The Harbinger of Ferocity

Post a random fact about yourself.

Hourly posting? That sounds horrible honestly, lol.

However, I also would never get into chatroom RPing because I feel like it demands too much attention and expects to be instantly gratified.

@Hellion

Generally one could see two to three posts from each member almost daily at what would be considered "Casual" level here on the Roleplayer Guild. I am still a bit nostalgic for when the hobby was much stronger and much more active to the point that said things could happen. It was exciting to have some new content to return to, seeing a list of people awaiting or writing their own responses. Again, so primitive in terms of forum based roleplaying, however, it was as sincere as it came. Unfortunately I have lost so much of my memory in some ways that I do not even recall those places or their names, just that I remember the impression and experience now. I suppose that counts as a fact but a more interesting one I believe is due.

Storytelling was the original way I was exposed to roleplaying in a more mature manner, rather than just playing pretend. It became a cooperative thing and elaborate, if not still very simple, narratives would be constructed and built upon. A completely oral tradition which, as with most any other oral tradition, faded away into nothingness with time.

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

"Very well." The priest's calm, ever so restrained voice answered, having paid keen note to the man's obvious submission to the trial. Were it left to him to judge, one could imagine how the gesture would have persuaded his heart, and one could see why the sternness of a justice like the one just behind him would function more than as a governing figure. But that was what the sanctioned spell was for, to judge not in the eyes of a young priest or an old judge, rather to view with that which the god Erithar did.

Once Renault bowed before the bars, at the mercy of the divine conduit before him, there was a pause as the priest's eyes washed over him and studied the fallen paladin intently. There was nothing to truly be felt, no sensation of tingling, no mystical chiming or whirling of incense smoke or anything of the like. All the fancy, grandiose ritual was removed here in this forsaken place and its cold stone walls on such an early morning. So when no obvious result came other than the priest nodding without word, the judgment in the eyes of a literal god had been passed. Erithar, merciful as he was, would not have struck down Renault, altough it still burned him at the soul ever so slightly that a holy man of his own church, the same one he was cast out of, now saw over him down to his very heart. The priest could not know the depths of his failure but a god sure did.

The modestly adorned priest turned to the justice and took the man's hand with both his own and communicated, equally wordlessly, with his digits to the other's palm. No one would know any of the shame outside the two men and the guilty themselves; it was a respectful gesture, even if it were so primitive and one likely having been quite different ago. In the end it was all the same as the justice, in turn, still stoic and only watching the working of the man holding his hand before him, nodded in reply before speaking.

"Judgment in the eyes of the holy has been passed. You may pronounce divine judgment in the eyes of our god upon the next."

Which in turn brought the priest to a mirrored bow to Renault, their eyes holding upon one another for a moment. There was much to be said between an obvious faithful of the temple to the man judging him at the behest of their god but it could not be said or done now and it was clear the priest knew this, young and inexperienced as he was. The shared exchange broke as he stood again, hands clasped over his abdomen. He blinked almost mournfully, knowing some glimpse of truth that only the divines above, far off and away as they were, knew for certain.

"Please come forward, the next man, and allow judgment." He spoke this time, gently turning a palm toward the fellow cellmate of Renault, the man who had kept almost exclusively to himself throughout the past few days.

@Lord Wyron@TyrannosaursRex

Post a random fact about yourself.

Every time I visit the forum I experience this sense of nostalgia for the days when message boards were all that there was for the hobby for the most part, the time when even instant messenger roleplay was still very new. Those were not good times for me at large, rather the experience of having posts to reply to almost hourly was.

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

You may of course apply, @Lauder, please send me a private message regarding the topic and what you have in mind.

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

Indeed there was purpose for them all as they drifted back apart for the night, huddling and holding to their own piles of straw and blanket. Only the slow, rolling chatter of the flames from the torches filled their ears and with their protective light, their distant heat. Without it, it might well have made sleep difficult even with these great stone walls of the prison, but to their relief and fortune there was no need for concern. Their captors may have been errant in many of their charges but they were not evil, and while hearts far from pure - instead blinded by terrible fear and paranoia born of this fringe land - they would inflict no such cruelty. If anything this would be one of those saving graces for the four of them, just as they needed it to be, although it would come in no fashion they likely expected or would enjoy.

As a result, in the earliest hours of dawn, when the sun cracked just upon the horizon, the sound of horses and a wagon awoke them. Gorosk, first, seeing as he was the closest to the distinct sound and how his enlightenment made his senses keen, found himself brought back from a night of dreamless dreaming. By the time he arose and realized just what it was, he could see it was not his imagination. There were indeed several men and several horses, not the least of which was the horse and cart he had become familiar to, but the others? This was new, and news enough at that, for anyone who could own such a beast and make use of it as transport here likely had some prominence. By the time the rider dismounted, so too could the others in the prison hear the arrival and approaching footsteps of the militia, while the half-blood himself could see a few of the men preparing to open the door. What at first seemed like liberation and vindication, however, sunk in the heart.

These men were the militia, sure enough, and with his eyes to see through the fading ambient dark outside Gorosk could tell that those who accompanied them were not. One man in modest robes, presumably a priest of some variety, and a reasonably well dressed man who bore a sash across his chest, sewn with a badge of decoration. These were formal men, officials of the temple and the kingdom itself, likely the justice and the priest assigned to carrying out their sentencing. They spoke for a moment in idle tones as the sound of the wrought iron door being unlocked beyond echoed into their chamber and one of the men, the jailer as the three men knew him at this rate, entered and paced down the isle, bringing his held torch to their cells to ensure no tampering had taken place; none of them had dared to escape or even managed the effort.

He gave a few tapping kicks to the door which held back both the humans, being certain that he gained the attention of all within before he spoke, his voice only moderately raised, "Your sentencing will begin shortly, so up, and up now."

The man said no more, aside from that which he said without words by furrowing his brow a bit and scowling at the orcish man before walking out again. He paced back to the cart where the other few militia men were moving a chest and equipment from the back of the cart, passed by the priest who soon entered, followed by the justice. They stood there quiet for a moment, the calmness of the former and stoicalness of the latter making it clear this was not the first and certainly not the last time they would pronounce judgment. And contrary to that which may well have been expected, the priest with his clean shaven and youthful face, spoke. He spoke loud enough to hear without being forceful, whereas the older, balding man behind him with stern eyes seemed like at moment's notice he could bellow out a direct command.

"I will be the one to perform your test of purity, so that in the eyes of the divines whose land this still is, we may know where your heart lies before the law."

He gestured to each of their cells, ignoring the obvious that they not all could see him before he continued, following the drawing back of his flax hood. To Beaumont's eyes, as the man adjusted himself for the formalities to follow, it was clear who the priest followed, a symbol of Erithar upon his chest in humbly carved wood; likely too poor and youthful a priest to afford anything of value.

"May the holiest of holies, the name of our great sacred protector and judge of that which is righteous and good, find you all without stain in his vision for us all."

The priest then came before the door nearest the two men, just a pace away, and began to cast a spell. As he intoned the words, the stern justice behind him watching without word or interference, the holy man's hands formed a few gestures and then laid the pads of his fingers to the divine article around his neck.

"Who will be the first to be judged?" He inquired, although likely it would be that he knew the answer already beyond just his own sight.

Effects

The priest spends a standard action casting a spell. It can be identified with a successful Spellcraft (Int) check if trained in that skill.

@BangoSkank@Hellion@Lord Wyron@TyrannosaursRex

Post a random fact about yourself.

I have no favorite canid and not for any reason such as despising them or the sort, rather because I have no real feelings at all toward them. I suppose if anything that is as much feline answer as any, being as indifferent as it comes.

Marvels of Mountain City

At the moment an opportunity to intervene and interact with my character still exists, awaiting in limbo. So if one is playing a person of more heroic leanings there is a chance to not only be introduced but engage in some motivational conflict. After all, it would help serve as a driving force for many more posts.

Post a random fact about yourself.

There is so much time between which has no meaning that I frequently wish that I could simply blink and skip through it. Even if it cost me that time in life, I would not pay it any mind. I have more important things to do and all the trivial quality in between is but mind-numbing filler. Noise and static for the sake of it existing.

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

The world outside through the barred window of the orc-blooded man's cell was another place, another time altogether almost, as from his viewpoint he could see past the darkness and into the modest village down the hill. Golden glows radiated from shuttered windows, thin slits of light peaking out into the pitch black. No single one proved strong and even with the number there were, there were not many. The road leading down, while visible in the day and only truly a short ways away, felt quite distant and cold where it vanished beyond his innate ability to see in absolute darkness, and it reappeared only near the low wall near the outskirts where a few torches in the open burned; hopeful, tragic little endeavors set to ward off whatever might dare in the hours of darkness. It was more an attempt than anything else, the Marches were merciless after all, and if it were not the weather that would get one killed at night, it were those things hunting in it.

People spoke in hushed tones about wolfmen just as much as they did literal wolves, yet in both cases neither were bothered by the flames. Bandits, brigands, thugs, thieves, and all their like feared not fire either - many went so far as to even wield it as a weapon. All these things and others were great reason for the absolute lack of anyone out, even at such an early hour. The village, as it were, was vulnerable in every sense, so much so that the fear they addressed the goliath with was as sincere as it came. It truly was no elaboration of thought to imagine she alone, if she so much escaped, and took up arms could likely raid most the land here by herself. Such was the natures of monstrous blood, Gorosk would be able to reflect. As a whole it spoke leagues about the village and how now and then some lights dimmed for the night but never went out for fear of the cold or fear of those in it.

@BangoSkank

Post a random fact about yourself.

As much as I enjoy winter and how it slows the senseless hustle of the world over down, I cannot say I am not always excited for spring. I always keep at the very least eye, ear, and nose poised to notice it. Not just because the changing of the seasons is meaningful in itself either rather it is because there is something to be appreciated in each. Even summer has some perks, if one looks close enough.