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Die Shize

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  1. Same here, mein kaiser. I suggest we do a IRL meet-up and watch it together. Switzerland I’ll bring the dip. ba da doopa da tssssss
  2. I dunno I’m kinda hesitant. How a 1920s PI knows anything about atoms and isotopes is interesting, but how much would our characters know about how much 1920s earthlings know? I mean the isotope was discovered in 1913 (?) so it’s not unreasonable if perhaps unlikely depending on how much the PI looks into such things. Though reading it in a newspaper is pretty easy. So some of my reservations about this PI are restricted to me, not Parean, who might know as little about atoms as I do. And then, is Meraxa’s PI purposely versed on atoms/isotopes, or was that an overlook on Meraxa’s part? Or did Valencia teach the PI? If so, why? So many variables. So let’s play it smart. We answer his questions rounded enough to not lie but we don’t give away everything. I mean, for one thing, telling him we’re from outer space may have an adverse effect, and if this PI is like secretly some dimension hunter then we would only be confirming what he would already be suspecting, only he’d better know our motive now. Valencia is the daughter of the man who asked us to find her. We don’t exactly know what the ‘trinket’ is (we haven’t studied it, we’ve only heard what Bodar told us), but we are willing to work together to find out. That way we can in turn assess the PI to gauge his own motives. Possibly, he’s testing us, for better or worse.
  3. OOC Music Caeceila stepped back and to Vadrian’s left, his sword missing her body, not that it would have done much good anyway. The blade hit the shield and found air thereafter. Its wielder still had full control over his weapon, but he did not immediately follow up with another attack. His opponent seemed settled in idling, allowing herself to further assess her competitor, to look for a surprise attack of her own, or to simply mock and talk. As she moved to circle him, Vadrian accepted the invitation, keeping their fronts parallel as he turned to face her every turn, his gaze embedded within her own. “The sword was a bit of an interesting choice on my part, I do confess.” He smiled. “Yet it feels so much more...elegant?” He rotated his wrist for effect. “With a weapon like yours, I’d be forced to beat you, and my father always told me to never hit a lady.” His gaze dropped for half a heartbeat, eyeing his opponent up and down; smaller, slimmer, a woman by all accounts. It was no lecherous look but a teasing one, or at least it was intended to be. She can’t be older than me, perhaps not a deal younger. Twenty-one, twenty-three? “Now, my lady,” Vadrian cocked his head. “Are we going to sing or are we going to dance?” With that, he was back upon her. His shield came up closer to the left side of his head, as though from here he might in turn raise it to absorb arrows. Meanwhile, his right arm shot forward once again. The sword’s point went for Caeceila’s left pauldron, namely to slide beneath it at the gap that led to her breastplate. If successful, the blade could pierce the material beneath the plate, potentially finding flesh and bone amid the shoulder.
  4. I had originally written Vadrian approaching Etched’s character without factoring in your other character’s prior arrival, which made the scene awkward after the fact, so in the end I decided to hold off for now, is all.
  5. Totally fine. I’ve had my own lax lol. As much as I enjoy roleplay there are always other items that require attention outside of Val! I actually might be able to post tonight after all, on that note.
  6. What I'm after is more clarification on what the armor entails, so that everyone reads it from the tournament head. Which you did for greaves and pauldrons, that was precisely what I was after. Breastplate covers just the front part of the torso and not the back, unless I'm wrong. I wanted to clarify that too. Again, I can be wordy but I wasn't looking for anything fancy, just basic clarity on what this provisional half-plate is. If someone wants to wear less plate instead of more (half-greaves or what have you) then it's good that they can, or wear purple instead of green, but not upper-arm pauldrons and instead shoulders only, etc.
  7. Where there’s a Will there’s a way, way, way wacky lady
  8. All right so I won’t be home till late tonight and tomorrow night, will try to squeeze a post in as best I can. I know we’re generally moving forward in some way every Tuesday so it is what it is. Worst comes to worst Veron and Khrol can share a table some other night. Heck, it might even be fun to bounce some ‘flashback’ roleplay separated in the present day. Like if I can’t post before the IC night ends, my eventual post could be the following day, and in that post I can separate another section where Veron encounters Khrol when he was in the village hall reading his book (it’s a perfect setting that I was sold on). And as the few posts go on, that ‘flashback’ material can potentially influence the two’s ongoing stances toward each other. Just thinking in text, of course. Always wanted to try ‘flashback’ roleplay like that but never had a reason to. I may yet!
  9. I won’t be able to post tonight but depending on what is in mind for another round then you guys might be able to finish the goozer-moozer off? My character just entered the scene, she doesn’t really know about the pools or the potion, so she’s just trying to distract the enemy and set Luke and Will up who probably have a better chance
  10. Will have a post up tomorrow, if only to finalize Veron's part in the festivities scene Would have been cool to experience more of that, was hoping for a Veron-Khrol encounter, but alas I didn't post soon enough
  11. A voice came his way, neither that of a being above a cloud or below, neither god nor bird, but merely that of a woman. No mere woman, at least, for this Caeceila Glasman was able enough to have advanced past the first round in order to be facing off in this one with him. A challenger who was a challenge? That remained to be seen, but beyond colorful words that seemed bound by decree to be exchanged, it wouldn’t be long at all before that challenge would officially commence. Looking away from the skies, Vadrian settled his gaze on his opponent and called across the bridge. “I could tell you tales of my surname, Caeceila Glasman, and we could spend a whole day having a picnic of all the dawns and woods I have seen and of all mine other names where “dawn” shines through, but it would indeed be a long picnic.” He smiled, and readied himself. In a mirror image to her, his right gauntlet gripped the hilt of his arming sword, his heater shield strapped to his left forearm. All the while, he assessed his foe. She had a heater shield of her own, with a warhammer to boot. That would be quite a weapon to consider particularly if Vadrian’s own shield were center-gripped. With the strap, he was able to effectively maintain a heavier shield made of metal instead of just wood and leather, and expected that this advantage might be needed to deal with that warhammer sooner or later. On that note, the shield was long enough from top to bottom to cover his body from roughly shoulder to knee. OOC Music “If a gentleman is no less so for striking a lady, I imagine that he may yet be if the strike draws blood, so I will try to avoid that.” He shrugged. “Yet I cannot guarantee it. Whatever happens, though, we will both walk away from this fight to feed our mouths, and neither of us will be carried away to feed the hounds.” With that, Vadrian dipped his head in salute, and advanced. He did not charge his enemy. There was no need to expend energy. Rather, walking with his front parallel with Caeceila’s, Vadrian waited until he was just in range for an attack, factoring in the reach of his arm along with that of his sword. In a moment, he attacked, thrusting his sword forward toward his opponent's center chest, aiming in between her dual guard of shield and hammer, if able. The strike would be naturally quick, but far from powerful, and certainly not worrisome. The blade couldn’t very well penetrate plate but, well, perhaps it was indeed the gentleman’s way to refrain from damaging the lady after all.
  12. OOC Music [Recurring] There was no sigh of relief on Parean’s part, even as his counterpart PI did just that. The former man needed acknowledgment, the latter man needed assurance, and both men needed answers. Ferris seemed satisfied enough to be assured that his visitors were not phonies, at least as far as could currently be determined, and the more he talked the more he said. Smartest guy? People in my line of work tend to have connections that a detective’s badge can’t get you, but I doubt even the smartest guy in this world has any clue about this new mystery. The next words did cause the slightest hint of one of Parean’s bushy brows to rise. Apparently, there might yet have been another visitor to this world before him and his two associates. Four hundred years, huh? Note to self: find out more about this ‘Buck Rodgers’. The outside air was oddly fresh, a feeling Parean had found upon first stepping foot into it some time before the office, but he couldn’t shake it. No, maybe it’s not about the air being fresh. Maybe it’s the air itself. It didn’t make sense, and that was reassuring; the fact was that none of this mumbo-jumbo multiversal business made any sense at all. Figuring it out was a scientist’s job. Figuring out a (potential) murder was his. Ferris was leading toward that end, except when he paused and made a comment about loansharks that didn’t fly over his listener’s head. Still, not uncommon. I sure had my fair share of bullies before and after the badge. Nonetheless, Parean made another mental note to refer back to later. Smoke curled into the fresh air as he breathed out a response to Ferris’ digging through the trash. “I lost some jewelry in the trash once. I spent an hour searching for it, in an alley kinda like this one.” He didn’t know if he said this to somehow reassure the man but it was said nonetheless. And Ferris rose with a reward for his troubles: a small box that was distinctly familiar and unforgettable. It was as ornate as its now foreign cousin, with wood of ebony and a high-tech interior that he could comfortably guess at. He wouldn’t need to. Alexander Rookstone spoke up just then. Parean sighed out some smoke. Of course, the first box had been empty, but Elder Bodar had all but confirmed that it had once held the ‘isotope’. It didn’t take much mathematics to conclude that this box actually contained it. Already, though, the skeptical side of the inspector was waging that this box would also be empty. That would be very interesting. Ferris was pretty open about how unusual his finding was, and as pretty as the box is he could only have been referring to the contents themselves. If it was missing, then, Parean would be in the presence of the immediate suspect, and that wouldn't be pretty for either of them. He did a quick visual on their surroundings. The alley was naturally secluded, all four individuals facing in enough different directions while toward each other to quickly spot any unwanted visitors. Now was not the time to delay. “Open it.” Parean spoke plainly to Ferris, as much a request as a command, but he didn’t expect any resistance. If this was a trap, and Ferris didn’t open the case, then he wasn’t good at playing the game. Time to see how pretty this ‘isotope’ really is.
  13. OOC Music [Recurring] CRACK! “NOOO MY STICK OF TRUTH!” She screamed in horror like in one of those horror films where the murder-man kills the girl’s boyfriend in front of her eyes by gouging his eyes out with a toothpick before cutting his head off with a toothbrush. Well, the gooze had done something not entirely too dissimilar when it grabbed a hold of her own half of a toothpick and broke it in half so that it became a quarter of a toothpick and toothpick. “WHYYYYYYYYY” She received no answer, not from the gooze or the Fates or the two men who were too busy dancing in the air or waddling on the ground to worry about her stick of truth. One of them, for sure, had even since stolen her sword, so that kind of said something about the kind of people that she kept company with and weren’t no mistake. Of which, that man was no longer airborne but had decided to go for a swim, and her observer could only ogle in horror as she spotted her sword float and sink like in one of those Doby-Mick films about the oversized dolphin and the harpoon that pierced its belly and brought Doby-Mick into the water all wiggly-wiggly. Still my chap a silver ticket of a film if ever I saw one old boy I do so say OH MY GOSH She couldn’t complete the thought, a thousand walnuts of worries plaguing her brain as the gooctopus’ tentacle sprang forth toward the sick man to slap some sense into his sluggish form. Well, it might have done him some good, alongside some much needed oatmeal to settle his stomach, but the dismay lay in the gooze’s own gooey brain as it received the sensations of acid eating away at its...gooze? The woman clapped her hands in glee. She didn’t know these pools, hadn’t bathed in them, didn’t see a lifeguard, packed no bikini, but it was evident that where that tentacle had splashed it had in turn splattered itself with the kind of liquid that would make a perfect prop for a horror movie. The sick man, meanwhile, appeared to be loading his crossbow with these-and-those and things in between. Suddenly, it all clicked! just like her stick of truth had cracked! That man was coating his bolts in the acid. The other man was...swimming or something but otherwise doing something useful. The crossbowman was on the other side from where the woman was standing, still a prime target for the gooctopus, and there that woman was, without sword and without stick. So, she resolved to do the only thing that she knew to do in this situation. Her phallic counterparts seemed to have more knowledge about their enemy and their environment than she did, and both of them were armed with crossbow and stolen sword where all she had was a makeshift lamp slung over her shoulder. Aghhhhh gaga-pa-dooda-gup “FUGGABUH!” She exclaimed toward the gooze. If it had ears then “had” was the keyword because clearly they had long since melted away. So, she tightened one boot and pulled a knife from the other, brandishing its twinkling point toward the gooze. “YOU’RE JUST A BIG FAT GOOZER-MOOZER WITH SLUDGE FOR BRAINS AND I WANT A REFUND!” With that, the woman dashed toward the very edge of the pool and lunged. A blindly flailing tentacle was moved away just in time. She stabbed again. Another miss. KAI-AY-PA! This sucked. Stabby-stabby-stabby— “FUMOFFU!” She sliced the air and a tentacle swinging within it. The gooctopus shuddered. At last, its attacker had attention, for however long it might last. It shifted through its gooey water, shooting a tentacle for her face. She dodged. Another for her leg. She skipped. The third punched her stomach and she “Oof!”d before falling backwards. All in all, though, the distraction might have been all the time that the crossbowman would need to load his weapon of acidic destruction and for his best friend to do...whatever he was doing all this time. As for the woman, well, she was beginning to regret the squid that she had for elevenses. Fumoffu...
  14. Oops, just realized that Twitter's IC post is toward Etched, thought it was to Pasion, will edit
  15. Great Hall IC Ambience IC Music The hall of the Dawn Komturie was as established for feasting as the paramounts and paragons who owned and oversaw both. The first night that Vadrian had entered this hall he had been greeted with a throng of bodies that sat or stood wherever he did not, the sweet and sour and spicy scents of hearty foods, platters of goblets carried by the busy Custodes, the crackling of a flickering fireplace that blazed warmth, and music. Today was not terribly different, if less busy. The immediate crowds from the first day’s arrivals had since dispersed to idle in their own ways. The music that came alive from the stage was now a little more leisurely, strings plucked to the melody of conversation and the rhythm of eating. As he strolled throughout the hall, Vadrian had more of the latter on his mind than the former, but the food could wait for the moment. A server stopped him, the two almost colliding, the woman seizing the opportunity to offer a goblet of polished silver that gleamed and glinted beside its twins, and even the platter they were presented upon. He accepted the gesture, exchanging smiles before the rim touched his lips and spiced apple-honey mead touched his throat. He savored the taste, pacing to the music, observing the people around him while they remained oblivious to the eyes ogling their way with disguised glances. Officials of Predator’s Keep, Force Majeure Knights, local and foreign aristocrats whose noble blood was as naked as the embroidery on their sleeves, diplomats and delegates, physicians and scientists, politicians and philosophers and poets, merchants and magnates and creatures of all kinds. A knight's keep, a warrior's hall, yet no tournament is free from the reach of predators and prey, especially the former disguised as the latter. One man waved his way, but this one was quite unlike the others. Vadrian had been musing on the mingling of Terrans and Genesarans and Renovations but the beast that looked his way carried the claws of an Orisian. Disguised as soft hands on two women’s thighs though they may be. Matthew the Merry was never shy to live up to his moniker, and it was no surprise to find the Cinnamon Knight relaxing. Vadrian walked on. If others in his company were in the hall then he hadn’t seen them. Though, Benjamin and Victor, if they weren’t up to anything serious, were probably sparring with one another, while Alyx was playing diplomacy across some table on a higher floor and Mallister was securing cargo for his Tranquility in what way a ‘merchant sea captain’ knew best. Finally, Vadrian helped himself to his pickings and found an empty table a little further from others. It was coincidence that a few tables over were eight individuals, seven of them unrecognized but the eighth was definitely a Trueblade contestant; a Genesaran from the Imperial City of Jigoku, if he recalled correctly what Alyx had informed. Vadrian made no move for now, studying his competitor for a moment before returning to his meal of beef-and-bacon pie, boiled goose eggs, oatbread baked with bits of dates and apple and almonds, creamy mushroom soup with leeks and lentils, a wedge of peppered yellow cheese and a goblet of mead.
  16. Thank you! I will wait on him. I can post Sunday after Die if he doesn’t get around to it tonight. Pretty sure I’m up next in the order after him...
  17. Agamus did little but blink and sip coffee as he listened to the lizard and the man speak to one another in that way that lizardmen and lizardfolk tended to speak to each other, this way and that way, that one and this one, those ones and these ones and this one that cannot do much else but blink and sip coffee. Being a man of his own who had stories to tell from the lands that conjured them, lizardfolk were by no means a mystery. It was no racism on his part that this one’s speech and that one’s tongue was a tad irksome to listen to, a stance backed up by the fact that it wasn’t like all lizardfolk on the planet talked after that fashion. Just as not every human spoke the same way, Agamus was glad to have met certain lizard individuals and groups that spoke about as normal as this human did except when this one’s lips and tongue were too busy taking in coffee to speak. He let speech be waged between the others, and speak they did. The lizardman could say what he wished but beneath his cold exterior were organs as soft as the others. That might have included his brain in more ways than one, subjected to blue and orange morality that it might have been, what with obliviously trudging through the debris of his own deliverance and causing a server to curse at the new mess after she had been working to clean it up. Soon after, soft bodies sat in seats and shared introductions, ‘Jaw Finder’ a name that Agamus wouldn’t soon forget and could appreciate as his own jaw waited to find food. By the time it came, his appetite had been challenged, courtesy of the fat lady who sweats. A moment later and Agamus had a freshly filled mug and a plate full of fill-me-up. Toast, trout, eggs, bacon and a banana. It was breakfast all right, a meal to break one’s fast, until of course second breakfast would come around to break one’s fast all over again. This one, that one and this one, he thought as he pinched bread between his teeth, bit off bacon and pushed a forkful of egg into his mouth. Then the fat one spoke, after her stomach had been speaking through her mouth with nary a table manner from a brain about as oblivious as Jaw Finder’s own when it came to custodial procedures. This was supposed to be a nice, leisurely breakfast, but between This One and Fat One I’m not so sure… Click! Agamus snapped his fingers. Their server appeared by his side out of nowhere. He raised a brow in some surprise, realizing that the girl must have just been tending to something behind him. “Ah, Delita!” “Sir?” She smiled. “Might I trouble you for some music?” Lip-smacking is murder to my ears, as is the idea that our oversized friend might be salting her meal with her own sweat. “I enjoy a bit of melody to keep pace with my bites. Nothing fancy. The radio will do.” Delita nodded and went to do as bidden. A moment later and music helped to distract at least one patron’s ears from the sloppy something something that at least one other patron called eating. IC Music A black beady eye stared up at Agamus and it was all he could do to stare back. The head of the trout was still well attached to its body until he decapitated said head with the rhythmic sliding of a knife. The fish was salty—in a good way. Lexicus went on reciting what had basically already been told to his first applicant, though the latter listened on with mild interest anyway as he focused on his meal and the belly that needed it. “Communications company”. That was a new one. Well, I guess, in a way, swords and guns and sword-guns do indeed communicate with one another and whatever sorry soul is on their receiving end. Granted, the Silver Ticket Company was expressly not just about combat and coin and combat but combat certainly appeared to be a primary operation. The outfit had more than two sleeves going for it, or so it seemed, but calling it a communications company at its core seemed like a subtle way of not calling it a private military company at its core. Or...well...whatever. I’m just here to eat. He gulped back coffee as the fat woman gulped back beer, him washing some stubborn toast down his throat and hesitating to wonder what she was washing back. Probably the morsels of her latest gnome that’s been stuck in her throat for five years and then some. With a shudder and a sigh, Agamus chewed on his bacon and his words and sought Lexicus’ gaze with his own. “You know, you don’t so much speak of a company as you do an enterprise.” He shrugged, trading looks with his counterparts and his breakfast. “Without arguing the semantics, the first is a part of your organization’s name, and the second is a part of your organization’s identity. Your company clearly isn’t willing to settle for anything less than more.” He blinked. “Eh, that too is probably too vague, so let’s put it this way . . . “ Trailing off, he set knife and fork down for the moment and leaned back with his coffee to give his employer his attention. “Employee values, competitive wages, complimentary breakfasts.” He gestured toward his own. “Assassins and alchemists, mercenaries and maids, investments and infrastructure, connections and communications. And all of it under the umbrella of humanitarianism—or entitarianism, if we’re speaking broadly of entities whether human or lizard or what have you. And what you have, Mr. Lexicus Thoren, is the foundation for dominion, the likes of which doesn’t sound too different from for-profit businesses who are as much for-power and treat mergers and acquisitions the same way that a band of sellswords treats murders and executions.” Pausing for as long as it took to bite toast and slurp coffee, he continued. “Though, noble goals or otherwise aside, I guess the bread and butter of what I’m trying to say is that you’re cooking up something far bigger than this one’s meat platter.” He gestured toward the fat lady. “Or else your greatest asset would not be your web of connects and your picks wouldn’t be tapping into so many different ore veins of which, I must ask—why the name “Silver Ticket”?” Looking away while waiting for an answer, Agamus suddenly recalled the last time that he had gone to the theater. ‘Agile and Angry: Weland Drift’. Gods, what a pile of dung that movie was.
  18. @The Alexandrian Had some posting hiccups but my reply is valid now
  19. @The Alexandrian Vadrian Dawnwood's Gear OOC Music The Blade of the Dawn When Vadrian had first stepped upon the bridge that married the Dawn Komturie with the rest of Predator’s Keep, he had been struck with awe at the grand citadel; an impressive amalgamation of metal, concrete and glass and a feat of engineering. The entire city was something of a symbol of Terran power, one that yet wasn’t so unique when the accomplishments of Genesaris were compared, but either or both loomed over little Orisia as technological marvels. Those lands were beasts; juggernauts of the ages and not shy about saying so. Yet, for all their grandeur, they were lacking in grace. Only the Island of Summer knew what that kind of grace was, where the sun was somehow warmer, somehow brighter, the leaves rustled with crisper whispers, the streams bubbled in conversations, the mountains sang to the clouds from their peaks and the grass was somehow greener. Terrenus was not Orisia. Vadrian had learned that as a boy, but only upon planting his feet upon the continent’s soil had he truly come to understand this truth. Any Orisian might have shared the sentiment that anywhere away from Orisia was a world away from a world. By extension, Predator’s Keep was no Versilla, no Drakiss, no Damorton. The Dawn Komturie was no Dawnwatch. But they were still somehow merely hills beneath mountains. There on the bridge today, the sun was brighter than it was on that first day, when the stretch of stone was alive with denizens of delegates and diplomats and dancers whose movement was to the music of combat. The Order of the Force Majeure had stepped forth that day, offering themselves in the flesh like a fist that punched the image of supreme force indeed, and one James Eredas had given a speech that had made the bridge move beneath the feet herded upon it. Vadrian could recall the words as he gazed down the bridge: “To live is to struggle . . . We are tested.” Today was to be another test. Another struggle. Another opportunity for victory, to progress through the matches and climb the tournament tree to its very top, branch by branch. Each win would bring him closer, though as high as he might climb Vadrian knew that he could never reach the sun. He wasn't aiming for it. He might yet reach the father. Even if he should lose, even if victory should be snatched from his grasp, his face was already captured by the rays of the sun, his name by the tournament's heralds, and his summer scent was being carried by the breeze as the wind blew across the bridge. He only needed at least one man to recognize him. Vadrian had entered his first fight with a halberd, having used it to help him win against Dauner Light. Not today. Armed with a sword and shield, his combat would consequently be of a different sort. Beneath his armor he wore a padded gambeson, leather boots reaching up beneath his greaves. Over his armor he wore an orange surcoat, its chest depicting the sigil of House Dawnwood, with wolf and tree before a castle. Dawnwatch was far from home, Vadrian thought as he stared beyond the bridge and upon the horizon, where clouds crept his way. He breathed in with the wind, a taste in his throat like chilled wine, listening to the chirps of birds as they flew overhead. Doves, gorgeous and graceful passing above the world with life in their white wings, though perhaps a murder of crows would soon follow behind them, with dark wings and dark words. He watched the distance like a vigilant wolf watches another predator, and there might have been black dots beneath a gloomy cloud, cold and gray and cruel. Summer is a world away, and winter is coming.
  20. " half-plate is provided, minus the helmet, featuring breastplate, pauldrons, gauntlets, greaves, and tassets " I think we should clarify what provisional half plate entails, even better if Fierarch can provide images since this 'provisional half plate' appears to be restricted to what the tournament provides rather than what the contestants bring. Some of us are not as versed on armor components, and some of us might think we are but our 'understanding' is, as with many things, influenced by what we read in novels and see on TV.. For example, my understanding of "greaves" is that they cover only the lower leg (shin area) just below the knee to the ankle. Video games and such like to simplify things as "full greaves" covering from thigh to ankle if not including the foot, which appears to be inaccurate terminology as it seems that separate components serve these other areas and not greaves: cuisses for the thighs, poleyn for the knees and sabaton for the feet. Also, some greaves cover only the shins, the front, while other greaves cover around that whole leg portion, front and back. A player wouldn't want to unwittingly cut the back leg only to find out, oops, that part is armored too. Pauldrons are another good one. There are pauldrons that cover just the shoulders and pauldrons that cover the shoulders and a little of the upper arms. This, if not understood by both parties, could have quite the impact. While it surely falls upon each of us to ensure that we are adhering to rules and inquiring of our opponents etc., having clarification for what 'half plate' is exactly, as provided for the tournament, should help prevent any confusions that arise during combat. Is there a standardized set of half plate provided for the tournament? Or do we have room for interpretation, such as choosing to (for some reason) have pauldrons that only cover the shoulders, or greaves that only cover the front, and whatsuch?
  21. Correct, among other terms from the same book series, like “serjeant”. But “nuncle” seemed to fit the criteria of this thread as an actual word I picked up reading the book that to me is yet a ‘nonsense’ word in the sense that it was nonsense to use “nuncle” instead of “uncle”
  22. Nuncle - Uncle Every time I read that word I cringe. A Song of Ice and Fire is overall a great read. But, when “nuncle” enters the picture, I have a sudden urge to bang my noggin on my uncle’s noggin until our heads explode.
  23. Been a while since I’ve shindug this kind of statement but the handful of threads I owe posts to will be paid in full this weekend.

    I’m actually in threads now. It happened. 


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