The cycle has begun once again. New faces, new places, new names, new colors. None of this matters. It will all end the same. Light and dark rise and fall as gracefully and reliably as two ballroom dancers completing a rehearsed dance for the crowd. This story, in its grand scheme, will start and end as it always has: a weak yet courageous flame pops up within the darkness, bringing hope and joy, ushering in humanity. Sometimes more as well.
Soon after its peak, when the ruler of light gets tiresome of diligently overseeing his pupils, he steps back to take a break. At that precise moment, darkness seeps in and declares itself in the form of doubt and fear. The high and mighty God-rulers will see it as nothing more than human nature, but humans have a funny way of turning that darkness into a weapon of its own regard. Soon, the humans these rulers used to protect turn on them, ushering in darkness and death. They will pay with their souls and minds to take down the false idols who have forsaken them. The strongest from the darkness will make it all the way to the eye of the flame, only to be burnt, be it at the moment to elongate the sight of the future or after having waited in the throne room of the hero. Time will forget his name, but the actions will live on.
Light will finally make its final sputter as humans revel in their victory. Until the darkness they hold within themselves finally reveal itself and slowly strangle the humanity out of them all. This is the fate of the cycles. This is how it always has been, always is, and always will be. Many have tried to break the cycle, but have done nothing but delayed the inevitable or rushed into another phase of the cycle. Though one undead, the very one who has travelled to faraway places to retrieve three crowns from empires unkown, has tampered with the balance of Fate and the heroic undead's mere defiance of the throne's attraction in itself has begun the cure.
Centuries have passed since the day of the curse's undoing, and souls have been in the decline. The cycle had relit itself in a faint attempt to rekindle the fire, but it seems as though it will be smothered by not dark, but ash. Yes, the ashen mist that shrouded the world has returned yet again. It is only in a small area in the west, but all who enter too far into the mist suffocate on it. Some have seen it happened and have lived to tell the tale of their brethren being ripped in half by an enormous tree which seemed to be rooted in the spot of their companion's body. The darkness is not being allowed to flourish either, due to the lack of souls available and the absence of a father; however, there is rumor of seven "Souls of Chaos" that roam the lands, trying to feed their insatiable souls.
The ineffable souls that have flourished countless times in previous cycles have finally been appeased to become one with the world. Druids that seem to almost be a different race than humans have been seen performing odd rituals once the souls escape the body. The larger the soul, the longer the ritual lasted. The largest souls of them all still exert much influence over the land, they just cannot compose a body that they can call their own. With these druids roaming the land, the ash that seems to have an ageless feel to it seems to creep more outwards. Yearning for a slumber that this cursed world hasn't given it in millennia.
And then, there's you. You enter the house you have been told of. One with a shield, crested with a dragon atop a tree, hanging above the door. The chimney still puffs out smoke, as if to signal life within. Upon entering, a hunched over man by the fireplace greets you without moving his head. "Welcome, weary traveller. You must be new to these parts. I can barely see anymore, though I can smell and hear well enough to make up for it. I have collected a plethora of weapons and armour for this day. I have had many visitors, but I can smell which ones deserve armament, for you see, it has been said before that through the darkness comes the trials that lead to the light. The light, like my eyesight, is fading to nothing. This is when light, in the past, has fought its hardest: to assert its dominance over darkness again. I don't believe that light or dark is supposed to be better than the other. I do believe that a much-needed balance to this world is in the making, but I don't hear much from outside this little, broken down town. So take whatever you may need from me and please do take only what you need. I may be blind, but I'm no fool. Thank you for hearing this old man ramble on, and take care, friend. For you will need it."
After the old man's speech, you pick out the gear that fits you best, or just leave with nothing but the clothes you arrived in, and leave. Is he crazy? Is the light fading? What light does he speak of? The human race is thriving once again. Sure, there's a plague going on that's affecting those who were once immortals in human bodies; the branded who held the power of the 'darksign'. You shudder, remembering the countless heroes and warriors whose foreheads burst with blood blackened by their curse. The ones who sold their very essence to protect the ones they loved. With them gone, it was up to the new generation, born in a world where direct daylight wasn't much more than an hour on good days. The sun was too lazy to rise when the number of souls on the planet was half of the number of living creatures walking it. Thin layers of cloud blanket the sky most hours. They almost seem to threaten to take away the moon and sun for themselves.
Those who were once cursed that survived the initial curse clensing soon went mad. The more powerful the hero, the more likely he was to survive, and the quicker he went mad. There currently sits a king whose soul and humanity left him long ago. He sits upon a giant's throne, having grown massive with greed. His sword is permanently a scarlet red from all the people it has slain in vain attempts at restoring its master's mind. Maybe there's a way to rid the mad warriors of this affliction. Maybe they are nothing more than husks of their former selves. Their bones and muscles doing nothing more than replaying the movements they once used to try their hand at slaying Gods. Maybe slaying this mad king will end it. Maybe it's best to just survive whilst someone wittier or stronger takes the helm of this problem as you simply try to not die. Unlike the now-maddened warriors who once hurled themselves time after time again, you only have one chance. Nothing can bring you back from the dead. You are the first generations of true, uncursed, humans. Well, free from the undead curse. Heheheh...
Character Sheet (Please post CSs in Characters tab):
Name:
Gender:
Background:
Equipment chosen: (at most, 1 armor piece per slot and two out of the weapons and shield pile. If you choose any sorcery, miracles, or pyromancy, you automatically get the means of casting it, for it's assumed you have a way to cast it)
Relative stats (Rank them 1-8, 1 being your highest stat and 8 being the least of these. Use each number only once)
HP: (how many more hits can they take?)
Strength: (how hard do they hit?)
Dexterity: (how precisely do they hit?)
Defence: (How much damage can they resist?)
Agility: (How fast can they run? This also includes dodging attacks)
Endurance: (how much can they carry while still remaining mobile?)
Intelligence: (how good are they at sorceries?)
Faith: (how good are they at miracles?)
References (please don't use any that say to "trade a Soul of _____" or their only instance is a "gift" from someone):
Weapons
Shields
Armor (you don't have to have one entire set, you can pick-and-choose. Effects won't be accounted for unless they boost a combat-related thing)
Sorceries
Miracles
Hexes
Pyromancies
Soon after its peak, when the ruler of light gets tiresome of diligently overseeing his pupils, he steps back to take a break. At that precise moment, darkness seeps in and declares itself in the form of doubt and fear. The high and mighty God-rulers will see it as nothing more than human nature, but humans have a funny way of turning that darkness into a weapon of its own regard. Soon, the humans these rulers used to protect turn on them, ushering in darkness and death. They will pay with their souls and minds to take down the false idols who have forsaken them. The strongest from the darkness will make it all the way to the eye of the flame, only to be burnt, be it at the moment to elongate the sight of the future or after having waited in the throne room of the hero. Time will forget his name, but the actions will live on.
Light will finally make its final sputter as humans revel in their victory. Until the darkness they hold within themselves finally reveal itself and slowly strangle the humanity out of them all. This is the fate of the cycles. This is how it always has been, always is, and always will be. Many have tried to break the cycle, but have done nothing but delayed the inevitable or rushed into another phase of the cycle. Though one undead, the very one who has travelled to faraway places to retrieve three crowns from empires unkown, has tampered with the balance of Fate and the heroic undead's mere defiance of the throne's attraction in itself has begun the cure.
Centuries have passed since the day of the curse's undoing, and souls have been in the decline. The cycle had relit itself in a faint attempt to rekindle the fire, but it seems as though it will be smothered by not dark, but ash. Yes, the ashen mist that shrouded the world has returned yet again. It is only in a small area in the west, but all who enter too far into the mist suffocate on it. Some have seen it happened and have lived to tell the tale of their brethren being ripped in half by an enormous tree which seemed to be rooted in the spot of their companion's body. The darkness is not being allowed to flourish either, due to the lack of souls available and the absence of a father; however, there is rumor of seven "Souls of Chaos" that roam the lands, trying to feed their insatiable souls.
The ineffable souls that have flourished countless times in previous cycles have finally been appeased to become one with the world. Druids that seem to almost be a different race than humans have been seen performing odd rituals once the souls escape the body. The larger the soul, the longer the ritual lasted. The largest souls of them all still exert much influence over the land, they just cannot compose a body that they can call their own. With these druids roaming the land, the ash that seems to have an ageless feel to it seems to creep more outwards. Yearning for a slumber that this cursed world hasn't given it in millennia.
And then, there's you. You enter the house you have been told of. One with a shield, crested with a dragon atop a tree, hanging above the door. The chimney still puffs out smoke, as if to signal life within. Upon entering, a hunched over man by the fireplace greets you without moving his head. "Welcome, weary traveller. You must be new to these parts. I can barely see anymore, though I can smell and hear well enough to make up for it. I have collected a plethora of weapons and armour for this day. I have had many visitors, but I can smell which ones deserve armament, for you see, it has been said before that through the darkness comes the trials that lead to the light. The light, like my eyesight, is fading to nothing. This is when light, in the past, has fought its hardest: to assert its dominance over darkness again. I don't believe that light or dark is supposed to be better than the other. I do believe that a much-needed balance to this world is in the making, but I don't hear much from outside this little, broken down town. So take whatever you may need from me and please do take only what you need. I may be blind, but I'm no fool. Thank you for hearing this old man ramble on, and take care, friend. For you will need it."
After the old man's speech, you pick out the gear that fits you best, or just leave with nothing but the clothes you arrived in, and leave. Is he crazy? Is the light fading? What light does he speak of? The human race is thriving once again. Sure, there's a plague going on that's affecting those who were once immortals in human bodies; the branded who held the power of the 'darksign'. You shudder, remembering the countless heroes and warriors whose foreheads burst with blood blackened by their curse. The ones who sold their very essence to protect the ones they loved. With them gone, it was up to the new generation, born in a world where direct daylight wasn't much more than an hour on good days. The sun was too lazy to rise when the number of souls on the planet was half of the number of living creatures walking it. Thin layers of cloud blanket the sky most hours. They almost seem to threaten to take away the moon and sun for themselves.
Those who were once cursed that survived the initial curse clensing soon went mad. The more powerful the hero, the more likely he was to survive, and the quicker he went mad. There currently sits a king whose soul and humanity left him long ago. He sits upon a giant's throne, having grown massive with greed. His sword is permanently a scarlet red from all the people it has slain in vain attempts at restoring its master's mind. Maybe there's a way to rid the mad warriors of this affliction. Maybe they are nothing more than husks of their former selves. Their bones and muscles doing nothing more than replaying the movements they once used to try their hand at slaying Gods. Maybe slaying this mad king will end it. Maybe it's best to just survive whilst someone wittier or stronger takes the helm of this problem as you simply try to not die. Unlike the now-maddened warriors who once hurled themselves time after time again, you only have one chance. Nothing can bring you back from the dead. You are the first generations of true, uncursed, humans. Well, free from the undead curse. Heheheh...
Character Sheet (Please post CSs in Characters tab):
Name:
Gender:
Background:
Equipment chosen: (at most, 1 armor piece per slot and two out of the weapons and shield pile. If you choose any sorcery, miracles, or pyromancy, you automatically get the means of casting it, for it's assumed you have a way to cast it)
Relative stats (Rank them 1-8, 1 being your highest stat and 8 being the least of these. Use each number only once)
HP: (how many more hits can they take?)
Strength: (how hard do they hit?)
Dexterity: (how precisely do they hit?)
Defence: (How much damage can they resist?)
Agility: (How fast can they run? This also includes dodging attacks)
Endurance: (how much can they carry while still remaining mobile?)
Intelligence: (how good are they at sorceries?)
Faith: (how good are they at miracles?)
References (please don't use any that say to "trade a Soul of _____" or their only instance is a "gift" from someone):
Weapons
Shields
Armor (you don't have to have one entire set, you can pick-and-choose. Effects won't be accounted for unless they boost a combat-related thing)
Sorceries
Miracles
Hexes
Pyromancies
