Roleplayer Guild - Roleplay Forum

A greying man with thick spectacles and a brushy beard limped out from behind the woven curtain. The stage he stood upon moaned under the pressure of his thick oaken staff. The elderly man came to a podium with various notes and books placed on its slanted top. He smoothed out his dull, worn green tunic, and gave a furtive grin; he wouldn't need these writings to tell this tale. Looking up, clearing his throat, the man began. The strength of his voice defied the frailty of his body. It easily filled the roofless auditorium.

"Years, many years into the past, there was a great, untouched stretch of forest. She was beautiful and majestic in all senses; life teemed in her branches, plants thrived under her canopy, brooks and rivers chugged along pristinely. This forest formed a barrier between two great nations with two benevolent rulers: Naetz of the lush Ba'ran Empire and Resthae of the barren Larctas Kingdom. Both had decreed the forest to be sacred, and, thus, no one would carry iron, let alone a blade, amongst those trunks.

"You may be wondering where I'm going with this. Worry not, fledgelings, I'm just giving you a little backstory... Anyways, as I was saying, Ba'ran and Larctas had a great peace. From this peace, the forest was promised eternal protection.

"Or, so it was believed."

The torches were put out, setting the auditorium awash in the tides of absolute darkness. The old man raised a hand, and green flames arose around him. The light cast by the blaze made him appear sickly in nature. His hand was lowered, pounded angrily into the podium. Then, he drew a sharp breath and continued.

"Years after the decree, both men were assassinated. It is assumed that they were killed by the same organization, but that's one of the plethora of myths surrounding the killings. Regardless of who did it, what happened was still the same: The forest lost its divine status, and people began to filter into it. Though many entered, few survived.

"Then came Estrar Ristrik. He had many names throughout history; the first Wispbrood, the Feral, the Woodheart... But many of you know of him as the first Grandmaster.

"One day, a caravan owned by an aspiring merchant pushed through the forest. They had but one guard, a man that was born with an untapped affinity for the forest. And, just as he had an affinity for the wood, the wood had an affinity for him. The greenery enchanted him; the beauty surrounding him enslaved his soul. Estrar led the caravan through the forest with finesse and skill never seen by the merchant or his assistants.

"The caravan owner was thankful to be alive, let alone in one piece. After Estrar had expressed interest in starting his own business, the merchant offered him half of the profits of his goods for trips back and forth between the nations. Needless to say, both men became rich quickly.

"More people heard of Estrar's services, and asked to be led with the caravan. The number became too great for him to lead after a while; that was when he formed the predecessor Order.

"Many different types joined the ranks; sellswords looking to make an extra silver or two were most common. There were some druids that sought to lessen the damage people had on the environments they moved through, though. Within the first moon, this groupng of guides was up to fifty guides, including Estrar. It was decided that, with so many individuals, they would need more organization, more... Order.

"And so the Order was formed. Many moons passed, and the land chosen by the Order was developed. The structures have evolved over time, of course; after countless bandit raids when few remained at home, the smattering of shacks among the trees became a great fortress of wood with a constant source of fish and water.

"There isn't much to tell after that; the Order elected Tasksetters to give us our tasks, and started publicizing. It's been over a century since the Order was formed... Alas, I'm afraid I must cut this short. You don't need to hear about successful Woodsmen of the past, you simply must make yourselves even moreso successful. Thank you for listening, everyone."

By the end, the old man looked quite worn out. Pulling himself with his staff more than he was walking, he wearily moved off of the stage. The green flames died down, and the torches burst back to life. Applause rang into the night from the crowd.




All members of the Order of Woodsmen live in the Fortress. It is a structure made of wood, vine, and the rare stone. Though it is imposing on the outside, the interior is welcoming and cozy. It is also well-ventilated; the air is, on average, much cooler indoors than the outdoors during the summer months.

The sections of the Fortress are separated into Gardens. There are three of them, with distinct purposes for each.

Central Garden:
The entry to the Fortress is here, as well as the Lorekeeper and Recordkeeper rooms, and the Tasksetter chamber. There is also a subterranean bath house. Very little time is spent here by anyone but the guards stationed here.

East Garden:
The storage and training areas are here. Recruits come to the East Garden to be outfitted with proper weaponry and armoring, as well as continuing learning by the Order's trainers. All manner of weapon, from bows and crossbows to sabres and claymores (though heavy blades are strongly frowned upon) are kept in a well-organized room. Stockpiled grain, dried fruits, and other resources are found here, as well, in a subterranean warehouse. The Order's blacksmith and tanner makes their homes here.

West Garden:
The residential quarters are here. There is a small tavern with bards that perform as per a rotation set by the Drink-keeper. There are also three stories of private quarters for the live-in staff of the facility, as well as the members of the Order that are taking a respite from life in the wild. Toward the back, the first floor covers a small river with many fish. A bridge spans the river. On the other side is the mess hall and kitchen. Three meals are prepared here daily. Members can also pick up rations for their journeys here.

( ( OOC Note: Anyone can be a member of the Order so long as they provide a useful service; thus, you can be of nearly any age, build, et cetera, as long as you have some sort of talent. ) )

Spectral white light seeped through the apertures in the dense canopy overhead. Beautiful sliver rays washed over the floor of the forest, dousing everything in an ethereal lambency. The sound of a bluebirds hymn was clearly audible, as was the soft gurgling of a small stream. Petite wildflowers grew in every cleft, and encircled the bottoms of trees.

A young maiden sat perched on the trunk on a fallen tree. Her lofty legs dangled a few inches about the ground, and her mane of curly strawberry blonde hair was appeared slightly untidy, yet there was a celestial air to the surroundings. A wicker basket rested beside her, herbs lever with the rim of the cradle. She attempted, in vain, to smooth down the large ringlets which seemed to consume her entire face.

Evelyn, the Order’s pharmacist, had been currently busying herself with collecting herbs. Rarely did people get sick, and so she was usually out of a job. Meandering around the Fortress did not exactly blow her skirt up either. Evelyn was a lady who thirsted for adventure and excitement. Needless to say, both were rather sparse in her area of work.

The woman felt as if she was simply existing. There was no passion, her world had mutated into something dull and boring and controlled. She just sat, contemplating for hours. Wary of time and the fact she would probably be expected back. But even if she wanted to go back, there was a slight road block she faced. There was that small nagging fact, that she was in fact completely lost.

ooc; sorry it's so short. writers block. =[

Amper pounded furiously at a fiery orange tip between his steel maul and the ancient blacksmith iron before shoving the glowing blade into the forge. After a brief moment, he ripped the blade back out with heavy tongs and smashed at the cutting edge once again. Within minutes the blade was pounded into a fine slicing edge and thrown into the cooling water where clouds of steam gushed upwards, escaping the heat of the tempered metal. Almost as quickly as the finished blade hit the water, an apprentice shuffled over and tonged the blade out. The sharpened blade was then hastily transported to another room where the blacksmith apprentices and students fit the blades into their respective dagger or short sword handles, bound together effectively with a soldering metal.

Daggers and short swords. Amper, finished forging the last weapon for the day, stomped into the fitting room and gazed at the weapons being dilligently bound and formed. Daggers and short swords. Amper hated small weapons.

After a band of poachers were found hacking at trees near the fortress the other week, a new ordinance was passed to severely limit the production of heavy blades to nearly zero. Amper's whole intial motive to ever become a blacksmith was the prospect of being a great axesmith and claymore forger, pounder of bastard swords. But the dream was just recently stifled by ordinance that had nothing to do with the weapon production of the Order itself, and this angered Amper who was minimized to meager dagger production.

Perhaps with all these daggers I'm making, there will be a rise in backstabs. He smiled at his own pessimism. Either way, he was done for today. Reduced to only making small weapons, he could crank them out rather quickly and be done with his weekly quota very prematurely. Then again smithing weapons was his favorite pass time. Amper grumbled.

The East Garden's live arms practice room was alight with activity. A cool breeze, one not of nature's crafting, wafted through the halls of maple, cedar, and oak. The spectacle in the training room truly wasn't all that impressive to the ranger in the center of it all.

His hands, wrapped in fingerless tanned hide gloves that reached up to midway between wrist and elbow, gripped a pair of blades. His right hand thrust forth a rapier with its tip pointed downward, and his left arm was drawn back. He held a skinning blade in that hand, wielded in a way that favored stabbing and slashes when thrown similar to a hooked punch.

Cuts ran up and down the bandages on his arms. Blood did not shine through the bound cloth, so it was fairly reasonable to guess that they were meant for warmth and protection, what with how thick they were. The wrappings looked like they went clear up to his shoulders from his fingers, as his digits were wrapped to an extent, as well.

Over a black, tucked shirt with a minor cut in the stomach, the ranger wore a longcoat, held to his body by way of a tightened belt. Unlike most of his other clothing, the coat was unscathed. Its sleeves only went as far as mid-upper arm, with slits in the leather to promote maneuverability of the arms. The bottom of the coat dipped to his knees. Its tail was split at his lower back for the same reason as the split in his arms.

"Come on, you expect to impress anyone like that?!" Kayrm shouted. From behind him, he heard a battlecry. For an instant, one could see a wildfire rip through the foresty greens of his irises. When the cry hit its estimated peak, Kayrm turned to his right. and swung out his rapier-hand. The guard over his fist caught the enemy, a youth caught mid-swing with a sabre, square in the jaw. The hit dazed the young one, keeping him in position for Kayrm's series of hits; he spun on the ball of his right foot until his left side faced his opponent, then he kicked out. His rawhide boot smacked into the young one's shoulder. The foot was slammed down, and Kayrm spun on the left foot. This time, his right side was lined up with the enemy. He delivered a much more powerful high kick to his jaw, sending him into the air, and onto his back. Kayrm spun one last time, putting him between the lad's legs. The tip of his rapier was at the child's throat.

Both were drawing heavy breaths. With each inhale of fresh air the grounded youth took, a hiss chased soon after. Kayrm, meanwhile, wore a smirk.

He pulled his sword away from the child's throat. Both of his weapons were slipped into his belt, the knife into a scabbard and the rapier in between his coat and belt. Kayrm took a few steps back, and swept his gaze over the crowd.

"And, that, friends... Is how you lose a bet."

The young ranger walked toward one of the exits of the room, using a hand to push a length of wheaten blond hair out of his face. The boy had cut his hairband out during the fight; he would need to find more black cloth, a task that isn't exactly simple when surrounded by men with a strange preference for green. The crowd parted quickly to let the victorious combatant take his leave.

( ( Sorry if this post isn't so great... I was a little angry while writing it. ) )

He sat atop a druidic cairne stone in the middle of a clearing not far from the fort, his eyes rolled back into his head as small bits of each of the four elements ;thin sheets of flame, small pebbles, droplettes of water, and thin wisps of smoke; floated around him. He wispered to himself as the fledgling elementals coalesced together into a larger globe about the size of a small melon. Uuriya's eyes returned to normal and he looked at the ball just as a face appeared in the middle. "Vel'bol orn'la dos joros d' arlathil waelin uss" is said in a voice that deep resonate voice. "I am in need of guidance, I'm not sure what I supposed to be doin' here. It was because you dat I came, and I've yet to recive a sign of what to do, so I be askin again." Uuriya replied. "Usstan orn tesso dos vel'drav dos mzulst talinth ol orn sha'nalt" it said, and dissapated back into it's four base elements,which scattered through the forest. He let out a long sigh and jumped off the stone and set back to the fort. ((Sorry if mine isn't as good as the others, or as big. And the language the ball is using is drow.))

( ( Really sorry about not posting; I've been really busy. That should change for a bit, luckilly. ) )

Kayrm had made his way to the bath-house after leaving the beaten child to pick up the shattered pieces of his pride. Firelight, rare anywhere within the Order's walls, was just as scarce in the subterranean chamber; rather, bioluminescent fungi grown from the roughly-hewn walls provided a comforting emerald light. The ground, stone, just as the walls, had more care put into its crafting; a mosaic of a great tree adorned the floor. The tiles were of differing sizes , though all were polished to a perfect smoothness.

The tinted stone underfoot chilled Kayrm's bared feet. As of yet, he was only without boots, gloves, and coat. His hands grasped the back of his shirt's neck, moving to pull it off. Just as the fabric passed over his nose, though, he stopped moving.

The ranger was no longer alone.

Kayrm turned around. His shirt fell down once more. The stairway providing entry to the room was obstructed by a figure barely as imposing as its mushroom-cast shadow would cause one to think. It spoke with a meek, shaky, though definitely male voice.

"R-ranger Kayrm, sir... The Tasksetters, they wish to speak with you."

Kayrm nodded, and gave a heavy sigh. He and this specific male got on rather well on most occasions. He was simply the bearer of bad news today; it happens to everyone, he had to remind himself.

"Worry not," Kayrm said in his typical hushed tone. "I'll be on my way momentarily. Thank you, young one. You may take your leave."

The boy, an initiate, no doubt, turned to return to the surface. He was no doubt on his way to give others their summons. Kayrm turned away from the stairs once more. As he continued to strip, the ranger muttered to himself.

"Recently... The Order has sent out groups for tasks, rather than single members. Yes, we are all growing more specialized, but..." He trailed off into a hiss. "Why does it matter? Perhaps we're just... Becoming more important, noticeable, may the Wisp help us all."

((I'm nervous since this is my first post here, but I believe I can just jump in right? If there's an application process I accidentally bypassed, then I am very sorry.))

As usual, Nainsi was reclining in the tavern of the West Garden. She sat hunched over at a table, her green eyes reflected in the pitcher of ale that was getting staler with every passing second.

Here was her dilemma. She'd paid for the ale, no small feat since her funds were always running on empty. Yet as soon as she had recieved it, she'd entirely lost the urge to drink. That was weird enough. She was not the type of person to pass up a drink, free or not. Even rarer was the fact that, for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like getting drunk.

But she'd paid for the drink. To her, that was the same as writing a contract in blood.

Good Lord, my life is boring. I can't believe this is my biggest problem right now. By the Wisp, I'm so bored I can't even get the energy to get up and do something...

Suddenly a boy appeared in front of her, a nervous-looking creature that kept looking her up and down. A messenger, unsure of whether or not the message was for her.

She propped her cheek up on the palm of her hand. "Who do you need?"

"Um...a Miss Nainsi?"

"That's me."

"Oh...The Tasksetters wish to speak with you, Miss."

She stared down at the ale and pouted. "But I haven't finished my drink yet. Can't they wait?"

"Um...but it's the Tasksetters -"

"Oh, fine." She allowed herself to linger in her depression for another moment or two, until it was suddenly interrupted by the emergence of a Bright Idea. With a big grin, she pushed the pitcher to the boy's side of the table. "Okay, I'm off. You take it! Consider it my treat!" I'm such a good person!

Before the boy could respond, she got up and left, her red curls bouncing behind her. This left the boy, who still had other messages to deliver, to stare at the leftover pitcher of ale. "Um...but..."

The boy shuffled into the armory where Apprentice Smiths completed the duties Amper had set for them. They worked silently but industriously, binding the remaining blades to their handles and taking accurate inventory. Before the boy could open his mouth, a hooded Apprentice noticed him, then pointed towards a ragged tarp hanging limply over a descending opening. Nodding politely, the boy quietly entered the opening and spiraled down dark cobblestone. As he continued downward, a heavy and loud clanging echoed up the narrow stairwell accompanied by straining grunts. The temperature was increasing with each step and the boy became a bit reluctant to take another step and almost worried.

Finally the stairs ended and he was on the edge of an immense room with a massive forge, shirtless Amper raising a pounding maul high above his head and then bringing it swiftly down upon a the blades of a great axe that would, when finished, easily stand higher than Amper himself. The maul bludgeoned the red blade and sparks ricocheted off Amper's chest and arms as he reached up for another blow. Sweat, glowing orange with the forge's fire, coated his body and fell off in waves with each mallet strike. Suddenly, he saw the boy who was wearing the uniform of the Order and, startled, dropped the maul on the ground and sprung in front of the blade he had been working.

“No, wait! I can explain!” Amper shifted so that he was blocking the gigantic weapon laid across six smithing irons. He prepared a great excuse.

The boy's face twisted, puzzled, and then scanned a small scroll, finger running down the parchment until resting on the appropriate line. “Uh... Amper?”

Amper suddenly stood erect, preparing for the worst. How did they know about this room? He imagined Order officials marching down here and retrieving the great weapons he had crafted and stored down here since the Ordinane.

“The Tasksetters wish to see you.”

Amper was caught offguard. The Tasksetters were completely unaffiliated with Ordinace that would effect Amper, and he suddenly felt relieved. Clearly this boy either had no idea of the recent Ordinance or didn't care. After seeing that Amper got the message, the boy disappeared up the stairwell silently and Amper cooled the forge and proceeded upstairs to change into more presentable attire.

On his way to his quarters, he ordered to an Apprentice something about warning him in the future.

Kayrm moved through the wide halls of the Central Garden with a certain eager spring in his step. Within his breast, the male felt a sick anticipation, similar to the thrill of a hunt, though more like the rush of cold-blooded murder in a way. His hands palms shined with a light condensation that was wiped off whenever he had the chance between tugging his clothing on.

The place is a home to nature-walkers; why shouldn't he walk around nude, or at least half-nude? His appendages were firm with tightly-corded muscle, and his torso free of most all fat. All in all, he didn't look all that bad. Still, it was autumn, and the night stretched out over the burnt oranges and muted blues of the sunset. It would soon be cold, hence he dressed a little more quickly whilst he walked.

Kayrm reached a domed room with a pair of heavy double-doors a few moments after stopping to tug on his boots. The architecture had a more ornate feel here. The carved and stained wood here lost its charm long ago, when the wonder of the Order wore off as well.

Without a second thought, he shoved the door open and pushed it closed after him.

---

"Now, Kayrm..."

The weathered voice of the Head Tasksetter was an echoey whisper. Not one member of the Order knew what the Tasksetters looked like, to protect the Tasksetters from retribution by a Woodsman unhappy due to his granted task. For this reason, the Tasksetters sat in a booth above the Chamber of Tasks, shrouded in darkness save for the pale jade bioluminescence of fungal growth adorning their desks. The council of about five men were quite lucky for this choice; the wiry hunter standing in the middle of the cylindrical room was livid.


"No, milord, your request is lunacy! Your loft must have your head in the clouds, to have the notion in your muddled little mind that I can stave off the Wyvernspine Clan, the most god-forsakenly well-equipped band of rogues on the continent, long enough for a bordering nation leagues away to come save the day. You're... You're sending me to my death, milord!" Kayrm's fists were balled, and his back was straight. His head craned upward, with his jaw firmly locked in frustration. "No, no, no, I won't do it... Not unless I have at least two other Woodsmen at my back!"

The voices above whispered to each other. Even with his keen sense of hearing, Kayrm couldn't find a word in the jumble of utterings.

At last, the Head Tasksetter spoke. His voice was darker, more grim than before. "My child, I'm afraid you will be cut off from us in this Task, as it is on the outskirts of the Wood. However--"

Kayrm cut in, stepping forth and whipped his rapier out from between his side and belt to ready it threatening toward the direction that the voices descended from. "Do you intend to listen to my dying breaths, as well as plan them?!"

More whispering trickled down from the chamber's top. A few tense moments passed before Kayrm would untense his arm and return his blade to its rightful place. The Head Tasksetter cleared his throat, and went on, though much more slowly and with frequent pauses to find the right words. "Kayrm... You will not truly be alone. You will be protecting a village with many brave souls eager to protect their homes. You command an army, Kayrm! An army of..."

The Head Tasksetter trailed off after noticing that the Ranger had stopped listening. Kayrm had his back to the Tasksetters. His hand was up, and idly waving. His gloved palm was exposed. "Well," Kayrm looked over his shoulder. A golden tendril, freed of the trappings of his hairband, arched over his eye. "Give me the Task, then, milords. Or, would you rather someone with more of a... Leader-esque presence take it?"

The men overhead deliberated over this issue. It was a well-known fact that Kayrm wasn't exactly mentally-stable; not only that, but he cared for very few people. He could kill, but he couldn't lead. Then, they recalled Kayrm's request.

Two other Woodsmen.

A Tasksetter other than the head of the council spoke this time, a young man with a hoarse voice. "Very well, Kayrm. You may have the Task, as well as your reinforcements." From the roof, the sound of ripped paper echoed down. "You will have the next two that walk through that door at your aid, Mister Hailis. But if they die, you'll be denied leave of the grounds for three moons. Understood?"

Kayrm turned back to the source of the Tasksetters' voice. On his face was a smirk.With a bow, he took the scroll that had been dropped down at the start of the meeting and left the chamber.

Kelsos was wandering through the forest, he had gotten himself lost, again. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he reprimanded himself. He had never had the knack for finding his way through the forest the other woodsmen had, although, he was near unbeatable when it came to surviving, he had always been good at surviving; he wasn't large, nor was he strong, but Kelsos was able to survive on rather miniscule rations and was skilled at living off the land. He suddenly chuckled to himself and added getting lost in the woods to his list of things he was good at. He had come out here to be alone and away from the others; they picked on him for being the newest, most inexperienced woodsman at the fort and he didn't like it.


"Can't they see that I just want to be left alone?" he whispered to himself. He continued to walk aimlessly through the woods; hopefully he would find his own way back and no one would have to come looking for him, like last time, that was embarrasing. Suddenly tripping over an exposed root he found himself face down in the dirt, his dark brown eyes full of grit. He sat up and let his thick black hair fall down over his eyes. "I'll show them all that I can be just as good as them!" he muttered as he rubbed the dirt from his eyes.

Another hour passed while he wandered around. "Time for lunch," he said to himself, looking around for some familiar plants or animals. "Ahh, my favourite food of the land," he said through a grin, as he looked at some strange red mushrooms that he knew were edible and had a rather nice taste. It felt good to sit down and take a rest; the shortsword he had been given had been bouncing on his leg with every step he took and it was beginning to annoy him. "Heh, two days out here now and I didn't bring any supplies from the fort, I would like to see one of the other students try to survive any longer than this without going back to restock on supplies," he laughed at the thought and continued chewing on the raw mushrooms. When he had finished eating he decided he would sleep and allow the woodsmen to come after him, again. He loved being alone, for someone the age of 16 it was strange, but he loved it. He created a pillow of his arms and dropped into a dreamless sleep...

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My latest RP; Done, but not started or posted anywhere.
Disclaimer: Yes, I swear regularly. No, I won't stop: Get over it - where I'm from, this is completely fucking civil.