@ravenDivinity I was writing your response, and realised it made more sense to collaborate it with you, since the situation with the King should be a two-way conversation.
The next few hours were spent in celebration. It had been so long since the people Thorn had anything to rejoice about, but the return of their uncrowned Dragon King certainly filled the requirement. The music was vibrant, and the feast delectable, no doubt especially for a recently returned who would not have tasted food in thousands of years. Yet a tangible sadness still filled the air like a fog looming over the superficial happiness. Ronan knew of this darkness that lingered, and Erebus could would have likely felt it, too. They clothed Erebus, they fed him, and then, once the celebrations had waned like a flickering flame, Ronan took the Uncrowned King aside and led him to the Elder’s Home: a modest hovel at the centre of the village.
Ronan told Erebus everything. He filled him in on the history of Ansus since his lifetime, and he regaled the Dragon King with stories of Kings past and wars waged. He told him of the dying flames, and he warned him of the bitter chill enveloping the world. They talked long into the night. Over two millennia of history could not be rushed.
Ronan gazed at Erebus, still not quite believing that the Dragon himself sat before him, listening intently to his recollection of the world. His eyes glinted in the midnight flame burning at the centre of the hovel; punctuating the conversation with much needed silence.
“They say that Kolantis was burned to ashes,” he said solemnly. “Out of nowhere. Some attacking force came from nowhere and razed the entire city. The guards stood no chance.”
Ronan fiddled with the long braid of black hair that fell from his head. He ran his fingers through the myriad of ornamental decorations anchored to his hair: feathers, beads, and other, more esoteric trinkets. It truly was an incredible collection of unusual artifacts. He thumbed one of the feathers like a nervous child, rolling it between his fingers for a moment as he watched Erebus’ gaze follow his own eyes. ”There are so few of us now. The crops will not grow, and all the animals seem to be gone. We once thought that we were cursed, my liege. But it has become apparent to us that it is not just us, but the entire world. Ansus is cursed.”
Ronan stood from his rough wooden stool and quickly strode to the far wall, where the light of the fire barely reached. He removed a strangely crafted tube from a unremarkable stand that was nestled between a myriad of strange relics that cluttered the Elder’s home. He promptly brought the tube back to Erebus, and screwed off the head of the tube and removed the object within: a large parchment scroll. He laid it upon the ground just short of the fire and unravelled it flat on the ground. The firelight was just enough for both Erebus and the Elder to see the faded ink that had been scrawled on so long ago.
”Ophel,” Ronan began. ”The Diamond Dragon,” he pointed to the scroll. It was a rough sketch of a legendary dragon, whose scales were perfectly formed into the shape of diamonds, and whose head was utterly reminiscent of its namesake. ”Ophel used to guard our lands. He took up the mantle once you passed from the world. He kept us safe. Perhaps he did so out of respect for you, my lord. We have always been able to sleep easily here, and know that no harm will befall your kin because of his watchful eye.”
Ronan quickly rolled the parchment up once more, and tossed it aside with little regard for its value. He looked Erebus in the eyes again. His own were glazed and wet, as though tears were trying to force their way to the surface. The elder suppressed them, though. It was his civic duty to be strong.
”But, my lord, the world is cursed. Ophel is no exception. His scales grow black, and his eyes speak of shadows. He no longer watches over us as a guardian. He soars for hours, casting his shadow upon our village, and we know that hunger is in his eyes. The dragon has become corrupted, but I do not know by what. But I am sure he will not wait for long before breaking his own vow of protection.”
You have a corrupt dragon on your hands. Seems like a battle of the titans!
Now, you can aid Thorn and attempt to resolve their issue, or you can ignore them entirely and go your own separate way, but whichever path you take will have consiquences. You have full NPC control of Ronan and the villagers here, and you can use and control them in whicever way you would like. If you ask for more details about Ophel, you can use Ronan to make them up. You can even start your journey to find him, if you wished.
C i n n e a d
The band of Alan warriors led Cinnead through the highlands. They had been kind enough to supply him with a cloak to cover his dignity, though it did little to shake off the bitter cold that set in as they moved further from the solitary tree. It was colder than Cinnead could remember; as he looked around things were different and ever so subtly wrong. It was as if the world itself was slightly off. The grass was thin and wiry, growing a sickly brown instead of its normal lush green; the clouds gathered in arcane ways that belied their humble nature, and the cold was far harsher than it had been thirty thousand years ago.
The air was thin there. The animals were nowhere to be seen. The only thing that seemed to move besides the dead grass in the chill wind was the ghostly boar, dancing across the plains, mocking Cinnead with every move. The Alan warriors did not seem to see the boar. It was as if the creature presented itself solely to the Spear of the West. Yet it moved with the band of warriors, running almost parallel to them for hours. Days. However long it had been. The day and the night were nearly interchangeable, for the suns offered no warmth, nor did much light fall upon the land through the thick, obscuring clouds. There was no way of telling how long they had walked.
Smoke loomed upon the horizon, past the next rising hill, and across the next plain. The highlands were vast and empty, and it was rare that one would encounter anything more than a stray wagon crossing its span. Yet as the Alan Warriors and Cinnead walked, they found more than a travelling merchant flogging his wares to the empty expanse. A camp - at least, what was once a camp. It would have once been a temporary home for travellers and maybe bandits; highwaymen of all walks of life, and of all different motives and roles. But now it was ruined.
And it seemed to not have been ruined by the hands of men.
Whoever had once called this place a comforting place to rest was now strung from spears of bone protruding from the very ground. Bodies upon bodies lined the perimeter of the camp, each one humiliated in death a new way. Their arms were ripped from their sockets and twisted and contorted in completely unnatural ways. Some had been cleaved entirely in twine and their intestines dangled like morbid ropes from their bellies. Others had been opened up and horrifying effigies of demons or worse had been crafted from their grisly cadavers. The centre of the camp was no longer an old, worn out campfire, but rather a totem of human heads had been erected. Each one was void of eyes and tongues, and from each hole poured an endless stream of blood, trickling down each head below it.
And the heads were still murmuring. They were still alive. They moaned of unspeakable pain; being kept alive by some evil force. They lamented and wailed as best they could without their tongues. They seemed to groan a simple sound of warning, but the Alan warriors did not comprehend such grim advice.
”Gods save us…” one of the warriors whispered after fully realising what he was looking upon.
All the men began to look to one another in sheer confusion, hoping the next man would have answers. But none of them did. It was in the confusion that the ghostly boar appeared to all the men, shocking them even further. Such a situation was of greater intensity than they knew how to handle. But the warriors had no time to exclaim upon the sudden appearance of the Boar, for it’s manifestation was coupled with a mighty roar from its haunting mouth. It seemed to be looking at something in the centre of the camp.
And almost as if on cue, a man shrouded in shadows emerged. His entire form was little more than a churning darkness against the thin daylight. Burning points of fire blazed were where its eyes should have been, and two grisly swords rested behind it, as if it were trying to hide weapons from a foe.
There was laughing. Louder than it should have been, but laughing nonetheless. Hollow and cold, each man felt it in their chests like thunder.
That's unnerving, right? Whatever this thing is, it is not messing around. Surely only the Spear of the West could survive such an encounter?
You have NPC control of both the creature and the Alan warriors. That creature is going to attack, and it is going to best fast and seriously deadly. There will be casualties. You could run, or you could fight. If you fight and win, examining the camp will yield clues about the nature of the attacks happening all around Ansus, such as where the next attack will be.
Improvise!
T h e G r e e n K n i g h t
Truly, it was a glorious day for the return of the Green Knight. He and Harald strolled heartily through the forest for some time, in search of gods-knew-what and honour. It would have been more devastating for the Green Knight to see the slow, gradual death of the forest than anybody alive, for his connection to it and Tavra was so strong. How terrible it must have been to look up and see not birds chirping in the canopy. How wrong it must have felt to not feel the light filtered through the canopy warming their backs. How odd it must have been to see swathes of trees crumbling into black husks of their former selves.
How crushing it must have been to see the forest die alongside Tavra.
Yet Harald trudged along unwillingly besides the giant of a man, the legendary hero of tales long told and songs of old. he was far less adept at moving through the thick, cold undergrowth than the Green Knight was. He spent the time both admiring and fearing the man who had so simply, and so easily plucked him from his comfortable life as a barely sober bard: he was surely the tallest man that he had ever seen. The biggest, too. His armour was that of the forest, adorned in all manner of verdant tokens and natural growth, and the horns upon his head were so colossal that they seemed to block almost all the light ahead.
They had walked for hours. Many long, tiring hours. Yet the Green Knight did not seem to tire. So they walked for more hours. More and more until night fell, and still they walked. it was some time before they came upon the tree. Perhaps it was what they had been searching for, or perhaps it was simply an act of serendipity. Harald was sure that they were on their way to Kolantis or Ghora, or even somewhere where he could find himself another tankard of ale to beat back the sobriety creeping its way through his body.
But this tree… was very much alive.
Unlike those around it, leaves still blossomed in mysterious shades of white and grey. Faces seemed to be carved into the wood by people from days long past. But the pair found themselves stopping at this most unusual tree, navigating through the tangle of overground roots and marching to touch the bark.
The faces upon the tree seemed to come alive as they approached. They looked to take deep breaths as though awoken from a long, restful slumber. Eyes opened slowly only to reveal more bark. Noses twitched, and eyebrows furrowed -if they could be called as much whilst on a tree with a face- and it began to creak and moan like a tree faltering under the prevailing strength of a terrible gust.
Ahhhhhhhhh came the first noise. Then a resounding Ahhhhhhhh
”Iiiiit…. issssss…. yoouuuuuuuu” it spoke, so slowly its words were almost inaudible.
”Tellllll meeeeee….. “ it started. ”Iffff youuuu wishhhhhh foooorrrr aiiiiiid, youuuu must prooooove youuuuu are wiiiiiise”
Harald could not help but look upon this with wonder and astoundment, mixed only with an ounce of fear as he saw the Green Knight approach closer.
”It may…. only be given…. Not taken….. or bought…. What….. the sinner….. desires, But the saint….. does not.”
Answering the riddle correctly (NO CHEATING!) will grant the Green Knight knowledge of the atrocities happening in Kolantis, and the presence of any nearby returned (such as, but not limited to, out good friend Cinnead). If you answer incorrectly, the tree will close it's face and you will be stuck without said knowledge.
PM me your answer to find out if it is right or wrong. This should be fun >:)
E l l a r i a n
Ansur ran faster than he had ever run. He made haste to leave Kolantis and the destruction it had become. He bolted from the gates and gave little more than a thought to the Vampire Lord that he had encountered, knowing full well that he might still be out for blood. But that was no longer Ansur’s concern, for the city was dead, and the world was changed forever. The presence of such cultists, the constant lament of the King in Black…
He knew exactly why he was back. He knew. He had not known before, but it was worse than he could have ever imagined. He needed to find Altim, and he needed to find the King. He needed the returned to be at his side. He needed many things. But for the moment, finding Altim and the King were all that mattered.
He sped through the brush, faster than any living man could have done. He ran and leapt and dodged his way through trees and bones and rocks and… - He stopped dead in his tracks, his velocity almost taking him from his feet and thrusting him into the undergrowth. With a slight adjustment to his stance, he retained his footing. He stood still for a moment, looking around for what he thought he saw. He was sure that he saw a Ghedrin through the trees, and Ansur knew of only one Ghedrin who made their home outside the subterranean caverns of their species. The Bastion’s own ‘Tay’… He had commanded the creature to go out into the world and find others that had returned.
”Tay!” he shouted into the forest. It was so empty that his voice echoed through the trees for a moment.
Silence. Not even birds chirped any more.
Ansur furrowed his brow in frustration. He was sure he did not imagine it. He called a second time, but it was met with only more silence. He cried out one last time, and was this time met with a gentle rustling some ways into the forest.
”Master! Master Ansur!” came a shrill voice. ”Master master master master!” it cried again. The creature emerged shyly from the shadows, clutching a bag of coins in both hands. It looked upset, almost on the verge of crying. Its head was held low and its shoulders were entirely hunched, even for a Ghedrin, it looked uncomfortable.
”Tay!” Ansur yelled, jogging over to the frightened creature. ”You are back. Did you find any returned?”
The creature nodded. It kept its eyes on the ground. It was so frightened that even its asymmetric blinking slowed almost entirely.
”Where?” Ansur asked quietly, though with a commanding tone.
Tay simply pointed into the depths from whence he had come. Ansur nodded in response.
He flung the Ghedrin onto his back so that he would not be left alone in the forest, and so that he could guide him towards this newly discovered returned. They ran for only minutes before they stumbled across what they sought. He lumbered through the forest in thick soldier’s armour, carrying with him a mighty shield, and bearing a tremendous grey beard. His face was scarred by what was undoubtedly years upon years of warfare.
Ansur stood in the shadows for a few moments. He looked up into Tay’s eyes, a gambit for the creatures approval that this was the man he had brought. Tay nodded and let a small smile creep across his face.
”Hail, wanderer.” Ansur called out, undoubtedly taking Ellarian by surprise. ”I do believe that I sent for you. I am told that you have recently returned from beyond the grave…”
:)
Looks like you have found a friend. PM me and we can collaborate. Feel free to assume control of Tay while you wait, and a bit of control over Ansur.
N o r c o K h a n
The long road was both easy to travel, and gruelling to walk. It stretched for miles into the distance, far further than any man could see. Few men could travel it alone with few supplies, but Norco Khan was not just any man. The Wolf King walked for the miles that the road stretched, making his way quickly from the small village on the Eastern outskirts and toward Kolantis, the capital that had recently been razed to the ground. Khan’s search for purpose was frustrating and no clear answers had been given. And so, he walked the road watched not by Gods nor men, but rather by the birds of carrion that circled overhead, awaiting the Wolf King to succumb to hunger and so they may have their next meal, yet the Wolf did not falter, and the birds would go hungry.
It was perhaps three days since the assassin in the village had been foiled, and Norco had crossed only four travellers like he. Two had been afraid of him merely from seeing his massive stature from a distance. They had diverted their path in a long circle to avoid crossing him. One of the travellers had tried to rob him, and subsequently died a most painful death, and the last traveller was kneeling at a wayshrine just off the road and nestled in a thicket of trees around a small pool that welled from the deep earth.
”Hail” the man had said, fearing not the size of the man who had passed. Instead, he made his best attempt at conversation, though solemn travellers often had little to discuss. But times were tough, and the world was awash with strange happenings and desperate tales.
”There’s no point prayin’ to em’” he had told Norco. ”Its true what they’ve bin’ sayin’. They’re all gone. Don’t answer any more,” the man said as he looked up at Norco. He raised to his feet after praying at the shrine in hopes of guidance, or even an answer. ”Probably why the world is the way it is, ya’ know?” he asked. he pulled the rucksack he had laid down by the feet of the carved statue of Tael up onto his shoulder and bid Norco farewell. ”Ain’t nothin’ holy no’ more. Kolantis sacked, people dyin’ left, right an’ centre. Even heard that sum’ of the old heroes from the stories are walkin’ around again. Not sure ‘ow that works. Good day.’”
The man brushed by Norco, and before long had disappeared beyond the horizon, down the long road, into the setting suns.
Information, at last! You could arguably chase after this man and ask more about the happenings, or you could continue your oath to Kolantis. If the latter option is chosen, you could reach the city limits in your next post. There, you would find the atrocities and anybody still left in the city (perhaps Volkimir, though I can't say for sure). You could explore the ruins and find out more about what is happening if you wanted. If you need any extra prompts, PM me.
K i ' i r a
Ki’ira’s wailing could have been heard from miles away. Her cries were just as raucous as her personality, and her pained cries were like fire to those who listened on. Those lurkers in the forest dared not approach a woman in such emotional agony. They knew it would be folly.
So the forest left her to her pain. It soaked up her fiery tears and made no move to comfort her. It was just as unforgiving as it had always been, if not more so. The sun had even disappeared behind yet more clouds, and a light rain had begun to fall. The ground soaked up the rain just as it had done with her tears. The air grew cold, and the ground grew sodden. Hope seemed to have been lost.
What was her purpose now? Now that her God was gone, and life was facing the end of all things. What was she to do? What was her path? Darkness clouded her mind. Even her attempts at optimism, her looting of fallen weapons looking for something to sell, was overshadowed by a great sadness within.
Then there was a light, mere feet from Ki’ira, blinding in its intensity. And within the aura of excellent light? A fox, larger than any found in the wild, with silvery hair that was perfectly groomed and cleaned.
”Child,” it spoke with a voice most heavenly, yet with hints of mischief running throughout. ”Why do you cry? It is I, Vinsha.”
Undoubtedly Ki’ira would have been confused, and blasted by emotion. For the Fox Goddess really stood before her, did she not?
”You have been deceived, child. Ansur lies to you all. You must be careful, for those who wish to be your allies will try to deceive the disciple of the trickster. You must not trust him, you must not. I remain in this world, just like you. Why do you think you are back?”
Vinsha spoke with the manner that only a God could muster. Beautiful, heavenly, flawless.
”You must kill him. For he will lead a band of heroes into evil. He seeks only to control you.”
The giant fox gently, and very elegantly approached the speechless Ki’ira. It nuzzled her wounded arm and shoulder, creating a soothing warmth that seemed to heal her ills.
”Use what I taught you, child. Bring the world back into light,”
And just as fast as the Vinsha had appeared before Ki’ira, she was gone one more, with little more than the blink of an eye. A spectre. A fleeting, transient moment of serenity.
Interesting.
Very interesting. What will you do with such information?
T h e W i n d w i t c h
”Alright, now excuse you, miss!” the woman half-shouted in frustration. ”Just who do you think you are? Talkin’ to me like that after I came all this way to check on you!” The woman made a gesture of offence before stepping backwards a little bit.
”Also! Don’t talk to me like that in front of my child!” she said much more aggressively as she bent over to slap the Windwitch hard across the face, leaving a red handmark on her cheek. ”You can’t be ‘avin’ any of my food, thank you very much!” she said sternly, before turning away and storming back to the road. She stopped her her food supplies once more and half-jogged, half-ran down the dirt track. She, after all, did not want to stick around so close to Kolantis. Not after what had happened.
The docks were empty. They were laying on the same sea that the capital itself reached, so looking down the coastline would have yielded view of the city silhouette, smoking, obscured slightly by the coming rain. Something was definitely off. Something was definitely wrong. She was lost in a new time, and there was not a soul around to guide her. Small fishing boats lay dormant and empty, and crabbing baskets had long since been emptied and left to rot on the pier. People had abandoned this place long before she awoke.
Why was the world so empty and cold? Just why had she awoken, and why her?
You did say you wanted somebody to mess with her! But that kind of insolence can't be tolerated! You could go after her, or you could make your way to the city and probably be jumped by Norco Khan. Either way, the Windwitch will have to be less bitchy if she wants people's help.
Or, of course, you could always go and find Ki'ira. She seems in a good place right now. For sure.
Z a h a r a
There was a cacophony of rejoicing cries amongst those who had seemingly gathered to welcome Zahara back into the world. Understandably they would be happy about such an incredible development, but there was the growing sense in the air that there was, perhaps, something more to it than the return of a great warrior from times past.
The suns beat down heavily in the North. They burned with such intensity that not much could survive in the desert, save for these hardy people. Unlike the rest of Ansus which was being swallowed by cold and darkness, these lands were becoming hotter and brighter, yet more desolate and less in check. The sub-men still roamed the sands, beaten and bloody after their defeat at the North Fortress some weeks back, but the villagers here knew little of such wars of Southern men.
”You have returned to us, Iron-Tooth, just like we always knew you would,” the woman began. ”We heard tales of others coming back from death. Those from the stories. We knew it was only a matter of time before you came back to us, Zahra the Free, and we are glad.”
The old woman slowly and gently turned herself to face the assorted crowd that had gathered, and she confirmed to them that this was She of the Inner Flame who had found her way to their land of life once more. A tremendous crescendo of celebration followed. Men hugged and women cried. Children danced, and even the domestic animals yelped and barked and sprinted through the temporary disorder as the reality of the situation set in.
”You have come back to lead us to freedom, have you not?” she mounted hopefully, desperately wishing this newly revived hero from times past had the answers that she did not. ”And you know why the world is dying, too, yes? You have come to save us!”
She smiled a most heartwarming smile. She did not anticipate that Zahara knew nothing of her predicament. They looked up to her already. They knew it was her, for the belly-scar was the most famous in the known world. They were a leaderless people in need of solidarity and leadership.
And, without even being asked, Zahara had taken up that mantle.
The celebrations were so intense for those moments, that even the most astute among them did not notice nor acknowledge the patrol of sub-men who had poured into the village on warg-back, bony banners flapping high in the wind. The joy of the people was broken, and silence reigned once the leader of the band of sub-men dismounted his rabid beast and called for the attention of the villagers in his most ominous tone.
”You! People!” it cried. It sauntered up the the elderly woman, the crowd parting in the wake of the large, disgustingly formed man. It stood above her, Zahara watching the whole time, as it gripped the elder by her furs and pulled her close. A veil of fright fell over her face, sadly replacing the heartwarming smile that she had shown just moments before.
”Our… dowry. You pay. Or die,” it demanded.
The elder said nothing, she simply turned her head to Zahara, her eyes red and filling with tears borne of fear.
I think maybe you don't need a note here, just yet. Your welcome celebrations seem to have been interrupted. Now, tell me, what are you going to do about it?
You have full NPC control and can go as free-form as you'd like. Sort this matter out once and for all.
@Corvidae We all have different ways of putting pen to paper, no? Plus, your writing is awesome, so don't second guess yourself! This RP isn't supposed to be a chore, so just post when it feels right for you, I don't want you to feel like you have a deadline to meet or anything. RP's are supposed to be fun and relaxing!
@Vigfast I know what you mean. When I end up GMing games like this, I always end up posting my first draft of pretty much every post. I know I could write far, far better than I am currently, but it is just easier to post it rather than wait a few extra days to re-draft and edit, you know what I mean?
@Corvidae Yeah, of course! I try to take a bit of time with responses because I know not everybody has as much free time / types as fast as I do. Gives everybody an equal chance to get in on it!
@Vigfast Too true. The Starless actually just has a really bad attitude problem and takes out his anger issues on people like us. Truly sad. Killed his therapist, though.
I propose we host a party in his honour, get him nice and drunk, and he will shower us with kittens and love so we can embark upon more glorious side quests.
Responses should be up at... i'd say... The morning. I've got all my plans for responses down, it's just a matter of filling it all up with some prose! :)
"There used to be so many stars in the sky. You used to be able to look up at night and see them in their millions. They would all dance from the Rings of the World like tiny fireflies. But it seems so empty now, and Raida feels so cold. I've already forgotten what trees look like in full bloom, for none have blossomed here in years. The sound of running water, too, grows distant; all the rivers dried up long, long ago. I can't shake the feeling that the world is coming to an end, that the darkness is creeping up on us like something very much alive. I fear that my home will soon be unrecognisable at all, and that my own children will grow up in a world void of light, if even that.
To this journal, I commend my greatest secrets, and my deepest of fears. He came to me in a dream on the eve of the morning. I saw only eyes amidst the blackness. Eyes of utter, incomparable madness. Eyes that chilled me like the winter. Eyes that were nothing less than the culmination of everything wrong with the world. They were like a void, looking deep into them was like looking deep into myself, and seeing all that I regret, and all that I have lost. He demanded that I kneel, and I did. My eyes became like his, empty and hollow. My soul shattered into a million pieces, never to be recovered. My humanity was stripped from my heart like skin stripped from flesh. He told me, in tones of anguish and hate, that our next meeting would be our last.
I am afraid.
For the first time in my life I must admit that I am truly scared. He cannot be defeated. He simply cannot. He will rampage across the heavens and from the ashes of our life, he will forge his own starless paradise. The King in Black comes for us, and will crush Raida with the terrible falling of his feet. His breath will set the land aflame; his hands will tear the mountains apart; his voice will end the world.
He comes for us. I dare not to picture those eyes staring back at me in the blackness. For if I meet him once more, he will fulfil his promise to me, and my own life will be at an end.
We must leave. We must abandon everything. We must set sail across the Northern Sea and into whatever may lie beyond. We must take the fire of the remaining Gods with us. I pray that he does not follow, and I pray he never finds us. We must leave not for glory, nor must we leave for prosperity. We must leave, because if we do not, then I am sure we will see those eyes open upon the horizon, and every single one of us will die."
