#wolfsbarbaren

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

The Witcher slipped into the village inn silently that evening, hooded cloak shifting about him, dripping the cold, freshly fallen rain water. It would be welcome to get out of it for awhile, and have himself some good drinks and hot meals for a change, after the previous contracts. Of course, it meant more of the inevitable, dealing with people. How they would end up being always seemed to come down to the flip of a coin, where a mutant arriving was concerned. He would be ready either way it went. The sounds of lute music, laughter and chatter greeted him, along with the scents of ale, smoke and cooking meats. He remained where he was for a moment or two... long enough for eyes to shift to his spot, and take notice of his marred features, eyes, medallion and swords... quiet overtaking most of the bar... save some murmurs between friends pointing their attention his way. The usual reactions, no matter where one of his sort traveled, but not yet any violent ones.

Ignoring the onlookers but taking note of the stares and hushed words said about him that they thought he couldn't hear, Eskel silently passed through the main room, making his way to the bar and ordering an ale and meal from the startled looking bartender... who sprang at once to carrying out the request. The sounds gradually resumed about the tavern, along with the music, though the nervous air among most of the people lingered, palpable. Up at the bar, his viper eyes shifted about his surroundings again, scanning the place along with the rest of his senses. Most had the good sense to look away and cease their murmurs about him when his eyes fell upon them. He would have to watch himself though, if he intended to spend an evening at one of the inn rooms. He looked lastly over to a spot nearby, where a tougher looking yet attractive dark haired woman with striking eyes resided. As he waited for his drink and meal to arrive, his deep, calm voice addressed her quietly, inclining his head her way.

"How you doing? Look like you can handle yourself with a blade or a bow. New to the area, any good hunting to be found out here?"

@wolfsbarbaren

[spaceschist]

starter for @wolfsbarbaren

Caught in the throes of a portal, Gale found himself suspended in a chilling limbo, where the passage of time felt distorted, elongated. The act of reaching out of the portal seemed to stretch for eons until finally, a hand grasped his. The transition from one plane to another was jarring, but the sensation of landing face-first into the dirt felt more like a joyous reunion than an inconvenience. The warm breeze and the embrace of fresh air after the interplanar sojourn were welcomed with deep breaths of elation.

As the transient disorientation settled, Gale rose to his feet, dusting off his robe and relishing the freedom to stretch once more. His eyes landed on his savior, and a grin swept across his face. In a gesture of gratitude and camaraderie, he extended his hand to clasp hers in a firm handshake.

"Hello, I am Gale of Waterdeep. Apologies for the unusual meeting," he greeted, the warmth of his smile radiating genuine appreciation.

[crosaidi]

“ get it through your head, i’m not gonna just leave you here! “ @wolfsbarbaren / shining armor

Is  it  telling  that  his  first  thought  is  why?  He’s  furious,  swearing,  cursing,  words  off  his  tongue  that  could  make  a  hardened  soldier  redden.  "  So,  what,  we  both  die?  "  That  look  in  his  eye  is  almost  wild;  he’s  hurt,  exhausted,  nursing  a  dislocated  shoulder  besides.  It’s  already  galling  him  enough  that  they’re  having  to  run,  but  the  howls  of  those  after  them  echo  through  the  halls.  It’s  not  do-or-die  yet,  but  one  wrong  step  or  wrong  turn  will  swiftly  make  it  so.  

He’s  blisteringly  angry,  which  means  he’s  still  pliable.  He’s  not  digging  in  yet,  and  he  grunts  as  she  hauls  him  along; he spits crudely to the side, bloody.  "  I  can  fight  off  a  few  gods-damned  cultists.  "

[luckhissoul]

@wolfsbarbaren sent from this - accepting - help  my  muse  patch  up  a  wound

she's been with the band a few days now. she and her family have been a good addition actually. all the better for him, hitting two targets in one go. with her determination in seeking out the people she was looking for he was sure they would find the both of them. although, he cared mostly for only one of them. but he had offered his help, they had made a deal. and his da always taught him to stick to his word, no matter what happened. some days it was more curse than a good trait to stick to. he was going to find out sure what this turned out to be.

this was just another bump in the road. some people trying to get to their supply wagon. which was pretty stupid given the size of the band, just setting up camp not too far from the road that they had been stopped on. well, two good men were dead now. they're lifeless eyes only now closed. he feels a chill running through him. but he focuses instead on the taste at hand. his hands are unsteady, there's sweat and dirt mixed with the blood on his face, the back of his neck. his hat had fallen off somewhere. he'd have to get it back. he ties the crude wrapping tight around her forearm. "it's not too deep." he says the obvious. she seemed used to this sort of them. some woman. "when we get back to camp nerim can stitch you up." nerim was good at what he did. but nothing would ever make him used to the added pain of the needle to a wound. he shakes the thought from his head before meeting her eyes. "you're good at this…" he says with a brief gesture towards the aftermath of the skirmish.

[uhtr1d]

@wolfsbarbaren somewhere.

After a days riding they'd set up camp tucked away among trees, high up on the closest hill they could find to get a good enough view of their surroundings. Whilst Uhtred was tired he'd be the last to admit it - used to staying awake through the night to keep watch over his men and anyone that travelled with them. There was food in their bellies and the warmth of the fire keeping them warm even when the temperatures started to dip as the night rolled in.

The rest were sleeping, he'd taken the night shift so the others could rest - some in worse shape than he was. He paced back and forth, still able to feel the heat of the fire against the back of his legs, hand at the hilt of his sword, thumb lightly tapping against the stone that sat there.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw the figure approaching. Just one from what he could see - there was no need to wake Finan nor the others. Still, he tightened his grip some around his sword and the warmth left him as he stepped forward carefully eyeing the woman now she'd come into view. " It is not wise to sneak up on sleeping men, lady. "

[fin4n]

“ We cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever. ” / @wolfsbarbaren

It's  plain  he's  not  going  anywhere  until  he  gets  word.  He's  a  little  on  edge  —  he  has  something  of  a  fondness  for  the  Danes,  despite  the  truth  he  stands  out  like  a  sore  thumb  in  these  places,  both  in  faith  and  bearing,  but  their  little  company  has  enemies  on  all  sides,  and  alliances  have  had  a  tendency  towards  being  terribly  fickle.  But  he  trusts  Uhtred,  and  Uhtred  has  led  them  here,  and  so  he  sits.  And  waits.

"  An'  what  would  you  suggest?  "  A  brow  lifts,  and  the  Irishman  looks  up  from  his  place  cleaning  his  weapon.  "  Starin'  at  wounds  is  better  than  runnin'  out  an'  gettin'  more  of  'em.  "

[avernusfuries-a]

@wolfsbarbaren has given me more than ample reasons to be more than okay with two angy barbies in the party. breina is smaller than karlach, and therefore throwable. so if my math is mathing? karlach can throw her after she has used rage, to the effect of having an axe, toting angry flying squirrel drop from above.

[shadovan]

🥖🥖🥖 (this is why you don't say hi to a drunk half way through a rager)

Send a 🥖 to throw a baguette at my muse. @wolfsbarbaren unleashed an artillery

The baguettes began assaulting him, one after the other. At first he barely flinched; the lich was growing quite used to said treatment.

The second one had him deciding that even if he did ever decide to consume food again, he was swearing off grains of any variety.

The third had him practically hissing at the loaf before he kicked it aside.

"At yeast they were not stale..."