Red Wizard — Roleplayer Guild

There’s a place where you really don’t want to be. A place where it’s cold and dark, and where no one can hear you scream. They call this place the Maw, because it swallows people whole and chews them up. Once you’ve checked in, you can never check out.

Unfortunetly, that’s where you are.

But it’s not like you didn’t do your best, or your worst, to get here. They don’t just feed anyone to the Maw. Only the worst of the worst are put here, and you’re worse than most. An enemy of the Kingdom, as it were. A proper blight on the land.

So why aren’t you dead?

It happens all the time, after all. People are killed for all manners of mischief, most of it far less terrible than what you’ve done. They’re hanged, beheaded, quartered and burned at the stake. So why keep you alive?

Because you’re useful, that’s why.

Your sort doesn’t come along every day. You’re smart, capable, powerful, and free of the moral inhibitions that keep the sheep from rising up. Talents like yours are hard to come by, so they have decided to save you for a rainy day.

Who are they, anyway?

They’re the King and all his men, or the tyrant and his cronies, depending on how you look at it. Rumor has it that he killed his brother and usurped his throne, and has been ruling with an iron fist ever since. No rebellion, coup or assassination has ever been able to topple his reign. Not that people haven’t tried. But he’s not the one who gives the orders. That’s the Warden. 

She’s a piece of work, that one. 

The Warden is scary, even to people like you. She’s… Different. Alien. She might look like a person, but she’s not. There’s something behind those dark eyes that makes your skin crawl and stomach churn with terror. She gets inside your head, somehow. Makes you do things you normally wouldn’t. No matter how much people try to avoid, cheat or kill her, they always end up doing what they’re told.

And now, it’s your turn.

You don’t know what it is, but they want something done, and you’ve been selected to do it. Could be a daring rescue. Could be a nefarious murder. What’s certain is, it’s probably going to get you killed. And in the unlikely event that you make it, the Maw will be waiting to swallow you up when you’re done…

…Unless you can do something about it.

Welcome to Blackguards!

This is the medieval fantasy version of Suicide Squad, in which a crew of colorful criminals get sent to their deaths trying to complete an impossible and sometimes (mostly) immoral mission, or quest, or thing. We will each take on the role of one of the inmates of the incredibly infamous prison the Maw, all terribly dangerous individuals, and portray their story as they do everything in their power to escape, survive, and possibly, but improbably, actually complete their mission.

Our motley crew of misfits will consist of the usual villainous archetypes; dark knights, heathen warlocks, deadly assassins, etc. You will have relatively free hands in creating your character but will have to abide by a few guidelines.

You will use and fill out the provided CS. You may tweak the formatting if you wish.
You will stick with fantasy races, either the usual ones or something more exotic. Nothing stupid, though.
You will create an anti-hero or likeable villain; chaotic evil monsters or full on psychopaths are not what I’m looking for.
Your character will be of a considerable power-level. Enough so that it poses a threat to the Kingdom if left unchecked, but nothing stupid. Could it take on a squad of the Kings finest? Without a problem. Could it solo a dragon? Not a chance.

A Little Lore

His Majesty King Tyronde of Vortigern, alias the White Tiger, is the current ruler of the Westerlands. He is celebrated far and wide as a hero for having defeated his evil older brother, the Fallen King, who consorted with demons and preyed upon the populace. Under his reign, the people of the Westerlands have enjoyed peace and prosperity like never before throughout history. Together with the Temple of the Sun, he has ousted the old false gods of the heathens and unified the kingdom under one faith and tradition. Truly, there has never been a King like him.

If you believe the official story, that is.

Another, less tolerated, version claims that Tyronde conspired with the Heliarch of the Temple of the Sun to murder the old King and usurp his throne. In this version, the Westerlands used to be a diverse place of wonder where peoples of all creeds could live together in peace and harmony. The Tyrant and his Temple have demolished this society, forcing cohesion on the populace and banishing or outright slaughtering any and all who resist. Taxes are higher than ever, public executions are up, and children are sacrificed on massive pyres to the burning deity of the sun-worshipers.

The truth? Who knows. But you certainly know which version you subscribe to.

The Westerlands, or the Sunset Lands as they’re sometimes called, is a realm with a long and complicated history. The Kingdom, now unified under His Majesty King Tyronde of Vortigern, was once a sprawling mess of minor feuding territories where a multitude of races and cultures coexisted in an uneasy balance. Dragon riders kept watch from the snow capped peaks of the Boreal Mountains, elven druids danced in the moonlit groves of the Sylvan Forests, dwarves delved deep into the dark caverns of the Underworld, and giants roamed the rocky Highlands in search of fallen stars. A thousand gods and spirits, great and small, rivalled for worship in an unending cycle of conflict and peace. The chaos (or freedom, if you’re so inclined) ended with the death of the old King and the purging fires of the Unification Wars. Under the Sigil of the Sun, the King (by some referred to as the Tyrant) brought law and order (or death and destruction) to the Westerlands. They proclaimed One King, One God, and One Tradition, casting everything else aside. Today, remnants of the old ways linger in faraway corners of the world, hiding from the scorching light of the Holy Sun in the shade and the dark.

The land itself is still the same, with its rolling hills, high mountains, deep valleys, flowing rivers and calm lakes. The ruins of the old world linger, teeming with secrets and mysteries, and the old magic still permeates everything, no matter how hard the King and his Temple tries to smother it out. Civilization is spreading, however, one day at a time, threatening to overtake the wilderness as time goes by.

The Westerlands have always been a vast and diverse place, home to a plethora of more or less civilized races and peoples. The predominant race of the New Order under King Tyronde are the humans, who’s civilization previously ranked among the lesser ones of the land. They have expanded a lot in the decades since the White Tiger ascended the throne, and keep pushing the boundaries of other peoples territories.

Along with humans, the Westerlands are populated by elves, dwarves, orcs, and halflings, to name a few. These races are often divided into separate clans and peoples, derived from differances in culture and creed. Wood Elves, for instance, live in close connection with nature in the great forests of the world and see themselves as separate from the High Elves, who construct high towers and concern themselves with the skies and stars. Grey Dwarves, masters of stone and steel, have little in common with the Hill Dwarves practicing Runic Magic in the highlands. The Clan Orcs, who perfect the arts of martial prowess in secret fortified monasteries, want nothing to do with the Wild Orcs who pillage and burn along the coasts. The Hobbits, living in hidden close-knit communities in the wilds, can’t understand the nature of the Gnomes, solitary halflings who live as caretakers of mills, farmsteads and such in other peoples settlements.

There are other, less widespread races and peoples, too. The Naga of the Underworld waters, the Giants of the Highlands, the Fauns of the Forests, etc. Who knows what other beings are out there, among the forgotten places of the world?

Character Sheet Template

Character Name

Name

Full Character Name
Race

Human/Elf/Orc/Dwarf/Halfling/Whatever
Gender

Male/Female/Whatever
Age

Character Age (Nothing Stupid)
Appearance

Hair/Eyes/Skin/Length/Weight/Build/Clothes/Whatever
Personality

Behavior/Quirks/Likes/Dislikes/Whatever
Background

Parents/Childhood/Education/Adulthood/Livelihood/Crimes against the Kingdom/Downfall/Whatever
Talents

Skills/Powers/Training/Whatever
Flaws

Fears/Vulnerabilities/Vices/Whatever
Equipment

The Stuff your Character checked in with (Nothing Stupid)
Miscellaneous

Whatever

Interested? Great! Let me know below, and apply with a character!

S   i   m   b   e   l   m   y   n   ë

Simbels eyes wandered from Dorian, to Faline, and Amandine. Together, they were weaving a tale which sounded both ominous and intriguing to the with-o'-the-woods. A strange blight, plagueing the land. An old relic, thought long lost. The twists and turns of the annals of history. It was a lot to take in for one who were used to communing with beasts. They lived simpler lives and had simpler needs that were a lot more relatable than this epic business that Simbel found herself caught up in right now. Why did civilized people always have to complicate things so? To what end? The list of pointless rituals and hidden meanings had no end, and no beginning. Although her frustration was growing, Simbels face was as calm as a cold winter lake on a windless day.

She did feel bad for Amandine, however, when she spoke of the dragons of yore. The feeling of being able to communicate with ones deity directly - she understood that intimately. The idea of losing that, of losing her connection to the Wilder... It didn't bear thinking too much about. She felt as though she should say something. I understand this feeling, she said, And I am sorry for your loss. Yours, and that of all your kind. She looked Amandine in the eyes for a short moment before letting her continue her story. 

Simbel had never before heard of this tribe of Dragonians, the Hiemaquas. She knew little enough of the Dragonian people as a whole, granted, but of these ones she had heard nothing. Her thoughts drifted to her Mother, and what her part in this story was. How had she become involved, and why? Why had she left the token for Simbel to find? Had she planned on Simbel meeting with these people? Had her Mother counted on her to work for the Emperor? Simbel found it hard to believe that was the will of the Horned One. Then again, she was not yet fully initiated into the inner circle of the coven. There were secrets she was still ignorant of. Perhaps this was one of them.

As Amandine finished her speech, Simbel had a hard time interpreting her words. There was a bell ringing in the back of her mind, trying to tell her something, but she couldn't quite grasp what it was. There was something off about how the Dragonian was saying the words coming out of its mouth; it was like it was lying, but it wasn't lying. Simbel couldn't remember the word for it, but it made her nervous. She was fairly certain they would not be offered dragon mounts and hatchery-time by the tribe, and she wondered why Amandine would say that they could. Deciding against calling her out on it, Simbel walked the middle path. I need no mount, she said, And infant reptiles seldom have anything interesting to say.

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Crimson Conjurer

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