The Mountain of Shadows RP
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| Author | Topic: The Mountain of Shadows RP |
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Infiltrator
Member # 4248
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written Monday, August 1 2005 04:58
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OoC: "It is not known how much truth the old legends contain, if any. But still, the people of Aram have told the same stories for millenias; stories about huge treasures buried inside the Mountain of Shadows and the unfortunate king Albert, who lost them to a foul entity called Órloki. Long ago, they say, king Albert ordered the treasury of his kingdom to be moved to the Mountain of Shadows, a tall and steep mountain which stood on the border of his nation. "That mountain" his majesty said "is an ideal place for the new treasury. It is guarded by the tall mountains from west and south and by the vast and impassable woods from the east. Our enemies have no way of stealing our treasures from there!" Of course, the king had some opposers, but as always, they kept their mouths shut. And thus the king started a huge operation of moving all the treasures of his kingdom to the Mountain of Shadows. During several dozens of years, Albert's minions dug hundreds of passages and tunnels in the mountain. All was going well, and most of Albert's treasures had already been moved to the vaults inside mountain. But then, just when the work was near completion, something horrible happened. The exact details are ofcourse long forgotten, but seemingly Albert's minions found and awoke something that should have been left alone. When the messengers finally reached Albert, they had a very weird tale to tell. The messengers told him, that while digging a new tunnel near the summit, they had found a weird creature buried under a thick layer of snow. First they had thought it had died, buried by an avalanche, but when they got closer, they saw it was not so. The creature had jumped back to it's feet, growling and raging like a demon from hell. First they had tried to fight it, but they had been no match against it. And when they tried to call reinforcements, the creature had called hordes of wolves to drive away the intruders, and finally managed to kill or drive away every single man near, on or inside the mountain. The last ones fleeing from the mountain had heard the creature, who called itself 'Órloki', claim the mountain, and the lands around it as well, it's, and threatened to kill all humans who would ever come near it. The king was devastated. He had just lost all the wealth of his kingdom, and grimly realized what it would mean: without anything to pay for his armies and counselors, his kingdom would be doomed. And history shows he was right; soon after the events on Mountain of Shadows the king died (supposedly of old age and shock, but it could have been otherwise), and his land was divided between his three sons. His sons weren't in good terms with each other, so they formed three independent nations; those nations still exist novadays as Aram, The Kingdom of Truth and The Eastern Land. These nations are still in cold terms and always competing with each other. However, no signs of Órloki or evidence of it's existence have been ever found. The legend, however, still lives on, and tales of the legendary treasures buried inside the mountain still draw adventurers to the mountain like sugar draws flies. Most have, of course, come back empty-handed and some have not returned at all, but the lucky few who have come back filthy rich still inspire new adventurers to leave their homes in search of fame and fortune... IC: Tuulentekija stared at he mountain ahead of him. Although it was still dozens of miles away it still filled the whole horizon. How on earth Albert's minions managed to climb on that thing's summit? he pondered. Heck, I bet there's not enough air up there even for a taalu to live. They must have had some really powerful magic with them. Tuulentekija had travelled for months since his departure from the Icy Fortress, and although he had constanly replenished his supplies with everything at hand, they were still running awfully low. Tuulentekija rolled his map open and took a good look at it. Lucky me , he thought. There's should be a small town few miles north-west. I should be able to get there tomorrow, if I just walk as fast as I can. I suppose I can fill my bags there, and a good nights sleep wouldn't hurt either. Tuulentekija put the map away and started walking once again. His legs were sore from his long journey, and he hadn't slept since he had reached the border of the 'thick and impassable woods'. Funny. When Albert's cartographers draw a map of this region, the forest continued all the way to the sea. It must've never crossed his mind that his sons would hack the whole forest down. After a few hours of walking, Tuulentekija finally saw the town he was heading to. Smoke was rising from the chimneys and noise of people talking could be heard a mile away. When Tuulentekija walked past the first buildings, some people turned to look at the weird newcomer. They had, however, seen many weird people coming and going lately, so they soon returned to their own businesses. Perhaps it was better that way. Finally here , Tuulentekija thought and inspected the tavern infront of him. It was a badly built and worn old building, but nothing compared to some other places he had slept in. A small, worn sign had a winged pig painted on it, but Tuulentekija didn't waste time to look it any closer. Then, after ensuring his sword was still where it was supposed to be, he opened the door and stepped inside... OoC: Tuulentekija is a rather short man dressed in dark green and worn robes. His face is completely covered by an iron mask. He is carrying around a huge backpack and a long, finely crafted sword which he has concealed within his robes. He speaks with a weird intonation, which clearly indicates that he's not one of the locals. He has deep black eyes, which can make staring at them quite frightening. About the rules: I suppose you all know quite well which things are not allowed in RPs. If you don't, I'll make a brief list here: No god characters, no bunnying (ie. controlling other people's characters) and no killing of other people's characters without their permission. There are no special victory conditions in this RP, just go'n'get the treasure and try to stay alive. We lose if no-one manages to get back home alive. Did I make myself clear? [ Monday, August 01, 2005 05:07: Message edited by: Frozen Feet ] -------------------- Somebody PLEASE turn the heat on. Posts: 617 | Registered: Tuesday, April 13 2004 07:00 |
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Warrior
Member # 5302
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written Monday, August 1 2005 06:19
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IC : Cyrus strode into the tavern, his plate mail clanking as he wandered towards the bar. "An ale, my good man!" he bellowed, joyfully sitting upon a wobbling stool. His voice had a rather echoing sound, coming from inside a large horned helmet. As the bartender went to fetch some of the towns cheap booze from a barrel, the warrior spun around on his stool and surveyed the occupants of the tavern. Townsfolk milled about, looking vaguely like bored sheep. "Here ye go, mate. Tha'll beh two gol' coins." Cyrus jumped at the sound of the mans voice, as a heavy mug of ale clanked onto the table. "Oh, thank you, thank you." Grabbing a few coins from his pouch, he paid the barman and took a big swig from his tankard. While he managed to drink some of the ale, the rest sloshed down onto his still-equipped helmet and armor. A few of the patrons gave him a funny look, but they had seen stranger. He sat there, spilling his ale for a good long time, before one of the bar maids came over to him, and whispered in his ear, (or where his ear might have been, were it not covered by a helmet.) "Sir...you're um...leaking" Cyrus's eyes widened, as he looked down at the seams of his armor. It was true. The ale was draining out his plate mail. Hurriedly, he grabbed a nearby napkin and tried to mop up what he could. Unfortunately, the other tavern-goers observed this, and some began to whisper. The whispers began to turn to mutterings, and mutterings to loud, obnoxious yelling. Cyrus knew what would happen next, it had happened before. He only hoped he could clean himself up before the other people noticed it. "HEY! Look at im' ee's gettin' the floor wet all over." Too late. "Ey! Why ye drippin' all over? 'ad a little accident?" a man asked. His friends over at another table guffawed. "Ooh, look at tha' big baby!" "Take off 'is 'elmet! Bet there'll be a big babie's 'ead under there." "Damn." Cyrus thought, as the man grabbed one of his horns, and yanked his helmet off before he could protest. Everyone stared in complete and utter shock at him. The was an uncomfortable silence for about half a minute. The only sound was the man dropping the helmet in awe. "Undead!" someone screamed. Everyone began screaming and running to nowhere in particular, except away from Cyrus, who sighed, picked up his helmet and strode towards the door. "Another town I have to leave." he thought, as he stormed out, his helmet under his arm. DESCRIPTION: Cyrus stands at a solid six feet, although he is much lighter than he should be. He normally refuses to take off his armor, somewhat embarassed about his true nature. His armor is somewhat rusted, though still sturdy and strong. He typically wields a great twohanded axe, slung across his back. Posts: 70 | Registered: Sunday, December 19 2004 08:00 |
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Guardian
Member # 2339
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written Monday, August 1 2005 08:06
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OOC: It has been a while since an RP has formed. I guess I shall join, if that is okay. IC: All the people in the bar were still scared even after Cyrus had left. All except one man in the corner named Caecus. "An undead warrior lucky enough to keep his body?" he pondered. He looked around the room, but to no avail. He was completely blind. Instead he examined the bar with his mind, peering at the souls of all the people shaking and muttering (he can't read minds). Many were talking of hunting down and killing Cyrus. He lifted his mug of ale up, and then lifted his helmet up a bit and poured the ale in. He did this just to look...normal. He then walked out of the bar and went behind it. His plate armor clanked all the way there. He used his mind to see if anyone was around. He was alone. He bent over to make all the ale move into his helmet. He then took it off and stood back up. He didn't take his helmet off his head, because his head was still buried along with the rest of his body. He then proceeded to pour the ale on the ground. After putting his helmet back on(and thus solidifying his entire armor again), he moved to follow Cyrus. OOC: Caecus(Latin for hidden) was a spirit inhabiting his old armor he had in life. He can be as tall as he wanted, but the plate armor he wore was 6 ft 2in tall and dark grayish-blue. His helmet had a crest adorning its top.He wielded twin longswords inscribed with runes (supposedly to make him immortal, but you can guess how that turned out)that glowed a bright blue in the dark. He also had a bright silvery cape. He is defeatable in combat. All you have to do is hit him hard enough to knock a piece of armor off, then his armor will collapse and his spirit will be stunned. His armor will then have to be put back together (it takes a long time for him to do it himself). The only way to blind him is to use mind-numbing magic. And, being a spirit, he can be banished. But to keep him banished forever, his swords must be broken. Otherwise magic can easily return him. Striking at his spirit will take a long time to banish him with non-enchanted weapons, even if you can find his barely-visible form. Does he seem a bit overpowered? And I apologize if this post was too long. -------------------- *Blue screen error* NONEXISTANT WINDOWS ERROR Windows detects no current errors, so Windows has decided to screw around with the files until one occurs. If you never rise against your oppressor, then you've already lost. -Zephyr Tempest, your personal entertainer Posts: 1779 | Registered: Monday, December 9 2002 08:00 |
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Master
Member # 5977
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written Monday, August 1 2005 09:01
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I've never done this before. I hope its all right what I'm doing. Cyrus had already wlked quite a while, when he thought he'd maybe rest a bit. he still thought of the bar. Mybe there was a way to avoid these rather unpleasant things. He sat down along the road, and took some bread out of his sack. When he tried to bite on it however, he remembered undead don't have to eat, and threw the bread away. Anyway, it was already as hard as stone because of the cold weather. Slowly he fell a sleep. It was midnight and the moon casted a weird erie light on the trees of Bumberville forest. Cyrus woke up. He looked around, saw the moon and light and felt home again. However, there was a strange thing going on. a slow shadow was approaching him. He good feel it. A strange blue suddenly blinded him! he didn't see a thing anymore! when he woke up the next morning though... -------------------- Thralni's almighty Avernum pages: My webpage, containing scenario's and graphics made by me (And maybe someday the homepage of the almighty chicken gods). Click here for more information on Olga's fortune teller kiosk Olga's fortune teller kiosk has been temporarily closed down, but you can contact the prophet with a PM - Was signed by the prophet of the almighty chicken gods, gods of everything that is a chicken. Work has begun on the Nephilian grammar and vocabulary guide! Posts: 3029 | Registered: Saturday, June 18 2005 07:00 |
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Lifecrafter
Member # 3320
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written Monday, August 1 2005 10:02
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:rolleyes: One of these days I will remember to check for recent posts before posting mine. Mine took place before the previous post. OOC: The temptation to see if I can still write at all becomes irresistible. I'll make an attempt at this RP. IC: The spectacle she has just witnessed hasn't moved Edith in the least bit. She continues to stare blankly into her mug of wine. The bartender doesn't usually get to serve his stock of wine often, as it is difficult to come by in these parts and most of the townspeople can't afford it. But as Edith is a more aristocratic customer, and regular in her visits, he always has a bottle set-aside for her to drink. He walks up to her table as the other townspeople argue bitterly about what they should do about the undead soldier. "Are ya daft or somethin' me girl? It seems that yer a wee bit too unconcerned abou' what just happened. Tha' was undead tha' was just in 'ere!" She continues to stare into her wine as she calmly answers back. "Sir, I've come across lots of undead in my time. Both friendly and deadly. I detected no hostility in that dead soldier. So it concerns me very little." The bartender scratches his head and shrugs his shoulders before heading back to the bar, saying as he goes, "Well, yer definitely a strange one Miss Edith. Mos' ladies would be terrified." For the first time she looks up from her wine and over at the bar. "You're forgetting' sir that I'm no lady." The bartender rolls his eyes as he starts to scrub off the bar where the dead soldier had sloshed some of his drink on it. Edith's eyes wander from the bar to the floor where the barmaid is still mopping up the mess. Suddenly a shiver goes up and down her spine as she senses someone watching her. She casts her eyes around the room quickly and just manages to catch a man wearing green robes and an iron mask quickly turning his eyes away from her. She studies him for a few seconds and immediately gets the feeling that he is a foreigner. Having satisfied herself that she has studied him thoroughly, she turns back to her wine and takes a swig of it. She then settles uneasily into staring into her mug again. OOC: Edith is a woman approaching middle age, around her late 40s, but despite her age, she looks as if she isn't a day over 20. She is around 6 feet tall and weighs around 250 lbs. Oddly enough she doesn't look the least bit fat at all. Her features are too strong to suggest great beauty, making the term handsome more appropriate. She wears her bright red hair up in a bun and, for some odd reason has what looks like a bunch of hat pins sticking through the bun in various places like a pin cushion (Think of the Japanese ladies you sometimes see in art). She wears a gray-dyed belt around her jet-black robes and has a long sheathed dagger hooked onto it. The hood on her robes has a mask attached to the front that can be worn over the face and when done so, gives the wearer a mysterious appearance. Black leather boots and a medium-sized black knapsack, bulging at its seams and reeking of herbs and spices, completes the dark ensemble. Around her neck she wears a gold key on a silver chain, has a ruby ring on one hand, and what looks like an onyx ring on the other. [ Monday, August 01, 2005 10:06: Message edited by: Sir Sherlock Holmes ] -------------------- "Keep your wits about you, the game is afoot!!" - Sherlock Holmes Gay Christian Network The Polaris Board Posts: 935 | Registered: Friday, August 8 2003 07:00 |
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Guardian
Member # 2339
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written Monday, August 1 2005 10:33
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OOC: Well, if Arachnid does not want to be kidnapped, then I have nothing to have here. Sorry. I think this post should be deleted. [ Monday, August 01, 2005 17:25: Message edited by: Zephyr Tempest ] -------------------- *Blue screen error* NONEXISTANT WINDOWS ERROR Windows detects no current errors, so Windows has decided to screw around with the files until one occurs. If you never rise against your oppressor, then you've already lost. -Zephyr Tempest, your personal entertainer Posts: 1779 | Registered: Monday, December 9 2002 08:00 |
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Warrior
Member # 5302
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written Monday, August 1 2005 12:43
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quote:OOC: You're not supposed to control other peoples characters. Read the rules in the first post again. IC: Cyrus wandered away from the tavern. If skulls could have expressions the way the face of a living being's face could, his would have been twisted into a scowl of disgust. Nearby, he saw a few children playing. He hurriedly put his helmet back on, as he didn't want to scare the little ones. He wandered towards the center of town, where he found a small well. Cursing, he decided to get some rest- Although he was undead, his spirit grew tired eventually. He hopped into the well, splashing down at the bottom. "Damn armor is going to rust. Oh well." His spirit then decided to get some sleep. Posts: 70 | Registered: Sunday, December 19 2004 08:00 |
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Law Bringer
Member # 2984
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written Monday, August 1 2005 12:53
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OOC: Marvin, you need to make your own character instead of taking somebody else's (Arachnid's in this case). Whether the actions you described for Cyrus have actually happened is up to Arachnid's judgement. :) Gah. And beaten to the punch by two days, too. The next RP is belonging to the Weather Balloon. Character Description: They say that there are places deep in the foundations of the world, where nameless things gnaw the roots of time. Madness takes those that come upon them. Her people had lived beneath the ground for as long as the stories and songs remember, and the darkness that dwells below had changed them. If the tales were true, they had dwelled in the forests once, at peace with themselves and with nature. When the great cataclysms had driven them underground, they had adapted. Hewing huge caverns out of the bedrock of the world, building gigantic stone cities, they had begun their culture anew. It was a culture as barren and hostile to life as the caverns they lived in. In the absence of light, they became pale and their hair shone with an inner light. Where even the boldest of the Dwerrowfolk did not dare delve, the Shadow elves went without hesitation. Their eyes adapted to the dark, and they saw better in it than in daylight; they were cruel themselves, they did not fear the cruel things that dwelt below. And some of them ventured too far. -- It had been in the folly of her youth, before her sixtieth birthday. Seeking to explore a new cavern, she had gone far from the city of her tribe. Hearing strange drums in the deep and voices at the edge of her awareness, she had been drawn onward, deeper into the chasms. Her tribe had given her up for dead. Even the cautious fell victim to the many dangers of the Caverns, and the child had been known for her recklessness. When she returned a week later, she was changed. What she had experienced below, she could not or would not tell, but from this day her skin was dark as ebony and her hair even brighter than that of her people. Her encounter with the Nameless Things, which the Shadow elves worshipped as holy, elevated her to a position of respect and fear. But she did not want respect, and she had forgotten what fear was. And so she had left soon after that, taking only some provisions, her bow, and the name that the elves had given her when she returned: Harf'er'melóra, which means "touched by shadow". --- (OOC: Yes, a female character this time. And a drow, what is more.) IC: What is this - a reunion of shadows? The tavern had seemed innocuous enough from the outside - her senses had dimmed in the time she had been above ground. Once she had set inside for some time, however, she had begun to sense the ones around her. Certainty came only after the first one caused a commotion by not holding on to his drink. Skeletons. Stupidity's seat must be in the bones. She rolled her eyes. The second one she noticed after that. Alerted by the uproar, he had cast his presence around him to see - he seemed to be physically blind. The necromancer - she thought it was a necromancer - was next. Remaining utterly unperturbed by finding that the patron next to her had just turned out to suffer from severe amyotrophia, she went on to drink her ale as if the company of skeletons was an everyday occurence. Quite a crew for such a little tavern, she thought, mentally including herself in this group. Wondering if she should come forward, she decided to remain unnoticed for a while yet - after the shock of the Undead, she was not sure how the townspeople would take a Shadow elf. OOC: And so it goes... [ Thursday, November 24, 2005 05:22: Message edited by: NaNoWriMo ] -------------------- The Encyclopaedia Ermariana <-- Now a Wiki! "Polaris leers down from the black vault, winking hideously like an insane watching eye which strives to convey some strange message, yet recalls nothing save that it once had a message to convey." --- HP Lovecraft. "I single Aran out due to his nasty temperament, and his superior intellect." --- SupaNik Posts: 8752 | Registered: Wednesday, May 14 2003 07:00 |
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Guardian
Member # 2339
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written Monday, August 1 2005 13:37
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Soon after Caecus started searching for Cyrus, he percieved him jumping down the well to get some rest. Not wanting to disturb his rest, Caecus went back to the tavern. Things seemed to have calmed down in the tavern. Caecus percieved that a shadow elf was in the tavern. The runes on his longswords whispered to him. "She has encountered the shadows," they whispered. Since Caecus was not paying attention to his surroundings, he bumped into a drunk bar patron. One of his swords fell on the ground, sheath and all. Part of the blade was exposed. "Do not let that human touch me!" it whispered to Caecus. He quickly picked it up. "I'm sorry, I'll pay attention next time," Caecus quicklly stated. He went back into his dark corner and ordered another ale. OOC: I forgot to mention two things earlier: 1. Only Caecus may take off his armor easily. 2. The only openings in his armor are the eye slots. [ Monday, August 01, 2005 17:21: Message edited by: Zephyr Tempest ] -------------------- *Blue screen error* NONEXISTANT WINDOWS ERROR Windows detects no current errors, so Windows has decided to screw around with the files until one occurs. If you never rise against your oppressor, then you've already lost. -Zephyr Tempest, your personal entertainer Posts: 1779 | Registered: Monday, December 9 2002 08:00 |
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Master
Member # 1046
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written Monday, August 1 2005 16:03
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OOC: Hey Aran, what up? I see you're not going with a crazy old man this time. IC: A weak variation of the "Blademaster's Mutation". According to the Guild, he was somewhat... different from everybody else. According to them, he looked just like everybody else, except his natural speed was somewhat greater than others. He could even withstand greater falls and predict some attacks from normal people. And yet, because he refused specialize on swordplay, he was expelled from the Blademasters' Guild - they even sent one of the elites to kill him. "Watch it, that hurts!" Andros grunted as his sister Valeri wrapped gauze tightly around his right elbow. "That should cover the rest those shuriken wounds," Valeri replied. "Now get off my bed, you're making it stink." "Hey, that's not how a girl treats his big brother who happens to make money for you," Andros complained as he pushed himself off the bed and onto the ground with his good hand. "And don't go off rattling about how you're already seventeen and how your job as a nurse is more stable than mine. Again." "At least I don't limp home with sharp objects stuck in various body parts," Valeri retorted. "You should quit adventuring someday and get a job as a mechanic. Nobody beats you in that, you know." "Boring job." Andros quickly stretched, then picked up his sniper crossbow. It was an impressive weapon - while its full length was more than a metre long, its parts were all either retractable or foldable, and it could even fire several bolts without having to reload. Once everything was retracted or folded, it could easily be slung across Andros' back. If the bow didn't work, he still had his reliable machete. Unlike his bow, Andros was relatively average. Standing just shy of six feet and weighing in at about 150 pounds, it was easy for him to blend into a crowd. He wore a dark blue shirt and loose black pants; he preferred comfort while trying to find a good sniper position. Andros' long black hair, perhaps his only distinguishing characteristic, was tied back in a ponytail. "Hey sis, get some rest," the bladesman-turned-sniper suggested as he opened the door. "Your shift's in a few hours. As for me, I'll be looking for jobs at the tavern." With that, he shut the door. OOC: Nothing special this time, just a sniper trying to find a job and trying to avoid death by Guild blademasters. -------------------- Polaris - Weather balloons, ninjas, and your big daddy Wise Man. What more could you want? Undead Theories - Don't Ask, Don't Tell Posts: 3323 | Registered: Thursday, April 25 2002 07:00 |
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Law Bringer
Member # 4153
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written Monday, August 1 2005 17:04
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OoC: Always wanted to try one of these... I hope the ol' writing skills are up to par with all of you. Note about my character's spellcraft: Remember Nature Lore and Priest Spells from Avernum? Combine them, and you get my character's spells. IC: Brother Sequoia took a hesitant look at his glass before lifting it to his lips again. He wasn't completely sure that he should believe his eyes (particularly after that skeleton), but he could've sworn an empty suit of armor had just walked out of the tavern. Worse, Brother Sequoia had just been drinking water. He had been wandering the countryside for about a year, before drifting into the little town whose tavern he now sat in, terribly confused. He belonged to an order of Druids from the island of Krell, and had been assigned to spread the message of his Order. Nothing overly-preachy, just a simple doctrine of peacefully coexisting with nature. Few had received it well, and he still had the scar from that lunatic back in Gale. Still, he persisted, though more cautiously than before. His few possessions included a worn, dark-green traveling cloak, a dusty brown robe, and a very well-worn staff of oak. The staff was carved with many runes sacred to his Order, which aided Brother Sequoia in his spellcraft. He also wore a bronze necklace, which had some sort of enchantment put on it. Brother Sequoia had never been very sure what it did, but it hadn't killed him yet, so he had kept it. Upon entering the tavern, he could've sworn that he saw another member of his Order at a dimly-lit table. However, the green-robed man wore an iron mask, something which Brother Sequoia had never seen on a druid. He was starting to wonder about the bar's patrons and their sanity... "What lunatics..." Brother Sequoia muttered under his breath. Picking his staff up off the table, he gathered his cloak about him and left the tavern. Brother Sequoia had heard about the rumors of treasure in the Mountain of Shadows, but hadn't really given it much thought until now. Nobody back at the Order could possibly fault him for giving it a try... after all, nobody here seemed inclined to listen to the Order's teachings. Deciding to fill his waterskin before finding somewhere to sleep, Brother Sequoia strolled over to the village's well. Lowering the bucket he found at the top, he heard it clang loudly against something metal at the bottom... OoC: Anybody name the town yet? -------------------- Gamble with Gaea, and she eats your dice. I hate undead. I really, really, really, really hate undead. With a passion. Posts: 4130 | Registered: Friday, March 26 2004 08:00 |
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Warrior
Member # 5302
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written Monday, August 1 2005 17:21
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IC : Swearing loudly, Cyrus awoke. He put his helmet back on, and clambered out of the well. "Maybe I can at least scare whoever dropped that on me." He reached the top, and looked around. Not seeing anyone, he turned around to climb out. At that point, he noticed the man in the green cloak, which gave him such a start that he fell back into the well, swearing and splashing around. Posts: 70 | Registered: Sunday, December 19 2004 08:00 |
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Shaper
Member # 32
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written Monday, August 1 2005 18:38
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OOC: Might as well give this a try... IC: There is an ancient darkness in here. Lt. Sullust though to himself as he slowly scaled the mountain. He had started ascending the mountain three days ago and hadn't made much progress. His telekinetic powers were helping a bit, but they weren't much assistance in climbing a sheer rock face. With a bit of skill he managed to sending his grappling hook up another 30 feet. Sure he had heard the tale of the treasure, but that's not what he was interested in. It was the demon Órloki who had brought him to this mountain. Make no mistake, Sullust was no avenger, but this creature seemed to call to him. With a sigh he begain to climb the rope he just sent soaring into the air, hoping to ease his mind by confronting the creature. -------------------- Lt. Sullust Cogito Ergo Sum Polaris Posts: 2462 | Registered: Wednesday, October 3 2001 07:00 |
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Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
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written Monday, August 1 2005 21:02
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A pair of dark, flashing eyes peered from among the foliage, now watching a peasant drive his pack animal out of town, now focusing on a group of children playing at war behind a thatched hovel. A cascade of ebony hair suddenly filled the air formerly occupied by the eyes of the observer as she stood silently and replaced the hood upon her head. She clutched the cloak around her lithe body and shivered. Two more years in this place, she thought, two more years, or else how long it takes me to fulfill my orders. All the more reason, then, to do so without delay... A shadow appeared on the beaten dirt path, then quickly vanished. The watcher smiled. If anything positive could be said about this cold, dreary land, it would surely express the ease with which one could blend into her surroundings. It was no simple task to disappear against the flat sandstone walls of a Tass Shanti city, or among the shifting dunes in that Throne of the Sun, when one was being watched; but here, she knew, it would almost take more effort to make one's presence known than to hide from the gaze of the public eye. Which effort she should make, however, was still in question. The Grand Lord of Tass Shanti, or the "Eastern Lands" as these uneducated lumberjacks refered to it, had summoned her into his presence with instructions to discover the truth behind the whispered rumors of Órloki and the legendary treasure of the foolish King Albert. Why he had chosen her, Lisha, of all his countless spies and assassins, she could only speculate. Bred of cold and pangs of hunger, her current theory was that the mysterious man despised her. He had declared his faith in her ability to find her own way to carry out his orders, but the pleasant glow of pride had given way to resignation and suspicion. Sighing, Lisha chose a heavy stick from the fallen leaves and made her way toward the center of the village, staying in enough shadow to conceal her telltale dark skin and strong features, but not enough to arouse suspicion. The passing locals barely afforded her a second glance and a friendly smile, and were content to receive nothing in return. Only a weathered building was deemed worthy of such contortion on her part, and then the smile was anything but friendly. Lisha quietly snorted in disgust as she entered the tavern. The pig emblem, she soon observed, was indeed fitting, although the wings betrayed a bit of wild optimism on the part of its carver. The curse of the north, thought Lisha, momentarily watching the barman fill the mug of an already tottering young drunkard. To allow oneself to be poisoned is careless; to poison oneself intentionally is the height of folly. Lisha moved to the bar, carefully imitating the earthy gait of the peasants she had observed outside, and waited for the tavern-keeper to come. Several moments later she ascended the rotting staircase, stepping around the apologetic barmaid mopping the floor, and found her room. She entered, a long dagger held carelessly in her left hand as a matter of habit, and allowed the impatient boy in to light the lamp and the fireplace. Finally alone, with several layers of warped planks between herself and the self-styled gold-grabbing adventurers below, Lisha removed her faded black cloak and various sashes and belts. I'll have to make do with what local plants I can find, she thought, peering into an oily pouch. There'll be no worthy substitute here, but one cannot expect to find the venom sacs of Tass Shanti serpents in such strange lands. If my dagger's wound is not so dangerous, its bite shall simply have to be deeper. And so, shivering against the cold, her door blocked and mildly trapped, Lisha settled herself on the straw tick and idly watched the monk outside through her darkened window. -------------------- And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it. -The Last Pendragon Polaris = joy. In case of emergency, break glass. Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00 |
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Warrior
Member # 3870
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written Monday, August 1 2005 22:29
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quote:No, crazy young woman this time. ;) Wait a while and I'll write on, but I need some time. Also, I can't reach the Balloon currently. [ Monday, August 01, 2005 22:40: Message edited by: Albus Dumbledore ] -------------------- "Toleration is not the opposite of intoleration, but is the counterfeit of it. Both are despotisms. The one assumes to itself the right of withholding liberty of conscience, and the other of granting it." ---Thomas Paine Posts: 156 | Registered: Thursday, January 8 2004 08:00 |
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Master
Member # 5977
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written Monday, August 1 2005 22:53
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quote:O, I'm really sorry, I didn't notice that rule... As I said, i didn't do this ever before. Sorry. :rolleyes: -------------------- Thralni's almighty Avernum pages: My webpage, containing scenario's and graphics made by me (And maybe someday the homepage of the almighty chicken gods). Click here for more information on Olga's fortune teller kiosk Olga's fortune teller kiosk has been temporarily closed down, but you can contact the prophet with a PM - Was signed by the prophet of the almighty chicken gods, gods of everything that is a chicken. Work has begun on the Nephilian grammar and vocabulary guide! Posts: 3029 | Registered: Saturday, June 18 2005 07:00 |
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Shaper
Member # 5450
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written Tuesday, August 2 2005 00:52
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OOC: Don't worry, Marvin. Just have a different charecter. IC: 'What have your spies reported to you?' Lord Karrases, ruler of Aram, inquired of his assistant. 'They have informed me that your brother The Grand Lord has hired some underlings to answer him about the rumours of Órloki. No doubt we will have to pre-empt this attempt to gain an advantage.' 'Thank-you, Brail. I will contact you later with more instructions. Dismissed.' Brail stummbled out of the room. OOC: More to come soon. [ Tuesday, August 02, 2005 21:21: Message edited by: Spring ] -------------------- I'll put a Spring in your step. Polaris Posts: 2396 | Registered: Saturday, January 29 2005 08:00 |
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Infiltrator
Member # 2940
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written Tuesday, August 2 2005 03:17
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IC: "This is it," said Cain's guide. Cain stood by him on the hill overlooking the little village. "Doesn't look like much, but this is the only place to get some rest and a decent beer for miles around. Go to the Flying Pig, that's the best place in this dump," added the guide, who proceeded to stand in front of Cain's view of the town. "This is where I leave you, not without my fee of course. It was a dangerous voyage I am sure you agree with me on that." Cain spoke for the first time since he hired the man. "Fee. Of course." He said while reaching for something under his worn brown leather jacket. The last thing the guide saw was the silver dagger flying to his forehead. After retrieving his dagger and what few valuables the guide had, Cain kicked the body down the other side of the hill towards nearby bushes. He then turned to the village covered by the starry night and walked calmly down the hill. OOC: Yes, Cain. [ Tuesday, August 02, 2005 03:19: Message edited by: The_Nazgul ] -------------------- "I don't want to achieve immortality through my work, I want to achieve it through not dying." Posts: 469 | Registered: Thursday, May 1 2003 07:00 |
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Infiltrator
Member # 4248
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written Tuesday, August 2 2005 03:25
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OoC: Wow I got many people intrested. I have an itch that this RP will become long and succesful... Also, to keep track who is who, I made a brief list of people and their characters. As we already have 12 (!) players, more people aren't allowed to join. Sorry. Now for the list: Frozen Feet : Tuulentekija, a mysterious foreigner. Arachnid : Curys, a skeletal warrior. Zephyr Tempest : Caecus, a blind ghost armor. Marvin, the paranoid android : No char yet. Sir Sherlock Holmes : Edith a local noblewoman. Arancaytar : Harf'er'melóra, a shadow elf. Wise Man : Andros, a mutant assasin fleeing the Guild of Blademasters. Ephesos : Brother Sequioa, a druid of some order or another. Lt. Sullust : Lt. Sullust, a mysterious warrior searching for Órloki. Lady Davida : An Easterling assasin called Lisha. Spring : Aramian spie called Brail. The_Nazgul : A traveller called Cain. Also, Marvin, please post your character as soon as possible. I'll also try to track locations of our characters from this point on. If you notice errors, please note me. And now, back to the story... IC: Tuulentekija stared at a woman sitting at the opposite corner of the tavern. Now, I shouldn't be staring to strangers Tuulentekija reminded himself, It's impolite. But when have I last seen a woman? Seven months ago? I think I can look at her a little bit longer... However, just when these thoughts crossed his mind, the woman twitched and turned to look at him. Tuulentekija quickly turned his gaze to other people in the tavern. He had seen two undead warriors to run out of the door, a shadow elf to sit beside one and several other weird people to come and go. Now this place has some weird customers he thought and returned to his ale. The ale was bitter, lame and bad in general, but heck, it was ale and he had last had some two years ago, so the taste really didn't matter a bit. Tuulentekija rolled out his map. Now where should I go next? he thought. There aren't many towns or villages after this. The nearest place worthwhile of visiting is the dreamer monk monastery, but I have no need of interpreting my dreams. I haven't even had any since I left Melody to Eagle's beak. Suddenly Tuulentekija heard a shout coming from outside the tavern. "No tama voi osoittaatua mielenkiintoseksi *)" he muttered and sprinted outside... OoC: *) Now this could turn out intresting. I'm going to use this version of finnish more in the future. If your characters hear him say something with it, just say they heard him say something in foreign tongue. [ Tuesday, August 02, 2005 05:37: Message edited by: Frozen Feet ] -------------------- Somebody PLEASE turn the heat on. Posts: 617 | Registered: Tuesday, April 13 2004 07:00 |
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Law Bringer
Member # 2984
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written Tuesday, August 2 2005 03:48
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OOC: Is it my character he's been ogling, or is it Sherlock's? Just for clarification. Edit: It's Arancaytar. No buildings. And, given you joined more than a year ago, you should know. :P Also, Harf'er'melóra is commonly named just Melora while among humans - but you can leave that as it is. IC will follow this evening; I'm busy now. Also, it seems like RPs flourish bi-annually. Two years ago we had Baltazar, and that worked, then we had the Civil War, which worked even better, last year we had a load of failed attempts, and now this. Amazing. [ Tuesday, August 02, 2005 04:05: Message edited by: Aranfoolcaytar ] -------------------- The Encyclopaedia Ermariana <-- Now a Wiki! "Polaris leers down from the black vault, winking hideously like an insane watching eye which strives to convey some strange message, yet recalls nothing save that it once had a message to convey." --- HP Lovecraft. "I single Aran out due to his nasty temperament, and his superior intellect." --- SupaNik Posts: 8752 | Registered: Wednesday, May 14 2003 07:00 |
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Infiltrator
Member # 2940
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written Tuesday, August 2 2005 04:15
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Cain's first steps into the little village were not without commotion. Apparently something was going on around a nearby well, many of the locals had gathered around it, in the center of it all just by the well, some kind of druid was looking into it. "Undead!" A local cried out loud. "The foul creature has jumped in the well!". "The cursed thing wishes to desecrate our water!" Cried another, followed by a general uproar. "Slay the creature!", "Kill him!" And so on they went, clubs and torches in hand. Cain was a cold blooded assassin among many other things, bad things, but he was also an opportunist. He knew these ignorant peasant rabble would pay him handsomely for slaying whatever rested in the bottom of that well. He could use easy gold, food and rest before his journey to the big treasure. Cain walked confidently among the locals towards the leading man of the mob. "Dear sir," he bowed slightly. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cain, master assassin. I see you have an undead problem? Risk not you'r lives with this wretched soul, I would gladly dispatch the foul creature to the pits of hell for some gold coins, food and a resting place in you'r humble village." The locals inspected Cain. A few seconds were enough for them to realize they were in front a true warrior. Not to tall but strongly built, badly shaved, scarred all over, but not enough to deter some of his charm and defiant look. In the end it was Cain's cold, piercing grey eyes that convinced the locals. "Very well stranger, finish him and we will repay you'r efforts with gold, food and shelter." Cain smiled at the man and then turned to the well. Not taking any weapons out, he approached the well. -------------------- "I don't want to achieve immortality through my work, I want to achieve it through not dying." Posts: 469 | Registered: Thursday, May 1 2003 07:00 |
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Master
Member # 5977
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written Tuesday, August 2 2005 05:03
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i see I'm also in the lis! :D Well, as for my charcter: Filbert EDIT: I'll be more specific: Filbert, a young man, wearing grey pants and an overused armor. his sword is short and rusted. Suprisingly, he comes a wealthy family. The man who followed him is not Caecus, but He is still unknown. the part with the glowing sword seems like Caecus, but That part should be rewritten: OOC: He tried to sleep. He didn't feel comnfortable though. He had the feeling somebody, or something was creeping up on him. He sat up, seeing the moon and shadows and felt home again. he still had that feeling though. suddenly, he was struck by a big hairy creature. As he fell down to the ground, he saw six yellow eyes. the next morning, he woke up, seeing the eyes again. staring at him was a huge dog.... EDIT2: Since this is my first time, What exactly do OOC and IC and the like mean? [ Tuesday, August 02, 2005 05:43: Message edited by: Marvin, the paranoid android ] -------------------- Thralni's almighty Avernum pages: My webpage, containing scenario's and graphics made by me (And maybe someday the homepage of the almighty chicken gods). Click here for more information on Olga's fortune teller kiosk Olga's fortune teller kiosk has been temporarily closed down, but you can contact the prophet with a PM - Was signed by the prophet of the almighty chicken gods, gods of everything that is a chicken. Work has begun on the Nephilian grammar and vocabulary guide! Posts: 3029 | Registered: Saturday, June 18 2005 07:00 |
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Infiltrator
Member # 2940
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written Tuesday, August 2 2005 05:22
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OOC: Out of Character. IC: In Character. --- So you use'em like this... OOC: Hey, I won't be able to post today...blabla.(Any other remarks out of character. Try not to make this too long though.) IC: "Halt." The Captain ordered as his troops, bla blabla... (the actual RP.) You should edit you'r previous post. It's the other way around. :D [ Tuesday, August 02, 2005 05:27: Message edited by: The_Nazgul ] -------------------- "I don't want to achieve immortality through my work, I want to achieve it through not dying." Posts: 469 | Registered: Thursday, May 1 2003 07:00 |
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Master
Member # 5977
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written Tuesday, August 2 2005 05:27
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OOC: Thanks. So that what I wrote should be IC. I see. Thanks again. I'll come later on with some IC, when my imagination has recharged itself. -------------------- Thralni's almighty Avernum pages: My webpage, containing scenario's and graphics made by me (And maybe someday the homepage of the almighty chicken gods). Click here for more information on Olga's fortune teller kiosk Olga's fortune teller kiosk has been temporarily closed down, but you can contact the prophet with a PM - Was signed by the prophet of the almighty chicken gods, gods of everything that is a chicken. Work has begun on the Nephilian grammar and vocabulary guide! Posts: 3029 | Registered: Saturday, June 18 2005 07:00 |
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Infiltrator
Member # 4248
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written Tuesday, August 2 2005 06:02
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OoC: quote:Sherlock's. IC: Tuulentekija stared the townspeople in amazement. All this for one undead? Oh please. This place is full of armed strangers, why on earth they think a dusty skeleton could be more dangerous? he thought. He really hasn't even done anything to them. And I thought Aramians were dumb. Oh well... Just then he saw an armed stranger talking to few of the townsmen. He seemingly had convinced the townspeople that it would be too dangerous for them to attack the undead creature, and had offered to sacrifice himself instead. Yet another greedy adventurer who wants the glory for himself Tuulentekija frowned. Don't these amateurs have better things to do? Just then he saw the undead soldier crawling out of the well. Townspeople gave out angry shouts and the stranger pulled out his weapon to finish the creature off. "May you live trough intresting times, my friend" Tuulentekija said and pointed at the stranger. Then, laughing maniacally he stepped back to the tavern. -------------------- Somebody PLEASE turn the heat on. Posts: 617 | Registered: Tuesday, April 13 2004 07:00 |
