Oshi Builds
The Butcher of Vorthein | Age of The Unseated
Life on the pastures, near the foothills of the Gods' Ankles, is a peaceful endeavour. The howl of the northern gales is displaced by a soft breeze which trickles through the leaves in the trees; the skies are of a deep cerulean shade, clear of the brooding clouds which dominate the mountain passes and acres of unclaimed land stretch, boundless, over the horizon.
But living away from the strongholds which dot the hills is a dangerous gamble. I'm forced to tear my gaze away from the views, dragging my attention back to the task at hand. I bury my shovel into the ground, digging into the soil as my companions - Torréon and Markas - pile dirt back into the grave we had dug previously. We're burying the fourth family of the last fortnight - a pair of farmers and their two farmhands. My companions assume the culprit is a bandit; a cutthroat who steals from the landowners to subsist. But noticing that the silver and gold in the homestead is untouched, I can't help but fear that these murders are crimes of animosity, not greed.
We leave minutes later. Torréon tells me there's another, smaller patch of farmland a stone's throw down the trail which leads south, towards the swamplands. I respond saying that we'll check up on the residents, and then return to our camp - as the sun begins to shrink behind the treeline, I'm eager not to be out in the open when night falls.
As we emerge into a clearing, at the far end of which is set a thatched roof farm building facing away from us. I’m met by the faint sound of barking. I tell myself not to be concerned - most farm owners around here have dogs to assist them with their livestock. The subsequent ring of steel on wood, however, is unmistakable…
Built as an example entry for the 'The Rule of Might' quest for the Age of The Unseated RPG, which you can join here: discord.gg/tuJa3Pbk4m
The Butcher of Vorthein | Age of The Unseated
Life on the pastures, near the foothills of the Gods' Ankles, is a peaceful endeavour. The howl of the northern gales is displaced by a soft breeze which trickles through the leaves in the trees; the skies are of a deep cerulean shade, clear of the brooding clouds which dominate the mountain passes and acres of unclaimed land stretch, boundless, over the horizon.
But living away from the strongholds which dot the hills is a dangerous gamble. I'm forced to tear my gaze away from the views, dragging my attention back to the task at hand. I bury my shovel into the ground, digging into the soil as my companions - Torréon and Markas - pile dirt back into the grave we had dug previously. We're burying the fourth family of the last fortnight - a pair of farmers and their two farmhands. My companions assume the culprit is a bandit; a cutthroat who steals from the landowners to subsist. But noticing that the silver and gold in the homestead is untouched, I can't help but fear that these murders are crimes of animosity, not greed.
We leave minutes later. Torréon tells me there's another, smaller patch of farmland a stone's throw down the trail which leads south, towards the swamplands. I respond saying that we'll check up on the residents, and then return to our camp - as the sun begins to shrink behind the treeline, I'm eager not to be out in the open when night falls.
As we emerge into a clearing, at the far end of which is set a thatched roof farm building facing away from us. I’m met by the faint sound of barking. I tell myself not to be concerned - most farm owners around here have dogs to assist them with their livestock. The subsequent ring of steel on wood, however, is unmistakable…
Built as an example entry for the 'The Rule of Might' quest for the Age of The Unseated RPG, which you can join here: discord.gg/tuJa3Pbk4m