"It appeared over Stonebrook, in a flash of lightning. Laughter echoed out over the small, shadow drenched hamlet; laughter heavy with the fervent zeal of a man condemned by a growing madness! The fortress, Illixion's forgotten fortress, the very same, I swear, unleashed a torrent of arcane horrors! The dead rose and the sky belched torrents of blood, people screamed in such pain that the Gods themselves are sure to have heard! Creatures beyond comprehension flooded from the depths of the looming, monstrous structure; taking flight on wings of crumbling crystal, plummeting to the earth with a deafening crash; tearing the world asunder where they fell! The midnight hour became an eternity of woe and terror that consumed all of those involved...I did not escape unscathed, m'lord."
The ragged poet unbent his knee, standing before the King, his scarlet garb tattered and torn, directing weary eyes to the velvet clad King of Drasil. Ponderously, the old man stood, his legs creaking in the utter silence, letting loose a quiet grunt as he gathered his prodigious cloak about his withered form. Guards shifted carefully from their positions against the far walls of the court, breaths drawn quietly as they stared on; keen on discovering what would be said next. Anxiousness flooded the room, charging the silence with a sinister undertone. A withered hand raised, slowly and came to a rest over a shallowly rising chest. Gray brows drooped, heavy with consternation, icy eyes staring out; ensorceled by the macabre fantasy presented to him.
"What is your name, boy?"
King Xade's voice was more impressive than his stooped form, deep and rich, empowered by years of command; an effective bludgeon against the mounting tension. The poet lowered his head for a moment, allowing blood matted auburn locks to fall over his face. His throat worked silently for a moment and his hands trembled, pressed to his side. He seemed frantic, shifting back and forth on his feet, a deep, tight grimace forming on his angular face.
The smoothness of his voice had faded, becoming harsh and bitter at the question; displeasure plain on his face. Something ominous settled over the room, setting hairs on end and kissing the spines of all the particularly perceptive with a rolling chill. The King seemed oblivious, while others exchanged worried glances and murmurs. A shift occurred beneath the poet's crimson clothes, a decompression of ethereal energies, dispelling the illusion flawlessly held before. What stood before them, now, was a tall, lithe creature wrapped in a suit of dark leather strips; bound with buckles of bone and gold. Where the handsome face of the poet had been was a simple, white mask; porcelain cracked and worn, yellow eyes staring out from the jagged, uneven holes.
"I...am Gahris Ghal. Wielder of the Black Stone. Woe betide you, wretched worms."
Well, well, well, thank you for taking time to read through the little bit of flavor/information/introduction I decided to throw in there! So, now, that's out of the way. Welcome, one and all to the Interest Check for the upcoming high fantasy/horror role play titled, obviously, The Black Stone.
Brief Rundown of Concept and Current Events: I've been dying to engage in a free form high fantasy role play for some time; something with competent role players and a huge vat of fuckin' creativity. So, this is where The Black Stone came from. The idea is pretty simple, over all; I want to have fun in a dark setting and develop a pretty heavy plot as we go. This is going to require a lot of communication and cooperation between players, so I decided to bring it into advanced. For now, I suppose I should give the current events rundown.
This will be taking place in the Kingdom of Drasil (which is largely undeveloped, so I'm expecting some creativity on the part of the players), which has recently lost its King by way of assassination; courtesy of the immortal Black Stone Wielder, Gahris Gahl; a man rumored to have met his demise nearly two hundred years prior to his reappearance.
The Kingdom is in turmoil, awaiting the coronation of Crown Prince Rynph Sielen; suffering periodic raids from the nomadic tribes from the Hattavori Desert, which lies to the East, beyond the small range of mountains that serves as their border. Rumors spread through the Thieves' Guild, to the Merchant's Lodge, all the whispers claiming that a dark sorcerer leads the savages to the heart of Drasil. The Queen, Tana Sielen, has sent out a summons; by way of her most able agents, to reach the famous, or perhaps even infamous, heroes of the realm, requesting their presence at the turbulent court.
Beyond the apparent threats to Drasil, there are dark stirrings in the flow of the world. Creatures entombed by antiquity begin to lurch their way to the forefront of the conflict; sinister machinations of ages past put into motion once more. The forgotten fortress of Illixion the Mad, appearing over the ruined city of Stonebrook is the first hint of the encroaching, secret perils. Gahris Ghal, the wielder of the Black Stone, observes it all; biding his time.
Thanks, again for reading. Please post your interest, or any questions you may have right here! I know it's rough, but it's late and I'm damned tired. Gimme a break