Update: Here's the background story.



RP Check List

Setting: Medieval Fantasy
Magic: Yes
Fantasy Races: Yes
Custom Races: Yes
GM being an actual GM: Yes

Something... something... Dark Side...

But no, in all honesty, I'm busy writing up the RP's story.



In Ages long forgotten, by mortal man and immortal Elf, the world was torn asunder by the awesome power of warring High Mages. These High Mages were a far cry from the meagre spellcasters we know today; indeed, in their time, their power was absolute. Everything they turned their hands to, be it the elements or be it the arcane, no magical feat was beyond their reasoning.

With such power, they could have achieved Godhood, indeed, they could have remade the world anew. They could have created a life without suffering; no more hunger, disease, pain, war, grief or sorrow.

Instead, their pursuits for increased power drove them mad. They turned on each other in a whirlwind of ice and fire, laying waste to entire continents and putting their inhabitants to the indiscriminate fury of their powers. The mortal races of the world could only stand and watch, in outright terror, as beings far beyond their earthly powers wrought untold destruction for centuries.

At the height of the Great Mage War, the High Mages used their powers to create lesser creatures to replace the heavily diminished stocks of the world's natural inhabitants. These, they called Elves, and they were blessed with long life, intelligence and great power - though not nearly enough to challenge their creators.

The Elves varied in breeds, depending on the High Mage who forged them, but all were pitted against each other as the expendable foot soldiers of their masters. They did their duty diligently, dying by the millions with each passing thunderclap of another release of arcane energy. This went on for millennia, and the High Mages never tired of their struggle, but at the same time, neither of them ever seemed to get close to holding victory over the other.

Meanwhile, the Menfolk were recovering their losses. Their lives were short, and their temperament unpredictable, but they had proven stalwart survivors of the harsh world in which they lived. From their strongholds, they gathered power; Wizards studied, training drums beat, and with each turning of another century, their strength swelled. All the while, the High Mages remained oblivious to the Menfolk's rise, occupied as they were by their eternal struggle for worldly domination.

The Menfolk's attack was swift, effective but far from decisive. Though they lacked the long lives of Elves, or the omnipotence of the High Mages, they were nevertheless a formidable opponent. Hundreds of thousands of wizards met the world's tormentors in an epic battle, slaughtering all but the last High Mage, before being slaughtered themselves by his inexhaustible powers.

As punishment, this last High Mage cast a spell upon Man, that he may never again unite. All across the Free Realms, people started to change. Some grew into the muscled but primitive monstrosities that we now know as Orcs, and others into the stumpy, bearded imps we call Dwarves. Some lost the softness of their flesh to the overlapping coldness of scales... and others, others became something not befitting of life.

The Elves saw this as unnatural, despite their own unearthly origins, and took offence to their master's meddling in nature's affairs. Many of their number, had also felt shamed by Man's courage, for they had thought him weak, and were now beginning to see the war for what it was: an abomination. They had thought that they served the greater good, but regardless of their tribe or original creator, they quickly realised they were all mere pawns; the end result of an unnatural industry.

The last High Mage saw the coming treachery of the Elves, and attacked them in earnest. He knew their designs, knew their weaknesses, but most importantly, knew how to control them - for by the rights of their birth, they were all bound to his arcane powers. Billions died, helpless to defend themselves as he ordered them to simply stand down and accept their fate.

Until Vanguard Grudol, the Sun Elf, figured out a way to break his master's hold over him. By carving arcane symbols into his flesh with the cindered bones of one of the fallen High Mages, he was able to ward himself from the mind-control of the surviving High Mage.

And when the two met, the Sun Elf proved a deadly adversary. For the last High Mage was unprepared for resistance, and Vanguard Grudol unleashed his elemental fury. A great battle followed, and both combatants consumed themselves in a pillar of flame.

No one. Not man, not Elf, not Orc, Dwarf or Lizard saw them again.

And so had ended the Great Mage War, and there dawned the Dark Age.



The Great Mage War left a bitter sweet victory. The world was a scorched ruin. There was no grass, there were no forests or rivers - just death, decay and cinders.

Man immediately set upon himself; his various forms finding fault with each other as soon as word reached them of the High Mage's demise. Their wars were small, but nevertheless upsetting to the Elves who had seen them fall from grace. Indeed, the Elderborn blamed almost everything the world had suffered entirely upon themselves, unable to forget that they were the footsoldiers of evil powers so great.

Gathering the last of their kin, for many had perished in the genocide placed upon them by the last High Mage, they set to restoring the world to its former appearance. Their combined magic reached a level of potency on-par with that of a High Mage, and together, they restored life to the scarred earth.

Rivers flowed once more, grass regrew, forests surged forth from the soils and volcanoes were silenced into white-tipped mountains. Beauty begun anew, and once they had finished restoring the world, they turned their hands to the creation of life.

Animals of every kind and shape had been wiped into extinction by the Great Mage War. With extensive research, the Elves were able to recreate many of these, and from these creations, sprung more beauty into a world that had until recently been barren of most life.

And as their creations grew in number, and as their restoration evolved to reflect the heart-felt compassion they had poured into it, the Elves rejoiced. They had undone all the wrongs they had helped wrought, and much of their guilt left them.

But Man kept warring. Always warring.

And the Elves were saddened by this.

So, with the best intentions of a misunderstood brother, the Elves sought to undo the spell that the High Mage had placed upon Man towards the end of the Great Mage War. But it could not be done, for the spell was now too old to rewind, and the resulting variations of Man were no longer magical in nature - they were beings on their own accord.

So the Elves reached deep into their well of combined magical might, and forged the High Man. The High Man was what they believed Man to have been, before he was changed. The High Man embodied to the fullest extent, the attributes of those he was based on.

But the Elves' work was folly, for Man had the capacity to be good, but also evil. In time, they realised the High Men were highly unstable, as if torn between the light and the darkness on a minutely basis. Unable to slay their creations, for to do so would be to become their own creators - a fate worse than death for any Elf - they banished the High Men from their realms, and foolishly set them loose upon the earth.

The High Men were quick in conquering the lesser races from which they was originally derived, and before long, most of the known world flew their banner. They turned their hungry, insane eyes to their creators, and in those eyes, the Elves saw the real terror of their folly.

The Sorrowsong War lasted three centuries, with the High Men almost completely extinguishing their masters with their endless legions. Though, the Elves rallied, and they eventually triumphed through their superior use of battle magic - and drove the High Men into the darkest depths of the earth, where they thought them defeated.

But alas, though the Elves were victorious, they were a broken peoples. Their number had been so vastly reduced indeed, that their ability to tend to the world as they had done was greatly hampered. The Mortal Races were now free to run amok, to establish their Kingdoms and their Empires unmolested.

The Age of the Elf had ended.



Man flourished, his ability to procreate quickly unimpaired by Elvish intervention. For where they would usually interfere before an Empire could be established, now there was no one to stop a Warlord from pressing his borders as far as he dared.

Nations arose, and through their wars, they expanded. Soon, the world was a patchwork quilt of a hundred cultures, of a hundred Kings and of a hundred armies. They looked at each other, with that same deluded mentality wielded by the High Mages of old, and so begun yet another great battle - the Mortal War.

The Elves, exhausted from their toils, retreated to their strongholds to regroup. Though they were far from powerless to stop the ensuing carnage, they simply reasoned that they had meddled enough in mortal affairs, and were content with preserving whatever joy could yet be found in their lives. From their beautiful fortresses, they acknowledged Man's unending bloodshed with grim resignation, and left him to his business.

This continued for several more millennia. Mortal nations proved short-lived affairs, and the Elves soon lost track of them - soon stopped caring. It seemed that Man's nature was simply what it was; a brief exercise in futility, repeated over and over. So long as they did not bother the Elderborn, then why should they care?

And so the Elves turned away from the world, and for several millennia more, they flourished in a New Golden Age... though they were far from their former glory. They revelled in earthly delights, they forget their duties, but they were happier than they'd been since before they could remember. Many of those who had lived through the Great Mage War were now dead, either because they tired from life and ended their boredom - as many Elves were known to do, or because they had been slain in the Sorrowsong War. What had once been profound wisdom and knowledge, had eventually become close-minded ignorance.

And so, they too forget their folly.

The first news of the High Man's resurgence reminded them that they had yet again given themselves to unforgivable foolishness.



The High Men appeared from their subterranean networks after centuries of replenishing their number, and refining their war-craft. They, like Man, were hopelessly flawed and briefly lived, yet unlike Man, they possessed advanced intellect and their unnatural origins granted them greater access to the forces of magic.

Legions flying the banner of a white fist upon a black background, surged forth into the realms of the mortals. The High Men were fearsome warriors, graceful in their tactical executions, but brutal in their zeal; the mortal armies perished before their advance.

The Elves, looking on with horror from the safety of their fortified strongholds, hastily reactivated their war machine. Spears were dusted off, magical arts were re-mastered, and new armour was forged - though all the while, the world beyond their borders burned with the fires of war.

The High Men had learnt their lessons from the Sorrowsong War, and their knowledge in battle-magic was vast and practised. When they clashed with the first Elven hosts, they achieved crushing victories time and time again, throwing the Elderborn ranks into disarray. Indeed, within a decade of their resurgence, the High Man had conquered seven of the ten remaining Elven strongholds, and once more threatened the species with extinction.

And then the mortal realms united, as they had done in the stories of old, when the terror of the High Mages ruled the land. Orc, Dawrf, Man, Lizard and Beast all merged their collective strengths into a tidal wave of iron and flesh, and threw themselves at the High Men. The war escalated to the world's four corners. Kingdoms and Empires crumbled; armies rallied and triumphed. Millions died, and millions more were left homeless, fleeing the fighting.

Though eventually, it was the powerful magic wielded by the High Men, that turned the war in their favour. They pushed on against the numberless hordes of Man, breaking him in every confrontation as they turned their full might against him. Cities were scorched, farms were pillaged, and across the whole world, every living creature knew the folly of war.

The Elderborn had been bought time by Man's intervention, and the Last Host was assembled. An impressive force of a million immortal creatures, utilising their greatest wizards and warriors, launched a counter-attack that spanned the continent of Earth's Pillar. They were victorious in a string of titanic battles, and drove the High Men back.

In the final confrontation, between child and father, the White Fury - the High Men's greatest warrior and leader - met the Last Host in a destructive battle of magical energy. The Elves' most powerful sages, seers, wizards and mages united against him in an effort to bring the war to its decisive conclusion, and quickly. However, the White Fury's powers were beyond equal, and his rage was terrifying. He threw down all of his opponents, and then turned his insane gaze to the ranks of the Elves. He unleashed wave after wave of flame upon them, blasting entire formations with a single wave of a hand - displaying the kind of power one had seen wielded by a High Mage in the days of old.

The Last Host was forced into retreat, fleeing before an enemy whose power far surpassed their understanding. The White Fury's soldiers followed them, killing the Elderborn left and right with gleeful enthusiasm. As the High Men crested the hills of Artor, on which the battle had been primarily fought, they paused at the sight of a hundred thousand wizards of Man.

Orcs, Men, Dwarves, Lizards and Beast, all united under one banner, all wielding a deadly and volatile cocktail of magic. They attacked the High Men, returning the devastation they had wrought upon the Elves. The land was blackened as whirlwinds of fire swept through White Fury's ranks, scorching thousands. Blizzards kicked up, dropping man-sized icicles on top of their war machines. Within minutes, their advance had stopped, and they cowered before the awesome power of the united Menfolk.

The White Fury sprung his attack, hoping to destroy the amassed force of spellcasters as he had done so with the Elves, and unleashed his rage upon them. It was a battle worthy of legend, and for six hours, one High Man faced off against an army of thousands.

Eventually, White Fury tired, and he withered under the incessant barrage of magic. Before he finally gave into death, he gathered his last reserves of arcane energy for one final spell. His body turned to pure light, and he slammed his staff hard against the earth. An explosion of excessively potent magical energy rocked the planet, from north to south, and a thousand mile radius of where he stood crumbled under the resulting shockwave. Both the armies of Man and the High Men were reduced to ashes within an instant, and so too was White Fury.

In their place then stood a land, scorched and blackened. The war was finally over, but at what cost?



With the High Men's defeat, came the breaking of Man's unity. It seemed that without a common foe to war against, his grievances with himself were unreconcilable. His Kindgoms, broken as they were by the war, turned on each other and fought with what futile resources they had.

The Elves meanwhile were utterly exhausted. Their number had been reduced from tens of millions to tens of thousands, and their control of the world had been snapped in half by White Fury's earlier onslaught. They fled in all directions, hoping to acquire for themselves some small corner of the world in which they could yet find peace.

The world returned to its state before the High Men's invasion. War and folly ruled the day; kingdoms and Empires rose and fell with each passing decade.

One such Kingdom of Man differed from the rest however. Its unity had not been broken by petty grievance, lust, greed and selfishness. Theirs had withstood, if even for a heart beat, the folly of its very nature.

The Kingdom was young, forged from several as the High Men poured into their lands, and it had withstood the test of their strength. Indeed, it was their wizards who had led the charge against the White Fury, and now, they led the charge into a brighter future.

Whilst the Elves were merely content to once again bury themselves away from the world, and whilst the other kingdoms were also content with continuing their never-ending wars, this kingdom, this land of unity, the Realm of Ekrol, saw through the stupidity of it all. High Man had not been defeated, they knew this, for he had simply retreated back into the earth as he had done centuries upon centuries ago. He would return, and with the world in the shape it was, and with the Elves broken as they were, he would return much sooner rather than later.

The world could not withstand them again.



The Realm of Ekrol is a bastard land of bastard peoples. Originally, it was comprised of four individual Kingdoms, who submitted to unity as the High Men surged across their borders. Along the western coastline of Ekrol, lived the tribes of the Half-Elves, who forever dabbled in the foolery of Man and the folly of Elf in perfect unison. Their numbers were small, but their arcane mastery was unsurpassed, as was their skill at arms. In the ragged mountains, known as the Spine of Ekrol, lived the Orc clans. Their numbers were many, and their strength and courage could not be matched by others of their kin; they had died by the hundreds of thousands upon the battlefields in Ekrol's war against the High Man. In the grassy flat lands, between the Spine and the Sea, lived ordinary Man; mundane in his skill set, and diverse in his beliefs. Beyond the spine, occupying the marshes, lived the Lizardfolk, whose cunning had made them effective fighters in the uneven terrain of their home.

But Ekrol's diversity was furthered still, by the surge of refugees fleeing the conflict. Every race, of all shapes and sizes, had sought refuge behind their faltering spear-walls, and they had stayed long after the war's conclusion to rule the counties, dukedoms and earldoms that had been left barren by the fighting.

Now this multitude of minorities, looks to its neighbours, and understands that they too must be brought into their social utopia - before High Man returns to wreak his vengeance upon the world once more.







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In the meantime, here's what the RP is about:

• Set in a Feudal Kingdom, within a fantasy-medieval world
• The King has died, leaving no heirs.
• The Kingdom's more powerful lords gather to appoint a new one from their ranks.
• Winner assumes control of the Kingdom, but must delegate responsibility to each of the Lords.
• The GM creates issues for the Kingdom to deal with, such as war, pestilence, famine and economic woes.
• The King either alone, or with advice from the Lords, formulates a plan to deal with each of these.
• So on, so forth, yada, yada, yada. Come back tomorrow, and I should have something up here for you.

Sounds interesting...How much would you expect us to write per post?

Sounds interesting...How much would you expect us to write per post?

Pffffffffffft, well it would vary.

In the council, I imagine there'd be some short handed exchanges. I mean, how much could you drag out the simple action of your character agreeing with someone? On the other hand, if one of the vassals felt the need to voice their opinion to its fullest extent, then they may launch a speech spanning thousands of words.

With the council dismissed, the vassals carrying out their assigned orders, the post format would switch to the expectations of an average NRP post. And judging from what I've seen, they stay around the 1000 word mark (though some go well beyond, and some fall under). I wouldn't set the minimum at that of course, but I guess you could use it as an indication.

I don't really want to set a maximum length, and a minimum length would be a common sense affair. If the post looks half-arsed, lacking in delivery and is only a few sentences long, I'd prolly get funny with you.

So casual then?

So casual then?

I guess. I wouldn't ask for volumes, like they do in advanced (crazy bastards, who has that kind of time to fritter away!?), but enough to fit the purpose.

I've written out the world's history. Taking it in a traditional fantasy direction.

Taking it in a traditional fantasy direction.

You sir have my undivided attention and interest.

I'm interested by the setting, but could you elaborate on some of the specifics of the RP? What are we making, exactly?

So what exactly are we playing as? noble dynasties, council members, or vassals?

Tentative interest.

So what exactly are we playing as? noble dynasties, council members, or vassals?

When I write a story that isn't riddled with fallacies, the eventual aim is that players will initially take on the role as members of Egrol's elite. At first I planned for it to be higher ranking Lords, such as Dukes and Counts, but now I think I'll extend it to include influential religious leaders and merchants.

In any case, the RP will begin with the realm's most powerful Lords/Preists/Merchants, who all have their own lands within the Kingdom, meeting to appoint a new king - the previous one having died. The elected King will be chosen from the players, and once that's done, the winner appoints various titles to the other Lords, which puts them in charge of certain things. Titles such as Minister of the Treasury, or Lord of Agriculture. I've not invented the titles yet, still trying to iron out the setting.

But in all cases, don't worry, you'll all have a part to play in the wars. With the Kingdom being feudal, each player will have their own soldiers, which they can give to the King when he needs them, or withhold them if they have their own angles -at a risk of being accused of treason, of course.

After the government has been appointed, I jump out of the bushes and say "THIS IS HAPPENING, MY GOOD LORDS WHAT WILL YOU DO!?"

And the King will either formulate a response, by saying "Lord blah blah, go do this" and "Lady ga ga" go do that, or he'll call on his vassals/lords/whatever you want to call them, to advise him.

After the council is closed, with the King being happy with the plan proposed, the players (and the king) then go and carry out their part of it.

New crises will spring up, requiring more meetings, or for Lords to act on their own accord at the risk of falling foul of the King.

EDIT: My only fear is, that the King might go AFK. What do you reckon the chances are of this? RPG known for frequent drop outs?

That's not hard to handwave. If the King goes AWOL, just say he had a heart-attack. Instant drama.

That's not hard to handwave. If the King goes AWOL, just say he had a heart-attack. Instant drama.

Aye, true that.

I'm more than capable of dispatching afkers. In fact, I revel in it.

Anywho, first bit of the lore is up. You'll all only want to see the Present Day bit, when I get it up. The rest is just fluff needed to explain a few things. If I don't do it, no doubt some upstart will start poking holes in things.

Will let you all know when I've finished it.

Hm hem. Tally ho, good sir! You have won me. I can now -truly- commit to this.

Alright, I've done the fluff. There is quite a lot of fluff, I admit, so I'll get a TL;DR version for those of you who find the history bland.

Before that, I'll hatch up the Kingdom's "Canon Races". Custom races submitted by the players, if they choose to do so, will squeeze into the gaps.

Once that's done, I'll make the setting, and we'll go from there.

I'll get a TL;DR version for those of you who find the history bland.

What is this "TL;DR" you speak of?

Custom races submitted by the players, if they choose to do so, will squeeze into the gaps.

I'm thinking of making a custom race. But what do you mean by "squeeze into the gaps"?

<Snipped quote by TomeBinder>
What is this "TL;DR" you speak of?

<Snipped quote by TomeBinder>

I'm thinking of making a custom race. But what do you mean by "squeeze into the gaps"?

TL;DR = too long; didn't read.

Basically a short hand summary.

With regards to custom races, the Realm of Ekrol was originally based on four kingdoms that united for mutual survival. The original Kingdoms contained Half-Elves, Orcs, Men and Lizardfolk. However, as the war with the High Men ravaged the world, multitudes of refugees fled the fighting and sought safety in Ekrol's borders.

So the four "main races" will be expected to hold the greater share of the power, with their various bloodlines having already been long established. Meanwhile, the refugees, would be taking what's left. In this case, Ekrol has been dealt a pretty heavy blow by the war, and as it lost so many of its nobility, it has freed up lands for the new comers to occupy.

Basically, if players choose a custom race, then the area they occupy within Ekrol would be the only area occupied by their race. The rest would be split between the Orcs, Half-Elves, Lizardfolk and Men.

Ok then, thanks for the info. I'll have to rethink my idea a bit, but It'll still be finished soon.

Also, the picture you uploaded for the high men isn't showing.

I'm interested in participating in this, if you don't mind a rookie member joining it?. :)

I'm interested in participating in this, if you don't mind a rookie member joining it?. :)

Sorry pal, I'm going to put this on hold indefinitely for now. I wasn't sure if I'd have time for it or not, and was chipping away at it bit by bit, but I think I'll leave it.

Once I've got more time on my hands, I'll come back.