Roleplayer Guild - Forum Roleplaying Games

Thread closed to new players until further notice

A simplistic fairy tale (or is it?) regarding a knight and his search for the woman who can save his country.

::ooc thread::

Prologue:

Havershall paced back and forth, back and forth, across the littered floor. It was a small room in a drafty tower so it took a great deal of turns to get any real pacing done. Still, he gave it his all, muttering into his beard at each turn and in between. His toes squeaked against the worn floorboards, leather to oiled wood, speaking out an addendum to his agitation here or there.

Against the wall stood a granite block which could or could not have originally had the face of a man carved on it. If it were a man, it was lumpish and difficult to discern. What could have been eyes were closed and a nose was nothing more than a button of rock. There appeared to be no mouth at all, the chin was nonexistent, but it did, if not a face, have a definite body. And like most rock, the body was not moving.

The rock sat within a recess of the room’s wall. It was tied in place, or rather, hemmed in by a lattice of leather thongs tied off to bent nails all about the recess, holding it there and keeping it from falling out. Nothing adorned the hollow it took up. The stone sat silent and watched nothing through closed eyes. It had been there for a long time. Almost as long as Havershall had had his room in this, the king’s tower, really.

Havershall glared at it, as if that might have made it do something other than sit there. His glare could not last, however, for he was forced to turn once again, as he hit the end of the room’s inner sanctum and had to spin on heel to go away from the stone figure. Then again, it was not but two steps before he was allowed to turn and glare upon it once more.

" - not even caring, was it?" Havershall continued grumbling. "As if it were nothing. You, of course, wouldn’t say a word now, would you? Dumb beast. It was not your problem after all. It’s not as if we’d gone out of our way to make such things not happen. But it was nigh on twenty five years ago, Scarun. Twenty five years!"

He paused and rubbed his chin.

"It was twenty five years. I think you’ve slept longer than that, haven’t you? No reason for any of you all to think of it. To even care. Bloody regencies and their bloody rules. This king or that, what does it matter, really? Except to you all. I’d hoped everyone slept. Why in hells couldn’t you have slept past my time, hmm?"

He spat on the ground beside the stone, wary of getting any spittle on it. The stone did not react and Havershall pointed a weary, grey finger at it. "You… piece of… earth!" He croaked. "Why must you make such a mess of things?"

But then, of course - the mess had truly been made. There wasn’t anything anyone could do about that. The fall out had to be dealt with at this point.

He couldn’t be blamed really for the manner in which it had come about. There hadn’t been any asking for his input. Before he’d known it, the Rules had changed and the words had too. Of course, that hadn’t been much good for the kingdom. The king, poor boy, had scrambled about, scrounging for his best knights, his not so best knights, and his least of the least knights.

Last Haversham had heard was that a great deal of riders and walkers and using-cane’ers had left in their scrapped tin armor in search of this thrice damned "Dove."

The upshot of the whole deal; the complete disregard of the Fates, the turning about of the Prophecy, as well as the meddling of Scarun’s folk (damned stupid creatures) - was simply that the king’s reign, the country, the crown, and the very peace which the kingdom depended upon, would be no more come the next Spring.

"Balderdash.." Haversham growled as he circle-paced the small room. He paused once more, glared balefully at the small statue, then spit once again on the wooden planking before taking up his incessant pacing once more.

In the kingdom’s capital city of Gyrii, however, there was a decided lack of concern. A year. So much could happen in a year. If anyone was worried, it was the present king. But kings could be replaced as well - trade and travel continued relatively unconcerned.

The king of Gyrii, upon Haversham’s direction, had sent out parties in all directions of the compass to find this woman. It wouldn’t have really bothered him either, that she had to be retrieved, that he had to marry her to save his crown, that she may or may not be happy about these facts - except no one seemed to know where she might have been found. This accounted for the myriad points of the compass.

Not realizing how drastically things would change over the course of the next year, how close this land was to come to entire destruction, how the balance of powers in the world were tipping - the kingdom went blissfully along.

No one took note of the solitary knight on his stolid muck colored mount (some called it liver chestnut) as he left the city heading in the direction of the Dragon Peaks and the oracle who lived there.

__________________

‘What will my death be like?’ he thought- and knew at once
with abrupt certainty, that it would be just like his life:
... the same balance of bearables.
~Amis

The early spring morning was punctuated by bird song and the soft approaching whir of wings. When it came close enough, a golden hand snaked out and snatched the miniature fairy from the air, drawing it into the shadows of the oak.

It squeaked and bit the hand on the webbing between thumb and palm. Blood welled up as it wriggled about, some of the blood covering the tawny head. It wasn’t the kind of fairy children stories were filled with. This one had furred wings. It was thin enough to be called skeletal and sported a rather dangerous set of teeth in a tautly drawn mouth. Eyes of an ocher hue stared up at the man holding it. It hissed and spines along its bony back sprang out from its body, diving into the hand holding it, further releasing more blood.

He shook it. Hard.

Knock it off or I’ll eat you.

With a whimper, the fae’s eyes widened. Spines that it had shoved so deeply into flesh disappeared instantly.

Convinced that it would make no more motions to harm him, he dropped it upon the ground where it groveled like a beaten dog.

Oh don’t be stupid. I want answers to questions.

It flared the slits it had for nostrils and shook itself. Then it slowly settled on its haunches, stared up at him. "Questions? I’m rather good at questions," it assured him.

Yes, I suppose you are. Were you in the city?

"I was," the fae retorted and stuck its tongue out. "It stinks. I stink." It lifted a arm and stared at the blood that covered it’s side. "Even more now," it mourned.

Clean up then. What did you find?

"The humans, they move. Many of them in metal shiny plates," the furry creature hissed and began to lick at the blood in its fur, spitting now and again in distaste. "They go from here to there and then they don’t come back. I think they’re searching for … her." It grinned up at him and then hunched at the look of rage on the man’s face. "They’ll not find her. We haven’t found her. If we can’t find her, no human can."

I made the mistake of underestimating them before. I’ll not make that mistake again. Where is the oracle?

"Oracle.. oracle.. oraclllllleee…" the small thing purred and then reached for a tail that was heretofore out of sight. It caressed the scaly rat like appendage in clawed fingers and then brightened up as an idea came to it. "I’ll go watch! Let me, yes? Oh please!" It danced about on the dirt path and its eyes glinted in delight. "I’ll make her like me, see?" With a shimmer, the fae leapt into the air and tinkled bells that appeared along its ears. It was a tiny creature, smaller than before it had jumped. It shone under golden fur and its eyes had changed to a dark, limpid brown. It smiled happily, showing the same teeth which now seemed to not hold the malevolence of before. "Oh - she doesn’t like humans much but she’ll like me. I’ll be a pet. I’ll tell you what she says. I’ll say what she does. I’ll find out."

The man stared down at the creature and then sighed, standing and rolling his head about on his neck. Human bodies were so painful sometimes, put together awkwardly. Very well. Go.

He flicked his fingers and in a golden burst of fairy dust, the small form was gone. The man chuckled low. If humans knew.. how many of his people walked in their midst. Why, they’d do more than tell tales, wouldn’t they?

He stared down the mountain side. Below, many miles away, beyond the foothills, lay the realm of man. The world they had created was distanced, past the swamps that created a natural barrier between his land and theirs (though they insisted on mapping his mountains as well). The swamp was a misty place of magic older than his own. There, things were truly wild not bent to the will of magicians and witches, sorcerers and conjurers. Men often went around it, rather than through it. It made the Northern Pass and some short ways south of that, the Dragon Peaks, a place which only the most intrepid of heroes attempted to reach.

The swamp, from his vantage point, was only a misted valley, long and slender, though he knew it was many miles across. It was not so far that he could not still see the first of the mankind dwellings just beyond. Like a darkened smear, the closest village had scarred the land, clearing trees to make room for more men, more fields, ploughed and just now sown. He gritted his teeth as he stared at the closest of the outposts. They feared the swamps but the wild magic never left the confines mankind had pushed it back to. The men trusted their magic too well. Eventually they would find that confining it was like attempting to confine Murrag’s Road. The magic would swell and burst the well made dam. Then their world would be his once more.

But first, he had to keep his watch. He had to keep them all from finding the chosen one. He had to keep her from ever entering this world.

__________________

‘What will my death be like?’ he thought- and knew at once
with abrupt certainty, that it would be just like his life:
... the same balance of bearables.
~Amis

The king sat silently in the garden, watching life go on around him. He was hiding, and he knew it, but that didn't change anything. The past few days had been full of chaos, and he wanted nothing more then to be alone to his thoughts for at least a few moments. Despite wearing clothes meant for court and show, he sat in his golden clothing in the middle of a bunch of flowers, letting the scent tingly his nostrils. His royal purple cloak was hanging over a few flowers behind him, but he wasn't feeling up to adjusting it. He held is highly decorated sword in his hands inches above his lap as he sat cross legged, thinking. His simple blue eyes closed as he tiled his head back taking in the scent around him.

Moments passed, and the sound of a bird awoke him from his drifted state of mind. So peaceful here...no chaos, no panic....Is this what love feels like? I wish there was some way of knowing... He opened his eyes and looked down at the sword, stroking it gently with his gloved hand. I wonder what the court as in store for me today... He seemed to phase out of the world mentally as his mind listened to the chirping of the bird, taking in all the peaceful moments he could get before someone found him.

The forest they traveled through was in bloom and from her horse she could take in her surroundings and enjoy them to the fullest. Around her children softly sang songs of spring while they all continued on their journey. Spring had touched flora and fauna all together and everything seemed to live around her. This tribe Nadya had joined on her journey would keep going untill they had reached the next village. There they would set up camp and entertain the villagers, while the usual rumours about gypsy's sped through the town faster as the black plague itself.

She knew it was a mutual lack of trust between both parties to keep this balance instable as it had always been. The villager would never accept gypsy's as they were and gypsy's refused to abandon any of their ancient traditions and habits. Yet it seemed to work in a twisted way. During the last few months she had lived among the gypsy's shared their blessings and curses as they travelled and even joined in in their entertaining on the streets. This had been a priviledge, she knew gypsy's eyed any normal civillian with the same distrust as the other way around. But she hadn't been a normal villager, roma blood coursed through her veins. A gift from her unknown father, yet she could somehow appreciate it. It had provided her with a perspective and view on the world not many others had acces to.

Another song had begun and recognizing the tune she chimed in, singing carelessly as the group of riders and carriages made it's way through the forest.This travelling existence had become her, she enjoyed it and flourished as she met new people, new challenges and saw more of the world. A sunkissed sin and traditional gypsy braids in her hair. She could spend hours enjoying this environnement, but her thoughts were already somewhere else. Where would she go after she'd left the gypsy's? Would she be able to manage on her own? She had learned much, including a thing or two about fighting and defending herself, but she was no master.A woman travelling on her won could be an easy target. She still believed her best option was to run. She liked to run and she knew she was fast. It seemed to her to always be a better option than trying to defend yourself against someone who most likely is stronger and a better fighter than yourself.

Though worries like that did not cloud her thoughts too much. More the experiences and places ahead of her filled her mind. Curiosity and daydreams of what lay ahead. She could travel until she felt the need to settle, or she could stop in village that appealed to her, find a job for a small while and make a little money before she moved on. She loved to travel even though the nomad's existences was not considered suitable for a woman. She was too far away from her hometown to be bothered by the rumours being spread about her there. She played with one of the braids her brown hair had become as the two green eyes looked beyond the horizon. One of the children had ran up for walk beside her horse. He woke her from her daydream, asking for a lift. She nodded and before she had even had the chance to extend her hand, the young boy had managed to climb behind the saddle. He wrapped his hands around her waist to hold on. She grinned, these people seemed to all be acrobats and artists, it must be in their blood.

"Faster Nadya! Faster!" He called out wildly. Rising an eyebrow she looked back towards the little boy. With a wink she drove the horse to an easy canter, riding ahead of the group. And in front of Nadya, the village appeared on the horizon.

Bright green grass grew long around Murrag's' Road. The waters flowed clear deep. White was reflected in those waters as a white mare, no, a unicorn bent down to drink the water. Her horn, long and white, touched the water just barely as she drank her fill from the clear waters. Looking up, the rare creature turned her head towards the west. Long, white ears twitched slightly. Her tail flicked behind her, keeping small flies off of her rump. Violet eyes watched her surroundings before she bent her neck down, allowing her mouth to reach the sweet grass surrounding her.

So rare it was for a unicorn to come out of its forest. A unicorn was always highly wanted, for its blood or its horn; whichever a hunter could get. This particular unicorn was lucky that the humans of this place saw her as only a white mare, due to her limited magical abilities. Only those who truly believe her kind exists can truly see what she is. Her long silvery mane fell in wavy cascades as she continued to eat. Looking up again, she listened to everything around her. There was no threat, for now.

Liorne knew that eventully someone would be coming this way. They always did. It was usually a 'herd' of humans, coming to clean off in the river's waters. She stomped her hoof down. Who do those humans think they are...Coming near my forest and using the river to bathe? How dirty. She thought. The voice she 'spoke' with was beautiful and sweet. It had an innocences to it and only those she allowed to hear it could. Footsteps. Her grazing was being interrupted by footsteps.

Liorne whinnied and she began to trot back into the protection of the woods. There was no way any human was going to see her. She had no wish to be captured and surely, killed. The white unicorn mare was now running back into her woods to hide.

__________________
Never Going Back To You

My Twilight by Stephenie Meyer Fanfic.

Bayside Marin Rehabilitation OOC

JOIN PLEASE!!

The knight rode through the forest, at ease, his thoughts as fleeting as the clouds overhead. He didn't pay attention to the winding forest trail or to the foliage to his sides, for he knew that if he were assaulted by bandits or the like, he could do nothing to save himself. Bandits that would dare attack him would be armed with crossbows. He would have to put his faith in luck - even though he felt that was rather improper for a man with the fate of the kingdom on his shoulders. The knight sighed, and bent forward to stroke his horse.

He'd had to trade his personal horse, a powerful destrier, for something smaller - he'd needed a horse bred for travel rather than battle, and had been deported to this mud-coloured creature. His insanely heavy set of cavalry armour had been replaced too, for obvious reasons. He now wore little else than a splint mail and helmet, and he'd traded his lance for a flail. Hopefully, he would not have to use it.

Brophar let his mind wander again - leant back in the saddle and gazed at the slowly moving clouds. His thoughts strayed far from his mission, to battles long since fought and to tankards of ale long since downed, to scars and to maids and to valour and to everything in this world, aside from the narrow trail he travelled and the surrounding forest. The horse stopped to try and bite a tuft of grass off from the roadside, but Brophar woke from his musings long enough to spur her back on course. The knight wondered briefly what the oracle might be like - he had never travelled there before. An image in his mind arose, of an ancient, withered old man with a beard longer than he was tall. Brophar almost chuckled at the ridiculous thought. Certainly, he mused, a wise oracle must at least be a dignified being.

The hours passed, and the horse and rider trudged on along their uneventful path. Lifting a hand to shield his eyes, Brophar looked to the west. Shadows grew taller and the lands darkened as sunset drew nearer, and the knight gave an exasperated sigh. He'd best find somewhere to sleep soon, before the road became too dark. Eyes narrow, he strained his vision, staring off into the distance - was that smoke he spied beyond the trees? A village, he thought smiling with delight ...or a bandit camp, he added with a sour grimace. Whichever it was, he realized he had to get there before he dared to sleep - if it was indeed a bandit camp, ambushing them while they rested would be his only chance to avoid getting his throat slit in his sleep.

__________________
If your signature is larger than your post, you're wasting space. If your signature is larger than your average post, you need brain surgery. Or a brain.

Jon wasn’t the type to worry needlessly. But with the way things could go in a small town, one always felt their back going up slightly at the approach of so many strangers.

The Roma. They were good enough people. He knew this intellectually. However, his small world always seemed a bit more restricted and fearful when that many new and foreign faces swept past his house, dark as shadows with teeth laughing so whitely. They didn’t follow the same rules he did. They didn’t act the way he did. They were wild, reckless, singing loudly, drinking and carousing about their camps. They were easy enough scapegoats for whatever ills happened to befall his farm. He’d lost a cow last time they’d come through. Oh - not this troupe, but another. Lisa had screamed long and loud at him after his tirade about them damn Romas.

She’d been right of course. Once daylight struck soundly in the face of the earth below it and tracks could be made out, wolves or feral dogs were to blame. It was this shame and the loss of his Lisa in the itinerant months that kept him from going out of his front door, waving a pitch fork at them and screaming for them to go home, go back to where they’d come from.

Jon wasn’t alone in feeling the uncertainty of the Roma invasion. Still, there was good to be had here. Trade happened and dance, news and music. Color, color, more color. The drab little town made up for its lacks in the extravagant gardens before each pale little house. But the Romas burst in like flowers alive and uprooted.

It delighted the younger set. It made the older set wistful. And it only outwardly terrified a few. Still - they were careful when counting change. They considered twice any animal they bought from the Roma caravan. They locked their barn doors and barred windows closed despite the muggy weight of the air.

Jon went to get his old plough horse out from the field. His was the first house they’d hit upon the road coming into the village. He didn’t want the old fool (the horse, not himself) to kick up his heels and try and dance with the Roma’s beasts. That only tended to deliver bruised cannons and pulled shoulders. He needed the damn beast to be ready to work the next day. He couldn’t afford frivolity.

__________________

‘What will my death be like?’ he thought- and knew at once
with abrupt certainty, that it would be just like his life:
... the same balance of bearables.
~Amis

The Story of Jamleth the Ogre:
Chapter 1
In which we find...
The life story of a rock.
Motives behind destruction.
The breeding habits of warts.
An ogre's speculation on alcohol.

Inside the swamp was a rock. It was a particularly big rock, large enough to be used in artillery - the term boulder would probably be more proper. But more important than its size was its age - it had sat in that same spot for eons. It was there when the world was created by some omnipotent deity or maybe a chance gathering of atoms. It had seen civilizations rise and tyrants fall. It had seen heroes and monsters vanquished in equal number. It expected to see much more until its un-life was over.

Then it was picked up by an ogre.

He was what many would call 'fearsome', standing several feet above most humans. Various warts* and other unpleasing features rested comfortably on the damp areas of his skin. His face was particularly monstrous, with a jaw that he had probably stolen from a gorilla and teeth he had 'borrowed without asking' from a T-Rex. Both the jaw and the teeth were working together to make a grin, but they were failing miserably. The end result looked more like the sort of grimace that torture victims get when they see the instrument of torture. But the ogre was still happy.

The rock was the last one on his territory. He'd managed to make the entirety of that small part of the swamp entirely rock free, from the smallest to the largest. Now, they sat in a large wall just along the edge of his 'turf'. He didn't expect anyone to come and bother him after that. But there was still that one. It had taken him several days to pry the boulder from its foundation in the dirt, but it was well worth the effort. The boulder represented the cleansing of the swamp and, metaphorically, his soul.

Alright, that was complete and utter nonsense. He just had a minor case of OCD and wanted to live in a nice and clean swamp (which was something of an oxymoron).

He had been living a relatively peaceful existence in his swamp, getting along fine with the local village. But something had gripped those villagers - maybe alcohol, which Jamleth thought was a terrible drug when compared to cigars - and had caused a few of their young men to become "adventurers". Had the ogre known how to read and write, he would have submitted an entry to the Thesaurus under the word 'murderer'. That didn't really matter now, though. What mattered was getting a little peace, a little quiet, and getting this damn rock out of his swamp!

He threw the rock.

Thud.

"Cor, ye almost knocked me damn head off!" cried a voice. It was that of Crispin d'Arte, halfling highwayman and expert at mispronouncing small words but pronouncing the big ones correctly. The ogre raised an eyebrow, scratching his head in utter confusion. It was good that he was doing that, because his lower area needed a break. It was going to be a long day, he thought.

*That isn't to say he had a tendency to get warts more than humans or the other sentient races did. He just had more skin, and thus, while the same ratio applied, it resulted in a larger spectrum of blemishes and in tandem a greater amount of warts. This principle is known as 'Pythaklos' Wart Creme v. 3 see back label'.

__________________
~ "Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree."

~ "The best way to fight the devil, if not with holy scripture, is to jeer at him - for he can not stand to be scorned."

~ "An atheist is just a person God hasn't met yet."

Gwenyth was the royal gardener and the best in all the kingdom. Every banquet, every part, ball, Gwenyth was responsible for decorating the room with her luscious flowers. Now a days she spent her peaceful time watching over the Kings royal garden and making sure no weeds touched her bed.

She was down deep in the dirt, planting a young bleeding heart when she noticed someone not so blended with the kingdom staff. There was the king, soaking up the sun and enjoying the beauty of the earth around him. Gwenyth felt herself blush slightly, but did not turn gaze. Her she was, feet away from her king, and he had no idea she existed. She sat back on her knees and watched him, he seemed stressed and not at ease. She wished she had the courage to talk to him, but with her ratty, muddy work dress, and her matted black hair.

She finished planting the bleeding heart and stood up, dusting the dirt from her dress. "There, that's finished with." She mumbled and walked through the garden, seeing what needed to be tended too, trying her best not to think such foolish thoughts about the king noticing her.

__________________

“For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it. For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it."
Ivan Panin

Beauty From Your Pain
*Coming Soon

The king let out a yawn and snapped himself up-right. He had been dozing of while sitting there, greatly surprised that no one had disturbed him yet. This was probably the most time he had to himself since his brother had died and they forget he was alive. He slowly stood up attempting to leave all of the flowers around him unharmed. He failed more then he would have liked to admit, but it wasn't enough to prevent him from smiling as he stepped out onto a walkway nearby. A flower girl of some sort seemed to be bustling around and he wondered why she hadn't said anything. Most of kingdom knew he was supposed to be busy. Everyone in the castle probably had a good idea of exactly what he was supposed to be doing and where. Sadly, he honestly had no idea where he was supposed to be at the moment.

Bending over and stroking one of the flowers with his gloved hand, he said to no one in particular, "These really are beautiful flowers. You'd think I'd be allowed to see these more often considering that they're MY flowers. Instead the only time I've seen them is when I'm hiding...." He plucked one of the healthier flowers and lifted it up to his nose, smelling it. After a few moments he slid it in behind his ear and a dorky little smile appeared on his face. Quickly he flapped out his cape, brushed off his royal clothing, and ran a hand through his hair to make sure it was messed up a tad. He strapped on his sword and made a random little noise to wake himself up. "How do I look?" He smiled in the direction of the flower girl, not really expecting an answer. All of his staff seemed to fear him, even if he tried to converse with them. Taking a deep breath, he wondered if he should set out to court, or attempt to hide somewhere else.