Forums / Roleplaying / Return of the Stormborn

Right, so here's the sign-ups I promised! Now, we're going to be starting as a shipwrecked group of adventurers...please give your character's name, his description, and his position on the old ship. 

Positions
Captain - Byrnjolf (Septim)
Second in Command (1) -
Navigator (1) - Ohmlaholf Taginvilt (Ohmly)
Surgeon (1) -
Archery Master (1) -
Quartermaster (1) -
Huntsmen (2) -
Cook (1) -
Crew (6) -

Name: Ohmlaholf Taginvilt
Position: Second In Command
Age: 40
Height: 5'6"
Gender: Male
Hair color: White Blond
Eye color: Ice Blue
Build: Heavy
Homeland: The Sea
Weapon of choice: Two handed Battle Axe
Clothing of choice: Leather and fur. Plate steel sewn at the joints. Wolf skin head for a helmet(killed when he was a boy).
Description: Short and husky yet almost inhumanly strong. White blond hair worn down his back in a ponytail. Mustache that extends 12 inches under his chin. Sea weathered and dark red skin.
Personality: Loyal to a fault. Learned to read the stars at the age of 8. Has an innate sense of direction. Tireless at the helm, but when work is done…the drink begins. Is quick with the joke and the fist. Hot tempered and irritable, none is better than him by your side in a brawl or battle. The only thing to remember when fighting by his side is to be sure to duck when his axe begins a swingin.

Positions
Captain - Byrnjolf (Septim)
Second in Command (1) -  Hildir Helfirsdottir (Lorelei)
Navigator (1) - Ohmlaholf Taginvilt (Ohmly)
Surgeon (1) - Varian Sturmcrahe (Stormy)
Archery Master (1) - Alrik Eklundsen (Charley)
Quartermaster (1) -
Huntsmen (2) -
Cook (1) -
Crew (6) -

So Far

Name: Kan-Zil Asteban (Kan for short)
Position: Quartermaster (I assume we're going by the naval use of the term, rather than the land army use of the term)
Age: Appears old, but he insists he is younger than he looks
Height: 5' 2"
Gender: Male
Hair color: Bald
Eye color: Silver-green
Build: Athletic, wrinkled, appears frail
Homeland: Some mountain temple complex in the far southeast, apparently.
Weapon of choice: Martial arts
Clothing of choice: Has several grey-brown robes, all of which have subtly different designs. Also wears a fur hat and full-length fur cloak and leather boots - tradition is one thing, but being bloody cold on the open sea is another.
Description: Short, smiling, old martial artist from a far corner of the world. I think little more needs to be said. As he is (apparently) one of the oldest aboard the ship, Kan was often considered wise, but at the same time several of the crew doubt he is perfectly right in the head. Nevertheless, his apparent intelligence and ability to match armed men using nothing but his bare hands has earned him some degree of acceptance from the crew, and thus he held one of the important positions aboard the ship.
Personality: Cheerful, if careful. Tends to be a little pompous on occasion and happy to mention his past exploits (which the crew have come to the conclusion that he mostly makes up), although he knows and utilizes his reputation for slightly unhinged wisdom. Has a proverb for every occasion, even if they don't make sense all the time.

The backstory isn't even important, really, as our characters won't know anything about the Stormborn or its past. =P

Name: Arvlunk Vilhjalmer

sorry double... lost power in a storm last night

Thanks Ohms. I think I'll wait until tomorrow to let people finish their sign-ups. Then we will commence the awesome.

I feel like having so many people might make this a fuster cluck ;)  but this should also be pretty fun.

I'll be the cook, but don't have time to post description will do so tomorrow :P

We have to wait for Binh before we start. If he doesn't post by the time I'm done with work in six hours, then we'll start anyway. >>

...I was kinda expecting you to E-Mail or chat the question to him.  OH WELL

Positions
Captain - Byrnjolf (Septim)
Second in Command (1) -  Hildir Helfirsdottir (Lorelei)
Navigator (1) - Ohmlaholf Taginvilt (Ohmly)
Surgeon (1) - Varian Sturmcrahe (Stormy)
Archery Master (1) - Alrik Eklundsen (Charley)
Quartermaster (1) - Kan-Zil Asteban-Kan for short(Sir Karzan)
Huntsmen (2) - Nökkvi Gríms (Heyzeus)son
Cook (1) - (Binh)
Crew (6) -Arvlunk Vilhjalmer(Arvious), Jak Hornik (Horuspanic)

Newest update. You giving it a week for sign up? That would be 2 more days.

Aye Aye

   For all his years at sea, Ohmlaholf had never seen such violence. Over the cacophony of wind and waves, he heard his captain barking almost unintelligible orders to the men. Such a gale blew that even with his massive arms and short, stable frame, he had difficulties holding course. Yes, he was a navigator. He usually gave the directions, made his soundings, checked a fix or two and went to the galley. But in a storm like this one, no one took the helm but him. Even the captain deferred to his experience at the wheel to feel the currents and guild his vessel to safety.

   Every muscle in his body flexed and strained to capacity as another massive wave buffeted the ship and crashed on the deck.

   “Row like it was your last stroke,” he heard his captain yell, and watched as the blond bearded man turned back to face the sea.

   Then it came, rising up to the top of the mast. Such a wave it seemed to have teeth and fingers, ripping at his hands. Vise-like, the digits crushed the around the wheel, willing it to stay the course. But all was in vein as the rudder twisted in the water and flung the wheel to port.

.....Darkness

..Cold and wet

The sea was wrapping him up to take him home.

   The song of a bird woke the sleeping man. Groggy, he lifted his head. His blond hair matted over his eyes, hiding his sight. He reached to push the mass of hair aside and found that he could not move his arms. He began to panic nly to remembered the night’s happenings. Deftly, he unbound himself and sat up. Finally able to part his hair, he found himself on an outcropping of rock. He grabbed the throng still surrounding one of his wrists and used it to wrangle his hair into a ponytail that fell to the bottom of his leather vest. He surveyed his surroundings as he squeezed the water from his mustache.

   He was on an outcropping that jutted from the sea floor. About nine feet wide, it projected from the water some 15 feet. On a small notch in the rock, he saw a gray sea bird squawking. He looked around. To the North, he saw land. It would be an easy 3 mile swim to reach the shore. He looked about himself to see if there was anything of value he could salvage. No such luck. Apart from the many throngs of leather he kept tied around his waist, his seafarer’s knife and the wolf head, the only thing left on the rock was the decking he was tied to. He would leave that for the creatures of the sea to fight over for a home. With a mighty leap, he careened into the water and put his arms and legs to forcing him to the distant beach.

   “This should wake up the senses and stretch out the tired limbs,” he though as he pushed on to land.

Cold. . . Cold and wet. . . Cold, wet, and dry.

  The brief swim invigorated Ohmlaholf. All the knotted muscles were pounded free. His head began to clear. He was able to think. The sea had been his home since he was 5 and stowed away on a skiff full of adventurers heading for the unknown, having no family to care for him on land.  He was discovered two days into the journey when he was trying to sneak into the lauder for something to eat. Too far from port, the captain kept him as his personal swab, teaching him the trades of the sea. The youth stayed aboard the ship for many years.  The bawdy crew reveled at the young kids antics and he gave them someone to look after and pass their knowledge to. He became something of a mascot. He learned to tar the hull, work with wood, hunt, sail, and fight. He personally enjoyed the fighting the most, from the first time he hefted a hatchet like a mighty battle axe, to the “attacking” of trees for deck plank replacements, he loved the axe.  The boy grew to a teen, large arms hefted a two handed axe with grace and destructiveness. One stormy evening, while securing the captain’s quarters, the young Ohmlaholf stood looking over the chart his captain left out and “knew” that his course was leading the ship to a set of deadly shallows. Rushing to the helm he convinced the captain to make a slight change in course, narrowly avoiding catastrophe. From that night, the youth studied how to navigate.

  “Enough of this reminiscing” he thought as he effortlessly glided through the waves towards the shore. It was a bright day, the warmth of the sun played on his face as he moved closer and closer to the shore. The briskness of the water was exhilarating as Ohmlaholf’s mind pondered the day ahead.

Hunt for food and water.

Find the survivors of the storm.

Locate any tools or equipment.

Find transportation.

Determine where you are.

  The list ran though his head as he reached the shore. Standing up, he surveyed the beach. The sand was white and warm on his feet. He wished he had a pair of boots. He always removed them on the ship, allowing himself to feel the vessels reactions to the sea. It helped him navigate. Feel the currents. Keep balanced and centered.

  “Oh well, guess I’ll have to fashion a new set” he said to himself as he rang the water from his hair and beard. The day was warm. The great storm of the night showed no signs of itself this morning. He made his way towards the forest that was perched on the edge of the beach. This was a good spot to begin the first item on his list. Food. Just as he was reaching the edge of the trees, something caught his attention. He stopped and listened. One second. Then two….Nothing…was it in his head? He was about to continue when he heard it again. Was it a voice?

Yes. It was.

“Ohmlaholf….Hildir….Kan-Zil….!!??”

  Ohmlaholf spun to the distant sound. Framed on the horizon was a figure, slowly making their way along the beach. He could not make out the figure, but the voice was all too familiar.

  “The captian lives,” Ohmlaholf screamed to himself as he bolted towards the calling figure. Well…the second on the list was easier than he had hoped. Find survivors. There was more than just him. As he closed the distance, another figure became visible. Tall and strong, carrying a bow.

  “Thank the seas, she gave up Alrik as well,” he mused as his feet dug into the sand. He began waving his arms wildly as he ran. It was to be a great reunion. And it would make the hunting of food much easier with Alrik’s bow. With that thought, Ohmlaholf’s belly began to complain of hunger.

“Soon, friend,” he said, “very soon.”

     Alrik had been marching towards where he heard the captain when suddenly he heard a noise behind him.  As he turned around quickly, he saw a happy sight.  It was good ol' Ohmlaholf running towards him. Alrik met the huge man with a happy embrace and a few slaps on the back.
     "Ohmlaholf! It is great to see you alive! Have you heard the captain too? I think he is furthur up the beach.  It is glad to see a fellow northerner alive because all I have been hearing are voices.  Everytime I head towards them, I don't see who is making them.  If we hurry, I am sure we can find someone else!" said Alrik eagerly.  Together, the two of them would surely begin finding other crewmembers. 

Ohmlaholf reached Alrik first. The taller, slimmer man nearly fell as Ohmlaholf launched himself at his friend and seized him in a welcome embrace. A wave of relief crashed over the large northerner as the archer clapped his back a few times. He was not alone, and the steady hand of the man in front of him would mean food soon. But they must catch the captain, who seemed to walk away from the pair.

“Alrik, thank the seas you made it,” the heavy man beamed.

“That has to be the captain, at least he swaggers in the same manner as the captain,” Ohmlaholf explained. He knew the eyes of his friend were keen, but he was a hunter. Hunter’s eyes could distinguish many things; animals in the trees, accurate distances to targets, imperceptible movements of the wind. All traits needed to fell dinner or a foe.  But distance….real distances….that was Ohmlaholf’s world. The open sea is vast. He had trained his eyes to detect land, ships or creatures from great distances. Something a navigator must be able to do, to guild a ship to its proper course.

“Let’s hurry, before he gets too far away,” he called as his feet punched the sand and he careened towards his captain, Alrik following in the comfortable gate all hunters took when following their prey. Unhurried and methodical, never tiring, never wavering. Ohmlaholf refused to follow suit, too excited to reunite with his captain. The wind would have to catch him. Up the beach he ran, light of heart, even under the current difficulties.

Varain trudged along the beach, occasionally making marks in the sand marking his progress.

"A regular gods damned perfect day" mutters Varian as he scans the shoreline for survivors.

He notices sharp whistling sound off in the distance and quickens his pace, hoping it was a good sign. Looking off to his left, Varian noticed the rolling hills and wonders curiously what secrets they held. It was then he noticed a brief flash of light on one of the hills inland.

"Well thats disquieting, Oneeye" Varian spoke to his pet crow.

As he continued onwards, he could see three figures in the distance and breathed a sigh of relief. At least now he knew his friends were safe, he could do with some good news.

He cupped his hands and yelled "Avast ye scabrous dogs, tis a good sight for me eyes!"

  “The sea takes what she wants, Captain,” Ohmlaholf lamented.

   It was true that since the tides had shifted, many of the crew began washing ashore. Ohmlaholf, with Alrik’s help in-between the incessant firing of those “whistlers”, was piling the bodies and making ready to cremate the poor souls. It was a gruesome task, but it was better than letting the buzzards peck them clean. In between gathering the bodies, he trekked to the wood-line and gathered fallen limbs and piled them next to the morbid stack. They would use the wood for cooking as well as sending the unfortunates to there maker.

  “Captain,” he said trying to sound nonchalant,” wouldn’t you think it wise to hunt down some breakfast. We’ve prepared the funeral pyre and, frankly, now that Varian has arrived,” he clapped the man’s back and shot him a smile as the bald man and his bird strode into the group, returning his gaze to the captain, Ohmlahof said matter-of-factly, “I think we should get to the task of survival.”

   Ohmlahof hated for his lists to be rearranged. He was methodical when it came to his lists. But the captain always seemed to have a different priority than his. He thought the captain did it on purpose, just to keep his navigator guessing. They ribbed each other constantly and the two were quite close friends, but the Byrnjolf was the captain, and when it came to the decision making, the captain’s word is law.

   Ohmlahof’s stomach began rumbling again as he stood waiting for the answer from the captain.

Pshreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…….

  “That was getting really annoying.” Ohmlahof thought as he turned to see Alrik looking straight at him as he notched another arrow with that god forsaken grass attached. A slight smirk and a mischievous glint in the eye occupied the face of the tall hunter. Ohmlahof had already mentioned the aggravation with the short length of time between signals, and Alrik never missed a chance to irritate the large man. He knew when enough was enough. Usually after the first fist was thrown. But right now, it was not yet to that point.

Pshreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee……

Varian's smile was the first he had all day, it was good to be back among his comrades.

Upon seeing the dead, he immediately made the sign of The Stranger, his clan's patron god. It was good they were going to burn the dead. It was appropriate to do so, and the smoke would double as a signal to any of their lost shipmates.

Being the ship's surgeon, Varian's biggest concern was the health of his friends, both reunited and still-lost. As he began to look over those present for any injuries, he made several sharp whistles to his bird, who immediately flew off. His pet would continue the search along the beach for survivors while they made a base camp.

"Aye Cap'n, what be ye orders."

"Damn the world."

After walking for at least three hours, Arvlunk had found nothing.  No signs of the ship, no signs of the crew, nothing.  And now, Arvlunk began to feel a familiar feeling of hunger ripple across his stomach.  Grumbling, Arv momentarily stopped and sat down for a bit.

His options were as follows: either sit around and die, eat some of the vegetation and risk death by poison, or continue wandering aimlessly and most likely die.  None of these really appealed to him, so he decided to let his flask choose for him.  Emptying the last drops of the rum, Arvlunk stood up and continued to walk down the beach, cursing at every little inconvenience he found.

***

"Name please."

"W-... Arvlunk Vihljalmer."  The portmaster cocked a brow at this.

"Profession?"

"Unemployed."

"Your reason for going to Svellat?"

"...I'd rather not answer that."

"Look, you.  You're lucky I'm even talking to you this late at night.  Now you better cooperate, or you aren't getting on any ship in this town."

"...very well then.  Do you mind?"  Arvlunk pulled out his flask.

"Yes yes, whatever you fancy, just hurry it up."  The portmaster glared at Arv.

Taking a quick swig, Arvlunk grimaced and faced the man.

"Both of my parents were killed, and our house was pillaged.  I want to start over as far from here as possible.  Happy?"

"Delighted."  After scribbling on the paper, the Portmaster stood up, handed Arv the hastily written letter, and set down his quill.

"The next ship to Svellat comes in a fortnight, at dawn.  Don't be late."

"Thank you Flavius.  I'll be off then."  Arvlunk stood up

"Yes yes, get out.  Oh, and 'Arvlunk'... we're even now."

***

"Finally, signs of humans!"

Arvlunk stood hunched over at an indentation in the sand that seemed to belong to a human, possibly one of the crew.  And seeing as there was no corpse to be found, there was obviously another member of the crew milling about somewhere.

Somewhat reinvigorated by this discovery, Arvlunk pulled out his flask for a celebratory swig... only to remember that he emptied it an hour before.  His stomach grumbled again to remind him of his growing food shortage.

"Damn the world," Arv cursed, as he began to pace onwards, in the direction of what appeared to be a pack of walruses...

[[OOC:  I swear, someday I'll learn how to make a decent post without flashback filler!  Also, can someone either delete my previous post or replace it with a picture of a fish?]]