Fire.
So bright and all consuming, eating away at buildings, trees and the very ground with fury like none he had ever seen before. It seemed the entire world was bathed in the orange-red, ethereal glow that the flames shone with. Screams echoed silently among the cackling of everything being devoured to ashes, despite any life having long since been suffocated to nothing but a memory.
Slowly, the scene shifted, as if hours, maybe even days, passed by in mere seconds. The flames died down, starved away to embers as everything in sight had been burned away. The ground lay gray with ashes of all that once was. Even the stubs of trees were too charred to salvage and likely only stood because their roots ran so deep that the earth itself held them at a stand. The sky, once unrecognizable in shade due to the hue of fire, now stretched above like a mirror with the clouds painting it the same gray as the ground beneath.
He felt it, which struck him as odd, as the first droplets fell against his skin.
The sky wept silently. There was no platter of rain as the tears were swallowed by the blanket of ash that had once been a magnificent city. It mudded the ground, covering the earth in a thick, gray mass like clay.
Shock ran though him as his hand reached out and sank into the slime. His arm was white as snow and stood out brightly against the dullness below him, but the crimson lines that drew incarnate design along the limb like paint on a canvas seemed so out of place that it brought bile to his throat. Or, he felt like it would, by there was no physical reaction. This was no surprise to him. This was not his body, after all.
So bright and all consuming, eating away at buildings, trees and the very ground with fury like none he had ever seen before. It seemed the entire world was bathed in the orange-red, ethereal glow that the flames shone with. Screams echoed silently among the cackling of everything being devoured to ashes, despite any life having long since been suffocated to nothing but a memory.
Slowly, the scene shifted, as if hours, maybe even days, passed by in mere seconds. The flames died down, starved away to embers as everything in sight had been burned away. The ground lay gray with ashes of all that once was. Even the stubs of trees were too charred to salvage and likely only stood because their roots ran so deep that the earth itself held them at a stand. The sky, once unrecognizable in shade due to the hue of fire, now stretched above like a mirror with the clouds painting it the same gray as the ground beneath.
He felt it, which struck him as odd, as the first droplets fell against his skin.
The sky wept silently. There was no platter of rain as the tears were swallowed by the blanket of ash that had once been a magnificent city. It mudded the ground, covering the earth in a thick, gray mass like clay.
Shock ran though him as his hand reached out and sank into the slime. His arm was white as snow and stood out brightly against the dullness below him, but the crimson lines that drew incarnate design along the limb like paint on a canvas seemed so out of place that it brought bile to his throat. Or, he felt like it would, by there was no physical reaction. This was no surprise to him. This was not his body, after all.
Greetings, salutations and much obliged for coming to my Interest Check! I am The one Mad as a Hatter and I will be your host this roleplay. I will do my best to make enjoyable for everyone. I might be a bit rusty; it's been a while.
My father always told me, “when in doubt, start with a joke”, so I did pretty much the exact opposite, like any good child should.
I wanted to create a sort of dark, low-fantasy story, but then decided against it and well full on Mad with fireball-slinging Mages, bow-wielding Elves and grumpy Dwarves. Then I decided against that because my husband said a brilliant thing for the first time in his life and I realized that what I wanted, was not fireball slinging Mages, bow-wielding Elves or grumpy Dwarves; no, what I wanted was something else, yet the same.
The creatures of the world have now been stolen from Scandinavian Folklore instead. (It was incredibly hard for me to find much proper documentation of the folklores in English, so I'll have to take the time to translate from the original languages and make some better descriptions at some point if this gains interest.) Dwarves and Elves are still there, but warped from the ones we I have come to know and love from fantasy works to the ones I knew from the fairy tales before I ever even knew what “fantasy” was. I am most excited about Huldra, Mylinger, Lygtemænd and Skiftlinger, which isn't on that Wikipedia page, but is basically the same as a Changeling since the myth of them that we know today to my knowledge came from a Norwegian folklore about skiftlinger written down by the Brothers Grimm.
Now, I still wanted those fireball-slinging Mages, but again, not quite in the way that we usually see in fantasy settings, so I decided to make magic a thing, but since anything to do with magic was considered the work of the Devil or something of the like, anyone showing signs of magical abilities would be put to death. Magic wielders are more in touch with nature – some more than others - than regular humans and their abilities span wide from being able to heal wounds, to talking to animals, to – yes – summoning huge balls of fire to toss at their foes. What they can do is only limited by their imagination, their energy and their connection to nature.
It is not to be mistaken for a witch, which is not an actual human, but more like a type of Elf/Troll/Fairy.
Now, this is the part that we actually play; Mages. In a world where showing our powers is a sure death sentence, we either practice in secret, flee for our lives or ignore what we can do. We have always dreamed. Maybe you have seen things at night, several days before time. Maybe you have seen the past, instead. Maybe your dreams was nothing more than nonsensical omens, like a riddle to answer. No matter what dreams you had before, these last few weeks have been different. The dreams are always alike; death and destruction; a promise of the fall of the world and always with those paper-pale hands with the red markings. What does this mean?
Others have have had the same dream, but are either too cowardly or too selfish to try and stop the world from burning, but we are the brave few who follow the draw in our guts. Where this draw leads us, will be an adventure.
