Roleplayer Guild - Forum Roleplaying Games

((New Rp for the summertime, yay.

I am lazy so there's not much of a procedure for this one. No character sheet, just start playing. There is a story line that I will be pushing, but this is extremely free form so I just want you guys to bring some fresh and dynamic characters to the table and we'll see what happens. It's set in a fantasy universe, but you know what? If you can give a good reason for guns and androids, then bring them. Or you want some aliens? Go ahead. Time-travelers? Please provide. I don't feel like making this that structured or streamlined, just hopefully interesting.

Just jump in when you want. Use common sense and have fun.))

Char stood in the haunted graveyard and kicked at the skeleton hand that groped her ankle. No matter how many times she dealt a hard kick with her boot, the hand would come back with its cold bony touch, kind of like a gnat or mosquito. It was annoying; Char didn't want to be distracted, not now, not when she was in the middle of a work of art.

Char hunkered over her journal and kept writing, her cramped hand moving almost inhumanly fast. She wrote: A spell had been cast on the graveyard to revive the dead. Up ahead stood the haunted castle, black as night, with it jagged spirals and towers denoting the crookedness of the inhabitants within. She paused on this last sentence. It felt awkward. She looked up at the castle itself and wondered how she could ever aptly communicate its ugliness to her readers. The witch and the poor pitiful kidnapped prince were doubtlessly within, but then there were the witch's traps: more undead, spells, maybe stone warriors. Then there was the witch herself - rumored to be ageless, ruthless and with the strength of a thousand men. No, the castle was too much - even for the likes of Char the great sorceress.

At the bottom of the page, in a coded handwriting, she wrote: Before I continue I must look for companions that will be of use both as bodyguards and as experimental material.

Char capped the pen and tucked it into her robe. With her head still stuck in the journal, she walked back to Spiral's Edge. There was little to say about Spiral's Edge except that it was the epitome of bleakness. The skeleton hand broke off from its undead arm and clung desperately to her ankle. Char no longer noticed or cared.

She had a goal that had consumed her: to write an adventure bestseller that would sweep the magic world. Actually she wanted to write about botany, but had been told by reputable sources that nobody would buy a book nowadays without some amount of adventure. ("To get the blood boiling, you know.") Hopefully rescuing a prince from an evil witch and restoring him to to his kingdom would suffice. And then maybe the kingdom could help publish the book.

It was a short fifteen minute walk to the tavern. Such was the nature of Spiral's Edge that nobody lived there if they could help it, what with the evil witch and the zombies and the bandits that frequently roamed the area. This meant that there were two kinds of people at Spiral's Edge - The accomplished and the desperate, wrote Char. To herself she thought, I need to find some of the former, but as she plopped herself into a seat at the bar (skeleton hand now crawling unnoticed up her robe), she began to worry that only the latter was currently around.

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Love the hue.

*CRASH!*
A chair went flying and a table flipped over, leaving a semi drunk adventurer with a very old and crude sword on his hip, standing, while four other men were on the ground due to the table flipping. It only left one man sitting, directly in front of the semi drunk man, holding dearly to his drink as he managed to save it, as if the drink was the most precious thing to him. A dog, that looked as if it was part wolf was laying next to the sitting man with a drink. A low growl could be heard from the dog.

"You bloody Cheat! There's NO way someone can win THAT many times...WITH OUT CHEATING!" A semi drunken man pointed a fairly dirty finger at the sitting man.

The man seemed not to noticed that the other called him a cheat. Now he was finishing that precious drink that he managed to save. After a moment of an awkward silence the man finally stood up, throwing the earthenware mug into the fire, shattering as it hit the side of the fireplace.

The man, now standing in the light emitted by the fire, as well as hanging oil lamps, could now be clearly seen. He stood at a height of about 5'8, with clothes that should have been thrown away a few years before. His ratty leather jacket was somewhat tight to his muscular body, along with his (what used to be) royal blue tunic. Both tan pants and brown leather boots well worn from travel.

The only thing that did not belong was the mans Broadsword on his left hip. The midnight black leather sheath was oiled and still had it's brand new look to it. On the Pommel of the sword there was a single emerald about the size of a large Marble. A leather grip was still new, but also managed to convey that the sword had been used for long time. The silver cross guard was plain, the ends curling towards the blade slightly. A strange symbol in the middle of the guard, a triangle made of another emerald stone, about a half an inch wide and tall.

He suddenly spoke, softly, yet his voice was gruff as if he needed to clear his throat, yet he didn't need to. "Teach me a lesson then..." he said sarcastically. His fists clenched, the leather gauntlets on his hands made the soft rubbing noise that could strangely be heard on the other side of the tavern.

The semi drunk man pulled his pathetic short sword out...just by one look, it was clear it could never stand up to the others broadsword. With out waiting he swung his sword over head, the blade knocking the bronze hanging oil lamp from it's hook, catching the floor behind the semi drunk on fire.

The other man didn't even draw his sword. Catching the man's wrist he held it there for a moment. Twisting his wrist he watched as the sword feel from the grasp, he didn't even wait for the man to scream.... he slammed the Semi drunk's elbow backwards into his knee, breaking the bone with a horrible snap.

Then reaching out with his other hand he grabbed the mans neck and pulled him towards him, turning just slightly then as he couldn't pull anymore, he pushed, slamming the mans head against the hardwood wall. The man dropped like a rock. His face was bloody as his nose was literally shattered.

People started to scramble to get some water for the fire, but stopped when the man walked back over and raised his hand towards the fire. The fire jumped from the floor and onto his arm, engulfing it to his shoulder. He didn't yell, but looked quite calm. In another few moments the fire disappeared into his right palm.

It would seem the drunken warrior was also a Sorcerer...

The Tavern was silent as he made his way to a different table, letting the semi drunk man's friends help the now unconscious man up. A Barmaid tried to slip by but the man stopped her by grabbing her wrist. "More Rum..." He let her go and she quickly went towards the bar.

(WOAH I didn't know I had it in me! And He's not a true sorcerer, just hear out the story that will unfold mwahhahah)

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He walked down the cobblestone road, his tar black cowl drawn taut around his head. The rain created a rhythmic splat, splat on the half thatched roofs of the buildings he walked between, some smoldering in the rain. The mayor of this town was reckless and merciless, slaughtering innocent civilians as if they were items to be bartered. All just because they didn’t pay their taxes, or he needed entertainment. The filthy swine deserved to rot. Three or four people were killed each day, and it was a disgrace to the folk of this town. He intended to kill this mayor after killing the witch over at Spiral’s Edge. The pommels of his two sabers made a constant clicking noise, not quite falling in with the downpour’s steady beat. He pulled the cowl closer over his face.

He found an inn, the only one in this village, it seemed, and walked in, the water trickling off of his cloak. An eerie silence replaced laughter and talk as he walked inside. Everyone was gaping at him, because he was unfamiliar in these parts of the country, and he held a weapon. Unfamilar, yet they knew his name, just by looking at him. His leather boots made soft thumping sounds as he walked up to the innkeeper. He muttered, “I need a room for the night, maybe a handful more. I’m on my way to… decease someone, and I’m staying here.” He put two golden crowns on the bar and glanced at the room, glaring at everyone who was staring at him. The innkeeper slid the golden coins under the bar and handed the key to the strange man, his hand shaking. The man took the key and walked upstairs before being told which room he was occupying.

He opened the door to the chamber and walked in, not knowing if it was his or not. He pulled his soaking cloak off, setting it on a chair to dry out. His eyes were an oddly, sickly hue of yellow, and he had a scar across the left one. He had plenty more on his chest and back when he pulled his wet black leather jerkin off, setting it on the floor, then his twin sabers, Slayer and Flayer, and finally his dark trousers, placing them next to his jerkin. He shivered in the cool night, and slipped into the bed. It wasn’t much warmer here, but it would suffice. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to possess his body. Sleep loathed him and never came easily anymore. It seemed as if everyone loathed him, because he was Jaer Kai'Loth, ‘Hell’s Assassin’.

Several hours later, when he still wasn’t asleep, Jaer got up and peered out the window at the slowly approaching dawn. The crimson and gold lights on the horizon snaked through the heavens, mixing with the bleakish gray clouds to create a beautiful morning. He sighed and pulled on his trousers, then walked downstairs, where not a soul was to be found. Everyone was still asleep. He gave the innkeeper maybe twenty minutes before he woke up and started fixing the breakfast food. Jaer walked behind the bar and grabbed several bottles of wine, sat down a nearby table, and started drinking them, thinking on how he was going to get to this witch. He would need help, surely, though he dreaded the idea more than anything. Companions made more noise and were more a burden than useful. Of course, some helped. Jaer still only was one man, so he decided to look for someone, if they were willing, to go on this suicide mission. He finished the last bottle and backed the chair up, causing it to screech on the wood. His horse, Mandarbi, was outside, probably sleeping like he should be.

He stumbled back up to the room, tripping on the stairs more than once. He thought he passed by someone, the innkeeper maybe, as he held on to the rail for fear of falling back down. He wished he still had his veil on, hiding his face, but it didn't matter. He would soon be out of this... place that barely passed for a village, really just two dozen or so houses scattered around a town hall. He grabbed the door and shoved the key in, leaning on the portal so as not to fall over. He stumbled through the room, collapsing on the bed more tired than ever, crawling back into the sheets and closing his eyes again, forcing sleep to overcome him this time over.

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A cloaked figure walked through the streets of Spiral's Edge. Silver seemed to appear from the shadows of the hood that covered the figure's face. Long dark purple hair flowed from the hood. The small figure walked into the old tavern just as a chair was thrown. Silver eyes blinked and she sat down at the bar. A pale slender hand came from under the cloak and it pulled down the hood. Under the hood was the head of a female. Silver eyes, pale fair skin and dark purple hair. She had a light pink mark in the middle of her forehead. It looked like a star that had burst in a way. [ see my icon and imagine it without the horn ] She tapped the bar to get the bartenders attention.

A few minutes later, the girl was drinking water and looking around at others. She sighed softly. No one had noticed what she was, yet. A whisper passed through the tavern. It wasnt of her, but of the child prince who had been taken by the Witch. Full, pale lips turned from a normal look to a pout. She knew where the Witch was, but that was because she was something of a spy for the Witch.

Her name was long lost, years ago, but she called herself, Rike. Sure, Rike sounded like a male name, but she didnt care. She scanned the tavern again, but no one seemed to be in on anything. The girl finished her water and she left silently. Again, she was walking the streets of Spiral's Edge. Soon, she found herself at an Inn. She slipped inside and got a room. Rike got a key and she went to where her room was. The girl sat inside and she sighed heavily. She closed her silver eyes and when they reopened, a black horn protruded from her forehead. She curled up in the bed. Tomorrow she would have to see if anyone was after her 'Mistress', the Witch.

Dreams plagued the Unicorn girl. She tossed and turned. Sweat beads formed on her forehead. She cried out, but no one came to check on her. The sheets soon fell off of her bed and into the floor.
The Witch was chasing her down. She knew she would be captured. Faster, she had to run faster. Rike fell, tripping over a rock or something. She couldnt really remember. The Witch caught her. She cackled softly and pulled Rike's ear up to her mouth. "You're mine now little Unicorn..."
A gasp and Rike almost jumped out of her bed. Carefully, she used the back of her right hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead. She was beathing heavily.

"I have to get away...but..." Mixed feelings rushed through the girl. She just sat on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands. Long purple hair fell like a curtain on both sides of her face. She sighed a ragger sigh and looked up at the old ceiling above her.

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Never Going Back To You

My Twilight by Stephenie Meyer Fanfic.

Bayside Marin Rehabilitation OOC

JOIN PLEASE!!

As she sipped on her water with lemon (the bartender wouldn't stop giving her a sullen glare for that, but Char was oblivious per usual), several interesting things happened:

First a fight developed between a man and a few other card players. The accusation: cheating. When it turned physical, it was clear who the stronger warrior was. Char smiled, then puckered when she took a sip with too much lemon. This man was interesting. She needed him on her quest.

Then another man entered. This one drew many stares for his strange appearance - but that was not what caught Char's attention. No, it was something about the way the walked. It took a moment for it to register, but then she realized that his confident stride and semi-silent steps reminded her of some of her assassin acquaintances. And that sort of person could certainly...be of use.

Lastly there was the silver-haired, purple-eyed maiden that sat at the bar. Nobody in the tavern paid much attention to her, between the lingering brawl and the strange man, but Char knew that this was a gross oversight. This pretty woman was a unicorn - and that meant she was the best experimental material that Char had seen in a long time.

How fortunate. Her prayers had been answered not once, not twice, but three times. Char downed her drink, snapped her journal shut and dropped it into the deep pouches of her black robe, then made her move.

She did not necessarily stand out: a plain-looking woman with red hair that wore a common black traveling robe. However, to an observer with eyes as experienced as hers, it would have been obvious the way her green eyes sometimes misted over with swirling gray magical residue or the way she slipped about with the light touch only gained by someone used to the darker side of things. Char was the sort of person that moved in the sort of circles that would have to kill you if you knew they existed.

She went first to the brawler with the dog, slipping past the frightened barmaid. "You're not very delicate with the ladies, are you? Although judging by the way you handled those men, I'm guessing civility is not your strong suit." Char did not actually care about the barmaid or the men. Rather, conversation was not her strong suit. "And that strange magic...now that is interesting. I will need that secret as well. But first, how much money do you want? I am speaking, of course, about the fee to kill the witch. I am aware that there is already a bounty, but I am prepared to...supplement that, if necessary."

She put her fingers over her mouth, as if to bite her nails, but more likely it was to hide another greedy grin. Her eyes were wide. She had a habit of not blinking when she was nervous or excited, and now she was both - it gave her very much the look of a surprised deer or an escaped mental patient. (As it happened, both labels were commonly applied to Char.) "What do you say?"

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Love the hue.

"You're not very delicate with the ladies, are you? Although judging by the way you handled those men, I'm guessing civility is not your strong suit."

The man was running his hand down his dog/wolf's back as he heard the stranger speak to him. Glancing lazily to the side, his dark blue eyes quickly looking the woman up and down. His eyes showed more than his appearance. It showed a warrior, with a hint of old Honor, Glory and Wisdom from ages past... then after he finished sizing her up, returned to the eyes of a Warrior who grew to found of the bottle.

"I didn't cheat... They were just horrible card players." Though he said it, it was clear that he didn't care what people thought, he was only telling the truth.

"And that strange magic...now that is interesting. I will need that secret as well." All that was heard from the man was "Hmph!" as he went to pet his close friend again.

But first, how much money do you want? I am speaking, of course, about the fee to kill the witch. I am aware that there is already a bounty, but I am prepared to...supplement that, if necessary." He stopped petting suddenly at the words "...Kill the witch..."

His dark blue eyes slowly moved back towards her, a Fire burned in with them as he thought of the Witch. Leaning forward, folding his arms on the table he then said quietly "You are an incredibly stupid woman then. Seeing how you have no visible weapons...you must think your a pretty damn good Sorceress." He chuckled, "Well 'Pretty is true enough... I don't know about the latter..."
He looked her dead in the eye. "Now listen here love... I have already tried that foolish fight. Back when I thought I could take on the world... If you are looking for a Hero or some kind to swoon over. There ain't no Hero here, Just the shell of one."

He patted his dogs head one last time. "I lost many good friends to that witch, All great fighters...every single one of them. I barely escaped with my life... Became a coward and ran... left them to die." He grew silent....thinking for a long moment.

"Again, your mighty stupid.... But I have a debt to pay. And I have nothing to lose. Might as well go...and die a somewhat honorable death..." He shoved his chair back and his dog quickly stood up from his sitting position. "I'll see you out front and in the morning then..."

"If you really want to find a hero miss..." he walked a few steps past her and towards the rooms. "Just follow me to my Bed, I'll be your hero all night long love!" He laughed and walked towards his room

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Chaos,
better left disturbed

My dragon Please Click.

((It looks good, Raze. Welcome to the Rp!))

Char cocked her head. The warrior - she should really ask his name - said strange things. For instance, he thought that she didn't have a weapon because she was confident in her magic. This was only somewhat true; the real reason she didn't have a weapon was because she was clumsy and could injure herself with just a kitchen knife.

He also seemed to feel extreme guilt about the loss of his comrades. Char supposed she could understand that, though just barely. She was able to mourn the loss of people close to her, but if it came down to a choice between her life and someone else's, she would never feel at fault for choosing herself. That was just the way the world was - if someone wasn't strong enough to survive on their own, that was their fault, not hers. Char may have been bad at conversation, but she knew enough not to offer this particular opinion.

And then there was the...proposal. About meeting him in his bed. That too was a strange, unnecessary thing to say, because Char did not at present need any data or information about his prowess between the sheets. Perhaps that would change later, but as Char watched his retreating back, she realized that she doubted that very much.

Most importantly however, he had agreed to help her. She nodded and made a little bow after him. "Good night. Thank you for your cooperation!"

To herself she thought, Target one acquired.

During their conversation, another strange fellow had devoured raw meat at the bar. Char did not know what to think about that one. He was a mystery. Perhaps he was a werewolf? Or an ordinary man with particularly bad taste in food? Whatever the case, he became another number on her increasing list.

But first she would harass the unicorn. Char paid the innkeeper a couple coins to inquire about the purple-haired girl's room - he was so easy to bribe that she decided never to room here if she happened to be on the run from someone.

She slipped upstairs and knocked on the door. "Miiiiiisssssss Unicooooooorrrrrrrnnnnnn...may I have a word please?"

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Love the hue.

Jaer heard the knock on the door to the chamber next to his. He got up silently, slipping into his black robes then leather. He pulled on his sword belt, pulling out a jewelled dagger. He didn't care if it was a visit of old friends, the woman sounded... familar. He stalked to the door, putting his ear on the portal. He slowly pulled it open, hoping it didn't creak. When it was opened enough to let his hundred and sixty pounds of muscle out, he creeped down the hall towards the source of the noise, not making any sounds himself. His leather boots made soft thuds on the wooden floor, not enough for anyone with an untrained ear to hear it. He saw a woman standing next to a door. Jaer crept closer, blending in with the shadows. Such was his cloak's power; he could blend in with anything that he was near. He held the dagger tightly, his fingers tightning on the hilt as he drew up behind the woman. Didn't I see her below, with the barbaric man? he thought to himself, silently answering his own question.

He quietly and quickly put his hand over her mouth and put the blade to her throat, dragging her down the hall. He pulled her into his room and kicked the door shut. "Sorceress, what are you doing here? The witch is mine not yours." He put his knee in her back, pushing foward and causing her to bend backwards. "Answer me!" He hissed, ready to slit her throat and throw her out the window at anytime.

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((Question.... How did he know she was going after the witch?))

As he reached his door he unlocked it and pushed it open, Leaning against the left side of the frame for support. 'Tomorrow morning is going to be a rough one...' he thought to himself as he allowed his dog to run in and jump onto the bed, taking most of the room.

Closing the door behind him he said softly, "Fang (Original I know) Move over you lazy dog!" Fang looked up to him for a moment, then slowly rolled onto his back in defiance of his masters orders, making a small groaning noise.

"You've been spoiled to much..." He couldn't help but not be mad at Fang. He walked over and gave him a rough rub with both hands on his head, before finally pushing the dog down to the bottom of the bed.

He took off his worn jacket and shirt, the man was large for an average man, weighing about 230 pounds. He needed that muscle long before to support the armor he used to wear... but not any more. Still keeping in shape to fight was the reason he kept himself in fit condition.

He took off his sword's belt slowly and very gently placed it on the dresser near the head of the bed. running his hand along the polished leather for a moment before slowly lowering himself into the bed.

He closed his eyes only for a moment when he heard a slam of a door a crossed from his room, as well as some struggling. He raised out of bed with relative ease, given his huge frame. Grabbing his sword's grip, he ripped it out of the sheath, the metal Chappe rubbing against the blade as it was pulled from the sheath. "Damn Bandits..." whispered harshly.

Fang jumped up as well, knowing when his master pulled a sword, he was going to fight. He pranced around his master like a dog who wanted to play fetch as he made his way to the door.

He swung his door open, narrowly missing his dog as he did so. Then taking one step forward with his left foot, his right raised and shot forward, slamming into the door and bursting it open. The door's top hinges broke at the force, it now hung at an angle as now the warrior filled the doorway. Fang managed to get in and lowered, his teeth bare and a loud growl could be heard.

Seeing it was the woman he promised to help, his eyes narrowed on the strange fellow. His muscles twitched at the promise of battle. "Let her go... or I will feed your bones to my dog." His voice was low, and still very gruff from yelling so many times in battle.

He raised his sword and pointed it at the man, for the woman, it might have been strange to see him now, it had seemed that even in his drunken state.... that he looked perfectly sober now.

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