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2 yrs ago
Current Shilling a good medieval fantasy: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
Don't mind me. Just shilling a thread: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
So worried right now. My brother just got admitted to the hospital after swallowing six toy horses. Doctors say he's in stable condtion.
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3 yrs ago
Nice to meet you, Bored. I'm interested!
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3 yrs ago
Ugh. Someone literally stole the wheels off of my car. Gonna have to work tirelessly for justice.
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Bio

Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?

Stay awesome, people.

Most Recent Posts

Magic_________ __ __ _ _







The Gift: A Deeper Understanding___ __ _ _

Use of The Gift is a rare phenomenon, reserved only for those most blessed by the gods. It is estimated that perhaps two in a hundred people have the ability to use magic for more than mere parlour tricks, though this has not been measured for a certainty. As befits a great boon bestowed upon man by the divine Pentad, The Gift is arcane and inscrutable in nature: far beyond mortal understanding. What little is known to learned men is recorded below for the benefit of the interested.








Places_________ __ __ _ _


The World: A Deeper Understanding__ _ _ _

The world of Sipente is home to a myriad of different cultures based on region, religion, social class, and other identity factors. For the purposes of our RPG, we'll be focusing mainly on those of Parrence, Drudgunze, and Eskand, which occupy the central and southern regions of the continent of Constantia.

As a general rule, the lingua franca (common tongue) that most people would speak, similar to how many of us use English as a common medium and how Europeans used Latin in the past, is Avincian: the old language of the Avincian Empire. Most noble, clergy, and wealthier merchant characters would be expected to have a strong command of this language in addition to their native tongue and perhaps one other major language. For the commonfolk, its use has faded and local dialects of Parrench, Eskandr, and Drudgunzean generally prevail.




Peoples_________ __ __ _ _





Religion_________ __ __ _ _
The Quentic Faith_________ __ __ _ _



Other Faiths_________ __ __ _ _



King's Decree_________ __ __ _ _

First: The Story | Welcome to Oriflamme: a low fantasy RPG set in the same world as The Hourglass Order. Taking place eight hundred years prior, during the Dark Ages, it shares much of the same lore and deals with the coalescence and founding of the nation of Perrence. This takes place against the backdrop of merciless and persistent raids and invasions by the southern 'barbarians' known as Eskandr. Yet, this is not a story without nuance. Within Parrence, as it is then called, exist a great many nationless, including the non-human yasoi and the steppes people known as Tourrare. These often exist in tension with an increasingly hierarchical state. The 'heathen' invaders face issues of their own, as well. Their northernmost brethren - the Drudgunzeans - are increasingly forsaking their ancient ways and the faith of their fathers in favour of the Perrench religion of Quentism. You'll be playing warriors of a great many sorts who have answered the young king's call to fight for their country or else those who resist or even the very barbarians who seek to destroy it in order to preserve their ascendance.

Second: Character Creation | This RPG involves magic and a handful of fantasy creatures, but is more concerned with a degree of realism than most fantasy. To that end, you'll be playing human (or yasoi) characters. You are allowed a concurrent maximum of two. These should be setting-appropriate, which means no clockwork tinkerers, half-elves with violet eyes, unusually tall emo kids, rebellious princess-knights, or anime main characters. The people that you create don't have to revel in their outward uniqueness simply for its own sake. They can be archetypes but still be compelling if thought, nuance, and heart go into making them. Good Dark Ages character art is also very difficult to find, so I'll be allowing some leeway, but this is not a D&D campaign or an anime. Characters' attire should be practical and reflect their setting and role.

Third: Conduct | This will be a fast-paced game with plenty of action, intrigue, politics, and exploration. It will have a clearly defined goal and ending. Players will be expected to adhere to the standard rules on powerplaying, metagaming, and 'asspulling'. Play this game in good faith and it'll be rewarding. If you find yourself very focused on 'winning' against other players as opposed to telling a collaborative story, then I'd ask you to look elsewhere. In terms of activity level, I'm looking for at least two paragraphs per post a minimum of once per week. If you don't think that you can keep up with that activity level, then this isn't for you. If you go inactive on the forum and on discord without prior notice for more than a week, I will ping and Direct Message you. If you fail to respond after a second week of inactivity... your character will fall in service of the kingdom or join the Visitor in Grønhal.

Fourth: Deaths | As participants in a wartime game, you run the risk of character death. These will not be random acts of the Gods, but risky choices are, well... risky. That is not to discourage risk-taking. There may be sizable rewards as well, but ill-advised decisions (and you will always receive a warning of the risks and possible benefits if you would like one) can also result in the maiming or death of your character. You are free, however, to re-enter with a second character if your first is taken by Echeran. You'll only be permanently kicked from the game in instances of counterproductive behaviour or extended inactivity without notice.

Fifth: Character Roles | There are four Loyalties (otherwise known as factions) and eleven Callings (otherwise known as classes). Some are fairly unique and there will be caps on how many characters are allowed of these types. For the sake of realism, if your character is going against the societal grain, I would like to see good, nuanced, developed reasons as to why. If you're rebelling in some way, it needs to have a compelling internal logic and thoughtful emotional justification. In general, to ensure a balanced spread of characters that reflects the spirit of the game, we'll be using a quota system. If there are too many characters submitted for a particular quota, the one best suited to the direction of the narrative will be taken. The other player may submit an alternate character if they wish. You may find the current quotas and roster in the Zeroth post of the Characters tab.





The World_________ __ __ _ _
For a higher resolution view with more details, right click the image, open in a new tab, and magnify. To view the world 800 years in the future, click here (warning: spoilers).



The world of Sipente, where our story takes place, is vast and complex, governed by the laws of nature and magic but, to its people, by those of the divine Pentad as covered in the holy Menanne. All Parrench and many Drudgunzeans believe firmly that it was through the will of the Gods that all things were brought into existence, by their leave that man flourishes, and by their wrath that he fails.

Distinct from most fantasy settings, this world is very much in its equivalent to the Dark Ages (though the later part of them). Tactics and technology are simpler than in later medieval times: castles humbler, siege warfare in its infancy, good steel more valuable, and mounted knights a relatively new innovation. Full plate armour does not yet exist. The trebuchet has not been invented. Still developing, too, are the social codes that will come to define the middle ages: chivalry is a mere idea that some people have, nobility is still as much a state of being and behaviour as it is a status that one inherits. Magic has become less schooled and more arcane, still widely used but with much of its written form and finer points having been lost. Kingdoms are generally small and evanescent in nature. Parrence is the first truly large one to form north of the Asquelle since the fall of the Avincian Empire. Its success or failure may very well determine what the continent's future will look like.

Many are the peoples, places, beasts, and legends of this world. In the guides below, only those that may play a role in our story will be covered. While it is not essential, if you'd like a more in-depth understanding, it is recommended that you engage with the portions of the posts below that are labeled 'A Deeper Understanding'. You can also look at the extensive lore of The Hourglass Order. Finally, you are strongly encouraged to join our Sipenta Discord. For your convenience, you'll also find a character sheet template below, as well as in the Characters tab.






Act One: The Defense of Relouse____ __ _ _

Chapter One: A King's Call_________ __ __ _ _






𝅘𝅥𝅮 Meldheim, Eskand: One Week Previous




A seagull glided across the fjord, wheeling and bleating upon the cool evening wind. Each flap of its wings was measured as it rode the fast-cooling thermals. Beneath it were a great many humans standing by the water. These were of concern to the animal only insofar as their detritus provided an easy source of food before nightfall. Beyond that, it gave little care for the rituals of those strange land-bound animals.

They stood there in multitude, though, in a place called Meldheim. Before them stretched the cold grey waters of the Veldskyr. Yet, one could almost walk upon the sea for so many longships called it home. Behind them, a city roosted upon a hill where it rose to meet the walls of the fjord. Smoke spiraled into the darkening sky from a hundred chimneys and forges, black and wispy against a vast red sun. Finally, it sank from view and the glow of fires licked and flickered amid the burgeoning twilight.

It took a dozen strong men to set the longship going. The king could’ve done so himself, using the Gift, but he did not. This would be the last chance for these loyal warriors to act in service of their Jarl before they met again in Grønhalle. He would not deny it to them.

Without oarsmen, a vessel meant for them is directionless. Silently, King Hrothgar, a man many called ‘The Black’ for the armour he had earned slaying the legendary Mørkt Fjell, reached out with the immense power given to him by the Gods. The lone longship went still some ways from shore and there it sat in open water far from its brethren.

“Into the darkness, brother, you voyage," spoke the king solemnly. A rose of flame blossomed on the craft and spread quickly. "The journey from this land to the next is long, but we know that your deeds will go before you and guide you."

“It wasn't right that you fell in the Greenlands,” Hrothgar continued, “That unholy place with its crowded stinking cities, false gods, and greedy, grasping men, but you fell fighting in Bróðir’s presence, with bravery in your sword arm and the names of the gods on your lips.” He bowed his head.

“Though we will not see you arrive at Gestur's table, we know, one day, that we too will hear the call, and we will meet you there to drink and feast until the time of the Giving.”

“Let this fire of Faðir cleanse your vessel from this mortal plane,” the king said. “So that your spirit may voyage."

The longship was fully ablaze now. "Voyage well, my brother and my friend." He bowed his head and, from behind him rose a cry so loud as to shake the heavens, as to let Gestur know that a warrior worthy of a seat at the table was coming.

“Til Grønhalle!”
“Til Grønhalle!”
“Til Grønhalle!”


It echoed into the darkness, off of the cold stone walls of the fjord. The fires guttered and the stricken timbers smoked and steamed. Then the longship was gone and Einar, King of Juiskarn, with it. He had met his end bravely, overwhelmed by the superior numbers and treachery of the Greenlanders known as Parrench. It was those who were craftiest of all and as many as the pebbles on this beach. Always, Hrothgar knew, they were sending their art, their spices, and their music to the lands of the south. Most of all, they sent their priests to corrupt his people. Already, they had corrupted the kings of Kehreland and Feske and they would turn yet more of the Eskandr and their Drudgunzean kinsmen from the true gods. Less bloody than an axe but with the sureness of disease, they would destroy his people if he did nothing.

When the priests come to Hrothgar, however, he had welcomed them into his halls. He had given them bread and salt. He had allowed them to bathe in the hot springs that nestled at the foot of the Eldfjall and its liquid fire. Hrothgar had entertained an entire colony of these Somnians, Stresians, and Dordians and his people had begun to doubt him. When he had called a great feast and invited those noblemen who he knew were wavering, who had friends in the Greenlands, they were waiting upon him to betray his fathers’ faith. Instead, he’d had the priests seized and placed in chains. He and his most loyal of men had carved the blood eagle upon all twenty-five of them. Their screams had filled the night and he had staked out his position in no uncertain terms: his ways were his ways. Eskand was a place for Eskandr and not these northern fools.


Now, having made his statement, the King of Kings had called for his banners. Einar’s death had been as brave as it was tragic, but Horthgar would be remiss if he did not admit that its timing had been fortuitous. The Parrench and even some Drudgunzeans had begun to refer to the Eskandr as heathens. So be it. What Hrothgar had then gathered - what stood about and before him - was a Great Heathen Army. Tonight, they would feast and confer and celebrate the life of their brother. Three of his four children - two sons and a daughter - had made the journey and were among the army’s number. One would earn the crown, drenched in his enemy's blood, per Einar’s wishes. Tomorrow, they would set off. They would land upon the rugged shore near the rich walled town of Relouse and take it for their base camp. There, Hrothgar would make a king of one of his loyal Jarls, for he himself had no desire to wear a Greenlander crown.

The Great Heathen Army would march on from there and extinguish the grasping, spreading kraken that was Parrence while it was yet in its infancy. Eskandr would burn those people out of the fertile lands that they claimed. They would break the nascent kingdom, they would break its people's will, and they would crush the Greenlanders’ faith in their greedy-eyed gods that would not live peacefully alongside those of others. The Army would steal the treasures of the north for Eskand and push the borders of Hrothgar’s empire once more past the River Haskell and the River Mejn.

Yet, even as he stood there gazing out over his horde and glorying in their might, something came to him that he had felt only once before in his forty-odd years of life: a flicker of doubt.








𝅘𝅥𝅮 Luderrich, Kingdom of Lindermetz: Two Weeks Previous




King Otto of Lindermetz, called the ‘Just’ by his people - it may have been intended as ironic; it may not have - was not necessarily an easy man to reach. Yet, Frida was an unusually persistent woman. Her quarrels with Folcher, the petty cloth merchant whose market stall was beside her husband’s, were the stuff of town legend at this point.

That grasping, beady-eyed schweinhund was always displaying his wares over a vast area in front of his stall and - more importantly - in front of Hermann’s! So it was that Frida had taken her concerns at this blatant disregard for neighbourly decorum to the local bailiff, but he was the cousin of Folcher’s wife and had dismissed her concerns with some false words and a laugh when he had thought she wasn’t listening. In truth, she hadn’t been, but one of her daughter’s friends worked as a servant in his house. She had heard everything and told Frida.

Next, she had gone to the magistrate and he had spoken sympathetic-sounding words. Yet, he had also refused to override the bailiff. He claimed that it was not his prerogative and that no good would come of such an action. For that, Frida had left three rotten eggs on his doorstep. The Quentic faith was supposed to be compassionate, or so she had been told time and again by those who were determined to convert her. Yet, Folcher kept the new gods and he was anything but. So had the King’s Justice, and he’d refused to act against a fellow Quentist in favour of a ‘pagan’. Where, Frida had thought, was the justice in that?

On up the chain she had gone until she was here, in Luderrich, awaiting her audience with the king. It had been two years. Folcher’s booth had since moved to another, more affluent area of the Großer Markt, but she had seen matters through this far and she was seeking damages. She had many witness statements. The local New Somnian chapter had even helped her. Perhaps, she admitted grudgingly, these Quentists were good for something. Though a part of Frida pushed back at the idea with the sort of stubbornness that had defined her life, she had even thought of converting. Pragmatically, she had prayed to both sets of gods for a resolution. She would see how matters settled and then decide. Certainly, it seemed ever more of her neighbours had been hanging those hourglass signs upon their lintels.


Yet, it appeared that, were it justice she sought, Frida would have to wait a bit longer. She was in the great hall now, where Otto of Lindermetz, a marginally plump little man with a stressed out pinkish face and chin-length blonde hair greased back beneath his crown, sat uncomfortably, shifting every so often on a great wooden chair.

The cheese merchant’s wife had gone so far as to buy a new dress - though never from Folcher - without patches. She had been practicing her bow and address for some days now. So, imagine her annoyance when a couple of guards stepped in front of her and barred her path - and, incidentally, those of everyone behind her - with their crossed halberds.

Men with fine robes and funny hats bustled about, then. They whispered in the king’s ear and Frida craned her neck to get a better look. “Bring in the musician, too, I suppose.” He shifted again on his throne, scratching at his bulbous little nose. “Time to give her a test run, no? See if she can keep us entertained.” The men in hats whispered some more, glancing down at the scrolls they held. The king heaved a much-put-upon sigh. “And the swamp witch.” He looked annoyed. “Bring in the swamp witch. Why not? What other manner of freaks shall we enjoy today?”

Frida caught a bit of the exchange as one of the scribes raised his voice a little. “It’ll move things along quicker, my lord.”

“Enough so I can enjoy my evening hunt?”

“In theory, my lord.”

“I want quail tonight, Humbert. I have been too long without it.”

“You’ve one more petition waiting in the hall.” Humbert’s eyes slid towards Frida and she straightened, trying to look dignified. “She’s been at it for quite some time.”

Otto sighed. “A lengthy issue?” The merchantwoman had excellent hearing, but she kept her expression neutral.

“No, something rather petty. We can fold her in with the others, after the lady knight. Give the woman her moment.”

Her expression slipped somewhat, but only briefly. Count on some powdered noble wanting to play knight to take up the king’s valuable time, and just when Frida was finally about to make good on two years of effort that had nearly made her a figure of fun. She saw the king nod, and then he waved for the guards at the side chamber to open the doors.


“Make way for Lady Hildr der Rote,” shouted the crier, “Slayer of the Vulkanischer Drache of Vigholm!”

Volcanic Dragon. Pfft! Frida nearly rolled her eyes. If the dragon was a volcano, it wasn’t particularly mobile, now was it? She did not find herself impressed. She had once fought off an entire pack of Smiling Dragons with nary but a broom, some gloves, and a sturdy pair of boots. Give her a sword, armour, and some training and she likely could’ve dealt with the problem herself. When the stout merchantwoman saw what marched in from a side chamber, she let out a snort. Some ridiculous lady knight in men’s clothes. To Frida’s eyes, she looked half a girl: far too pretty to be any sort of fighter.

Next came a strange pale girl in a dark robe. Her hair was… green as if covered in a slight film of moss, and Frida found herself making the signs of both the Family and the Pentad. Ungodly creature! To have a swamp witch in his very throne room, King Otto was either brave, strong, or courting disaster. Finally, came a bard, dressed in harlequin robes and carrying a lute. Pretty young thing, Frida mused, looking her up and down. Too lucky, lazy, or promiscuous to get a real job or a good husband.

The king stood, pushing off his throne’s armrests and stepping down so that he was near eye-level with the three new arrivals. He was a good deal taller than he had looked while seated, and not entirely without charm. He rubbed at his chin for a moment. “You will state your business: each of you,” he said briefly, pacing along in front of them. “You, I know, were caught trespassing on my land. You are but a girl and…” he paused and studied the young witch’s face for a moment, “and not fully human by the looks of you. Apologize, pay homage, and you may work off your owings. No punishment will be necessary. I have, perhaps, a task for which you could be of use, and we would consider your debt paid upon completion.”

He stopped in front of the lady knight next. “And you, Lady Hildr, your reputation certainly precedes you.” It does? thought Frida. “Yet…” he glanced down at his boots for a moment and, when he looked up, annoyance showed on his face. “I have heard disturbing reports that you still keep the old barbarian gods. That you have not found the light of the Pentad.” He furrowed his brow. “Truly, this is a shame. Why,” he continued, spreading his arms apart, “even now the Eskandr make preparations for war on Parrence. Our misguided brethren in Kressia join them, striking at our friends and trading partners from the south. Should I send you to that green land, how is it that I know you will not join your fellow pagans? Certainly, I have heard that you are very… close with some of them.”

He moved on, coming to a stop in front of the bard. “Tilda, is it? Of Ullmer?” He looked her up and down, glancing at her lute, and then he smiled. “I’ve heard you do not sing of heroes.” His voice warmed. “And it is just as well, for I have seen precious few in my lifetime.” He shook his head. “Better to sing of the shrewd businessmen who keep this country running, of the gatherings that give it light and life, of the fine hearty peasants who are salt of its earth. These are my thoughts and, I hope, yours." He paused and nodded. "Yet, I have heard that you have some martial skill to you. If this is true, then we may speak at length in the coming hours, for there is a task for which your king needs you and may compensate you handsomely.”

“All three of you may now address me,” he declared, after a moment of silence had passed. “State your cases, demonstrate your skill, and pledge your allegiance. Then I shall tell you what you are here for in earnest and provide for your travel.”

Frida had opened her mouth to call out to one of the robed men who fluttered about the throne room, but then the king’s guards barred her way once more. One of those very same men caught their eyes, shook his head, and the merchant was escorted out. “Tomorrow, ma’am,” said a guard brusquely. On the one hand, Frida was incensed. On the other, she had waited two years. What was one more day?








𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝅘𝅥𝅮 Relouse, Royaume de Parrence: The Present








It pained Arcel, deep in his chest, in the place that he would show to no others but dearest Eleanor and faithful Talit, what circumstances had forced upon him. Yet, he would not flinch from his duty as king. For many years, the Eskandr and, occasionally, Drudgunzeans had harried his land and killed the people who Orpahe had charged him with protecting. Myriad had been the alliances, treaties, and shifts in power that had characterized the past two centuries. The Parrench were a peaceful folk by nature, and would that he could rule them as a peaceful king, but it was not in the offing. For as long as the Parrench kingdoms, duchies, and counties had stood on their own uncertain feet, Skandergeld had flown from their coffers into those of the paiens. They had sent priests to live and work among the Southern peoples and spread the light and salvation of the Quentic faith. At great cost, they had sent south great works of art and culture, finest silks and spices, truthful good will. Yet, still, the barbarians raided. Still, they menaced monasteries, convents, and villages. They remained intractable.

First, the Eskandr had murdered their kings when these had seen the light. That had brought the new kingdom to the brink of war with them but, then, they had savagely killed the holy men who had embraced them as brothers in a bloody pagan ritual. It was plain that there was no peace to be had now, and Parrence stood as a bulwark. If it was to be war, Arcel had decided, then he would hit them with the unified might of Parrence: greatest of northern nations and heir to the traditions and steel of empire. The Drudgunzeans would join him in the light and hope of Ipté, Chune and Oraphe or else be crushed under the boots and hammer of Echeran and Dami. Heartily, as he knelt down beside his wife each night, he prayed for it.


Now, they prayed not alone, however. The fifty-five banners of the Parrench people snapped and fluttered in the stiff maritime breeze. On the very rock where Sainte Defrois had invoked the power of Echeran and slain the Dawn Wyvern those many years ago - the stone still stained with its black blood - King Arcel stood before the Grand Armée. To one side stood his beloved, Eleanor. To the other was the newly-elevated Archbishop of Relouse. The King knelt and kissed the holy man’s hand. Beside him knelt the Queen. “Father,” they said as one, “I ask you for the blessing of the most holy Pentad.”

Monks rang their handheld bells and the smell of incense drifted on the wind. The archbishop spread his arms and addressed all of those present. “Ipté, Chune, Oraphe, Echeran, and Dami bless all those who would embrace them. The blessing is yours if you will speak the words.”

“I shall,” answered the king. “I shall,” replied the queen.

“Then let us pray,” said the holy man reverently.

They gathered beneath the grey walls on the bright green grass beneath the clear blue sky and they prayed. Some, with greater fervour than others, but pray they all did.

Thousands made the sign of the Pentad.

“Lover, Learner, Creator, Destroyer, Judge,” they began. “All magics and all of creation pay homage to the divine Pentad who brought them into being. Thy existence is beyond human understanding, thy ways both arcane and divine, and thy gifts the foundations of life itself. May thy will be done now and forever.”


“Amen,” declared the archbishop, his robes flapping in the wind, his aged face serene. Arcel stood, and Eleanor a moment later. The former placed a hand upon the holy man’s shoulder and thanked him quietly. He stepped to the edge of the promontory. “Today,” he announced, “we set out upon the holy endeavour most blessed by Echeran: that of war!” His voice carried across the plain, raised to the ears of those gathered through the work of the Gift. “It is a grim business that we have set ourselves to but, as you are all here, I am satisfied that each of you know how it has now become a necessary one: an inevitable one.” He bowed his head momentarily. “Look around you, now, at the brave men and women who stand upon this sacred ground where Sainte Defrois once slew the Dawn Wyvern that so menaced this country. You do not stand alone. Nor do you stand as Tourrares, Legalles, Vitrouennes, Chambroix, or Servignans! You stand, today, the fifty-five nations of Parrennce: a fighting force blessed by the five gods, a fighting force such as this world has never laid eyes upon!”

Arcel’s heart was pounding with the emotion of the moment. This was history being made. It would be retold for many hundreds of years and, for a flicker of time, the pressure of it chipped away at the edge of his resolve. “You know well the danger,” he proclaimed, pacing now. “Some of us will be called to the five heavens, to live in the grace and peace of the Pentad, far from these mortal concerns. That is an outcome that we were all aware of when we heeded the call to come to this place. You know well the enemy,” he continued, pausing and facing the army. “Their deeds go before them: their prowess in battle, their unholy, barbaric, and murderous ways!” Eleanor stood to the side, hands knitted in front of her, expression resolved and serene as she gazed out across the crowd: the nobles in front and the hommes-de-roi, the petty knights behind, and the soldiers behind them still. The king continued. “Yet, I tell you this, people of my nation: do not let doubt stay your action this day, for I have met them on the battlefield. I have crossed steel with their steel, and we are every bit their equal. Now, with our peoples combined and the Gods to lend us strength, I tell you further: by Chune’s light, by Echeran’s sword we shall carry the day!” He drew his greatsword from its scabbard and thrust it into the air. “Vive la Parrence!!!”

A sea of burnished steel glowing under the stresian sun, fifty thousand weapons rose. The five tribes and fifty-five nations of Parrence roared, then, their voices a fearsome cry echoing off the old stone walls of Relouse. When the volume had died down somewhat, the king raised a hand. “Now, once more, brothers and sisters in arms and in faith, let us raise our voices in prayer!” He collapsed to his knees, locks of golden hair spilling over his crown.


“Oh heavenly Pentad,” he proclaimed, “who hath crafted the heavens, the sea, and the earth beneath our feet, who hath brought life, love, learning, and laughter to us, who destroy so that we may be renewed, who give us choice, magic, and freedom, we beg this of thee:”

“First,” said Eleanor, kneeling beside him, “Of Ipté we beg love for our brothers and sisters in this nation and those under your protection, that we might always remember what we are fighting for and why it is worth so very much.”

“Second,” said the king, “of Chune we beg wisdom and keenness of mind, that we may outwit and outplay the enemy, that we might recognize dangers and opportunities more fully, that we might be strong in our tactics and our strategies.”

“Of Oraphe,” said the queen, her breastplate shimmering in the sun, “we humbly ask for light, life, and good health to our bodies and minds, that we may fight with vigour and bring the light of a lasting peace to this land once all is said and done.”

“Of Echeran, we ask for the blessings of war,” Arcel declared. “We ask for courage and strength in battle. We ask that our restraint be removed, that mercy not stay our hand when facing the enemy, that we should move across the field like a great scythe among the chaff.”

“Finally, we beg sound judgement of Dami,” concluded the queen, “that we will exercise it at all times and that it will serve us well. We humbly pray that he will look with favour upon our actions here today, and for evermore.”

The king bowed his head. The queen followed. “This we pray,” declared the former. “Amen,” finished the latter. They made the sign of the Pentad and rose to their feet. In the distance, beyond the town, the fields, and the rough, stony seawall that tumbled towards the water lay Cape Redame. Sometime soon, all of those gathered knew, in perhaps only a handful of hours, the thousand longships of a Great Heathen Army would round its headland. From the deep, cloudy waters of the Océan Venteux, the Eskandr would make their landfall on the beach just there. The soldiers of the Grand Armée would meet them and they would fight: the first battle of many for the survival of Parrence.





@Siber Great to have you aboard. Any idea what sort of character you might be gravitating towards? Feel free to bounce any questions or ideas that you have off of me either here, by DM, or on discord. On that note, I'd recommend joining our discord if you're interested. You'll find a lot of help and additional resources there. Some people have been RPing within the world of Sipente for quite a while now and know its lore basically as well as I do.


I'm thinking of a Bard that specializes in Force. Planning for her to be a Drudgunzean. As far as details go... I don't have a lot, but I'm hoping to work a bit more tonight!


Sounds good! Keep me posted. OOC is going up within half an hour.
@pantothenic,@Atalanta, and @YummyYummy: I'm loving the characters. For the first two, feel free to pop them straight into the Character tab once the OOC is launched tomorrow, as I've already reviewed them. For Yummy, you can stick Aheri in there once I've given you feedback. Was just too damned busy today! There isn't much, so don't worry.

@Siber Great to have you aboard. Any idea what sort of character you might be gravitating towards? Feel free to bounce any questions or ideas that you have off of me either here, by DM, or on discord. On that note, I'd recommend joining our discord if you're interested. You'll find a lot of help and additional resources there. Some people have been RPing within the world of Sipente for quite a while now and know its lore basically as well as I do.



In more general news, the OOC will go live tomorrow and I'll finally be finishing poor Arcel's CS. He's been waiting for a while. I'm also hoping to have some info on flora and fauna up once we reach OOC. Stretch goals include having a more detailed map that doesn't suck. Those will realistically trickle in as they become ready. If there's still more that you want to know, you can always check out The Hourglass Order. Happy RPing and see you tomorrow!
Hey dude! To say that I love this concept and would love to be a part of it is an understatement. I actually had an idea of my own in the same general ballpark that I have yet to actually try on here. Thing is, I thought I'd have a lot more free time after the contract ended on my second job. Instead, I've been even busier than before over the past week. I'm GMing two games and in another two and I just don't think that I could commit to the extent that I would want to or be able to do this awesome world justice. That means that I have to bow out. If I wasn't already in four RPGs, I'd be on board.

Anyways, I know that player drops happen because life is life and, if any of the games that I'm in conclude soon I'd be quite eager to return to this before looking for anything new. Basically: if you're looking for any replacements in the future, DM me. If I can find some bandwidth, I remain very interested. Just... currently unable to responsibly act on that interest. You deserve an engaged and committed playerbase.


B L A C K F L A G









The Battle by the Docks
The horror from Wvysen's grisly death hadn't come close to fading when the Atomic mage next launched himself at Ingrid and engaged her in a brutal, close-quarters, atomic brawl. Meanwhile, Nerio and Desmond found themselves momentarily on the back foot as Trypano and Ismette hurried to catch up with the others. They were too late to do much for Onarr, who was grabbed by the enemy kinetic mage and hurled out over the sea, colliding with its surface in a mighty splash. Meanwhile, Amelia - the putative Segonese Princess - noticed that nobody seemed to be targeting her with deadly strikes. She correctly surmised that the mysterious enemies were trying to capture her alive and intervened in the nick of time to save Ingrid from being melted by the sadistic Atomic Mage's Infernal Majesty.

Meanwhile, each of the others found themselves heavily engaged in combat. Recovering, Onarr found himself in a one on one duel and on the run: dodging, weaving, and making use of his small size to be an elusive target. Desmond, facing off against a Chemical Mage, used his years of experience as a mercenary, his intuition, and not a bit of luck to coordinate with Nerio and take the dangerous enemy down. Trypano, hard pressed by both the enemy Binder and a persistent Magnetic Mage, found herself cornered and facing her end at the hands of the latter just as she was about to deal a fatal blow of her own. Intervening with the fabled Temporal Magic of the yasoi as the last moment, Ismette was able to buy her partner time to escape, finish off the binder, and take the offensive against the Magnetic Mage with a grisly and creative attack.

Things were to take a turn for the worst, however, as the enemy Arcane illusionist, who'd remained hidden up to that point, chose that very moment to appear behind Ingrid as she prepared to launch a big counterattack on the Atomic Mage. Only Amelia's warning and quick reflexes saved the Eskandishwoman from a fatal wound, but she crumpled to the ground, stabbed and bleeding out. The enemy leader took advantage of the princess' distraction to grab her and knock her unconscious with a chemical spell before rocketing off to make his escape.

Left alone to die, the Magnetic attacker threw everything that he had at Trypano, who tried doing double duty both healing the badly wounded Ingrid as well as fighting him off. Meanwhile, drawing inspiration from the histories, Onarr hit upon a new tactic in his solo duel with the Kineticist, and he wasn't the only one. Desmond leapt into action against the fleeing Atomic Mage, attempting to knock him out of the sky with a trick bullet.

The group met with mixed success. As Ismette jumped back into the fight following her exhausting Temporal attack, she was able to turn the ground beneath the Magnetic attacker into corrosive sludge, forcing him to throw himself to the side. Trypano, free to heal Ingrid, got her up to peak health through the power of Binding Magic, and the Eskandishwoman proved the validity of that tactic by calling down the massive pillar of fire that she had originally been saving for the Atomic Mage onto the Magneticist instead. He ceased to exist. The same could not be said for the Atomic Mage, who was able to sense the unusual shape of and energy signature of Desmond's bullet and counter it. Meanwhile, Onarr, who'd been carefully gathering his energy and distracting his attacker with banter, prepared to unleash his final gambit.

It all came together in a final flurry, as Benedetto, who'd been missing up to this point for reasons unknown (apparently having a bit too much fun in a brothel), rocketed up out of nowhere and savagely attacked the team's escaping enemy. Having given no thought to the unconscious Amelia's safety, he delivered a brutal and ultimately fatal beating. Thankfully, with some quick thinking, Trypano was able to use Gift of the Frog to save he falling girl's life. She almost had to do the same for Desmond as the final enemy, the Arcanist, mounted a final, vengeful sneak attack against him. He was prepared for it, however, and using his experience with martial arts, was able to take her down and put a bullet through her head. Onarr's finale was more of a mixed bag as he used a powerful magnetic technique to cause a littoral explosion beneath his overconfident adversary. While it met with grisly success, he was severely impacted himself and there is every danger that he may not be able to make it back to the team without assistance.

Now returned and victorious, the sadistic Benedetto flaunts his win over the most powerful enemy and mocks Wvysen's death, flippantly inquiring as to what the group should do next. Indeed, there are many things calling to their attention but, as they have seen before, splitting up can be dangerous. Onarr is still missing following his battle and his whereabouts only roughly known. Penny, too, is missing, and her situation is yet another mystery hanging over the group's head. Finally, Princess Amelia has fallen onto a great, soft cushion and whether she is yet conscious and whether her former captors will make another play for her remains to be seen. Hers is the knowledge of the crew that has been harassing trade and perhaps the artifact that the team is there to recover. What should they do next and how should they do it?
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