Brandon Borlayse
Member
- Messages
- 1
- Character Biography
- Link
The evening air filled his lungs with the scent of hearty broth and freshly cooked meats. The fireplace crackled its warm tender kiss of light into the mountainside crevices and soothed his aching bones. Brandon leant his back against the stone behind himself and stared up into the evening sky, watching fireflies cartwheel above against the starlit canopy. Another crackle from the fireplace, hiss of cooking broth.
His armour was well worn, with blade marks from previous battles etched into the steel like streaks of silver embellishment. He kept it buffed and serviced enough, the leather straps holding firm even after years of wear and tare. A single emblem of the twin moons donned his chest piece, ever watching. His shoulder guards were broad, fitting his frame tightly.
His dark brown eyes caught the glint of steel from his sword that lay before him as he reverently wet stoned the edge back to its former glory. Hilt and pommel adorned with the mark of Borlayse. Cross guard upswept like the wings of a great beast.
“By the gods, how did I get to own such a beautiful thing?” He smiled at the blade, which sang as he swept it's edge once again, almost in reply to his question. There were many who had met her, many had known her sting. Felt the cold caress of death before even hitting the ground. She was a fine and mighty blade. Hammered by the finest smith he could find all those years back in Alliria. Those were better days. Where he fought for good, righteous people. He hoped to find them again. Hearing only tales of his former employer had taken up lordship of a smallholding somewhere north of the old battlegrounds in Oban.
Someday he would find a cause to fight for again. For his travels had brought him East, towards the Spine in search of the Knights of the Anathaeum. Many a tongue in Alliria had spoken of them, their kindness. Their noble deeds and skills of dispelling the darkness that lurked within the lands. “This” He thought “Will be my compass.”
“Who goes there?” A voice called up from below the overhang on which he had set up camp for the evening. Peering down, Brandon could make out the silhouette of four men on horseback…
“My name is Brandon Borlayse, first of my name, I have a fire and warm broth to share if you like?” Pleasantries aside, he knew in his gut that this encounter was going to become bloody. The riders started to dismount, and seemed to be in a hurry to draw down upon him.
“Some nice armour you have on you, lad.” The voice spoke once again, it seemed to come from the leading man, who unslung himself from the saddle and nodded as the others to do the same. “Very nice. I think it would suit me better. What do you say boys?” There was a brief amount of laughter from the others, a jeer or two.
They approached menacingly, two flanking, two taking up the front approach with large, powerful strides. “I bet you’re a better cook than you are a bloody swordsman.”
Brandon stood with a sigh, he had tried pleasantry which by all means was his first defence.
“Some ale maybe?” He motioned to a skin beside the fireplace, warming gently.
“Fuck your ale, and fuck your slop. I want to have a go in that nice armour of yours.” The leading man was a few feet away now, Brandon could see he and his accomplice were dressed in wolfskins and both carried a blade, the other two who were making their approach to his flank also donned wolfskins. “What was this, a pack of savage dogs come to steal scraps from on man?” He thought.
One, clumsily kicked at the fireplace, scattering the logs with a smug expression on his face, nodding to the other who acknowledged his friends deed, and with a one up man-ship, skewered the skin of ale with the tip of his blade, the contents hissing as they escaped onto the coals of the fire.
“We will take your armour, and that sword and any gold you happen to be carrying in that bag of yours. We can gut you for it, or you can just let us have it, and maybe we leave you alone.” The leading man was as tall as Brandon and a few more inches, about six foot with long disheveled hair covering one half of his face. With a furrowed brow and unshaven grin he marched up and stopped within striking distance of Brandon, who raised his sword, and this briefly interrupted his smug demeanour.
“Come no further, and you’ll come to no harm.” Brandon sank his bodyweight and readied his stance, the two flanking men were almost within striking distance as well, so his actions had to be swift else he become overrun.
The leading man took no heed, and raised his blade with savage intent, striking fiercely at Brandon who parried the blow, cutting the man deep within his shoulder with a whimpering cry. “I said come no further!”
The lead man staggered back, grasping at his wound with crimson staining his hands, the second attacked with a cry, striking downwards, it was met with Brandons blade once again, sidestepping graciously as in many of his training exercises, he countered and thrust deep into the mans chest this time, a brief gasp from the second man who’s breath left him before hitting the ground.
The two flanking men charged, with cries of cursive tongue. Brandon caught one attack with the guard of his sword, and came about pushing the man into the wall, the second grabbed at his throat, trying to choke Brandon from behind.
His martial training kicked in without so much as a thought, the man before him caught a blade to the belly, disarming him in shock the man dropped his sword and fell to his knees, Brandons throat began to close, with the grip around his neck like a vice, he gasped for a moment and kept his composure, with the man trying so desperately to choke him, he left no hand free to carry a blade. Brandon struck hard at the mans chest with the pommel of his sword, knocking the man back and clumsily into the fireplace, where he fell and cried out in pain as the flames engulfed him. He turned his attention back to the leader, who had regained composure and interlocked blades with him once again. The tip of the mans blade caught Brandon across the brow, opening up a crimson tide that flowed into his left eye rendering it useless for the moment. He winced as the sharp sting of steel broke his skin and made way for a wound. He returned the favour by striking back his opponent with a ferocity of many men. He muttered a quick incantation and suddenly the attackers hilt of his sword turned to ice before his very eyes. Staring in disbelief, he tired to shake off the icy grasp that had engulfed his hands, but it left him open to another attack from Brandon, who skewered the man precisely through the heart, with a thrust and kicked the lifeless body away.
The last man, raising himself from the ashes of the fire like a phoenix took one mighty charge at Brandon again, swinging his blade left to right, left again. Both attacks were parried, they met again and interlocked, broke away and clashed together again, the sound of ringing steel crying out into the nights air with a shrill voice.
Brandon stepped cautiously around, his back to the wall, he muttered another incantation but this time the spell did not take, a brief flurry of mana erupted from his sword but nothing happened. He cursed under his breath and took another swing at his opponent, clashing violently they grunted and broke guard again, this time Brandon saw an opening and brought the sword up and around into the man's neck, With a silent cry the man went down. Grasping at his throat as more life matter flowed from a severed artery, he fell to his knees and rolled off the edge of the outcrop, dropping onto the horses below who spooked, reared their heads and ran galloping off into the black of night, their thunderous hooves calling out into the night, faded until there was nothing but silence and the glow of the embers of the remaining fireplace beside him.
He cleaned his blade, sheathed it, and sighed. “Great. My broth is ruined.”
MrTophat
His armour was well worn, with blade marks from previous battles etched into the steel like streaks of silver embellishment. He kept it buffed and serviced enough, the leather straps holding firm even after years of wear and tare. A single emblem of the twin moons donned his chest piece, ever watching. His shoulder guards were broad, fitting his frame tightly.
His dark brown eyes caught the glint of steel from his sword that lay before him as he reverently wet stoned the edge back to its former glory. Hilt and pommel adorned with the mark of Borlayse. Cross guard upswept like the wings of a great beast.
“By the gods, how did I get to own such a beautiful thing?” He smiled at the blade, which sang as he swept it's edge once again, almost in reply to his question. There were many who had met her, many had known her sting. Felt the cold caress of death before even hitting the ground. She was a fine and mighty blade. Hammered by the finest smith he could find all those years back in Alliria. Those were better days. Where he fought for good, righteous people. He hoped to find them again. Hearing only tales of his former employer had taken up lordship of a smallholding somewhere north of the old battlegrounds in Oban.
Someday he would find a cause to fight for again. For his travels had brought him East, towards the Spine in search of the Knights of the Anathaeum. Many a tongue in Alliria had spoken of them, their kindness. Their noble deeds and skills of dispelling the darkness that lurked within the lands. “This” He thought “Will be my compass.”
“Who goes there?” A voice called up from below the overhang on which he had set up camp for the evening. Peering down, Brandon could make out the silhouette of four men on horseback…
“My name is Brandon Borlayse, first of my name, I have a fire and warm broth to share if you like?” Pleasantries aside, he knew in his gut that this encounter was going to become bloody. The riders started to dismount, and seemed to be in a hurry to draw down upon him.
“Some nice armour you have on you, lad.” The voice spoke once again, it seemed to come from the leading man, who unslung himself from the saddle and nodded as the others to do the same. “Very nice. I think it would suit me better. What do you say boys?” There was a brief amount of laughter from the others, a jeer or two.
They approached menacingly, two flanking, two taking up the front approach with large, powerful strides. “I bet you’re a better cook than you are a bloody swordsman.”
Brandon stood with a sigh, he had tried pleasantry which by all means was his first defence.
“Some ale maybe?” He motioned to a skin beside the fireplace, warming gently.
“Fuck your ale, and fuck your slop. I want to have a go in that nice armour of yours.” The leading man was a few feet away now, Brandon could see he and his accomplice were dressed in wolfskins and both carried a blade, the other two who were making their approach to his flank also donned wolfskins. “What was this, a pack of savage dogs come to steal scraps from on man?” He thought.
One, clumsily kicked at the fireplace, scattering the logs with a smug expression on his face, nodding to the other who acknowledged his friends deed, and with a one up man-ship, skewered the skin of ale with the tip of his blade, the contents hissing as they escaped onto the coals of the fire.
“We will take your armour, and that sword and any gold you happen to be carrying in that bag of yours. We can gut you for it, or you can just let us have it, and maybe we leave you alone.” The leading man was as tall as Brandon and a few more inches, about six foot with long disheveled hair covering one half of his face. With a furrowed brow and unshaven grin he marched up and stopped within striking distance of Brandon, who raised his sword, and this briefly interrupted his smug demeanour.
“Come no further, and you’ll come to no harm.” Brandon sank his bodyweight and readied his stance, the two flanking men were almost within striking distance as well, so his actions had to be swift else he become overrun.
The leading man took no heed, and raised his blade with savage intent, striking fiercely at Brandon who parried the blow, cutting the man deep within his shoulder with a whimpering cry. “I said come no further!”
The lead man staggered back, grasping at his wound with crimson staining his hands, the second attacked with a cry, striking downwards, it was met with Brandons blade once again, sidestepping graciously as in many of his training exercises, he countered and thrust deep into the mans chest this time, a brief gasp from the second man who’s breath left him before hitting the ground.
The two flanking men charged, with cries of cursive tongue. Brandon caught one attack with the guard of his sword, and came about pushing the man into the wall, the second grabbed at his throat, trying to choke Brandon from behind.
His martial training kicked in without so much as a thought, the man before him caught a blade to the belly, disarming him in shock the man dropped his sword and fell to his knees, Brandons throat began to close, with the grip around his neck like a vice, he gasped for a moment and kept his composure, with the man trying so desperately to choke him, he left no hand free to carry a blade. Brandon struck hard at the mans chest with the pommel of his sword, knocking the man back and clumsily into the fireplace, where he fell and cried out in pain as the flames engulfed him. He turned his attention back to the leader, who had regained composure and interlocked blades with him once again. The tip of the mans blade caught Brandon across the brow, opening up a crimson tide that flowed into his left eye rendering it useless for the moment. He winced as the sharp sting of steel broke his skin and made way for a wound. He returned the favour by striking back his opponent with a ferocity of many men. He muttered a quick incantation and suddenly the attackers hilt of his sword turned to ice before his very eyes. Staring in disbelief, he tired to shake off the icy grasp that had engulfed his hands, but it left him open to another attack from Brandon, who skewered the man precisely through the heart, with a thrust and kicked the lifeless body away.
The last man, raising himself from the ashes of the fire like a phoenix took one mighty charge at Brandon again, swinging his blade left to right, left again. Both attacks were parried, they met again and interlocked, broke away and clashed together again, the sound of ringing steel crying out into the nights air with a shrill voice.
Brandon stepped cautiously around, his back to the wall, he muttered another incantation but this time the spell did not take, a brief flurry of mana erupted from his sword but nothing happened. He cursed under his breath and took another swing at his opponent, clashing violently they grunted and broke guard again, this time Brandon saw an opening and brought the sword up and around into the man's neck, With a silent cry the man went down. Grasping at his throat as more life matter flowed from a severed artery, he fell to his knees and rolled off the edge of the outcrop, dropping onto the horses below who spooked, reared their heads and ran galloping off into the black of night, their thunderous hooves calling out into the night, faded until there was nothing but silence and the glow of the embers of the remaining fireplace beside him.
He cleaned his blade, sheathed it, and sighed. “Great. My broth is ruined.”
MrTophat
Last edited:
