This thread is always open. I have very few rules beyond general ettiquette and I hope that this thread can serve as a place for users of all experience brackets to have fun.
Sheltered by vast oceans and raging winds, the teardrop shaped continent of Pomria existed in solitude, free to suffer among themselves without fear of the outside world. For centuries, Pomria remained divided. Disorganized, uncivilized, and seemingly forgotten by time itself, its myriad political states warred and schemed amongst themselves without the hope of any single power ever securing dominance, or even a notable legacy amidst the decades of strife. Without a foreign hand to help it, and without any of its ruling families willing to step down from their short lived offices, Pomria was destined to continue putting its population to the sword and its culture to the torch in the name of honor and the right to rule. However, the land's fate was changed when it became a topic of interest among the empires of the realm, slowly crumbling regimes from the far corners of the world that until then had overlooked the small Pomrian continent, far from any larger body of land. Vast forests still covered Pomria, and it was rumored that the scouts and surveyors that had first reached the land had discovered deposits of valuable minerals that the locals had never been able to fully exploit. Rather than risk costly international confrontations many nations opted to adopt a Pomrian nation as their middleman to the resources they sought. For the nations of Pomria, it was often only the offer of a single company's worth of troops or equipment needed to win their loyalty. However, arming the continent proved to be a grave mistake.
Their lust for territory fueled by the breathtaking power of foreign technology and expertise, the Pomrian kings warred as they could never before. In only a single year, the land had been reduced to cinders. Pastures and towns were crushed under jackboots and wagon-wheels. Humans and cattle extinguished in equal measure. Forests devoured to field frigates and fuel furnaces. The Pomrians found themselves abandoned, their former foreign benefactors had left during the violence, been forced out, or simply lost interest in salvaging what little had survived the war. If the utter destruction of their continent held anything positive for the Pomrians, it was that most of their rulers had died with their countries.
From the ruins, they crawled. The people of Pomria had borrowed not only weapons but ideals from the foreigners. Peace, stability, order. The regimes and regalia of the old kings had failed to deliver what the outside world had; what Pomria wanted. Again, the continent burned. With an uncanny unity the many states of Pomria cast off their ruling families and sought leadership elsewhere. At a time when the continent was consumed with questions - Who would rule? How would they rule? Would there be rule? - One man seemed to hold all of the answers. A survivor of both of the wars, a man educated in foreign academies, and quickly accumulating followers among the few settlements left in the wake of the dismantlement. One by one, the depopulated states gave in to the succour promised by the kind hearted, quick witted man and his fellow rebuilders. Cedric of Glinde would deliver Pomria its future, and every tiny parcel of territory he gained made it easier for the others to rally under the banner of his new world.
The continent, now the proud country, of Pomria flourished. Its growth was fueled by Cedric and those like him, visionaries with a dream for a new future; never working in any particular direction except away from the old ways. Cedric of Glinde ruled as Regent, paving the way to a new age for the troubled land. Pomria grew, culturally, economically, militarilly. The memories of imperial meddling during the great war seemed forgotten in the joy of newfound prosperity as trade relations with the outside world were built. From absolutely nothing, Pomria fought its way to opulence and influence. Foreigners flocked to Pomria for trade or leisure, and slowly left their diverse marks on the culture. For thirty years, the future was golden, and it took only one month for all of it to mean absolutely nothing.
The rich earth split, and from the ore ridden ground spilled atrocity that even the tragedy stricken Pomria could not comprehend. No better term than Abomination named the creatures that emerged from the rift, malevolent beings as varied as they were numerous. The tear grew near the capital, the northernmost port city of Pomria, Epirus, and quickly expanded to swallow parts of the city as well as the Regent's palace. Stretching down into the earth, the chasm belched incomprehensible monsters and their bloodthirsty familiars into the world. Behind the legions followed a thick, fast moving fog, a miasma that tainted the very ground in its wake. The Pomrian army, advanced though it was, could do nothing to stop the initial chaos no matter how many companies of pike or ranks of cannon they levied against the fog. The regent and his cabinet disappeared, and the capital burned. In the following weeks, the military attempted to stage a gradual evacuation of the heartlands but were vastly outpaced by the fog, and for a settlement lost in the fog to reestablish contact with the outside world was rare. For the most part, everyone fled south, into the trail of the Pomrian teardrop. Within four weeks, most of the continent was lost to the fogged tide of retribution. In the last days, a spare few roving groups of survivors began to plant themselves as new settlements in the south, preparing as best they could to make their final stand. The majority sought the coast and evacuation.
On the last day, a few hundred unfortunate souls found themselves huddled within a temple on the coast. The once proud, towering marble structure had been abandoned for years when its roll as a lighthouse had been replaced by settlements further up the coast. Its mottled white sides were dashed with ivy and its belfry had been half blown away by the rough coastal winds. Still, the white sentinel stood with dignity over the rocky shores behind it, finally reprising its role as the defender of the weak and hopeless. Without a ship in sight, rescue would not come. Those inside were left to make a choice or make their peace. It would be only a few hours before the fog and the horrors within arrived, and with their backs to the sea there were no more places to run. A ponderous choice had to be made. There were answers in the dark, maybe even a hope of survival. Would they struggle on? How had this happened? Was there anything left to save?
1: Anyone is welcome to apply at any time. This thread will not close. If you're joining midway drop a message in the OOC or PM me if need be and we will work out a way to introduce your character.
2: No godmodding, auto hitting, etc. A general sense of respect and tact goes a long way.
3: The threat of death is very real, do not expect that characters will be able to survive incredibly reckless decisions.
OOC Thread: http://roleplayerguild.com/showthrea...ste-OOC-Thread
Last edited by JamesLD; 3 Days Ago at 09:21 PM.
Lias stood in the cemetery of the old dilapidated temple. The air outside was cool and it brushed over his face, as he stared down at a collection of gravestones. For a moment, Lias forgot about a seemingly inevitable death that awaited him, along with the other survivors in the temple, in the fog. Lias looked up from the grave markers, and into the the impenetrable veil of the fog. What horrors schemed and plotted in the fog, no one knew. Lias had seen a few of the creatures, or 'abominations' as most called them. They were a sight that would haunt Lias forever, however much longer forever would be for Lias. Lias scanned the fog, waiting for some type of unspeakable hell to come bursting forth and destroy the last major group of survivors on Pomria, but nothing came. That was probably the most horrifying part of the fog. It struck without reason or notice. It came in a silence, and left in a crescendo. It was as violent as a squall, and as peaceful as a summer day. In all of Lias' travels, nothing could possibly prepare him for the things he'd experience in Pomria. Lias broke his unflinching stare from the veil, and turned to look around the cemetery. He seemed to be the only one there for now, as the rest of the survivors were huddled inside, devising a way to escape. Some spoke of venturing to the capital, while other voiced the option of swimming. The hopeless prompted others to commit self-destruction. Lias could only see one option. To face the fog where it had originally came from. Trying to leave the continent, or trying to leave the mortal plane, was not even in consideration for the warrior. Lias looked behind him, towards the coast. The fog had yet to completely reach them, but it would no doubt be on them before the day's end. Lias took a good look at the world that was still untouched by the devastation of the fog. It'd be a long time until Lias would see it, again. That is, if he ever saw it again. As Lias turned his head back around and started to stroll through the hallowed ground of the cemetery, he began to ponder of his family. They'd probably be preparing some type of feast for everyone at this point. No matter how destitute the family seemed to be at the moment, there was always money and supplies for a big family supper. Lias smiled slightly as his strolled continued, but the smile soon faded. What would stop the fog at the borders of Pomria? What if the fog reached all the corners of the world? These questions only fortified the iron determination inside Lias to make the journey to the capital. He would wait, for now. It'd no doubt be safer to travel in a group. So, once a group of survivors had formed, Lias would attempt to join them, and hopefully reach the capital and put a stop to whatever evil had wrought this treachery on the mortal plane.
Last edited by Sightles; 3 Days Ago at 10:52 PM.
One Classy Manatee
Catarina stood, silently gazing into the sea, her back braced against the cracked bark of a twisted old oak that stood a few meters outside of the cemetery's battered fence. The rocky coastline was deathly silent, but she preferred it to the frantic voices and tears of the temple. She knew, just as everyone else did, that the fog would soon be upon them. Before the day's end, they would be face to face with the unspeakable horrors that dwelt within the looming haze. The princess pulled her cloak tightly around her and shivered a bit.
How had she ended up here, in a foreign country, pushed to the edge of the sea, and waiting for what was almost certainly impending doom? For a moment, she looked across the water into the horizon. Her heart longed for her homeland. She missed the brilliant spires of Veranthium and the warmth of the sunshine on her face. What she wouldn't give to return to Lyok... No, such thoughts would not get her any closer to her beloved home. She was a daughter of the Empress, a lady of the highest birth. It did not befit her station to sink into such longing and defeatism. She would not give in so easily to the growing hysteria that had consumed her companions. Surely she couldn't be the only one who intended to survive this.
The young lady's gaze finally broke from the horizon as the gentle sound of footsteps broke the silence behind her. The princess turned towards the source of the sound to see a white-clad man, probably slightly older than herself, wandering around the cemetery. She didn't recall seeing the man upon their arrival, but imagined it would've been easy to miss an individual among the mass of refugees. She walked towards the stranger, waving as she approached. She pulled back her fur-lined hood, revealing her dark hair and shimmering yellow eyes, which seemed out of place in so dreary a setting. She called out to the dark haired man with a clear voice. "Hello, you there, when did you arrive?" She stopped a few feet away from the man.
Herek sat quietly on a small boulder a few meters from the tree that Catarina had left only moments before. His sword sat horizontally across his lap. He glanced up at the sound of his mistress' voice to see her walking towards a stranger who appeared to have been traversing the temple's large cemetery. He lept down from the boulder, slinging his weapon onto his back as he did so. He hadn't noticed the man before, and though he doubted he had any ill intent, it was his job to keep Catarina safe at all costs. The grey-haired man followed a few feet behind the princess. His eyes scanned the area. It seemed as though they were alone with the man, at least for the moment. He gave the white-clad man a curt nod, but remained silent, allowing Catarina to speak first.
Last edited by DemonicPastry; 2 Days Ago at 02:17 PM.
Lias looked up at the survivor whom addressed him. It was a girl with a fairly extravagant looking coat, and equally extravagant looking dark hair and eyes. Lias gave a friendly nod to the approaching woman. "Hello, miss." Lias welcomed, before answering her abrupt question with a reply. "I arrived here at this temple only yesterday." Lias replied. It was evident by his clear speaking tone and vernacular that he was an educated man. Lias saw a fairly tall man approaching from behind the well-dress lady. No doubt a friend of her's. Lias returned the nod from the man with a nod of his own, and then turned his attention back to the lady. "My name is Lias Vokovic." He introduced, with a slight bow of his head. While it might be a little formal, Lias was taught to always show manners, no matter whom he was talking to. After his slight bow, Lias returned his attention back to the pair in front of him. The pair seemed fairly unaffected by the impending death that could arrive shortly, unlike most of the inhabitants of the temple. Judging by the ladies attire, and the man whom seemed to exhume an aura of protection, they were not likely mere commoners. Lias studied the appearance of his company. Both seemed to share a similar theme. A mark of a serpent. The woman had one of her necklace, while the man seemed to have them scattered on his armor. Lias momentarily searched his thoughts for where he had seen the symbol before. After a moment, Lias had remembered. Lyok was one of his more enjoyable visits to a country. Grasslands aplenty, along with a very healthy economy. Lias wondered what two Lyokians could be doing in Pomria. Perhaps a simple vacation? Lias threw that thought away. It seemed unlikely that a Lyokian would come to a place like Pomria. Only a fool would leave that comfortable sunshine for the land of Pomria, or anywhere else for that matter.
Last edited by Sightles; 3 Days Ago at 12:00 AM.
One Classy Manatee
Catarina listened as the stranger spoke. He had arrived near the same time they had. The man, who introduced himself as Lias, had a polite air about him, a welcome courtesy in such a dismal environment. She noticed the black haired man examining their clothing. He seemed to have drawn the conclusion that they were not native to the land. Yet, Catarina noticed the man seemed different than the native Pomrian she had seen in the temple, perhaps he, too, was a foreign to the land. "Pleased to meet you Lias. I am Lady Catarina Octavia of Lyok." Catarina motioned to the tall figure behind her. "This is my guardian, Herek Vaas." The woman spoke with a formal, but not rigid voice. She was happy the man didn't seem to have to same hopeless countenance that the refugees in the temple seemed to have. "Where do you hail from, Lias?"
Herek stood quietly by the princess as she spoke with Lias. He threw a curious glance towards Catarina when she introduced herself by her full name and title. Her introduction was polite, but the Tauran couldn't help but think that perhaps revealing oneself to be royalty in unfamiliar company was a bit dangerous. Despite his reservations, the man seemed polite enough, so perhaps such caution was unnecessary. The bodyguard pulled his hood down. Catarina had a disposition against Pomria's climate, but having spent his childhood in Taura, Herek was a bit more accustomed to it. He looked out towards the fog, slowly but surely approaching them. It wouldn't be long before they were consumed by it, and then they would be at the mercy of the unknowable horrors that dwelt within. He hadn't seen of the creatures himself, fleeing the North with Catarina as quickly as he could, but he had heard an unholy sound coming from the haze as he fled. He had no desire to meet whatever had made the sound face-to-face.
At Catarina's introduction for her full name and title, Lias performed a deeper bow then before. Again, another manner he was taught. Royalty, no matter where they were, deserved respect befitting of their position. Lias rose from his bow, and began to answer Catarina's question. "I'm from the small nation of Laimosa." Lias' response seemed to hold more weight than a normal reply. The sound of his homeland on his lips instantly reminded him of how desperately he wished to return home, but that would have to be put off until affairs in Pomria had been dealt with. "It is nice to meet you, Vaas." Lias said, switching his gaze from Catarina to Herek. Lias preferred to use the man's last name, as it was a common manner to refer to a stranger by their last name, until both parties considered each other friends to use their first name, in his homeland, and in many lands. Lias took a quick look around the cemetery. "What brings royalty to a land such as Pomria, ma'am?" Lias asked, politely, referring to Catarina by a title, instead of by name, which once again was a manner he had picked up after his journies. "If you don't mind my intrusion."
One Classy Manatee
Herek was pulled back from his thoughts by Lias' greeting. The man had used his last name, which wasn't uncommon in many parts of the world, especially when meeting a stranger. Herek had learned this from dealing with foreign emissaries during his time in the Lyokian Royal Guard. Herek gave another polite nod and a slight smile. "Likewise, Vokovic." Herek had never heard of the traveler's homeland, though he had rarely traveled outside Lyokian domain. The Tauran was pleased that they had evidently found someone who hadn't given in to hysteria. Perhaps they would find others amongst the group gathered in the temple. After all, they would need all the help they could get if they were to survive the terrors that surely awaited them.
Catarina smiled at Lias' civility. She had never traveled to the land he spoke of, but she had heard the name before, perhaps in her mother's court. She was unsure of the land's location, only knowing that it didn't fall within the lands owned by the Lyokian Empire. The man introduced himself to Herek, and then went on to ask about the pair's business in Pomria. The princess took a deep breath, throwing a longing stare into the distance before replying. "We were originally destined for the Capital. We had traveled here with the intention of speaking with Cedric of Glinde, in hopes of setting up a trade route between our nation and Pomria. Unfortunately, shortly after we arrived this calamity overtook the land. We scarcely escaped being swallowed up in that fog. We had hoped there would be some route of escape in the South, but that was of no avail." Catarina looked off towards the fog for a moment. What about you Lias, what business brought you to Pomria?"
Lias listened to Herek and Catarina, and smiled slightly. The three of them were caring on a conversation as if no imminent danger threatened their lives. It was peaceful, and relaxing, to Lias. "I was given a mission by my father to come to this land." Lias replied. Lias grimaced slightly. It didn't sound quite as noble or adventurous as his company's reason, and it also left room for confusion, as Lias had not questioned the mission, but simply came to Pomria. Lias turned and stared at the ever encroaching fog. "What are your plans now options are limited?" Lias asked politely, as he held his stare with the fog's veil. Lias knew he would eventually make a trip to the capital, and hopefully he could gain some members in the like of his company. Lias doubted he'd be able to make the trip to the capital by himself. He had seen a man rended from his own flesh by an 8 feet tall monstrosity , and another man whom had succumbed to the fog's insanity, chewing on his own fingers until they were nothing by stubs. It was disturbing and traumatic for Lias, as he had never seen an evil such as this, despite all his travels. Lias tore his gaze from the fog, and looked around the cemetery. "Maybe we should retreat to a more acceptable place, than that of a cemetery?" Lias suggested. Lias looked back at the temple, examining the a group of people staring anxiously at the fog, fear on their face.
C'mon... Just nudge you stupid...!
Bethany thought while trying to crack off a particularly stubborn bottle of whiskey, an annoyed expression crossing her face. She had been working on the cork for a whole minute, and her patience was drawing thin. It was already bad enough that the continent around her is dying, but upon finding a sealed bottle of whiskey lying on the beach, she took it as small blessing. Now the blessing was just turning into a hassle.
This was what happened when she let one of the boys decide the parties next target. His name was "Nick Jones" and he was supposedly a human trafficker around these parts that was worth a nice new rudder for their ship, "Manatee." That was weeks ago, and when the abominations suddenly attacked, she was separated from her crew. It seemed to make everyone else piss their pants, but to be honest, she's seen things about the same level of dreadful. Now she was just stuck here at some temple with a bunch of other hopeless deadbeats. Good thing she found a spot off at the bottom of the front steps, seeing as most of the people were too scared to even leave the main building. She made a quick glance back up, imagining their desperate expressions and scoffing.
"How fucking pitiful..." she muttered, turning back to much more important matters.
With a final grunt it popped open and a wide smile played on her lips, but when she lifted the bottle to take a drink a ferret came around the corner. She didn't care at first but as she drank, the creature inched closer and closer to her, it's eyes seeming to be pleading. There was no way anyone could enjoy a drink like this, even if it was mediocre whiskey at best.
"Shoo off." She said, waving it away with her free hand, lifting the bottle back to her lips.
But when it refused to leave Bethany sighed, lowering the bottle, "What do you want, can't you go find some water down there?" she said, pointing a finger back towards the coast.
The creature just watched her as she talked, cocking it's head in confusion.
She pointed back at the bottle then made a slicing gesture at her neck, making it a point to warn it, "This'll kill you, don't you know that? Understood?"
The ferret released a quick yak, still sitting in the same spot. Her brow furrowed at the noise, but just when she thought it couldn't get any more obnoxious, it hopped up next to her on the steps.
"Screw off!" She growled furiously, just about had it with the small furry animal, hoping that the loud noise would scare it off. Her green eye locked onto the creature with a threatening gaze, signifying her point.
It didn't seem to back off, yakking again before cocking it's head to the other side.
Last edited by Ryushura; 3 Days Ago at 02:39 AM.
"Before I lose you to time... let me forget about the meaningless differences in one another, and finally enjoy it."
A hastily written dispatch had come in, and the group had scattered across Pomria. In only a couple of months she found herself face to face with death. A mess was a light word for it. The memories played over and over again in her head, but there was little she knew. Everyone was dead or missing, that was a given. Her last memory was mired in the darkness of the fog, or had it been night? She couldn't even guess at what had attacked her. All she had felt was a strong push in the dark, and then everything went tumbling down into black. A sharp pain in her side jolted her to lucidity. Something was holding... carrying her? It was impossible to see, something warm was running over her eyes and burning. Blood, without a doubt. That pain was the least worrying thing, there were much more intense aches working daggers into her mind. Get away a voice commanded, intuition. Struggling against whatever was holding her earned a strained, "Just a little further now," from a voice that seemed too familiar for how alien the world had become. Exertion was difficult, and movement forced worse pains upon her. It was too much for the moment, and Maria Trinan lapsed back into unconsciousness.
Two figures, one carrying the other, appeared from the field between the church and the oncoming wall of fog. Both draped in black cloaks and the upright one carrying a long white bundle slung over one shoulder, and his fellow traveler hoisted over the other. Ian Valden had just managed to outpace the fog heading south with his wounded cargo, and it had been upon the duo's heels all day. Initially he'd been following a group of survivors south, to a church they planned on occupying. It appeared that their camp had been found and established long before he caught up to them, which would be convenient if they could offer the wounded woman he was carrying any assistance. Judging by the closed doors and billowing chimneys, they were already inside and doing whatever the damned did in their last hours. Ian had no such luxuries, and no such plans. Maria stirred and struggled blindly again, and he reassured her with the same, "Just a little further now," that he'd been using since their walk began. It pleased him that the screaming had finally stopped, maybe the pain she was feeling had subsided. He noted a woman sitting at the steps of the temple, in an altercation with some small animal. A doorman? Or the sign of something worse. Gait strained under his burdens, he walked up to the stairs and addressed the woman at their bottom. "Are the doors locked?" He asked, forcing the words for how short of breath he was. Even though he wanted an answer he couldn't stop for conversation. His question to Bethany hanging, he gently laid the white bundle on the bottom of the stairs with a metallic clank and began his ascent to the temple doors. The other 'bundle' he carried was still dripping blood next to the muddy prints he left as he went.