papen refused to pick up arms against his kinsmen he and his army were outlawed and the leaders declared traitors of Barclay with a considerable price set on their heads. On the other hand he was blamed by his people for the late arrival and the year of terror the Snake Cult inflicted over Mettenheim. The political pressue and public opinion finally forced him to turn his back and leave his ancestral homelands. It wasn´t a surprise that most of his loyal veterans followed their Obrists lead and manned the ships now flying an unwelcome banner to find employment somewhere else, for Heynrich was well loved by his troopers.

Unfortunate winds now blew his army to the shores of Pendor, a continent divided, plagueridden and in turmoil. A continent of wonders, wealth and opportunity, if only an adapt leader would carve his place into the fetid soil...
I just noticed this on pop3.wikia when I was searching for the new random spawn leaders and I see that the times and dates you mention don't seem to make sense. The time that PoP 3 takes place is 354'ish, according to pop.wikia, Mettenheim got independence on 232, not 332 as you mention, which basically means that Heynrich couldn't have lived in 354.
 

noosers

Grandmaster Knight
M&BWB
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Nope. They were enslaved 100 years longer than you know. ^^

The 232 was a typo never fixed by Mordred in the Mettenheim Background story.  At least that´s what I recall from memory and I´m too lazy now to check it up on the devpage to quote the truth. :wink:
 

Evelyn

Goblet
WF&SWBNWVC
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Spoilered it, but as far as the formatting goes I have no idea where to begin. I'm used to writing in Google Docs where it doesn't matter how it's formatted, but on this the closest thing I could do is just start a new line after dialogue which would give the illusion that it's much longer than it really is.
 

Lady Raubrey

Sergeant
M&BWBWF&S
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0
Update: The story is now finished.  :smile:

Hi Guys,

At Sir Noosers request I'm linking my story from here.

Feverspeak: Lamentations from the Queen of Pendor


It is a bit of novella/AAR hybrid, but mostly the former.

Since it's 6200 words, I thought linking would be better than posting it. Even with some of it spoilered (is that a word?) -- I can't seem to format it all with the spoiler tag as I have photos within the story using such tags. I was able to do chap 1 but not 2, so far. I didn't google for an alternative, so no worries, I'll get to it later.

I should have the rest of it, chapters 3 and 4, up this week -- in fact attempting to get one up tonight.

Story has a rather complex ending, and with all the POV switching -- Oy, I know how to make things easy on myself.

Otherwise, I've been quite impressed with what I've read here so far. Next time I might try a *short* story. :grin:.
And hope to get more involved in this thread, feedback is a good thing, when it is active.
Regards.
 

noosers

Grandmaster Knight
M&BWB
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0
Capital!

Thank you very much. That way, that little gemstone of yours won´t be forgotten once it´s off page 1 or 2.
 

Lady Raubrey

Sergeant
M&BWBWF&S
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0
noosers said:
Capital!

Thank you very much. That way, that little gemstone of yours won´t be forgotten once it´s off page 1 or 2.
This reminded to ask why this thread isn't sticked. I'm thinking I'm not the first to ask, but when I search for "sticky" I get one story.  :grin:

I guess you could search for a version of "Pendor stories" forum wide, but for a variety of reasons, most too boring to read, such as seeing AARs in the general area, I didn't think to do so...also, internet butterflies.

I know I would have loved to read some of these stories before writing one, (as I'm really in the dark about foreign places ) and maybe even while playing my first game, but then again had I done so, knowing me, I wouldn't have gotten around to writing one.

Anyway, just wondered. 

(And cool, I just turned into a Sergeant, I can start yelling now. )
 

noosers

Grandmaster Knight
M&BWB
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0
It´s linked in the stickified Master Link Compilation Thread - among other important topics, like the banner or screenshot thread. :wink:
 

Lady Raubrey

Sergeant
M&BWBWF&S
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0
noosers said:
It´s linked in the stickified Master Link Compilation Thread - among other important topics, like the banner or screenshot thread. :wink:
I think that is how I found it while looking for something else. Call me biased, but I think it deserves the front page such as the Warband forum has AARs there.  :mrgreen:
 

Deckenpuppel

Squire
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0
I posted a new piece on Sir Jocelyn on the old Pendor Aftermath forum. It deals with Jocelyn and a few other companions in the time following the unification wars, and touches upon the first event of the rp community project.

It is fairly lengthy (around 30 pages or so), so read at your own peril.


http://popaftermath.forumotion.com/t793-story-aftermath-heroes-of-pendor-sir-jocelyn#28777