The capital city of the of Rynmere, here is seated the only King in Idalos.
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Iarann Madradh
Approved Character
Posts: 17
Joined: Mon Jun 20, 2016 5:14 pm
Race: Human
Profession: Sellsword
Renown: 0
Character Sheet
Wealth Tier: Tier 1




Rynmere, A northern island kingdom ruled by aristocratic feudal cunts who hold power over smaller cunts that are too sheepish to know any better. Iaraan Madradh would know, he used to be one of them ages ago. A soldier of house Krome, more like a slave to the rich noble house. He was indoctrinate early in age of Glory and Honor, the lies that make idiot boys like himself strive for knighthood and idiot girls to spread their legs for it. Took time for Iaraan to see through the hypocrisy of such, for honor and glory and the deeds that were sung of it were false. Killing is what makes a knight, or killing the right man. Didn’t matter if you were honorable or just, that was proven when his adopted father Sir Rato Hus sold him to another knight, Sir Grim, for a night of pleasure. It were killers that rose in the ranks, killers that shape the world for Immortals and mortals alike the true nature of us all are more beast like then one wants to believe.

Iarann spat blood upon the ground, his head ringed as if a blacksmith was making iron sing upon his skull with each ping of pain being hammer to anvil. The truth of it was, some fucking shite got a lucky blow in with a cudgel to the back of the sellsword’s head. Didn’t matter how great you were, or thought you were there was always some bastard with more luck on his side then you. The same could be said for the three other shites that laid sprawled about, lifeless or close to it. Iarann was not far from Andaris when set upon by foolhardy brigands that thought to make short work of an old man and make off with his wares.

To their surpise it seemed the target they had chosen was probably one they should have just let pass along. The horse and small wagon that trailed behind him were not laden with traders good, but of just basic necessities of travel. His horse wasn’t much to look at nor was the armor the Large man wore. So this incident was to be a costly misjudgement of opportunists that thought numbers was their allies against the beasty aged warrior.

They sprung their trap thinking that Iarann would try and make a run for it, horse and cart in tow. Instead the mercenary dropped from his horse, drawing his claymore with nothing more than a sinister grin that caught the bandits by surprise. Violence was his calling, that was clear and the bandits fumbled for a more peaceful resolution.

“Just leave the wagon and be on your way!” Said the mid aged athletic build of a human, studded leather armor with sharp facial features and long dark brown hair. “Come on now, you don’t need to die today!” He commanded in calm but unsure tone, his hands gripped around a two handed bearded axe.

“Nae, someain will!” Iarann’s voice rasped deeply upon the bandit leader just as he jolted forward, heavy blade risen high above his head. The brigands countered by lunging towards the towering man, the bandit leader with the axe hesitated a few seconds just to get a clear picture of what was happening. His own naked eyes watched as Iarann’s blade cleave through the first man that got into range, from chest to groin with such power, muscle and weight behind the strike that left the unfortunate man in two pieces and entrails sprawled about.

The fight was swaying in the favor of the vicious, so why did this writer start off by divulging potential tragedy? Fluff cause he wants a higher word count? Or was he just being mysterious?
word count: 631

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