[OOC] The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

[Dead Cruiser]

Lost access to the discord server; I am working on a post.

[Cohors]

Still open & possible to catch up?

[DELETED jdl3932]

Indeed, because thus far we still seem to be largely in the introduction phase for almost every participant.

[Cyclone]

Still open & possible to catch up?

@Cohors

Sure, we're still glad to look over any new applications. I'll PM you an invite to the Discord, where you could talk about any ideas or plans with us.

[Cyclone]

Oh, and I wanted to say thanks and give a shoutout to Tuuj. He let me use bis character Sir Luci and wrote some parts of the post I just put up.

[Jeddaven]

Identity: The Death that Wends, The Wailing Wolf, The Reaper of the Ashmonts, The Greatwood Beast, She Who Rends Their Bones, Eater of Trolls, the Greenwrath
Type: Rogue Being

Myth:

The Duke and the Wolf

LO, and praise to the prowess of Wulfred, once loathsome
finest of Lords in all of Outremer,
of cunning and swift blade, of countenance so handsome!

Behold his fine steel,
so unbreakable
Witness his courage,
his will unshakeable

There was no beast he could not best,
no monster he could not slay,
No creature that he could not put to rest,
Except, perhaps, for one.

One day, one night, perhaps a bit more
Along the road her travelled
to Barrowham, a village, its streets such a bore

Sir Wulfred, but a man, needed a rest,
And so to the local inn he went,
Seeking only the best

He laid down his head
atop a straw pillow
when far away, downstairs, an old woman said:
"O Exalted, O God, my husband, my children..."
"They've all turned up dead!"

"Fear not!" He cried,
tearing his blade from its sheath,
"For I am Lord Wulfred, and justice you shall not be denied!"

And so, courage in his heart, purpose in his stride
Duke Wulfred set out, gathering many dozens of men,
No beast from his steely gaze could hide

Into the deepest of forests they went,
searching ceaselessly among the trees,
Their hounds, every vigilant, tracking the monster's scent

Noble was he, Duke Wulfred, but the creature was not
High above in the trees it waited,
The ignoble death of Duke Wulfred it sought

Down from the branches it leapt
Its blades striked out for his neck
Sir Wulfred, ever noble, died where he slept

Nature's Fury

Awaken, ye foul beast! Among
your woods, your
enemies ever prowl,
Hungry!

Rend their flesh, reap their homes
Bury them; it must be done

Leave not one living,
slaughter them
to a man.

Dead and dying,
by your fang and claw,
to Hell they are sent.

Righteous is your wrath
Your rage, forever burning as the great beasts follow in your wake

Reclaim what is yours.

Greenwrath

“Loose formation, men! The cowardly beast cannot hide from us forever!” Duke Wulfred announced, unsheathing a finely crafted silvered blade from its place at his hip. Like much of the rest of its arms, it was of only the greatest make - forged over ages by the best blacksmiths in all the lands of Paterdomus, passed down his family for centuries. Even his mail seemed to shine in the paul moonlight - much the same as the nearly four dozen men-at-arms surrounding him, though far more heavily ornamented.

In truth, however, he found himself increasingly unsure that he’d ever truly. Finding its trail was relatively easy, he thought, briefly nothing the human bowels strewn about the forested clearing he currently found himself in - but the creature had always been one step ahead, even when he was certain he’d finally found it.

If only the accursed hunting dogs were any use.

He thought, noting the cornucopia of miscellaneous guts and bones strewn along the length of the trail his column of troops’d been travelling along. The tromping of marching feet, perhaps, would give his position away long before he ever laid eyes upon the thing - but there was safety in numbers, especially when dealing with such a powerful monster.

His men, he noted, seemed to share the sentiment, their steps atypically slow and measured for a band of well armed barely-more-than-commoners. Even the crunch of dry twigs and leaves beneath their feet seemed to set off a handful - though Wulfred could hardly blame them, considering how he jumped at nearly every unfamiliar shadow.

Then, suddenly, a voice. A honeyed, lilting tone that seemed to echo from all around him, followed soon afterward by a baleful canine snarl.

Screams. His head jolted toward the source of the sound, and there was the upper torso of one of his men, howling and begging for help as it was dragged into the now far thicker darkness ahead of the party, so deep he could barely see a few feet in front of him. The man by his side hacked and slashed wildly at some unseen assailant, but no no avail - until he abruptly slumped to the ground, lifeless, his head tearing from his body before tumbling away. The rest of his men, thankfully, were well-trained, pulling together into a tight formation, shields raised to form a primitive defensive wall, as if it’d manage to do any good.

Mere moments after, a towering, shimmering green shape emerged from the darkness. Its surface as bright as the midday sky, it loped towards them with a hunting canine’s gait despite its bipedal shape - and from atop its shoulder, the face of an impossibly gorgeous Elven woman stared down, her countenance enchanting to look upon despite being contorted into an expression of sheer, bloodthirsty rage. Long, sharpened claws jut out from her hands - and where they struck the men-at-arms, they simply sailed through, slicing apart armoured bodies with a sickeningly unnatural ease. So little did they seem to matter to the lupine hybrid that its gait was barely even slowed by each kill, if at all - inch by inch, man by man, it carved its way toward Wulfred, each step soaked in the blood and guts of its prey.

The Duke wanted to run, but something - though he could not tell what - froze him to the spot in fear; some primal, instinctual force that commanded he remain still less his utterly vain attempt to flee lead the thing back to his home. Meeting its burning gaze, fixed completely on him, as if to the exclusion of all else, he knew there was no point in fleeing. He was mortal, and he would tire. It, however, would surely chase him to the ends of the world, so potent was its raw, predatory hatred.

So terrified was the Duke that he scarcely even noticed the carnage unfolding before him. He barely even noticed, in fact, as the creature ripped apart a man's chainmail with freakish ease, steel rings readily popping apart - only for it to shred apart his vulnerable torso moments later. He barely even noticed when the beast, loping ever closer, snapped a man's helmeted skull in half in its jaws, sucking out the pink matter contained within.

He barely even noticed as the monster's claws pierced his torso, tearing his body in half as a primal, reptilian roar echoed from high above.

[pandapolio]

Hey, I've been reading through and this looks incredibly interesting. I would love to join if there are still some slots open for people to join. I also have a question or two to ask that would influence my character's creation. Thank you very much.

[Cyclone]

@Jeddaven The three of us have all read through your stuff now and had the time to hash out our individual thoughts. A review should be coming soon! Hopefully later today.

Hey, I've been reading through and this looks incredibly interesting. I would love to join if there are still some slots open for people to join. I also have a question or two to ask that would influence my character's creation. Thank you very much.

@pandapolio

We've certainly still got space for more. I've just sent you a Discord link; I imagine it'd be faster to hash out your character ideas and ask any questions over there.

[Oraculum]

Picking up on reviews again...

@Jeddaven for the Greenwrath

Hider

Though the sheet is a good start, and I like the idea of showing different perspectives on the rogue being in the myth, as it stands it’s not very informative about the character itself. Some questions have been clarified in the chat, but there are still some essential parts missing, most notably about what the Greenwrath’s origins and motivations are, as well as its abilities beyond having unnaturally sharp claws (if any). Something about its intentions can perhaps be glimpsed in the “Nature’s Fury” segment, but since the source of that is a cult that worships the creature it’s not clear how reliable the narrator really is. The background in particular needs some development, since beings like elves are extremely uncommon in Outremer and would need a good reason for ending up there.

Aside from that, there are no major issues. Some of the wording looks odd to me, such as Wulfred being called “loathsome” in a poem that otherwise praises him, or the Greenwrath’s worshippers calling it a “foul beast”, though that may be intentional. Termite also mentioned a minor inconsistency in “Greenwrath”, where the Duke’s men are alternately described as well-trained men-at-arms and barely better than commoners.

On the whole, while the quality of the sheet so far is mostly up to standard, we would like its contents to be expanded a bit before we can accept it.

[Jeddaven]

@Oraculumthanks for the response, and my apologies for the inconsistencies - I wrote some of that content late at night (when I probably shouldn't have) I'll get to work on the requested changes.

[Kho]

PROPOSAL

Identity: Lady of the Great Sullied Court, Red Fern, Red Fury, the Queen of Smoke and Sighs. Artistic Depiction.

Type: Scion

Myth: The Fae are old magic - deep and dark and hidden within the stuff the world is made of. It is said they are even older than the Black God, that in the twilight of time and creation itself - there they were, eyes wide and silent and knowing. Perhaps they are the very essence of magic - they are not things of flesh after all and they are not things of Nature - with which in time they became synonymous in the eyes of all other beings. No, they are old magic, pure and distilled and alive.

When the Black God called upon them it was not out of any great love or loyalty for him that they rallied to his banner, but out of enmity to Man. Ah, Man! That newborn race who thought to tame the wilds and flatten the earth and bore through the mountains and dictate the course of the rivers - where they would flow and where they will not, when they will flood and when they shall not. That newborn race that casually went about the business of exterminating Fae and magic alike. Well, that race had to be made to perish.

The Fae, divided then into their one hundred and sixty-three Courts, had not been quite agreed on this course of action, but Red Fern, then the Queen of Smoke and Sighs, had known then with an insight all others lacked that there could be no other course. There was no place for magic and the Fae in a world in which Man continued to be. The Fae fought one another then - those 'Unsullied' who would slay themselves that Man may live and slaughter all, and those 'Sullied' that would rid the world of that cancer and let the wilds and all the chaotic beauties of magic loose. The Black God fell, the Unsullied cheered as they cast Red Fern and their Sullied brethren into the Fade...

And then they cheered no more. Empty are the halls of the Unsullied today. The echoes of laughter are only heard in the halls of memory - our memory. For we remember. And though they were fools, yet were they our kin. The Fade grows thin now, and Red Fern - why, Red Fury! - has for a long time whispered her curses and promises of vengeance into the fabric of the world. We who are Sealed - who were lambasted as Sullied - stir. We rise. We come. The Black God is dead, but we remain - and by our hand alone will be the final abolition of Man.

[Kho]

PROPOSAL 2

Identity: Lady of the Great Sullied Court, the Fyghfolk Queen, Red Fern, Red Fury, the Queen of Smoke and Sighs. Artistic Depiction.

Type: Scion - Fygh (pr. Fee or Fay or Fie)

Persona: Red Fury is rather easy to anger and takes insult with equal ease - but she does not show it so easily. Sooner or later, by hook or by crook, those who earn her ire ultimately pay. Back when there were one hundred and sixty-three Fygh Courts across the world, she was the most important and most powerful. Now there is only one Court and she its sole Queen. There is therefore no space for doubt: she is the most important and most powerful - and all the Fygh who come before her know to know it. Is she feared? Naturally. But is she also adored? Why, who could doubt it? Feared, adored, and blindly obeyed by all Fyghfolk, such is the power of the Fyghfolk Queen.

Powers: But beyond the obedience of her subjects, Red Fury has another great power. It is one that makes her truly worthy of her place at the top. She is the last of Fyghkind's ancient aristocracy - an aristocracy known for the great magicks and formidable powers they could once bring to bear. While all Fygh are beings of magic and so have certain powers - whether it is the nature-warping powers of dryads or the death-bringing gaze of barghests - Red Fury can manipulate and wield the magic that flows through existence with the mere power of her voice. She can feel where magic is concentrated, can whisper to it until it does her bidding, and so achieve great magickal feats the likes of which were long thought to have perished from the world. By the power of her magicks are men turned to stone, princes into frogs, princesses into ogres. By it are cities brought into eternal sleep and others lost forever in a world of illusions. By her potions are queens made to fall in love with donkeys and are hatreds planted in the small imperfections and cracks that line any true love. Poisoned apples, tightening corsets, and deadly combs are only a few of the magickal items she can bring forth into the world by the power of her words.
It is not understood how her powers work - even she may not truly know - but speech is the key to her powers. If she is unable to speak, then she is near enough powerless. Her powers, like all magic, are also rather slow. It takes time to whisper poison into an apple or complete a curse to turn a man into a donkey.

Race: Fygh exhibit great diversity. Some take on the appearance of human children while others appear barely distinct from monsters, and others yet take on plant-, animal-, or water-like features. The great majority are very small in size, though certain types tend to be fairly large - an example is the barghest, which takes on the form of an enormous shaggy black dog and is generally a portent of doom to all who see it (and often attacks and kills lone travellers). Some Fygh may have tails, wings, or more than two arms or none (if, for instance, wings replace their arms). Whether they have wings does not dictate whether a Fygh can fly - that is more often dictated by the type of Fygh it is.

While Fygh may appear to be male or female, they do not reproduce or procreate physically and so these appearances are merely aesthetic. Some may exhibit human-like sapience, while others may appear like monstrous creatures that cannot be reasoned with by non-Fygh. Being creatures of pure magic the Fygh do not have a fixed lifespan - so long as they have a source of magic, they are effectively immortal.

The destruction of magic is therefore lethal to Fygh. If it is possible to trap one and deny it of magic for long enough then it will inevitably perish. Another sure way to destroy a Fygh is with iron or steel implements as these are devoid of magic and immediately void whatever they touch of magic. Different Fygh will also have different weaknesses - some may not be able to cross running water, some may not be able to cross a salt perimetre, others yet may perish at the sound of their true name, and much else.

Myth: 'The Fygh are old magic - deep and dark and hidden within the stuff the world is made of. It is said we are even older than the Black God, that in the twilight of time and creation itself there we were, eyes wide and silent and knowing. Aye, we are the oldest magic, pure and distilled and alive.

'When the Black God called upon us it was not out of any great love or loyalty for him that we rallied to his banner, but out of enmity to Man. Ah, Man! That newborn race who thought to tame the wilds and flatten the earth and bore through the mountains and dictate the course of the rivers - where they would flow and where they will not, when they will flood and when they shall not. That newborn race that casually went about the business of exterminating Fygh and magic alike. Well, that race had to be made to perish.

'Divided then into our one hundred and sixty-three Courts, we could not quite agree on this course of action. Red Fern, however, then the Queen of Smoke and Sighs, knew then with an insight all others lacked that there could be no other course. There was no place for magic and the Fygh in a world in that Man continued to occupy.

'We fought one another then - on one side those 'Unsullied' who would slay themselves that Man may live and that Man may slaughter all, and the rest of us 'Sullied' who would rid the world of Man's cancer and let the wilds and all the chaotic beauties of magic loose. The Black God fell, the 'Unsullied' cheered as they cast Red Fern and us, their Sullied brethren, into the Fade...

'And we heard their cheers for a while there in that prison of ours, but then in time they cheered no more. Empty are the halls of the 'Unsullied' today. The echoes of their laughter are heard only in the halls of memory - our memory. For we remember. And though they were fools, yet were they our kin. The Fade grows thin now, and Red Fern - why, Red Fury! - has for a long time whispered her curses and promises of vengeance into the fabric of the world. We who are Sealed - who were lambasted as 'Sullied' - stir. We rise. We come.

'The Black God is dead, but we remain - and by our hand alone will be the final abolition of Man.'

[Cyclone]

@Kho for Red Fury

Hider

Pleasure as always to have you old pal.

We're pretty much universally agreed in saying that the content of your sheet is compelling, in theme, and has a lot to work with.

Oraculum thought it was odd to call Red Fury a scion rather than a rogue being given that she's explicitly not one of the Chernobog's spawn, but perhaps she could be called one in a spiritual sense since she answered his call to arms and was presumably a major ally to him in his war on mankind, or she could just be likened to a scion in the humans' legends as they forget the details of who she was or how the fygh predated Chernobog. It's interesting to consider whether you really want to call her a scion or not, but ultimately we don't delineate between the two based upon power level or any real RP mechanics, so it doesn't matter that much which way you say it. Scions were just the original monstrous demigod characters that I envisioned, and then rogue beings got added in afterward as a catch-all for less powerful beings or those who aren't necessarily aligned to Chernobog.

In any case, feel free to move that onto the characters tab!