Nariata

The Last March of the Living

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Our Last March

@Prince of Seraphs

Yes, you and Dulcet are already approved!

Our Last March

@MalchivoSounds good. I can not wait to see it!

Our Last March

@Prince of Seraphs@Dulcet@cunfuzzler@Malchivo@Sterling@Lexicon

We are live.

Our Last March

RESERVED:
Important NPC's. If you create one worth mention let me know!

NPC CS

Name:
Age:
Appearance:
Basic Bio:

@Dulcet NPC's

Madeline Farne

Name: Madeline Farne

Age: 24

Race: Lavas

Bio:

As a level-headed and focused woman, Madeline prides herself on her prudence and excellent luck. She possesses an intellect far beyond her years, and tends to spend her time by herself either reading or studying. Since meeting a certain individual, her fondness of drink and of coin has increased, but her reserved nature still remains.

Madeline was born in raised in secret, and did not know anything beyond the hidden island mission that she lived on. Her father was a disgraced missionary and her mother was a scholarly woman. Both had boarded a ship bound for an archipelago a week's voyage out of Lavas waters, and they quickly fell in love. At the time, her father hid the fact that he had fallen out of grace with his order, and she followed him thinking that she could develop her fate. The details of their romance were never disclosed to Madeline, and she never asked. Somewhere along the line, her parents decided to leave the safety of civilization and strike it out on their own. With her mother's extensive savings and her father's large congregation of followers, they departed for the archipelago and established a mission in the heart of its largest island. It was built like a fortress, and remains largely unknown to the world to date.

As the first child born in the mission, Madeline was taught extensively about leadership. She spent her childhood as the older-sister figure of the mission, and would lead the others on adventures through the islands. When they thought that they had explored the entirety of the main island, they dabbled in making rafts, and when they mastered that, they made crude boats. By the time they had learned the secrets of building decent vessels with what limited materials they could find near the mission, most of her peers had grown too old for adventuring, and settled into their callings at home. Madeline's position as the daughter of the mission's leaders exempted her from work, and she decided to venture to the other islands alone.

At first she thought that she was just continuing what she had been doing all her childhood. She tried to play with the wildlife and find places to relax, but found herself increasingly drawn to study them. Every short voyage on her makeshift boat left her feeling less excited about what she would find. Instead, what replaced that feeling of excitement was that of curiosity. She began taking a notebook with her, and soon she had cataloged the nearest island's flora and fauna. It went on and on to the next islands until she had encyclopedia's worth of information sitting in her room.

Things would eventually change--as they always did.

The journey to the furthest island was a two-day venture; one that she had only done a few times. She'd spend the first day finding the right current to sail to the island, making camp, studying, and foraging. The second day--with a hold full of fruit and other samples--she'd catch a current to the closest island, row to the shallows in the center of all the islands, and row home. It was grueling venture, but the ecosystem of the final island was so exotic, and she could feel that there was something otherworldly about it as well.

Things went according to plan on the first day, and she made it to the far island in record time. With her camp set up and an unusually abundant amount of edible fruit close to the shore, she pressed on into jungle late into the night. There, in the darkness, she saw an eerie red glow. She followed it, and found an ancient tablet sticking half-out from the ground. Nobody would question that the tablet was something sinister, and Madeline tried to leave it alone. She had no idea that she had made a terrible mistake. When a voice begged her to take it along came from the tablet, she fled.

The next day, she broke camp and departed as usual. The seas were exceedingly calm, and the weather couldn't have been any better. She took things at a leisurely pace, and found the current to the nearest island at noon--much later than usual. By then, the sky had taken a dark turn, and an angry red light shone from the island. In the sudden darkness, Madeline knew that it was not a trick of the light.

Her small boat was tossed around by agitated waters, and the current that was supposed to take her to safety instead turned out and pushed her westward into the open sea. She had no idea that Lavas waited for her in that direction, and she had no choice but to hide below-deck for the duration of her kidnapping.

The current carried her for three days before disappearing. When she finally stepped out, she was determined to find her way home, but the currents only seemed to carry her further and further. By the sixth day, half of the food she had found and foraged was gone, and the boat had sprung a leak. She began to lose hope.

As fate would have it, a passing vessel spotted her small ship on the horizon, and moved to rescue her. She had never seen ships larger than the old merchant ships that came to resupply the mission, and the sight of a state-of-the-art clipper was quite the surprise. When she was brought onboard, she was even more surprised to see that the ship's captain and all her crew were women! Despite numerous attempts by her saviors to find the mission, they were forced to give up and return to port.

Rather than brooding, Madeline made herself useful. Her first goal was to make friends with the captain's unruly daughter so she'd stop pranking her. She had grown tired of finding crabs in her blanket and seaweed in her boots, and one day caught the girl sneaking her notebooks into the crow's nest. Fed up with that, Madeline began slowly squirreling away the girl's sweets until one day she found them in a bag on-deck. When she untied the knot on the bag, it was propelled off of the ship and into the sea. She and the girl, Aliya, found themselves in a protracted pranking war, and this lasted for many months until Madeline was accepted into the crew. At that point, it was no longer a subtle war, and Madeline claimed victory when she turned one of Aliya's pranks around on her and sent her into the water.

After rescuing Aliya, the two of them called off their war and began working together. As time went on, Madeline began to forget about her old home. She grew accustomed to the crew of women she now called her family, and finally stopped hoping to find the mission again. When Aliya's mother died, she felt as if she had lost her own mother, and even the sight of the Lavas cities wasn't enough to offset her grief. During that period of leave, she and Aliya spent almost all of their time together until Madeline encountered someone in a familiar set of robes in the market. One of her peers from the mission had come to the city to secure a metal shipment. They almost couldn't recognize her.

By then, Madeline didn't care for returning to the mission anymore. She learned her junior that they were doing just fine without her, though her parents were worried sick. She hadn't even realized that she had been away for two years until her junior mentioned two of her birthdays passing without her there. Despite being asked to come back with them, Madeline refused. She told her junior to tell her parents that she was doing well, and that she'd come visit someday.

Before she set sail again, Aliya gave her a gift: an aquamarine armband that was supposedly "blessed." When Madeline asked, Aliya happily explained that she didn't want her first mate running around without any finery--that would have been unfair. Madeline accepted it graciously.

She had found her calling, and she'd sail with Aliya for as long as she could. She did owe her her life, after all.

Equipment:

Cotton sailor's clothes
Fine boots
Small first aid pouch
Aquamarine armband

Our Last March

Name: Hrossbjorn Hasteinsson

Gender: Male

Age: 41

Race: Human - Glamhoth

Appearance:



Personality:

Hrossbjorn is one part veteran soldier and one part devoted leader. While age has slowed his body, and made his fighting skills slip, his mind is as sharp as ever when it comes to combat and anything else that is presented before him. When he is leading his forces to battle, Hrossbjorn has abandoned the tried and true Glamhoth tradition of simply charging at the enemy force and hacking them to death and instead replaced it with sound tactics adopted from the various other factions on Taron. Outside of combat Hrossbjorn is every bit a Glamhoth as the next man, preferring to spending his free time tending to his crops on his farm or celebrating with his soldiers in the mead hall.

To outsiders Hrossbjorn comes across as crude and uneducated, often refusing to speak the common language and engage in meaningful conversations. He also comes across as easily angered, and his wrath burns so hot that few are willing to risk getting scorched by it. This is not by accident. Hrossbjorn prefers to observe outsiders and determine if they are worthy of his trust. Once an outsider gains the trust of Hrossbjorn they will get to experience an educated man, though not quite as much as his Lavas and Firen counterparts, who takes great pleasure in ensuring his friends are both happy and safe.

Most notably he is a worried man with too many stresses and tasks piling up in his head. His secret plan at the Battle at the Fields of Amarillis was quickly thrown aside as self-preservation took over. He fears that his true intentions will be revealed before he has a chance to defend his actions.

History:

Hrossbjorn's life began much unlike most other people. He was born as the first son of a powerful Earl in the Glamhoth nation, and as such had a very simplistic if not easy upbringing. His early days were spent practicing different weapons and training with his fathers trainers. He always stood out as a gifted warrior from the onset, his fathers son as they would say. No one in his age group could beat him in single combat, and even the older boys had trouble facing him. Eventually, after hitting his teenage years, the trainers had nothing more to teach him. His father decided that his son could only learn through experience and started taking Hrossbjorn with him on his raids and into battle. Throughout the middle of his teenage years through his early twenties, Hrossbjorn started creating a name for himself as a fearless and skilled fighter. Countless souls were sent to the Halls of Rofella to celebrate and fight for an entirety. His father passed away when Hrossbjorn was twenty three years old, and as his eldest son Hrossbjorn assumed his fathers role as Earl.

As soon as he became Earl, he began to change the way his people fought. Under his father, the soldiers were some of the most able bodied men to be found in all of Taron. Superior fighting skills coupled with the ability to suffer wounds, injuries that would cause an average Firen soldier to lose his ability to fight, and keep fighting. Yet his army lacked tactics. They simply charged their enemy head on and would fight until no one on the other side was left standing. While this worked most of the time, Hrossbjorn wanted a better alternative so he sent out envoys to the different nations to collect detailed accounts of famous battles that the Lavas and Firen had fought. Upon their return Hrossbjorn would dive right into reading how they won the battle. Eventually, he began to implement this style of warfare to his troops. During the fifteen years after he assumed command, he only lost one battle. That battle was the turning point in the large Glamhoth and Lavas war that concluded three years prior to the battle at the Fields of Amarillis. In the aftermath, his ability to keep a standing army was severely crippled by the treaty his nation was forced to sign.

Hrossbjorn in the years since has been trying to get the Glamhoth back into the nation they once were. He has been observing every major event, looking for a weakness that he can exploit in the rock solid armor of his enemies. He thought he found one when the Great King Baelnorn called all the armies together, though because of the Mad Kings trap he is now on the run for Darkness. While his plan may have failed, it still gave him a unique circumstance. A large portion of his force, some thirty strong, survived the initial attack. He has since sent his fastest riders out to warn the cities and nations ahead of the Mad Kings army and of possible salvation.

Hrossbjorn knows of a castle deep within Glamhoth territory, many months of travel away from the Fields of Armarillis. A castle so old that no one can remember who built it, a castle who's walls are so strong that no army could break, and a castle with a perfect location to limit the effectiveness of the Mad Kings army. That castle is Castle Estel, which sits squarely in the middle of the Sky Bridge that bisects the Great Schism in half.

Hrossbjorn hopes he can keep his secret, and lead this motley crew to the Castle, though the Mad King will be making this endeavor especially difficult.

Equipment:

Armor and weapons

• Chainmail tunic underneath warm, fur clothes
• Leather boots
• Large two-handed axe
• A simple book

Other:
-His name should be commonplace to most humans. His legendary fighting skills, coupled with his strategic mind, have made his name a household one. Many Lavas feel intense hatred for this man while Firen respect his ability.
-His ax is named "Lifebender" and is rumored to have magical properties.
-The massive metal girdle with the drowsy mans face that he wears is the sigil of his house. The drowsy mans face is in reference to his great-grandfather, The Sleepy King. Truth be told the sleepy king name was just propaganda created by a rival Earl in a bid to seize his territory but his great-grandfather took it and wore it with pride.
-His book contains massive secrets.
-He fancies himself a poet.

- - - - - - - - -

Name: Gyrid Thometilldottir

Gender: Female

Age:28

Race: Human - Glamhoth

Appearance:



Personality:
Gyrid is often described as a devoted follower of Rofella, the Goddess of Conquest and War, as well as a social recluse. When she was at her temple, she was as well mannered as they come in Glamhoth territory, calm and as quick witted as any. She often found joy in combat, reading the Holy Books of Rofella, as well as in meditating for hours at a time. The destruction of her Temple in the Glamhoth city of Wruxvine has caused her faith to waiver, however, and be replaced by self doubt and second guessing her motives.

Though you would never be able to guess as much at first glance. Gyria carries herself like any proud Shield Madden would. Her posture is strong and straight, the look in her eyes is calm yet unquestioningly fierce, and above all else she makes no time for silly conversation. This has led many to speculate that her time at the Temple has made her unable to hold a conversation with strangers when in truth she is simply observing like any Glamhoth would. She watches the subtle changes in body language, listens to the variances in a persons voice, and records anything that she could use as leverage in her journal.

Ever since she overheard Hrossbjorn's plans for the battle, Gyrid has been using her knowledge to gain leverage over Hrossbjorn.

History:

Gyrid was born unwanted by her family. Her father was a Chieftain, who had been praying to receive a son to carry on his legendary status as a fighter. When she was born, the decision was made that she would be given to the Pristesses of Rofella in the city of Wruxvine when old enough. Gyrid does not remember her parents all that well, instead she just has a few blurry pictures of an angry mans yelling. Instead, her childhood memories are filled with images of the Temple grounds, and the rituals and ceremonies practiced within, that would dominate her early life. From the age of eight onward she was also trained in the use of weapons. The Priestesses of Rofella took to heart their Goddess's message, and as such were often found fighting alongside Shield Maiden from various different factions, acting as both spiritual leaders who could inspire soldiers with their words as well as lead by example with their actions.

They were also the ones who would help send off the souls of the recently departed to the Great Hall. This was a particular strength of this chapter of Priestesses. After a battle was finished, the Priestesses would be found hovering over the bodies of the deceased, chanting their strange incantations while placing their hands on top of the forehead of the body, before moving on to the next one. Through many years of tireless training and dedication, Gyria became one of the most devout and skilled, in both combat and religious ceremonies, member of her order. Eventually, on her twenty-third name day, she was given the title of Rofella's Guard, giving her the ability to lead her sisters into combat as well as giving her a seat on the Council of Rofella. For a few years, she would cast her vote deciding the future of her order and helping cement relations with the various Earls of the Glamhoth people. Though this title did come with a downside. Rofella's Guard members are easily distinguished from their more commonplace sisters by their unique and intricate facial scars, carved onto the flesh of the Guard without anything to numb the pain. The process is painful, and time consuming, but this ceremony is used to see if the applicant is truly devout in her duties and her faith. The scar itself is easily reconciled by all Glamhoth, and even some outside the border. A large, symmetrical X shape is cut from the top right and left hand corners of her face across her noes and down to the bottom. Another scar was cut into her chin in a shape that resembled a simple triangle. Finally, four smaller scars were carved into her face, two on the outside of the bottom half of the X and two on the inside on the top half.

A major war broke out between the Lavas empire and the Glamhoth nation as a whole when she was twenty-five. Her order was one of the first to pledge their support behind an Early named Hrossbjorn, one who had quite the reputation as a sound strategist and powerful warrior. During the year long conflict, Gyrid fought along side Hrossbjorn in many key battles, the last of which was the battle for Wruxvine itself. The siege lasted only a few short days before a traitor in their ranks allowed the Lavas soldiers to come storming in. The two sides clashed in the streets all around the city, though the Lavas gained ground with relative ease thanks to their larger army. Eventually the Battle was Declared over after the Lavas soldiers razed the Temple of Rofella, stealing countless priceless relics and burning the place to a crisp.

Gyria only survived this battle because of the deal Hrossbjorn made with the Lavas General to prevent further bloodshed. In the three years since Gyria has roamed all over Glamhoth territory, trying to find a place for her to build a new Temple and start training a new generation of Priestesses. Along the way, she came across the large army assembled by Hrossbjorn. She joined his group and on their way to the meet up with the Kings forces Gyria overheard a secret plan. Soon, however, she fought at the Battle at the Fields of Amarillis. After the defeat one week ago, she has followed Hrossbjorn and his troops.

Equipment:

Armor and weapons

• Long spear
• Shield
• Iron longsword
• Leather armor
• Fur cloak
• Warm fur clothing underneath armor
• Leather bound book

Other:
-Even though the Glamhoth lost the war, and were forced to sign the Treaty of Wruxvine, she still openly practices her faith even though the practice has been outlawed by the Lavas Empire.
-Meditates any time camp is set up. This is akin to a monk praying.
-Through her travels, she has accomplished much. Those in the know are aware of her, and some in the Lavas Empire have recommended her life be taken. Her goal of rebuilding her order has made her a prime target for them.
-Has an agenda.

Our Last March

“I was sitting in a tavern when the messenger arrived. I told myself tonight was going to be a special night, figuring I could make some quick coin singing songs of bygone era's while drinking down my fair share of grog. We were well on our way to our drunken stupor when the young lad burst through the front door of the tavern. Mud had already caked the bottom of his pants, and we all could see a few cuts and bruises taking shape on his arms. A look of exhaustion pained his face and he braced himself against a chair as he strained for each breath; it was obvious he must have ran for hours to reach us. Somehow, through the crowds of people and loud noises his message was heard by all.

“The great King Baelnorn marches on the Mad King Vyshaan; he has our enemy corned and request that all bards and anyone able to bear witness to his triumph to make their ways to the Fields of Amarillis.”

The kid nearly fainted after he told us his message, and not a second passed after he finished did a loud cheer erupt from the mouths of everyone in the tavern. Everyone scarfed down what alcohol and food they had and made for the door. These were simple folk, they feared the Mad King so much so that they were willing to brave the wilderness and possible encounters with bandits and the Mad Kings soldier just to catch a glimpse of his demise.

But we got more than we bargained for. We all did.

It took most of us only a days ride to make it to the outskirts of the battle and we were all left with a sense of awe in what we saw. "An army, many thousand strong, made up by all the races of Arvandor all fighting under one banner for the first time in recorded history. Even as I crested a nearby hill my eyes strained to take in everything before me yet even as far as I was away from it, I saw the battle being engaged in earnest. On the far edge of the field, where Amarillis met the Cold Mountains, the Mad King as his army were corned. Backed up against the mountain itself, escape was no longer an option for Vyshaan, and my fellow bards and I watched as our forces slowly advanced on their position. Their bright armor shining out in stark contrast with the darkened armor of the cultist before them.

My fellow bards and I were writing down poems and stories when we felt the ground shake.

My first thought was as simple as a siege engine's projectile flying high into the cliff.

And then the ground shook again, this time twice as strong as the first.

Quickly, we all rose to our feet and looked out onto the battlefield below us. The soldiers nearest us were just as surprised as we were, and the sound of combat in the distance was soon replaced by the worried whispers of all of us. The soldiers in the distance were pulled back from the front-lines of combat, they knew something was up but from out vantage point we could not see.

Then the ground shook a third time, even harder than the last. The sound of rocks breaking bellowed out from the mountains in the distance as if itself was being torn asunder. Large rocks fell from the mountains, many bigger than a house. All of us, perched onto of our little hill, could see everything happen ever so clear. We watched as whole squads were crushed under the weight of these massive boulders. Our King Baelnorn himself removed himself from his heated fight with the Mad King and took shelter with his soldiers.

And that's when we heard it. At first it's sound was muffled from the stone prison surronding it. But as more and more rocks fell, the beast bellowed louder until there was no mistaking what was locked inside that mountain.

“Dragon.” I said in disbelief. The others looked at me like I was crazy, dragons were creatures of myth and legend or so they say. But the earth shook once more, this time the side of the mountain broke apart in a storm of stone and fire as the beast burst free from within. The soldiers caught in the massive blast were burried alive, their screams piercing even my own ears. Even from the distance I stood from the beast I could see clearly the crimson scales that covered the beast from head to toe as it crashed down to the battle below. I could even make out the massive muscles shifting under it's armored hide. I stood there for a minute, watching as the beast coiled it's neck back, facing our beloved king, before letting out a sea of fire that melted the flesh from bone of all unfortunate enough to be caught within it's reach. Their screams were louder then the first bout of that dragons victims, but they only lasted a second. Our king, and hundreds of his faithful warriors were reduced to ash.

As it's wings began to raise it's massive body off the ground, speeds that rivaled the worst storms in history gushed out and swept away those unfortunate to be near. And that's when it let out it's blood curling roar. I, and those around me, fell to our knees with our hands covering our ears in a desperate attempt to block out the deafening noise to no avail. As it flew ever higher into the air I swear it looked at me, it's bleak yellow eyes like a snake striking into the very fabric of my being. It was at this moment I ran, as even more monstrous creature poured out of the rift in the mountain. As I looked around I saw many soldiers turn cold and run, could you blame them?

From what I was told, we lost almost half our army in the first battle. Of those another half were lost in the days that followed. Even now as I finish writing this we are being hunted by many ungodly creatures. The only thing we can do is pray to the gods that we see our next sunrise.”

~Found on a dead Bard, far from the battlefield, early one morning.

What is history?

History

The land of Arvandor has a history shrouded as much so in secrecy as blood. Books are filled with stories of great warriors leading massive armies to victory against the forces of darkness in battle. Demons and their kind have always tried to find ways to pry their way into the realm of mortals, be it through the use of a desperate mages desperation through power or through a weakness in the barrier that separates our realms. Often, these hero's arise when an Elder Demon arises; and together with the people of the land thrust a sword deep into their black hearts and end the conflict.

But often times the stories are not as simple as the books would lead us to believe. Often times the worst conflicts to spill blood was not a war waged against a demon, rather often times the most bloody wars were caused by revenge. The current war that threatens our kingdom has spilled more blood than any in the past, yet the reasons behind the war are shrouded in mystery. Most, even our King Baelnorn ,say the Mad King is a demon himself, ripped from the planes of Oblivion and thrust into our world by the mage cultists that fight and die for him. Yet the question remains, is he really who we think he is? Some have begun to speculate that this problem hits much closer to home than the king would admit.

What are our example races?

These are just some generic races and some possible sub-races. You can have some creative freedom with this. Don't see a race/sub-race that fits you? Create one! Within reason of course

Human Races

Firen

The most numerous of the humans, the Firen pride themselves on their ability to talk their way out of any conflict while being able to back up any words with action. They are different in most physical traits, yet they all are equal under their devotion to the God's as well as their King. Before the Mad King brought death in his wake, they also had the largest army available to any race but have found their core depleted after numerous failed battles. The first loss came when the King and most of his army were felled by the fire of a dragon, followed weeks later by the loss of The Guardians of the Light when Feer la Den fell.

Glamhoth

The humans of the north are called Glamhoth, and they pride themselves on battle and raids. They are a barbaric race of men who fight, eat, drink and make love to pass the time. They value little of outsiders, and their strict religious code allows them to kill those who believe in the new gods. But this is not to say that they are without kindness, or without understanding. Far from it, among their kin they appear to be a friendly and generous race. With each sharing what they have to those in need, and each celebrating the life and death of their friends with drinks and boastful tales of their exploits in battle. Even though they view outsiders with a cautious, and often aggressive eye, they treat every last one of their kin with an air of respect and kindness.

Lavas

The Lavas folk are the most prosperous of all the human races. They are the master shipbuilders, sailors and traders that claim home to most of the south coast, and many islands that dot the sea off the coast. Their ships are fast, and their soldiers well trained in the art of naval warfare. They are a greedy people, often compared to the likes of Dwarves, valuing coin and the parties to any other need. For with coin they can buy food, and at these parties they can gain favor. Indeed, to an outsider they are one of the most judgmental people in all the lands. They like to play what is called the Grand Game, where people's life and fortune are put on the line in a test of wit and charisma. Grand Cleric Orion said it best when he said “I'd rather deal with an angry Glamhoth than a friendly Iavas noble, for at least the Glamhoth will see reason!”

Elevn Races

Lebethron

The Elves of the eastern woods are know as the Lebethron, a race of Elves who claim on the woods have stretched back for as long as history has. Many times have both Humans and Dwarves attempted to lay claim to these woods, for the tree's are strong and the land plentiful, but each and any time an army invaded they were driven back by a fury of arrows from the tree top's, from their rear, and front the front. The Lebethron are a very long lived people, with most reaching around several hundred years old with some even reaching a thousand years. As such, they are the keepers of both history and tradition.

Mûl
The Mûl are the Elves who left their ancestral homeland and tried to find a life elsewhere. By customs, any Lebethron who is exiled or leaves without permission becomes a Mûl. More often then not they become one or two things outside their homeland; either they become a sell sword and fight for others or they are captured and forced into servitude for many of the other races. They are more aggressive than their Lebethron brothers, but also more cunning. They are forced, often from an early age to steal and murder. They make perfect assassins and thief's thanks to their light feet and quick hands.

The Half-elf's often fall into this race.

Andrann

The Andrann Elves of the forest and the fortress that bears the same name, Galadhon, are some of the most powerful mages in all of Dalan. The Lebethron hold great fear over magic and it's uses, and often mistreat those who present themselves as such. It was only natural, that three hundred years ago, the Great migration occurred. Angry at being abused by their brothers, five hundred mages and their families moved west and found the abandoned stronghold of Galadhon and claimed it as their own. They rebuilt it, and made the walls stronger with magic. The humans of the area have tried to reclaim this great fortress many times but are driven away at each turn. Their foot soldiers boast light armor fusedwith magic, their swords enchanted with fire and ice, and with more mages than any army the firestorms that they can bring wipe any doubt of their power.

Though they have been forced into a long retreat, their army and people still stand strong. They have the most numerous forms of battlemages around, with the most valuable being the Elemental Archer; who brings exploding fire arrows and ice shots that render you frozen.

Dwarven Races

Dwarven races

Anfangrim

The Anfangrim are a rather large tribe of Dwarves who claim hold over the great Iron Bottom Mountains in the south and the south east and all the fortresses within them. They are a stout and proud people who value gold, and a good story. They spent their days fighting or mining, and spend their nights drinking to tales of Dragon Slayers and other great hero's. Their fortune is only surpassed by those of the Iavas people, and only because their ships carry the Anfagn trade to other parts. They have a close relation to the Iavas, both understand the power of money. Yet both will often mock each other in public, as the Anfagn people value combat while the Iavas loves the game.

Hadhodrim

The Hadhodrim are the Dwarves of of the Middle Range, stretching from the south, all the way into the north. They are not as wealthy as those of the Anfagn, yet they are much better warriors. They pride themselves on their craftsmanship; often being the top of the line from swords to plate-mail. They often fight the Glamhoth in the north over the limited resources, yet they keep a close relationship with those barbarians. Often fighting in the morning, and if the fight was not resolved retreating to great halls to fight again; this time with alcohol. Indeed as time has gone on, less blood has been shed between these two and more ale drunk.

Surface Dwarves

Surface Dwarves are the Dwarves who have, for one reason or another, been forced out of the mountains and banished from ever returning. The other clans of Dwarves never accept an outsider, so often they are forced into many different criminal enterprises. From gangs to murder, to thiveving to assassinations, these Dwarves are often forced to do it all. Yet this is not the only thing these Surface Dwarves find themselves apart of. Depending on which clan they hailed from, some will become great warriors, traders or even a bard. Indeed, they may not be as skilled as others in specific traits, yet they are often the most diverse of all the races.

User created races.

BytheSpleen
- Credit due for @BytheSpleen who created this race during my first attempt at this RP. He gave me permision at the time to keep on using it, even if it is for lore purposes.

Hobgoblin Race

Over the course of thousands of years, countless numbers of demons and otherwise alien creatures have invaded the world. Many bring back slaves from this land, and others are made slaves with a bit o' magic tampering. Others, as soon as the summoner died or something of the like, were loosed in the world, and most were forcibly shoved back into the Hell they came from, if not outright slain.

And then you have leftovers. Orcs, Goblins, Bugbears, the whole mess of things. Some are decent mages, as they descend from unwilling Elves, humans, and Dwarves, and others are decent warriors. 90% of the time, they fit in with the next army and get themselves killed in a big war...or something like that.

Then you got 10%. Half of those are wanderers - hobos, vagrants, bandits, bards, cartographers, etc. They're as hardy as the rest of them when it comes to travelling, but in the face of danger, they tend to panic a little too much. After all, nobody bothered to tell them that bears live in caves. Makes sense as to why they're usually just fodder, right?

The other half bear the most semblance to what could've been their races if it weren't for some meddling eldritch force selling them to the biggest sacrifice. Distinct cultures and exotic weapons come into play here. Among those races that can forge, the Hobgoblins are most righteously deserving of their title.

Hobgoblins are renowned for their expertise with fire, or more specifically, what they can make with it. As coined by their "favorite creatures", the Humans, Hobgoblins are great cooks and ironsmiths, and specialize in various steels from just about every kind of metal you toss at them. This puts them at odds with a few other races (or, did, in the dwarves' case; you don't see too many Hobs for a reason) for the honor of being the best craftsmen, but considering the Hobs (for short) just got their distinction from the rest of their ilk not too long ago, it isn't surprising to say that the Hobs were given the benefit of the doubt when their blacksmiths opened up. Like orcs, they love to use lamellar designs, as they're light, maneuverable, and protective for all their troubles, using as little steel as possible (because from where the goblinoids originated, most iron was refined via iron sand. Large chunks of ore were unheard of.) Their skin tones, unlike those of their greenish-yellowish-rainbowish colored brethren, are always shades of grey, and are a lot more matte because of their hygenic nature. They have eyes the color of gold, amber, and ruby, and stand about the same height as humans, as well as stand in the same weight range. Rumors say that the hobs have a bit o' man blood in them, which might be true, considering there's also a million hues of half-hobs half-men and whatnot running around the world without a surname to stick onto themselves...or well, wherever they came from.

In terms of being assets for war, they boast more dexterity and strength than their run-of-the-mill counterparts, but are best known for being the smiths of the fallen heroes' armors - again, one cannot stress enough that they can manipulate metal as though it were a draught made by dwarves' hands. Hardening, tempering, and honing are children's play to them. It's also why they're one of the most hated races in this land.

Just a forethought : only one clan of these Hobs are truly, truly submissive and friendly - the Aulds. As the name implies, they're probably among the first Hob clans to get around to being smiths, and as such, have developed the most stable culture. To protect themselves from magic that would otherwise enslave them to the will of others, they have developed high-pressure forging of raw iron, as 'cold iron' has the damnably strange property of attracting and deflecting magic. Protection is decent, at best, because they're nomads. Iron isn't always so plentiful at times, and elves willing to accept the coin for protection enchantments are even harder. Traditional forging has become a bit of an uncertainty with the Aulds.

Sypherkhode822
Credit to @Sypherkhode822 for this race.

Sunset Islander

Off in the Western Ocean, there is a series of archipelagoes and islands that are so expansive that they are the entire world for several nations. Inhabited only by humans, these island chains are referred to in their native tongue as the Land. Not having contact with the mainland for over a millennia, their culture and magic developed in an entirely different way. Because of the danger of flooding and other natural disasters, magic and the culture as a whole has evolved to advocate maintaining a harmony within nature. Among the archipelagoes, there still exist violent raiding societies that will roam in long boats, threatening the other peaceful settlements. Although resistance to attack is expected, to seek the violent destruction of these groups is considered horrific by the rest of the societies, and rather peaceful envoys occasionally approach the raiding groups, seeking to enlighten them.
Magic is primarily focused on channeling the weather, healing the ill, and other activities that improve the life of others. Combat magic is unheard of, though there are several schools of magic that teach their students how to combat forces of darkness, as well as several games popular with Mages that have been adapted centuries ago from magical combat drills.
The mainland made contact with the Land only 50 years prior, when a deep water Lavas trade vessel was blown off course and was rescued by a group of far flung fishers. Since then, there's been a steady growth in trade between Lavas and the Land over the years. Lavas nobles value the exotic goods the Land sends, while the Sunset Islanders all enjoy the goods made by the Dwarves. Although there are embassy's in major Lavasian cities, and a dedicated port city for Lavasian vessels, the Sunset Islanders have chosen to keep interaction between the two at a minimum, aware that there is a danger in opening the door all the way with these sometimes untrustworthy strangers. Hearing about the Mad King, several dozen of the best Mages began to travel to the mainland

What is our goal in this RP

Our goal is survival. Our story starts with us on the run, being ruthlessly chased by all sorts of monsters and evil creatures. Our only hope is the castle that stands defiant against time, one that has seen dragon fire and survived. We must run to the Sky Bridge, make our way across and find refuge in the Castle Estel. It is here, us fortunate few, will wage one last defiant stand against the Mad King Vyshaan.

Notable people, enemies, and armies.

Notable friends and foes

Notable enemies:

Shamblers:





WIP: With their defeat at the fields of Amarillis, the Combined Armies left behind a number of dead and dying soldiers. The Mad King now corrupted with Dark Magic, lifted their dead bodies off the ground and stripped them of everything that made them who they were. Their flesh was peeled off, their souls forever banished to the darkest reaches of Oblivion, and their will absolute towards the Mad King.

Shamblers are the most numerous adversary that the survivors face today. While they are frail in build, and lacking in skill, they more than make up for this with numbers. Silence is their friends as they can move across vast distances without making a noise. Not one will talk, they do not step with a heavy foot nor do their armor clang. They often creep up on camps and overwhelm the guards with sheer force of numbers before converting the casualties to additional Shamblers.

They are rather easy to defeat, as any blow to their skulls will take them out of the fight for a moment. But eventually, without aid of a Sorcerer, they will find a way to put themselves back together.

Shambler Shock Solider:



WIP: Many great warriors fell when the Mad King Vyshaan played his trump card, and like the common shamblers these great warriors fell victim to the Mad King's magic. These former warriors still poses their great skills in combat yet lack any morals that would hinder an attack. Women and children are not immune to these monsters, many fall to their swift and brutal strikes.

In one on one combat, this monster will beat even the most seasoned of warriors with ease. Feeling no fatigue, these beasts will keep coming at you with strong strikes until your guard is broken, you run out of energy or you simply give up. The ease of killing a normal Shambler is lost on these creatures, with most boasting their strong armored helmets and chest-plates to protect from errant strikes.

The past few days have shown these creatures, while imposing in a one on one match, will fall with relative ease when two or more soldiers attack it at once.

Wraiths:



WIP: Wraiths are former assassins of the Mad King corrupted into something far worse. While shadows were the friends of their mortal self, these creatures thrive in the darkness. Able to move from any shadow, dark corner, or dimly lit space with ease and without notice, these creatures are almost impossible to detect before they launch their assault. Once they do, however, blood will flow. Their daggers are often coated in a Dark Magic poison, making even the smallest scratch a near fatal blow if not treated.

The Mad King Vyshaan - Post-Corruption



WIP: The Mad King Vyshaan's origins are as big a mystery as the man himself. It is common knowledge that he and a small following of cultist appeared in the south around five years ago. Within a month they had sacked the Lavas city of Trealo, and defeated the Firen general Atrimus and his massive army in battle. It was after the second month did his first infernal Black Crusade start.

He was once a human man, standing near six foot four with a fierce reputation as both a skilled fighter and powerful mage. He has since been exposed to the corrupting influences of the Dark Magic used in the spell to release the Dragon and his body reflects this. Under his custom armor, featuring the skulls of many soldiers he has bested in one on one combat, his skin changed to an Orkish color. Green skin dominates his body with black lines running the length of his body where his veins once were. Under his hood and mask, many speculate that there is no face to this creature.

Notable humans & armies:

King Baelnorn:



The great King Baelnorn is a man who has seen everything under his long rule. From a prosperous golden age, to a famine that ravaged his country, to the current war against the Mad King. He has seen it all and more often than not, he has triumphed in the face of adversity. He was the one who brokered a deal with the Dwarven King Bofkral, bringing riches for not only the Firen people, but the Lavas as well. The Lebethron Elves broke an age old war with the Firen with his help, and supplied the Firen people with food in their time of need. It was also Baelnorn who bested the Mad King's army on numerous occasions and ground his first Black Crusade to a halt.

With his defeat and apparent death at the Fields of Amarillis, his soldiers and his people have lost a lot of faith in the war. His soldiers flee without direction from the approaching monsters, and some of his people have pledged their loyalty to the Mad King in the hope that their lives will be spared.

The scouts of the Lebethron armies have reported an ominous sight. At the side of the Mad King there has appeared a man chained from head to toe. Their description matches that of the king.

Lavas Soldiers:



The soldiers from Lavas are some of the better armed and armored soldiers found in human ranks.

Glamhoth Wall Crushers:



The Wall Crushers from Glamhoth have a reputation that proceeds them.

Firen Shock Soldiers:



Firen Man at arms:



Notable Elves and their armies:

Lebethron Foot soldiers:



Mûl Sword company:



WIP: A group of Mûl who have banded together and formed a mercenary company. They are not the most skilled in combat but they make up for it with high quality weapons and armor and strong leadership from their commander.

Andrann Mages:



Andrann Elemental Archers:




Notable Dwarves and their armies.

High King Bofkral:



Anfangrim Dragon Slayers:



Hadhodrim Bone Crushers:



Surface Dwarves Forsaken:

Events that changed the world.
In this section I will be putting events, both current as we write and historical as per our Character Sheets. The more things we accomplish, the longer this list grows!

Historical

The War of Lavas Aggression
-Three years’ prior, a massive war broke out between the Lavas Empire and the Glamhoth Confederation. The war started when a Lavas General named General Jean-Guy Niel led his forces into Glamhoth territory on accident. The General was simply lost, as he had trouble reading maps correctly, and when Jean-Guy was confronted by the Glamhoth Earl of Hildisey, Earl Skuvif, the General confidently, and accidentally, boasted that he was not in Glamhoth territory and was in fact in Lavas territory. Earl Skuvif did not take kindly to that. To her, in her poor understanding of the common tongue, the General had just said he had invaded her territory and claimed her city as his own. A large scale brawl ensued. Earl Skuvif’s army gained the upper hand in this fight, causing numerous causalities and forcing General Jean-Guy Niel to retreat.

When General Jean-Guy Niel told his superiors of the battle, he made sure to emphasis the point that he thought the battle was fought in Lavas territory. The Council believed him, and just three weeks later the War began in earnest.

In the early few months, there was no real traction made by the Lavas army. The Glamhoth Confederations Army was content with defending their own borders and simply fell back to what would be came the First Defensive Line. The Line was a series of Castles, towns, and military outposts that stretched from the top to the bottom of the Glamhoth Confederation. From these encampments the Glamhoth launched counter-offensive after counter-offensive any time the Lavas Generals attempted to siege anything. Surprisingly, this strategy worked. Any time a city came under siege, neighboring Glamhoth forces would converge on the location and overwhelm the Lavas armies with strength of numbers and flanking maneuvers. While a few, smaller settlements, were lost to the Lavas, the big prizes for the invading army remained in Glamhoth hands.

For the first eight months of the war, Glamhoth forces held their line and prevented the superior Lavas army from advancing in towards the heart of their Confederation. Eventually, however, the Lavas came up with a plan to counteract the Glamhoth. Instead of spreading their army’s out, attacking many different settlements at once, they focused their attention on just one city; the city of Wruxvine. This city was a particularly hard city to siege, as it now only had strong exterior walls made out of stone, it had three additional series of wooden walls inside the city. In the middle of the city lay the Temple of Rofella. While most major cities had a temple for Rofella, this particular temple held an important spot in the Glamhoth’s faith. It was here that the Council of Rofella met, and where their Rofella Guard were stationed.

When the massive Lavas army surrounded the city, it was a common assumption that this siege would last a month or two before the real battle began. The city was in no danger of running out of food or water in the short term, and the Lavas were simply looking for a knockout blow. Yet when a traitor in their ranks sabotaged the gate mechanisms on all but the final interior wooden wall just two days after the siege officially started, did the battle start.

The Battle of Wruxvine itself was fought in a series of smaller battles, scattered all across the city; the bloodiest of which was the Battle at the Front Gate, where countless souls lost their lives trying to take the main gate. In total the Lavas empire lost a quarter of their soldiers in their attempt to take the city but the amount that the Glamhoth paid was even more severe. Fifty percent of their soldiers lay dead and dying, and another twelve percent of their nations military force were reported as missing or injured. The scared Temple of Rofella was razed to the ground, and the Lavas soldiers stole countless priceless relics from within. In the aftermath of the battle, it was clear that there was very little chance for the Glamhoth to recover, and as such the Glamhoth commander, Hrossbjorn, was forced to sign a treaty to end the hostilities and save his people from further bloodshed.

The treaty itself favored the Lavas greatly. Not only did the Glamhoth lose all territory taken by the Lavas, they had to pay a tribute each year to the Empire. A portion of their farmed goods had to be sent. The Lavas empire also restricted the army size of every Earl’s army, effectively making them a non-threat in the future. They also required the Glamhoth Confederation to allow Lavas observers free pass through the country, there to make sure the Glamhoth follow the treaty. The worst part of the treaty was the final provision. Five percent of the Glamhoth population, give or take, were taken as laborers back to the Lavas empire. The Lavas claim to be treating them fairly while giving them wages for all the work they do, the Glamhoth know that they are in fact slaves to the Lavas empire.

The effects of war were terrible for the Glamhoth people. Anger and resentment are at an all-time high, and many commanders are looking at ways to start another war with the Lavas to regain their lost territory and honor.

Other.

CS

Name:

Gender:

Age:

Race: (I will allow custom races, but I need a thing or two from you. First you'll need the culture and religion of the race, provided with a location of where they call home. Next I need a basic history of your race, what wars they fought etc. On my go, this will become an official race that others can join if they see fit.)


Appearance: (Descriptions are preferred, but if you find a picture I'll take it. Just no anime pictures.)

Personality: (Who is your character? What do they fight for? Don't make this part bland or cliche, but not overly long either. Enough detail for us to know your character but leave enough for us to uncover in the story.)

History: (Give us the basics, a paragraph or two will be sufficient. I want our characters to find out about each other as we would in real life. Put frankly, I want us to learn about each other as we go and allow us to grow our characters as we learn more about them.)

Equipment: (Anything that you carry. No detail is needed unless it warrants it. Sword, shield and backpack with supplies? Have them in a simple, bullet point list. A family sword with a special and beautiful design? Best explain how it looks ;) )

Other: (Anything else we might need to know. Be it special skills, such as you character being able to play a musical instrument, random bits of information to small to include elsewhere, what have you.)

Rules.

Thou shall not be a dick. Seriously, no arguing here or in the IC thread. Take it to a pm.

Thou shall not be caught godmodding. No explanation here, the golden rule so to speak of any RP.

Thou can die. Don't make stupid decisions ;) If you think i might have placed a few wraiths in the shadows, get close to both friends and a light source.

Thou shall have fun. If we don't have fun, than what's the point?

Hello, potential participants in this RP. My name is Nariata, formerly The_Silence and Zeoul, and this is an RP I have been trying to get going for a long time now.

The basics of this story are that we are the remaining few soldiers from an ill-fated attempt at killing the Mad King and his forces. We are currently attached to a small army, but through the course of the RP we may find ourselves cut off and alone in our quest to reach the Sky Bridge. It all depends on you. I may present situations that could change the course of this RP, situations like risking your characters life to save a civilian or things of the sort. I may use an online dice roller for these situations, but for general combat you should keep it reasonable. If a massive enemy army and you charge in alone, you will die :)

Death comes for us all in this RP; but if you keep your wits about you, then you may yet live. Better yet, you could lead the counter-charge against the demented army filled with demons, deformed cultists, and their wicked master.

A lot of the lore is still a WIP, but if you'd like to contribute I will update it :)

As always, any questions please ask!

The Last March of the Living

@Dulcet@Prince of Seraphs We have for people interested in joining the new attempt, plus you two. So i will get the new OOC up as soon as I can. I will tag you. And if you're busy Dulcet, just take your time. Still want you in, and the way you entered last time could work again.

The Last March of the Living

@cunfuzzler@Malchivo@Sterling@LexiconWe have two others that will join us already, so this should be enough to start. Creating OOC here soon enough.

The Last March of the Living

@Nariata
I would be in for restarting, but--like you--I underestimated how busy I would be over the break, and furthermore how incredibly busy I would be when class started again. Starting over with a fresh IC might be prudent given the time that's passed, and it'd give new people a chance to hop on from the start.

I have a lot of other stuff to do, but I should find my pace... eventually. Then I can get my own stuff done and still have time to play as well.

@Dulcet

Copy that. If I do make the new thread, I will start off the RP on a fresh, new post.