Recent content by Vandor Colton

Somebody looking for a payday showed up. He had a sword and a shield and two good hands. Mercenary, bounty hunter, he was a sellsword to put it one way or the other, and he sported a suit of armor. No shiny surface, plain as day, but maintained as much as sword and shield and beard as he neared...

Upon the bridge, the man did dance, garbed in his armor fit for a knight. Only this was no knight. No, he wore the iron, sported the steel, could ride a horse and brandished a shield, but he was no Ostrum Brandish. Vandor Colton, the sellsword, tore across the stone as his boots carried him...

…From east to west…the howling wind moves the dune… Do forgive him. He had only heard the poem once. Just that morning. Felt like only moments ago. Felt like ages ago though. If he had some moments alone then he might wonder after that poem entering his very own head at that moment. What had...

Even with the ugly mugs in the distance, the surely sorry excuses of countenances amid hobgoblins and their bugbear brethren, Vandor was pleased. Unperturbed by upturned carriages and splintered wagons repurposed as barricades and palisades, Colton was eased. Despite the bodies in the river...

Unfortunately, Vandor had a bit of a bad habit of carrying his own character over to whatever environment. While one side of him found it a tad adorable that his companion was stricken so by his joke, he was not the kind of mercenary to poke that button. He didn’t talk back, didn’t grin or...

Curious. Vandor certainly was when it came to his companion’s claim of creating tasty bacon worth his very name in weight. What was equally of curiosity was how so plain a question was met with a bit of hesitation. Then again, wasn’t Vandor’s own answer after being asked to tell the tale of crow...

Sieges. Oh yes. Vandor could recollect a few of them. A romantic endeavor for the unversed and unlearnt. Had any actually been in a siege, well, they would know as much as and more than this sellsword. It wasn’t the fighting that killed. It was the starving. The stealing. Thieves love a siege...

Enshrined. There was that word again. Doubtless, Vandor had since learned of the term upon first meeting Ostrum Brandish back in that tavern. He was versed enough to understand that this order of Enshrined Blades were not merely knights, if one recent night was anything to go by. Knight Ostrum...

A sellsword is always awake, some would say. Sure, he may be early or late, but his eyes never really ever glazed over until his death day. True to rumor, Vandor could stand for hours on end into the deepest depths of darkness, when the stars were overhead and that black blanket of which they...

Vandor offered nothing in the way of deceit or deception, or anything in between, and to see no difference was a misconception. His glee was genuine. A new person to this alley he may be, seemingly out of his element within this environment, but stable and able indeed. Bereft of shield, if still...

At the notion of his present companion not being much of a drinker, Vandor simply nodded. Not everybody was even in this crapsack pisspot of a setting. Then some camaraderie finally followed their journey as Verm admitted his appreciation for defending against criminal elements within this city...

In hindsight, all it took was a crazy person to stay in a crazy place. That was one facet of life to which Vandor Colton would lose against in an argument. Granted, he had met enough crazy persons to know it. Could just be a hermit living in Sultanhome who had a thing for rats..? At the answer...

To be so gripped, in the talon of his opponent, caused him some moments, and every second is precious. To be so fixed in the palm of an adversary, trapped, bound by clouds, a man at the mercy of wyvern's wish. To be taken, away from his companions, freedom stripped, claws upon ribs, and to be so...

Vandor could not help but chuckle at the canine creature. It narrowed its eyes, as if it detected every inch of speech that dripped from the human’s lips, if not really his playful teasing. Though the moment was not remiss. “Sorry, buddy,” the mercenary dipped his head with his apology. “Trust...

Was that a compliment from his counterpart? Vandor might only wonder. To think. Vandor Colton. A savior. Silver. Sure, it was a word worth its weight in gold in this conversation, but it just as much went back to Verm’s own words about having been mugged of quite a few silvers. Words were...