Post by Aris, Chaos Dwarf on Dec 29, 2008 20:17:07 GMT -5
*open to anyone wanting to rp*
Aris walked back along the palace grounds from his brief audience with the emperor. He wore no armor, nor did he attempt to make his presence unknown. It was night fall as it was, and he was in his element, any fool dare attack him now would meet a gruesome, slow and unpleasant end. On his back he bore the one of the only items he chose to carry with, his Black Hammer. The daemon weapon twitched and squirmed on his back, the dark creature bound for all eternity within it's unholy metal screamed in it's cage, begging for blood, begging to please Hashut. It would be denied this night. Aris had promised himself that no matter what the outcome of the evenings events, he would not draw blood tonight if he could help it. the hammer would remain a symbol of status and leadership but nothing more then that.
He reflected on his audience. He did not bow, nor would he ever take a knee, but that was the dwarven way no matter what you're diction of life was, chaos or no. A dwarf who bends his knee to anyone save his elder is no longer a dwarf, but something less then a slave, he thought, his lip twitching at the thought. The emperor made a quick audience, 'We will talk in time' he said, well he damn well better talk in time, we of Chaos may live forever, but wait forever we do not, he thought with frustration.
He made his way through the castle gates and down the main road... Probably wouldn't be welcomed in any of the bars... They all have something against tusks. Better off, he thought spitefully, wouldn't want to drink any of their swill water they call 'mead'. Real mead can only be brewed in the XXXXX variety, anything less then four was for the meek. Speaking of XXXXX...
He stopped at the central fountain, (he scoffed at the obviously un-dwarf craftsmanship) and reached for his second item on his person, a black steel drinking horn, made by his father's father's father, and had been passed down from generation to generation. Upon it's lip, runes of power, endurance, courage, and stamina of body and of drink. He took deep from the horn, the blood wine warming him.
He looked at the city, the first time he bothered to come here. a thousand years ago this land was simply theirs, mayhap it would be again, the walls of the city weren't indestructible. But now... that was out of way and pointless. This city was filled with enough discontent to be satisfying, and the meaningless pawns moved about planning they're own ends, only adding fuel to the inevitable inferno that was yet to come.
So many thoughts... so many decisions... so very little time.
Aris walked back along the palace grounds from his brief audience with the emperor. He wore no armor, nor did he attempt to make his presence unknown. It was night fall as it was, and he was in his element, any fool dare attack him now would meet a gruesome, slow and unpleasant end. On his back he bore the one of the only items he chose to carry with, his Black Hammer. The daemon weapon twitched and squirmed on his back, the dark creature bound for all eternity within it's unholy metal screamed in it's cage, begging for blood, begging to please Hashut. It would be denied this night. Aris had promised himself that no matter what the outcome of the evenings events, he would not draw blood tonight if he could help it. the hammer would remain a symbol of status and leadership but nothing more then that.
He reflected on his audience. He did not bow, nor would he ever take a knee, but that was the dwarven way no matter what you're diction of life was, chaos or no. A dwarf who bends his knee to anyone save his elder is no longer a dwarf, but something less then a slave, he thought, his lip twitching at the thought. The emperor made a quick audience, 'We will talk in time' he said, well he damn well better talk in time, we of Chaos may live forever, but wait forever we do not, he thought with frustration.
He made his way through the castle gates and down the main road... Probably wouldn't be welcomed in any of the bars... They all have something against tusks. Better off, he thought spitefully, wouldn't want to drink any of their swill water they call 'mead'. Real mead can only be brewed in the XXXXX variety, anything less then four was for the meek. Speaking of XXXXX...
He stopped at the central fountain, (he scoffed at the obviously un-dwarf craftsmanship) and reached for his second item on his person, a black steel drinking horn, made by his father's father's father, and had been passed down from generation to generation. Upon it's lip, runes of power, endurance, courage, and stamina of body and of drink. He took deep from the horn, the blood wine warming him.
He looked at the city, the first time he bothered to come here. a thousand years ago this land was simply theirs, mayhap it would be again, the walls of the city weren't indestructible. But now... that was out of way and pointless. This city was filled with enough discontent to be satisfying, and the meaningless pawns moved about planning they're own ends, only adding fuel to the inevitable inferno that was yet to come.
So many thoughts... so many decisions... so very little time.