Roleplayer Guild - Roleplay Forum

The end of summer and the beginning of autumn were all, but impossible to sense in Guoduar. The palpable enchantment of the ancient tall trees that surrounded the town subdued much of the elements that came with each seasonal change. In other parts of Ternaea, broad green leaves would change color and fall from their parent tree. This process did not occur in the magical forest. The tall trees were all mixtures of many different types of wood and grew strong and tall until they towered over the land and could be seen for miles in any direction. They made Guoduar seem more lush and fruitful than it probably was. A great irony was that this was a simple town of no particular beauty or interest with the exception of its location and lack of nationhood, which made it the perfect stage for the Parliament of the entire continent so many centuries before.

The streets of Guoduar are fairly narrow and it is probably true that no where else in the lands can such a wide variety of beings and cultures be sampled like this. The residents are contented and live extraordinarily long lives well beyond that of their respective racial kin. Thick vines seep from tree root and tree trunk into the town; crawling up the edges of stonework and sprawling over building sides. The only building that is intentionally kept free of the parasitic plants is the Parliamentary Hall where only tendril tips tickle the foundations, but never make homes there.

The Hall is almost never unoccupied. At any hour of the day, creatures are coming and going through heavy doors on either end of the facility as well as leaking in and out of small side doors along the length of the building. On windy days if there is not too much ruckus noise that floats out into the town, you can hear the large wooden beams creek with age. They sing of triumph and tragedy, fortune and trade, kindred allies and abhorred enemies.

Today however, there is little wind and plenty of noise wafting out. The locals rarely pay attention to the endless chatter that runs as fast as racing horses. With the exception of the occasional peek and disapproving nod, they all, but ignore the place. On this day, the fate of many nations is at stake - threats and promises strewn across the tables and benches in the form of words and scrolls. Bickering leaders and ambassadors are complemented by discussing advisers and confidants. Servants pass like ghosts; weaving throughout the crowd offering food and drink to anyone who gestures. Scribes sit on thin cushions at scrawny desks and scribble furiously; vainly trying to keep up with all the business being done. Pages jog from table to table and carry documents from one group to another.

It is a scene of controlled chaos and it is where our story begins...

__________________

Oh So Lonely
The Truth Hurts
Home of the 'Mythical' Creatures
The Legend of the Pact
Clan Wars

"No, I am not saying we should all result to war!" Herec retorted loudly, trying his best to be heard over the roar of the crowd. "I am simply saying that IF we do, send me a message and I will aid you. I too have to keep my Republic fed!" Herec was angered that someone would actually think he wanted war. He did want war, but he was angered that someone would give him the bad reputation. Somewhere in the distance, he heard someone yell, "Herec, you're a fool!" the man said nothing more. Herec had to quell the urge to get on the table and run over to the man and beat his face in. Thankfully, he had Fera with him, whispering in his ear an old verse of poetry that he loved. "Anger is not the Ballad, Grace is not the Spear."

Herec turned his head slightly, so that he could see Fera out of the corner of his left eye. He mouthed the words "Thank you." Fera nodded, a slight smile on her face. Herec took a look around the immense table, viewing all the people standing and sitting around it. He waved his hand, signaling a servant. When the servant, a boy, came, Fera answered before Herec could utter anything. "Two hot waters. No need to put anything in them." The boy ran off with his order, and Fera and Herec waited, listening to the chatter of everyone else.

__________________
Indians: Taking over America one Nickel at a time. (b^-^)b

If at first you don't succeed, then Sky-Diving is not for you.

Cyruss was standing at the table, both of his meticulously manicured and heavily bejeweled hands holding the majority of his weight up. Eyes closed, he clenched his jaw over and over, as if chewing rocks. Standing well inside his personal was a very large, bald, muscular man wearing a leather kilt and a jerkin, pointing and yelling at Cyruss with a tangible fury. And if was for this reason that Cyruss looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.

"We know that DAMN rock came from the DAMN Manifest! We know it! And now my people have to fear for their lives because murderous DAMN shadows slip through the DAMN night and kill them in their sleep! So just admit that you have some DAMN agent trying to sabotage my DAMN country so you greedy little witches can get your DAMN hands on our Harvest God's Idol! DAMMIT! " The large man was breathing heavily, spittle dripping from his scarred chin and onto the hem of Cyruss's robe. It was utterly repulsive.

Cyruss grabbed a handful of his robe and swished it away from the drooling man before speaking.
"Look, you ignorant little worm. I cannot accept nor decline allegations from you that the Shadowstone came from the Manifest. It's not the government's business to regulate trade in the Manifest. We just. Don't. Care. Okay? This is no elaborate government plot to steal your little golden doll. The majority of the Manifest are not religious, anyway"

The angry man started shouting again,
"I know you DAMN magic using heathens aren't religious! That's not the DAMN point! That DAMN Idol has the ability to make each DAMN harvest a bountiful one! And you want it so that your DAMN people don't starve!

Cyruss shook his head. He was losing patience quickly.
"You in-bred, stupid gorilla! I don't care about a 'bountiful harvest'! No one with any power in the Manifest cares about a harvest! We'll eat whether the harvest was good, or if there was famine! You know what happened? Some Sorcerer with the an affinity for enchantment made a black rock that summons homicidal shadows. Then he took that rock, and sold it to some enterprising young ruffian, who then high-tailed it to your lands and wreak havoc on your addle-brained kind, you twit! So what you should do, is march your unwashed ass back to your little realm, perform, if you can, an organized investigation, which I'm sure will reveal to you, some revenge seeking boy who's mother you raped because you're too brutish to woo any woman into your arms. I swear to the heavens, if you could get any dumber..." His voice trailed as he shook his head, exasperated, watching as the angry man stormed from the hall.

Cyruss slipped back into his plush chair, and cast a quick enchantment over himself that calmed him, letting his heart rate return to normal. He'd much rather just killed the furious fool, but that kind of thing looks bad in the normal lands. He missed the morally void Manifest, where no one was in anybody's business, just because people got killed for those sorts of things. He put one hand on the center table and began to gently tap his fingernails against the wood, as he observed the Mercenary King, or whatever he called himself, preach about war. He chuckled when the one voice, piping up against the rest called the Mercenary King a fool. Nothing quite as funny as anonymous insults.

These people were slowly driving Cyruss crazy...

Lord Vistor and his 10 fully armed guards rode slowly up the cobbled path towards the small town. In front of him his elite men shoved there way throught the unnormaly large crowd, desperatly trying to clear a way up to the parlimentary hall for there chief. Vistor took a deep breath of the sweet air that seemed to fill the town and the surrounding wood.
Ahhh

Todays 'meeting' was important beyond belife and Vistor could sence the tention radiating from the building. Befor the hall even came into sight he could hear the shouts and crys from inside. He laughed slightly to himself. Oh how he loved these meetings! As he dismounted his Plains rhino and began to walk the steps that lead to the great wooden door, his mind changed to the reason he had been summon today. He hadnt realy understood to be honest. All he knew was that EVERYONE was here.

With two guard at his side he approtched the old and slightly ageing door and with all his strength shoved it open. It swung at an alarming rate and clashed with the wall creating an earsplitting bomb that echoed around the room. Vistor stood silhoetted against the opening for a moment more befor looking up and entering. Many heads turned and steared silently at his hugh height and powerful aura. This was why he loved these meetings. Just because he was a minotaur, people treated him with so much respect. He may as well be in charge.

He strode into the rooms centre, hooves clacking on the tiled floor.
"Whos running todays show?!" he called out above the returning voices.

__________________

"Lets dance in style, lets dance for a while.
Heavan can wait were only watching the stars.
Hopeing for the best but expecting the worst,
are you gana drop the bomb or not?"

please click here:

Folseig smirked to himself at the idiocy of Lord Vistor question. Whos running todays show?! Ha, to think that such a fool even made it to be in charge of nation. The Minotaur thought that everyone treated him with respect? Well, some yes to his face. Those spineless leaders will be weeded out in time. But almost all still snickered about the defeat his people suffered. They were almost wiped out and then they think they can come in here and act like that. If anyone should be shown respect it should be the victors not those who were crushed.

"I'll raise my offer on the live stock." The voice broke Folseig's chain of thoughts, but as always buisness calls the weary ear.
"I'll give you a contract ensuring the tallow production stay level or increases for the next year and 3 months. If you provide my tanneries with enough cow hide to last the end of winter.

The elf who broke his concentraion was a trade minister from some nation that Folseig didn't really care about. But the tallow was in demand in Inni and they had not the production scale to meet them. These meetings were tedious in extreme on many occasions.
"The livestock for your tanneries will stay your demand, if you can ballance your tallow production for the next year and five months." The elf slowly nodded in agreement and held out his hand. Folseig took it and shook...

__________________

''I'll paint the highway with your blood, In the morning light no one will recognize you"

Queen Tlalli Vraiea sat in her chair as if it were a throne, arms resting lazily on the rests, dusky skin and features composed and aloof but, as time wore steadily on and on, they began to reveal little tics of irritation. It was tiresome, to say the least to hear all the shouting and raised voices. This is why we Varteni stay in our own jungle away from these barbarians, she thought. Her nostril twitched and an eyebrow raised to hear the man beside her, Cyruss Sielsted, speak to the foul-mouthed man. Tlalli was no lover of ignorant men, as he who Cyruss was speaking to obviously was, but even less did she love Cyruss, a pompous, heathenish mage who could only with the greatest of difficulty hold his tongue. She tried not to cringe at his rough words, and instead the queen’s dark brows lowered over her darker eyes. Unlike her people, she was not superstitious of magic and witchery. Tlalli just despised those who used it.

“Perhaps if you better regulated your evil witchery there would be less havoc to wreak,” she intoned in a high, cultured voice, despite the thick, nearly incomprehensible accent of the deep jungles of Varteni, dark eyes piercing him from under her brow. A finger absently stroked one of her many feathers that adorned her costume teal and leopard-skin costume, and her gold jewelry jingled a little, plumage shifting, as she turned to the mage. Her face was evidently proud, though it was rightly so. She knew she was quite a sight and a presence, and she knew she had power in this madhouse called a Parliament. Behind the Queen’s seat, her two Varteni guards armed with spears shifted to hear her speak should they be needed. “We Varteni have too begun to feel the effects of your unrestricted magics on our jungles, and the gods are not happy.” She frowned at him, voice polite but with restrained anger. “The animals have dwindled, trees are dying.” Tlelli waved a disgusted hand at him. “You heathens are far too ignorant of lands around you,” she finished. “And you will learn to control your mages and your magics,” Tlelli added in a barely concealed threat. Her voice wasn’t whiney, or pleading, as might be expected of a woman as young as she. Everything she said was a statement of fact, almost uncaring except for the tiny waver in her voice. Tlelli felt she had a duty to protect her jungles, to protect her people from the cruel witchery of The Manifest, the country that probably worried the Varteni most in their isolated little jungle.

Tlelli raised a hand and snapped it. A servant came to her, and without looking up she ordered, “Tea. Hot and strong.” The servant ran off just as the big Minotaur burst into the hall. Despite her warrior training Tlelli jumped. She narrowed her eyes even more, glaring at the big creature. She was afraid of it, of course. It wasn’t human, and it wasn’t normal. And it was far too big. But she would never show her fear. Varteni at a young age were taught to conceal their emotions behind a stoic mask.

But then Queen Tlelli turned her attention back to the mage Cyruss. She didn’t want him to think she had forgotten about him. “The Varteni will not remain silent on this issue for much longer, Ambassador.”

__________________
You were wondering why I'm so busy with RP's and characters?

My RP business card.

Cyruss was visibly fuming again. Queen Tlelli, preaching on about the 'the evils of magic' and 'living with the land'. He leaned forward in his seat, put a hand tentatively to his forehead, and let out a deep sigh. At least, he thought, this one is attractive. He bit his tongue while the so-called Queen of the jungle idiots complained about how a very successful, very powerful nation was run, while her people wore fur and lived in huts. The stress of his job compounded when Lord Vistor burst into the room, all lightning and thunder, screaming obnoxiously about people in charge. The talking bi-pedal cow, of which intelligent was far too strong of word, thought he was just oh so much more than he really was. Just because he saved a race that would be much better on a dinner plate than on the Parliament, he assumed he could just waltz around all high and mighty, as if he was an actual leader of some sort of important people.

Cyruss turned back to Queen Tlelli as she continued her tirade. He had a general rule when in Parliament, if spoken to civilly, he would do his very best to return the favor. However, what with recent events of a barbarian's petty problem, a cow capable of speech, and the fact that Queen Tlelli's jungle savages were far from civilized, Cyruss could not help but verbally assault the proud woman.

"Do I have a sign on me? Does it read anywhere on my person 'Savages! This is the man you want to talk to! He cares!' Because I do not! The Varteni won't remain silent on the issue? Well, how utterly terrifying, and how much political weight does your nation carry? Your economy is almost completely self-sufficient, so you have no economic ties to any nation. You believe in gods that no one else in the world even remembers, so you're a religious outcast. Your military is nothing but a bunch of sweaty tribals with bows and spears. You have little to no cultural influence on anything. Tell me, Queen, why are you even on this council? Shouldn't you be banging rocks together?"

Harsh, he had to admit. But these people! Did their brains process things too slowly? Did they go through a whole different thought process? This was why The Manifest relied so heavily on the drug Reesen. No one could form any sort of opinion while on the stuff. So many times he'd thought about just dropping pounds of it into the water here. The entire world bending at his will. Sadly, the Six Men of the Manifest absolutely forbade any sort of foul play while in the Parliament, including the use of minor mind enchantments and illusions. It was amazing what the one simple illusion on a contract, one word manipulated to look like something completely different, could do to a realm.

As the servant returned with Queen Tlelli's tea, Cyruss was reminded of the little corners of his stomach gurgling at him. He addressed the servant they way they should be addressed, condescendingly.
"I need you to retrieve something for me, maggot. Meat. Pig Meat-" He cut himself short as he looked at the minotaur again, "No. Beef, slices of beef. Cut the fat off. It's repulsive. Actually, put the beef fat on a plate, and give it to the overly loud bovine herd leader. Don't tell him who it's from" He chuckled, amused at his joke. Nothing quite as funny as an anonymous insult.

Standing at one end of a long burled table, Clauhawk rested his hands atop his walking axe and let his weight fall upon the tool. Along the sides of the table, nearly a dozen of his kin sat on high benches pointing at scattered parchment pieces strewn about and whispering to one another about policies and procedure. At the opposite end of the table, 2 rough looking orks stood listening and waiting. They looked completely out of place amongst the short, wide men - all with heavily bearded faces. Clauhawk exhaled in a slight snort and decided to get involved in matters that concerned his nation. The orks looked a bit nervous when he moved. They knew he had a reputation for having a fiery temper and on occasion, taking action that was regrettable.

"See here green skin..." he spoke calmly, but in a very stern albeit raspy voice. "We have granted you access to our lands so that you may move your military pieces as you wish across them as you see fit, but we-" He was cut off by one of the tall creatures with an under bite. "AT AN OUTRAGEOUS FEE YOU DO!" The ork protested Clauhawk's admission of kindness. The stout chieftan picked up his walking axe and slammed it to the stone floor once before continuing. The motion silenced the frustrated ork in an instant. "BUT WE CANNOT HAVE YOU MOVING YOUR ARMIES ACROSS OUR LANDS ONLY TO HAVE YOU ATTACK OUR DWARVEN ALLIES!" His tone was no longer calm. He seemed irritated that he was not allowed to finish his words in a singular thought. "If you continue to act this way with your military power, we will be forced to break the contract AND THE NEXT ARMIES YOU SEND NEAR OUR BORDERS WILL SEE THEIR HEADS UPON PIKES!" He finished in a louder, but less irritated tone. The 2 orks looked at one another for a few seconds, then left the table without saying a word.

With slightly belabored breathing from being so outraged, Clauhawk picked up a heavy iron mug filled with sweet ale and took a long sip. When the orks were out of sight, he glanced around at his advisors through half-closed eyes and a great smirk on his face. "Sure did give 'em the business eh boys!" He laughed hardily as he finished and his staff laughed with him. Dwarfs loved making foreigners uncomfortable. Still, his point was valid and he was pleased that his business was handled. As the other dwarfs went back to bickering quietly over the multitude of treaties laid out before them, the curious chieftain leaned back and peered around a massive pillar that blocked his view of much of the room.

He watched as two evident leaders - both laden in trinkets - minced words and gestured wildly while doing so. He could not hear them over the terrible din in the hall, but it was obvious they were not discussing their favorite foods. It was funny for Clauhawk to think about how both of these were humans and yet they looked so very different. He rolled his eyes and pulled his pipe from beneath his armor plate. Jamming it between his lips, he packed it with some sour leaf; mashing the tender material down into the base so that he could stuff a little more in. The creak was faint as the large front doors swung open, but the slam of them hitting the walls was so startling that Clauhawk fumbled with his pipe and watched it drop to the floor. His eyes were wide and he had instinctively thrown both hands around his axe.

"What in Boor's name is that!" he asked loudly to no one in particular. "Why... that cow is walking upright I reckon!" He paused at the thought and spoke again, this time looking at his staff who was equally surprised by the newcomer. "Think I'll introduce myself to that behemoth and see if wants a drink with us!" Clauhawk was a fearsome warrior, but he had no fight with this creature and enjoyed learning about distant cultures. He took another sip of his ale, picked his pipe up and slapped it down in front of one of the other dwarfs. "Fill this up for me will ya, Hagfred? I'm goin' to make some friends... or enemies if he doesn't like me" he laughed as he waddled off toward the beast.

__________________

Oh So Lonely
The Truth Hurts
Home of the 'Mythical' Creatures
The Legend of the Pact
Clan Wars

A slack jaw, then pursed lips. Flared nostrils. Narrowed eyes. The feathers on Queen Tlelli’s clothes were vibrating softly, belying the rage beneath them. She had never been so vagrantly insulted in all her life. “Savages?” she said, trying but failing miserably at keeping her voice cool and even. Very slowly she placed her hands on the table before her, and with agonizing slowness she pushed herself to her feet. “Who are you to call us savages?” Voice still low, but trembling a little with intensity. “What do you do here? You, arrogant man, are here to insult others, who might otherwise be friends? The reason the Varteni have little power internationally is because we choose not to. We choose peace and tolerance over war and….name-calling!” Tlelli’s voice had risen considerably, and the two guards behind her shifted forward, gripping their spears a little tighter.

For once Tlelli didn’t care about the eyes on them. Her only focus was the arrogant Cyruss. “But let me tell you, Ambassador,” she said, eyes widening with wrath, “at any moment the Varteni are willing to break that peace if it means stopping foolish mongrels such as you.”

Was she wrong to threaten war? Yes. The Varteni were in no condition to begin a war, especially not with the mages of Cyruss’ chaotic country. But what could she do? Tlelli was never one to sit and take offense, especially not from someone she barely knew. Especially not being called a savage. That was an insult that could never be forgiven.

Suddenly, fueled by rage and insult, a brown hand flew out and slapped the mage right across the face, and then suddenly grasped a place on his neck. Not only was it a pressure point, but it was connected to the vital jugular. “Continue to insult me, Ambassador,” she hissed, taught with ire, “and we will see just how savage I can get.”

__________________
You were wondering why I'm so busy with RP's and characters?

My RP business card.

Vistor peered around the room looking for any response to his question. Many quailing heads had turned there attention to him and paused in there bickering to examine the beast. But none had reacted to show a sign of leadership of any kind. Vistor nodded to his well armed guards and took his place at the end of a crowded bench, causing the other occupants to shift along irritably. This whole things was a complete mess! No order what so ever flowed into this hall. To be perfectly honest, parliamentary meetings were just one big excuse to scream at each other. He took up a mug of mead that rested on a table in front of him, downing it he began to observe the room.

Across the sea of shouting heads two figures took his attention the most. The first was dressed in such fine robes of all patterns, beautiful accessories lined her whole outfit and gave her the appearance of being a beautiful bird of the far jungle lands. Vistor lowered the mug and turned to the human sitting beside him. "Excuse me sir, but tell me... who is that floral lady across from me.?"
The small rat looking man swivelled round to face the minotaur, a look of absolute terror crossed his face for a moment and he clumsily re-adjusted his glasses. Seeing the fear in the mans eye Vistor added:
"Do not be alarmed. I’m as humanoid as you friend."
"Well, err... that is Queen Tlelli of the Varteni. Such stunning furs..." The man seemed to drift of before shaking his head and carrying on. "She rules over the jungle lands to the South west."
Vistor nodded slowly and replied: "Hmmm yes. For a woman she seems of a great strength. Strange that i am drawn to her... my lands also lie in the southwest. The Nesingway plains. I believe that there is jungle just north of them." As he watched, Queen Tlelli struck out and slapped the man who she was communicating with hard across the cheek. then grabbed him forcefully by the neck.

Vistor leapt up to the surprise of his guards and began to shove his way through the crowd. As he neared the row where his target was sitting, still grasping the, now purple, mans neck a servant stepped into his path and held forth a plate of fat.
"What the-," Vistor began shocked, then smiled realising the practical joke. Beef fat. he was a cow. How funny.
"A gift for you from-" The servant began but before he could finish Vistor picked up the greasy mess and swallowed it.
"Please return to your master and send him my best regards."
Shocked at Vistors reaction, the servant scurried away, along the row and right upto the purple man.
Vistor smiled again and began to walk forward.

__________________

"Lets dance in style, lets dance for a while.
Heavan can wait were only watching the stars.
Hopeing for the best but expecting the worst,
are you gana drop the bomb or not?"

please click here: