LadyRunic

A giant List of Ideas and Potential Stories [High-Casual to Advance] [18+]

Looking for the Victorian Vampire and potentially Sith with Mor'gann.

To Claim a Starting World

@Califricus Since everyone is in a Northern village? Just have a reason to be there. The RP is pretty free-form and the world depends on your actions.

A giant List of Ideas and Potential Stories [High-Casual to Advance] [18+]

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To Claim a Starting World

The two would find the man heavier than he appeared for one living in the wilds. Arn would know it for the muscles one built from having to fight every day. The hunter and the villager healer had been very lucky to come across the wolf-man so wounded and already weakened. Had he meant to attack them, then there would have been a serious fight. As it was, whatever had caused him to flee must have been a terrifying force. Gwendolyn would understand the wounds Lutter had suffered. If this was what had attacked the lay about then it would explain much. Though his face, as Arn had pulled the mask away, was lean. Showing harsh survival and the near-starvation that had chiseled lines into his brow and the corners of his eyes. Dark black hair spilled over his back in a tangle and there was oddly no sign of a beard. Odd as the man looked to be of the age to have one. His nose looked like it had been broken before and his teeth were perfect, strong and white. But all that was covered with dirt, blood and sweat.

As the two of them weaved through the forest, the sun would have risen in the sky. The warmth of the day seeping through a canopy of green. Birds fluttering about and warning of the two blundering humans that marched through the forest. The village was in their sight as they neared the edge of the forest, the sun shining closer to the highest point than it had been this morning. The villagers were moving about the fields tending to the crop and meager herds that sustained them. The ringing call of Hod's hammer as the smith banged out some tool or the other. Most likely something large from the noise that was being caused.

"Gwendolyn, what-" There was a rustle near them as Oskar, Dallen and Yvenna's oldest son, stepped from the trees with a pair of hares in one hand and a bow in another. "The beast-!" The lad yelped, tumbling back and fetching up against a tree as he stared at the unconscious stranger. "Wh- How?!" Curiosity warred with wariness and fright in the young lad. Though Gwendolyn would also see his shuffling feet and tucked chin. A boy growing into a man, yes. But one who harbored some guilty knowledge.

The Prince's Royal Guard

Zatana had just finished the lovely loaf of sweetbread, her head tucked against her chest with her hood shadowing her face as she sought the doze of someone who was in a hostile city. The chair was tilted back a bit onto the rear legs, and her knee was carefully set just so. To anyone else, the posture would be uncomfortable, but then again most probably never had to sleep in a sitting position for an extended period. Having done a stint as a hall boy, the sort who waits at a door all night so that important guests need not wait, and a messenger at the behest of gathering information, Zatana was more than used to the pose. It beat sleeping on a horse. There was uncomfortable! She was interrupted by the movement of people entering the war room. Something sat wrong with them being able to enter this interior shell of the keep, or so Zatana thought. Opening her dark eyes, she had one of her long knives in her hand before she spoke, though that hand was on the far side of the strangers.

Who it was surprised the dark elf. She had not been expecting the strange cleric and two knights who looked to be nothing like those who served the city or Duke. Two knights lacking the stains of battle on top of that when this woman they held in their arms was so covered in goblin gore and sewer muck? On top of that, the civilized elf grimaced privately at the thought of the woman going to sleep in a bed so soiled. Cleanliness was an underappreciated factor in her profession. Smells where there ought to be no such smell was something that could foul up an operation just as much as eating the wrong food or bringing the wrong tools. Standing from the circle of lizard man that was Merik she bowed as stately as any courtier. The knife hidden against her wrist. "Good evening, Sirs. Lady... Forgive me, I did not catch your name when last we met. Never fear, you merely disturbed my rest while I remain able to move to where His Highness Prince Leonidas of the Empire of Man requires me to be." Zatana felt her smile become somewhat sharper. She was revealing too much of her courtly graces, but these knights. They should have had some grime if they had not just thrown their cleric to the wolves- literally. Soldiers were loud as they exchanged the news.

"Though I can see the Cleric is weary and since I have no need of it as of current, I offer you my own quarters should they suffice. Though..." She gave a pause to emphasize what she was saying was no request at all. "I do suspect that the Sacred Order's Cleric of the Dead would enjoy a bath before the bed, Ser Knights." A small luxury the woman looked like she dearly needed. Plus the ulterior motive of trying to figure the woman and her two knights out, then again with her being a dark elf it was a given.

To Claim a Starting World

@DracoWarlordYup! It's still open.

To Claim a Starting World

Old memories were unfaithful things that bound the strongest will. For all it had been years the man-wolf could hardly recall who he had been. It hardly seemed important when the hunt and the passing of days were so idyllic and there was only the now. The current time and needs and dangers that existed in the norther forest and through the high peaks of the mountains. The ears that Arn petted were flicking forward and backwards. Though despite their bristled appearance, Arn would feel the give of real ears at first but it would pass soon the feel of giving ears replaced by stiff ears. Wood covered with fur. The entire outfit though seeming alive slowly yielded its nature to Arn. It was not living fur, but the furs of dead wolves on the body of a man. One who possessed some powerful connection to the Green to meld so with the beasts who skins he wore.

Rasping, the man-wolf whined and rasped. "Nrrrr! Nrrrrrgghh!" His growls something torn between a 'no' and the growl of the wolf. His eyes showing white all around his iris as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. His body going limp as the creature fell unconscious due to the lack of blood. The wound was only growing worse and whatever power possessed him drained him further. The furs in Arn's arms seemed to shift as if they had given up their anchoring to the man's skin. Gwydolyn would see the shift of the man's face, as though he was wearing a partial mask that had dislodged slightly and if they tried to peal it back they would see it for a giant wooden replica of a wolf's skull. Covered with fur and fitted too the man's head. Blood and sweat caking to otherwise relatively clean fur. Or as clean as a wolf could be.

To Claim a Starting World

I'll have a reply up tomorrow!

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Location: Winton

"The Band of Compliance has no latch. As soon as it is broken, Dorothea will know." Saetan's voice was cold as he stood stiffly. Wounded from his punishment at the hands of a Queen and insulted. Angered by the drop in the temperature. The air becoming chilly as the windows fogged and the candles dimmed. "The centuries have kept many alive who would otherwise be dead and I am loath to let the human hounds that Dorothea keeps as her personal army loose on the people of Dhemlan. Death would be a kindness, but a genocide? It would be a wrenching thing for a people so long-lived to watch their entire nation, culture, crumble away into nothing." For one of the Dhemlan people, Saetan felt a keen disappointment in Jandar's demand that his inaction had brought nothing to the Dhemlan people. Saetan wished he had something more he could offer besides the small, petty businesses that helped the Dhemlan people, the underhanded way he stole Dorothea's entertainment away from her. How he pranced and preened and distracted the Queens from looking too closely at Dhemlan. He yearned to escape and break free of Dorothea. To rip the woman to pieces along with the rest of her petty little puppets.

"I shall find some place where I can rest." It was Gen who spoke then, his wings rustling. "Take my bed. I'll stay on watch." The Eyrien offered, the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince inclining his head in acceptance of that offer.

Bellinar was weaving through the streets as he headed towards the edge of the town. A seedy tavern where a rough group of men hovered about the door. They stiffened at the approach of an Eyrien Warlord Prince, having fought such men before and knowing the bloodlust in them. "I'm here to see your boss."

"He's inside. You followed?" One man a Challiot fellow with a long face and a squashed nose answered around a cigarette sticking out the side of his mouth.

"No." The answer was short and tempered with rage at the insult as he stepped through the door. If Mikhail hung about the entry he would hear the whispers of 'fool', 'traitor', and 'winged bat'. The slurs against the Eyrien man an evil whisper as they seemed keen on some prize. Mercenaries. Thugs. If the Dea Al Mon followed Bellinar within the seedy in it would be a sight. The interior was large enough, but benches had been repaired several times, tables were nailed down, the floor was littered with signs of previous fights that had broken out. A man sat in a corner as more of the group of thugs spread out through the tavern, talking loudly and boasting about the Black Widows and outlaws they had rounded up. Bellinar seemed to ignore them as he approached the man. "We have a problem. The Widow I protect is surrounded by even more powerful people. My price went up." The Eyrien looked furious, frustrated as he thumped his first on the table.

Faeril sighed and departed Fatima's rooms. The herbs she needed were grown in the tavern keeper's small garden and she figured she would leave a small offering of marks for the fresh herbs. They were always better to work with. Plus, it would give her a bit of breathing room from a inn full of sharp tempers and problems. Gardens always had a calming effect. 'Just like weaving, but I only get to do it half of the year.' Faeril thought absently as she stooped to gather up the herbs. Gen and Denvar must be within watching the Black. Meaning Bellinar was being polite and watching from a distance most likely. If not? It wasn't like she couldn't defend herself. Pulling her sleeves up she looked about for a small towel as she spotted a weed that was going to strangle one of the necessary herbs. A shed lay in the shadows of the stables, approaching it carefully she felt for the latch and sighed. The woman, the innkeeper, really needed to lock up her belongings better. In a town going through trouble... Looting would start if Alice turned out to be as cruel as she was thought to be.

A giant List of Ideas and Potential Stories [High-Casual to Advance] [18+]

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