Blu

Where No Man Treads | An Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Western [ Accepting ]

@dragonmancer Yeah, that sounds pretty good. Go with it.

Where No Man Treads | An Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Western [ Accepting ]

Posted.

@dragonmancer Living up to the username huh? Since you already have a mage, you could give the nonmage wyvern rider a try.

EDIT: So while I did add a two-day time skip, you guys feel free to have any interactions you want within those two days. I know Grimjaw and Ryn are still heading to Devon so you can encounter and control Thomas Essex if you'd like.

Where No Man Treads | An Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Western [ Accepting ]

Jason didn't need to give his name for Flynt to decipher who he is or what he is. His "friendly" shoulder touch was all the information that Flynt needed. But a proper introduction is what separates man from beast so Jason gave them his name and asks them if they know who he is. "Dead hand's accurate. You're a necromancer. A dying sect of magic unfortunately." Flynt explains in his croaky voice.

"Ahh. So truly a dead man walking." Thomas lightly jokes.

"Aren't we all?" Flynt adds.

"A grim outlook, but one that's not entirely inaccurate given the state of our sorry world." Thomas turns to Jason. "But yes, I do recall you've a part in this little expedition. Lady Fate has been kind to me today. Or is it Lady Luck? You'll have to forgive me. I'm a foreigner to these parts and am not well-versed in the terminology used here." Thomas explains.

"You're a Sillan." Flynt discerns.

"Correct you are, my good man. What gave it away?"

"Nothing. I've been around. Tell me, Sillan. Do you still speak the Old Tongue?"

"Assac ela dora. (You tell me.)"

"Kafka ta laga set. (Another language still lives.)" Before the conversation between the two men could continue any further, an old man interrupts; one that Flynt knows and has much admiration for. A grizzled veteran mage by the name of Reginald Dubois. The typical life span of a mage nowadays is somewhere between 25 to 35 years of age so while Flynt is considered "old" in mages' terms, Reginald is practically a relic. Reginald tips his hat to Flynt who returns the acknowledgement before he introduces himself and his purpose to Thomas.

"Tallahsa! (Wonderful!) Mister Dubois, it is a pleasure to have you accompany us. Dear bartender, a round of sparkling water for all of us, if you please." Thomas orders for the small party of four.

Flynt leans against the counter besides Reginald. "Good to see you, Longbeard. How's the gout? Not that walking's your preferred method of travel."

"Ahh, gentlemen, I'm afraid I must bid farewell to all of you for now. We will meet at the border of the Helscape in two days. I would advise getting well and rested in the next couple of days." Thomas states.

"Don't have to tell me. Getting here already drained my spirit what with that sandstorm and all." Flynt explains. Thomas then left the tavern leaving the three mages to their own accord. Flynt finishes his sparkling water and left a tip on the counter in the form of a copper coin. "I'm afraid catching up will have to wait, Longbeard. A bed calls me. And perhaps a warm body to lie next to." Flynt tips his hat to both mages. "Longbeard. Jason." He then leaves to retire for the day.

-Two Days Later-

A cockroach scurries across the arid desert ground in search of shade from the blistering heat—heat not from the sun but from the wind that carries along with it hot ash and sparks from the Helscape. The cockroach: in many ways a perfect analogy for the human race. Numerous and resilient in the face of all odds. A sand-colored gecko pops up from underground and, in an instant, devours the cockroach. Flynt rides his steed southbound to the border between the Living Lands and the Helscape. Already, signs of the demonic scourge's influence on the world can be seen all around Flynt. He'll be there within the hour. Flynt spent the last two days restocking on supplies, most especially, ammunition. It's as important as water when traveling into the Helscape. He also purchased a small pouch of dried, candied Soulthorne petals from a specialty mage store. He'll need it in a pinch.

An hour passes and, as predicted, he's finally here at the outskirts. The land a mile out towards the horizon is nothing but scorched earth and rivers of lava. The band of surveyors are here, waiting for their escorts. They consist of Thomas Essex—the Sillan man from two days ago—a dark-skinned Ancient by the name of Ludo Greene, and a red-haired female dwarf named Jane Wrathebone. "Flynt, my good man! First to show up as always." Thomas greets the mage.

"Tom." Flynt acknowledges while also tipping his hat to the other two before getting off his horse. "Ride back to camp." Flynt tells his horse before placing it under a mind control spell. The horse gallops off northward.

"Your steed not coming with?" Ludo, the Ancient, inquires in a deep, bellowing voice.

"I rather like my horse. Prefer it living." Flynt responds.

"Allow me to introduce my colleagues. Ludo Greene is the Ancient fellow and this small beauty here is Miss Jane Wrathebone. This is Arryn Flynt." Thomas introduces everyone.

"Ey, yer flatter me, Tom. Beauty, I cannot claim. It is good to have ye with us, Mister Flynt." Jane says.

"Just Flynt'll do. I think you're lovely, Miss Jane." Flynt states.

"Thank ye, Flynt. Then just Jane'll do."

Where No Man Treads | An Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Western [ Accepting ]

The only person who needs to make a post now is deathkiller. I'll post tomorrow morning regardless then things can really get going with the venture into the Helscape.

Where No Man Treads | An Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Western [ Accepting ]

Both posts are really good introductions. I want to post again but I'll give others the chance to make their intro.

Also, Jefferson is an asshole.

Where No Man Treads | An Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Western [ Accepting ]

"Pray tell, does the blame befall the devil?
I say that is the talk of a coward.
The only evil that dooms us so hopelessly is ourselves."
- Anonymous, A Tusian Folktale

WHERE NO MAN TREADS | An Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Western

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High noon, approximately a two-day ride from the outskirts of the Helscape—the devil's domain—a dark-garbed rider rides into the outpost of Devon on a ebony steed. Devon is the last sign of civilization for hundreds of miles in every direction; last chance to resupply for travelers heading south, not that any common man dare head that way. But this rider is no ordinary man. He lassos his horse to a nearby stable and rips his cowhide waterskin from his belt. Pulling down the worn kerchief from his face, he takes a sip of water but, alas, there is none. "Don't recall drinking it dry." he mutters to himself. The rider looks ahead and sees the local watering hole. "Could use some snake bite."

It is a poor establishment—dimly lit, dank, and an odd odor rears its ugly head at times; a doggery through and through. The patrons are a quiet bunch, not typical of tavern fare. The rider walks to the counter to speak to the bartender, a bald and burly man with one good eye. "Whiskey. Straight." the rider orders as he tosses a few copper coins onto the counter. The bartender looks down at the coins before looking back up at the rider.

"You can keep your coin, friend. No alcohol here." the bartender states.

"No wonder it's so quiet. No alcohol? Isn't that contradictory to the purpose of a bar?" the rider asks.

"No one's delivering nothin' all the way out here. Not this close to the badlands."

"Got anything stronger than water?"

"Sparkling water."

"Regular's fine." The rider drinks his lukewarm water and scans the room casually. Earlier in the week, he replied to a poster requesting bodies for escort service through the Helscape. A few hundred coins per person. As someone who frequents that half of the world, it should be easy money but only a fool underestimates the danger that comes from vising the Helscape. Then again, only the foolish go; the smart ones stay home. So what kind of manner of fool is this rider? He removes his leather gloves and places them into his left pant pockets, revealing a distinctive brand.

"Fuck! Are you a mage?!" a man standing beside the rider shouts when he saw the brand.

Calm and collected, the rider turns to the man and replies. "Do you have a problem?"

"You better damn bet on it! Why the fuck is a spell-chucker allowed in here?!"

"Easy there. No need to cause a commotion." The bartender attempts to calm the patron.

"If you got such a problem with me drinking here, you can drink elsewhere."

"The nearest outpost is not for a few days ride—"

"Then I suggest you start walking." The other patrons begin to whisper among themselves, trading rumors and myths on what they heard about mages. About how they sacrifice children for pagan rituals and how they lay with demons.

"That true? You fond of such deviltry? You fuck demons?" the patron questions.

"More likely to shoot 'em than fuck 'em. You got the wrong hog by the tail. I hunt demons for a living."

"I can vouch for this fellow." a slender man with a curled mustache said about the rider. "I occasionally employ mages for work. I know them better than most of you lot here. Let's all settle down. Sparkling water on me next round." The man managed to calm things down while the patron who originally caused the uproar was kicked out by the bartender. The mustachioed fellow walks up to the rider afterwards. "I hope that experience doesn't sour your thirst."

"Used to it. It's the end times. People are scared of any and all things unnatural. Not rattled at all."

"Nor should you be. Thomas Essex. Tom" The man tips his hat.

The rider does the same. "Arryn Flynt. Flynt."

"Arryn Flynt? If I'd a pig for every chance encounter in my life, I'd have a plate of bacon. I'm part of the company of surveyors whose advertisement you replied to."

"I see. Guess I'll be seeing you again in two days."

"I'd bet my mother's diamonds on it. But first, a drink."

Where No Man Treads | An Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Western [ Accepting ]

@Lacks Very nice. Accepted.

We'll be starting soon.

Where No Man Treads | An Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Western [ Accepting ]

@Master Crim Sure thing. I'll still be accepting people even after starting the IC.

Where No Man Treads | An Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Western [ Accepting ]

Just an update: we'll start the IC tomorrow. So @Polybius you might want to finish your CS by tomorrow.

Where No Man Treads | An Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Western [ Accepting ]

All the girls in this RP be like:



EDIT: RP will now be officially called "Where No Woman Exists"