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Grimmholt

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About Grimmholt

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    Swordbreaker
  • Birthday 05/22/1994

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    m-nicholas-seebaran

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    Male
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    Florida, US
  • Occupation
    Teacher

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  1. Grimmholt

    New horizons

    "Ah, don't worry about that." The courtesy she showed in simply stowing her glove might have been a simple thing to anyone else, but it made him smile earnestly in response. He would have been mortified to offend someone like her through something so careless as soaking an expensive glove. Besides, he was in an entirely new place, and who even knew if the same traditions and courtesies applied? "My name is Delaney." Part of him was surprised that she had only given her first name - they were close enough that he could see and appreciate the excellent condition and quality of her armor. Ash surmised her kit was probably worth at least a year's wages helping out aboard the Ignorance, and she appeared to carry herself with a sort of detached confidence that intrigued him. Those around them were polite, even friendly, but he caught a few glances that indicated a healthy respect for the diminutive, pale haired woman. You seem dangerous. His gut feeling was at odds with his eyes. Of course, if he had simply bowed to any old misgiving, he'd have died pretty soon into his unfortunate journey. I'll see where this takes me. "Delaney! Delaney, girl!" "Mr. Ashford, this is my friend Mr. Stenly." "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir!" He vigorously shook the old salt's hand, immediately put at ease by his warmth and his jovial appearance. Ash flashed a brilliant smile as he felt the raw strength still present in Mr. Stenly's grip. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman gaze out at the crowd. He noted the sword calluses on her hands as she rested one calmly on the hilt of her sword. Curiouser and curiouser. Something in her eyes reminded him of the first time he had seen an falcon soaring alongside their vessel. It was a dainty thing, soaring along the currents with what seemed like graceful ease until it abruptly turned and entered a sharp dive. The sparrow never saw what hit it. "Here you go," she said, and then food materialized in his hands. Before he could protest, she reminded him of his current status. "A person shouldn't be without coin." He opened his mouth anyway, and then wisely decided to chow down. Just like the storm that had offered him a chance to improve his lot in the world, he couldn't just turn down a fair chance at a meal, especially since his last one was now currently attracting some loud gulls to the waters of the dock. Besides, it was absolutely delicious anyway. "If yer lookin' for work boy, Del here can help ya." "Only if you're interested, of course. We could find you work easily enough, if only for a time." His response was immediate. "I would be honored to do so." He held up the remains of the sandwich. "Least I could do to pay you back for the generosity you've shown so far." He discarded the trash in the nearby receptacle and turned to face them. "And! You 'av come at a good time, ya know. A party! Girls with," Stenly had his hands stretched far from his chest, "wonderful uh - er ... personalities!" He laughed deeply at that. "I can't say I wouldn't enjoy a good time, it's been rather rough at sea. Let's do it!" "The House in charge of the Free Marches has a celebration now and then for its people. The harvest these last few months has been magnificent, so our Lord is holding a party."
  2. Grimmholt

    The Silver Screen

    "Dash? With kids?" "Oh, my" Baxter replied placidly, leaning back a little at the immediate denial issuing from both parties. It seemed to be a no-go on the normal charity case. Man, I don't even wanna know what skeletons you lot have roaming around backstage. An involuntary shudder ran through him as Dash pointed to the ONE area in the room Bax was stoically attempting to avoid staring at. He almost flinched as the reptilian manager pulled him closer and explained his thoughts. "You don't go humble with someone like Dash. You don't go kids. I mean he has acting chops sure, but that's asking him to play a role every second of the day. We make it a little more comfortable for him. We make him the fashionista. Fashionisto? We make him fashionable is what I'm getting at." Bax extricated himself from the uncomfortable position he was in and smoothly slid over to the drink table. "I have to admit, there's a certain charm to the idea. Yeah, we could make it work." He tapped his foot against the floor as the vision came. "Even better! Let's drag his costar into it, make her get some spotlight as well. If we're lucky one of the industry mags catches a pick of him staring vaguely at her and thinks there's some behind the scenes magic going on. Hey, it's free publicity if that happens." Bax turned to Dash as Wally did. "Yeah, I mean, you got any marketable hobbies? Besides attracting scandals?"
  3. RAVAGED OR RENEWED? THE BIAZO RUINS ANTHONY HALLMARK; TRAVEL CORRESPONDENT It came without warning. The blazing maelstrom descended from the sky and immediately scorched our guide’s hands as he forced us into what was once a narrow alleyway. The inferno burns swiftly way through the thick, verdant canopy of the park district, vicious winds casually stripping what appears to be centuries of rampant overgrowth from the battered bones of buildings beneath. For what feels like an eternity, we watch as the twisting whirlwind winds its way through what was once a greengrocer’s and right through a dilapidated school. The air is thick and hot with ash and scattered debris rains down as the twister suddenly and arbitrarily vanishes as swiftly as it came. Around us, the ruins of Biazo – once a thriving city not far from the coast – are alive once more. Rather than the polite bustle of pilgrims, the clanging of bells from the monastery, or even the chatter of idle children wandering their way to school, the ruins are alive with the wild chirps and barks of nature run rampant. Above us, hawks cry out as they seek prey newly scattered by the storm. We can hear the piteous mewls of small bobcats as they scamper around the trees that appear to be everywhere. The restored breeze brings a fresh cascade of leaves that fall unmolested to the rich forest floor we stand on. But even more intriguing are the strange and skittish eyes that observe us from afar – the new, seemingly permanent residents of Bi’le’ah as they call it. They are Half-Men, previously thought to be cast out from the city by the actions of the Archbishop Twizzen and the Peacekeeper Corps. The chaotic flux of magical energies that pulses through the air makes that place wildly unpredictable and deadly to the unprepared, but resourceful bands of Half-Men and survivors alike have managed to form their own enclaves here and there. We were invited to dine with the headman of one of these groups during our initial foray into the city. Our party was ushered into the quiet stillness of a deserted office building where they held their camp. Headman Vargus is an imposing figure, standing well over eight feet tall and with a surprisingly well curved set of ram’s horns protruding from his dark brows. He was polite, and though my Terril was a bit rusty, he was able to tell us a little of his band of scavengers. His daughter stands behind him, tall and proud, her arms wrapped proudly around a haversack we gifted their tribe. She is the youngest of their group at five years of age, too young to recall what this place once resembled. Vargus had been trying to evacuate when the original Unnaturals attacked. Changed from his original form as a rather scrawny office worker, he and his group of coworkers found themselves battling for survival as the ruins were purged. Now, they have decided to make their homes here rather than risk the prejudices of the outside world. We are invited to spend the night there, and we do. As the smoke from our dinner fire curls into the night sky, Vargus and I stand side by side overlooking the moonlit city. We can see the faint trails of other such fires in the distance. Bi’le’ah may no longer be a familiar place – but it remains no less magical, no less alive than it was before tragedy struck.
  4. Grimmholt

    Symposium Against Doom

    Audric sat behind Renata and to the right, his subdued gray suit and tie almost blending in with the stone he sat on. His pale brows furrowed as he considered his words. He began in precise, clipped tones. "We face a grave number of threats here, both within and without, mortal and supernatural. Cities have been destroyed overnight, hundreds of thousands slain and scattered, and entire swaths of loyal Terren land seized by madmen and traitors." He shook his head. "I am not blind to the threat of these body snatchers, nor do I doubt the severity of the threat to our very survival if we do not stabilize our arcane environment. But the truth is that we may not last long enough to address either if we cannot protect our citizens or their holdings." He tightened his grip on the baton as he spoke. "Our duty should be first and foremost to our people. Right now there are thousands scattered from the numerous disasters and conflicts erupting over Terrenus. They are hunted, captured, slaughtered, and every one that falls sends a message to those who remain alive that we are unable to protect them." "We must emphatically reject that notion through decisive and swift action. I believe we need to declare a regional state of emergency and mobilize aid and peacekeeping forces to the Ashville region and immediately restore order. At the same time, we should begin forward deployment of assets to check the advance of the Body Snatchers. We should at least seek to contain the threat while we stabilize the genius loci in question. It may be wise to requisition the help of those fleeing or displaced in construction, research, or food production as we proceed. In the event conditions worsen, the less people we have in harm's way, the more open a hand we can respond to threats with." "Make no mistake - I believe we face a combined host of threats greater than any in the last two decades. If we do not respond in kind or better, all may swiftly be lost." The Count passed the baton.
  5. Grimmholt

    Interested in being a reporter?

    Sounds like an excellent job for Daily Weekly travel correspondent and gourmet Anthony Hallmark! I might crack out the other feature if my Editor at Large extricates himself from that comprising position between a rock and a suicidally depressed genius loci
  6. Grimmholt

    Interested in being a reporter?

    What else do the people want to know about? 🙂
  7. Grimmholt

    Let's Make A Deal [OOC]

    Wade Grimmholt @SweetCyanide Hurtotto ourlachesism Song Sprite
  8. Grimmholt

    Let's Make A Deal [Stormlands]

    The muddy earth rocked beneath his feet as the ship came crashing down. Curiously, Faust stood his ground even as small cascades of dust and chips of stone came down from the arch above and clattered around them. What on earth did He put you through? Marcus loosened his grip on the reins in relief. The distant impact had thrown up no small amount of debris into the air, but he had a suspicion that most of it was dirt. Terren warships were hardy things, and while this one seemed to be smaller than those he had seen before, he had no doubt most of the hull was probably still intact. Of course.. there wasn't much to be said for the people inside. How unfortunate. You've chosen a poor location to have some engine trouble. The mercenary reached down to his saddlebags and withdrew a pair of high magnification binoculars from their protective leather casing. He raised it to his eye and beheld the smoking ruin of the ship's stern. One thruster unit appeared to be cooling down, while the other still smoldered. It took him a moment to realize that the damage was not at all from the crash - those were shrapnel scars. His lips curled into a frown. What could knock a fully loaded destroyer from the sky like that? His experience with the smaller ships was limited, but if the battlecruisers were any indication, their point defense weaponry should have been able to stave off a considerable amount of ordinance. If nothing else, the idea of someone else lingering out here in the wildlands with that kind of firepower was a profoundly unsettling one. Either a foreign power had invaded the stormlands and downed it, or some hostile, treasonous party had taken it upon themselves to break one of Odin's mighty swords. A brilliant flash of light illuminated his golden hair as a titanic, arcing blast of lightning ripped across the sky. "Damn it." Rationally speaking, whatever fight the crew had gotten into was none of his business, and it would hardly profit him to intervene, especially given the absolutely wretched conditions they were in. Even so, Marcus Antonius Caesar did not take kindly to treason. He took a moment to button his duster up and settle his wide brimmed hat onto his head, and then he and Faust were flying across the plains. Whatever reservations he had vanished with the pounding of Faust's hooves into the earth, the roaring rush of wind through his hair, the acidic raindrops slapping against his face. They crossed the barren, craggy landscape in lengthy bursts of speed interspersed with the rare few moments where Faust's footing took them close too close to treacherous chasms or deep pools of water to keep on racing across the ground. It took the better part of an hour to navigate the terrain and get close enough to the wreck to recognize the signs of life still beating through its heart. Marcus held a hand over his head in greeting as they cantered closer. He could easily be vaporized by a twitchy PDC if they assumed him hostile, but then again he was but a lone man astride a magnificent, if tired looking black stallion. What on earth could he do with a pair of swords and a revolver to their significantly better armed vessel? "HULLO THERE," he called out, unsure if anyone would actually be able to hear him. "PERMISSION TO COME ABOARD?"
  9. Grimmholt

    New horizons

    As the sailor wondered whether things could in fact get any worse, the universe removed all doubt for him. "Here, let me help you out," said the woman he had seen earlier, extending her gloved hand to him. Of course. Still, he was a practical sort, and took her hand willingly. He swiftly made it off the rope ladder and found himself back on blessed Terra Firma. Ash turned his head and coughed harshly as he tried to clear his mouth of that awful seawater taste. Gods, I don't know if I'm ever going to get used to that taste. He hacked another cough out and then turned to face the kind stranger. "Are you alright?" He considered the question and briefly considered answering it honestly. But then he remembered where he was and what had happened the last time he'd spilled his entire life story to someone. Wisely, Ash nodded his head. "I'll be fine. Lost my lunch and most of my coin, but I have a feeling I'll be seeing my friend the pickpocket again soon." He gave a self-assured grin that was more for his benefit than hers. He'd weathered worse storms than this, so to speak. He glanced down at the woman's glove, now surely damp from the seawater that still dripped at his feet. The sea breeze hit his back and sent a mild chill through him. "I'm sorry about your glove. Thank you for your help, though." As an afterthought, he offered his hand. "Sorry, forgot my manners. Ashford Scaleri, it's a pleasure to meet you miss."
  10. Grimmholt

    The Silver Screen

    They had warned him his clients would be.. eccentric, but to see Walmart striding casually through the crowd holding the star of their troupe under his arms like a two by four did strain his professional smile somewhat. It didn't help that the former had opted for what Bax assumed would be considered "business casual" among his people. That or it was hotter on that bus than he expected. "Baxter, don't you think we oughta get Dash doing some 'charity work' for a 'good cause' in advance of the next film?" The rather astute question caught him off guard. "Oh.. yes, why yes, we should. All the scandal rags have been abuzz about the last time he was in a restaurant. Something about murdering a handbag. We gotta rehabilitate that image." He tapped his fingers along his chin thoughtfully. "Oh, I know! We can have Dash volunteer at a local clothes donation site. Something trendy where the paparazzi can see him helping disadvantaged kids with their fashion sense or something." Baxter folded his hands as he appraised the dashing young actor beside him. Something else too.. "OH. Gotta change them looks too, make you look a little more humble for the cameras. Maybe some ripped jeans and a plaid shirt or something else that screams "I'm not just slumming it here."
  11. The article you posted had black text which is illegible on Dark so I went in and quickly removed the coloration just fyi

    1. supernal

      supernal

      Oh and fixed the mentions

  12. EMBERS OF HOPE OR FLAME OF REBELLION? Jackson Stewart, Blairville Times Associated Press Writers The sleepy town of Church on the Hill (COTH) is an ancient hold just outside of the borders of Blairville. The eponymous church has stood for centuries as a landmark of the surrounding area, although the main structure has fallen into disrepair in the last few decades as Blairville grew in opportunity and prosperity. The strife and conflict of past years has been especially hard on the small farming community around the Church as the attentions and resources of the big city have turned increasingly inward. It is often said that nature abhors a vacuum, and nowhere has this been truer than in the small community of COTH. Common bandits and highwaymen prey upon unsuspecting travelers, and requests for help from the neighboring villages have gone unanswered. Strange, twisted creatures prowl the lands at night, feasting on livestock and townsfolk unlucky enough to be caught out at night. Even more disturbing are the rumors of organized, roving tribes of barbarians who have come out of hiding to ransack the vulnerable townships and villages as Blairville’s protection has disappeared. These are dark times for COTH, but some claim Gaia may have seen fit to provide a beacon of hope for the people who live there. Lone priest Father Constans is at the center of this controversial belief. Some claim to have seen a brilliant explosion of emerald flame erupting from the Church, lighting up the sky for miles around. When witnesses arrived, they found Father Constans standing unburnt in the conflagration. He has made startling claims of prophecy, challenging the authority and sanctity of long held religious doctrine. At the same time, his followers have taken his message of an honest society united under the will of a truly divine monarch and created what may be one of the most prosperous communities in the outer Blairville lands. His is a persuasive message, and people have begun to migrate in large numbers towards the township. His appearance may very well herald a new era of enlightenment and peace, but his presence and teachings have also gone in the face of powerful religious interests. Will the good Father’s efforts to bring light to the dark wilderness succeed, or will it only spark further conflict among us all? The Blairville Times will be continuing our investigation into the Church on the Hill next week as they celebrate a milestone in their history with a feast.  @Vansin @supernal
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