Welcome Guest 

Register

Forum Home » Roleplaying » Non-Tolkien » The Forgotten Plains (Free2Join)
Author Topic:
Nuavar~Lily~Lorin
Council Member
Posts: 426
Send Message
Avatar
Post The Forgotten Plains (Free2Join)
on: June 30, 2004 06:33
((SEE OCC, FREE TO JOIN))

The air was filled with light smoke from the early morning fires. Marchers finished their break fast, and quickly packed for another day of traveling. The Riders tended the Bergs, large canine-like creatures with deadly claws and stubbed tails. The woman of the group were busy healing the wounded and caring for the small group of children.

In choice, he would not want the woman and children involved with the war (unless they came by will), but there was no place safe for them. The Plains Goblins would gladly accept care of the people, always searching for more recruits in their hunts, but not even life amongst them was safe.

"Get packed Marcher! You haven't time to drawl about!" he barked at a lounging Marcher who was talking sneakily to another one. The Marcher jumped up, replied a 'Oy, Commander!' and set about his duties.

His onyx eyes searched over the camp, satisfied with his findings, he stalked back to the Bergs. Finishing padding up the creature, he sprang on. The Berg growled under him for a moment, then moved forward swiftly. The wind blew the long side of his hair into his face for time, then to the side.

His name was Syalian, son of Siolin, commander of the troops. He was fair aged, not as old as the other Commanders, but older then the young ranks who thought they were the greatest. His voice was sharp and coarse, and his hair was half-cut. Mid-back long on one side and ear length on the other side, a sign to show he was not to be trusted, or at least said so by his former clan.

But he had earned his respect well from that mark, wearing it purposely even long after he had been released by the Council. While in the troops, only two others bore the hair cut, but often kept to themselves. He did have a fiery temper, but controlled it with ease. Striking a new type of terror in the disobedient Marchers with his frigid voice and malicious smile. Though rarely they saw his face at all, since he wore a black and red scarf over his face, showing only his eyes.

He felt a sense of freedom riding the Berg, stopping to shout orders at the remainders as he left the camp and rode out onto the plains. He was alarmed as his Berg suddenly stopped and started to snarl at the giant boulders that broke from the earth sharply. He stroked the neck of the Berg, grinning under his scarf. He drew his bow and notched an arrow.

"Show yourself! Your scent is not hidden from my Berg!" he called out in the common tongue.

Nuav
Members Online
Print Friendly, PDF & Email