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The New Frontier

Okay new forum arrangement with a new section just for rpgs, so lets get this on the road.

Simple enough rules.  Anyone can jump in at the current point in the story another location then what the rest of the story is currently going is fine and with any view point they want.  You can be a first person or third person perspective but if you have multiple characters only one of them can be first person perspective so that we don't confused with what character is being used.  Also to make things easier to read make sure all dialogue  (character talk) are property marked with quotations. like so: ""  IF it is something from a book or something else that a character is reading please either use italics or as (from journal:) at the beginning of the paragraph.  thank you.

Just some suggestions.  Please keep old English and non-English languages only in character dialogue.  It be helpful for other players if you had a set of percentiles after it with an English translations to help them work around what is going on without having to use a translation app or webpage, but it is not required if you decide not to. If a character does not know the language being spoken then they don't know what being said without being told by a character who does.  It will be appreciated if players do not make any one character so much greater then the rest so that everyone can have fun and tilt the balance of the story how they like, if you want those skills there just add a second character to also add more favor to the game.  also f you want to talk to other players in one of your posts please mark it in penances. () Just so no one accidently interprets it as part of the story and acts on it as if one of the characters said it.  You can use support or background characters to help review things happing or spice things up when ever you feel like it.

The game begins:

Jane looks uneasily into the dark dense forest only feet away.  A gut retching feeling of dread screams at her to run ,to get away.  She knew that she should not of come, but it was too late for that now.  In her mind's eye all that exist are the trees in front of her almost hidden by the overgrown vegetation. "Hey Jane!" her brother's voice snap Jane out of the trance.  Turning around she could see Mick's muscle shape outlined by the glaring sun.  Unaware that anything was amiss he simply said "You ready to set up camp?"  Feeling startled and relieved at the same time Jane asks "I thought we were heading into the forest today?"  "No it's too late in the day we only get about a couple miles before we be forced to make camp for the night.  Might as well stay here in the open where we can se anything this strange land decide to send our way."  With that Mick heads back down to the sea line to help the crew unload the last of the longboats.

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Comments

  • As soon as Mick left, the familiar dread that had plagued her ever since she moved to Frizland Woods returned. The night was too dark, the shadows too deep, the windy moans too loud, bringing apparitions of the mind to the forefront of her imagination's eye. Trembling, she dashed a few yards into the brush to collect kindling for a fire; a fire that would remind her of home. As the fire rose, she calmed. Suddenly the forest seemed gentler, and Jane was suspended in a fiery orange corona of light. The light left her braver... but it also beckoned to the things of the forests, things that only moved at dark times. The beacon in the trees beckoned.

    ====================================================================================

    "Hey! Watch that line, ya slack-jawed idiot!" Mick roared, as an incompetent crewman almost brained him with a decking-hook. The group of sailors had come from the north, and such Everwinter stock as these were not used to the balmy nights of the Empire, pleasant as they were. The journey proved rough, but their captain proved himself to the task. Besieged by river raiders countless times, risking drowning and worse, they threaded their way through the icy map of waterways that connected Everwinter to the rest of civilization.

    But these were in-between places, the settings for tales of battalions marching into the fogs to do battle with whatever horrors they encountered. But the horrors were real. Had Mick strayed too far off the river, which the beasts feared above all else (although not a man knows why), the venture would be ended in a horrible screeching melee of blood and terror.

    Fortunately, this was not the case! Safely moored on the Empire's border, their crew prepared camp, with the help of Jane, Mick's no-nonsense older sister, they had escaped the oppression of the north, under the hand of Barbarian King Ulthoor.

    ====================================================================================

    I've no idea how  good this is; feel free to ignore this if you want. xD I'm no good at writing, but people! Please add on to the story, and maybe establish some lore for GGE?

    "He who does not move is not aware of the chains that bind him." ~Viking
  • (don't worry too much TheVikingOfOld about how good you are at writing some of these roleplaying games usually get people from middle school to people simply enjoying retirement from all orts of different backgrounds so there will be a lot of different ways of how the story gets told.  Plus everyone improves while they tell the story and randomly pick up things and see things in their own typing that they know can be done better.  Although if you feel too self conscious about it you can always use google or youtube to find some tips . Don't worry though, you got some pretty decent story telling from the couple paragraphs I seen you type so far.)

    Sleep weighing down on her like an anchor Jane leaves the fire for the comfort and security of her tent.  Half way there she suddenly feels a jolt as some sort of six sense she develop over the years warns of the presences of some unseen danger.  Griping the handle of the short sword that has now became her constraint companion, she quickly scans the immediate area. Jan could perceive nothing in the impressing darkness but a couple of passed out drunks lying between the tents.  A sneer twitches at her lips, she be glad when the last of the rum runs out.  Try as she might though she could not shack the uneasy feeling that they were being watched.  Slowly but carefully Jane continues to her tent on full alert.

    ===================================================================================

    The shadow perch on its branch looks over the encampment of foreigners wearing a similar sneer as it looks down in disgust.  It almost reached back to pull an arrow out of the quiver hanging loosely over its shoulder. The need for blood almost to strong.  Almost.  It wouldn't want to put them on guard just yet.  They have not enter the forest tonight where their forces could meet a quick and decisive end.  Tomorrow though that would be another day the shadow thought to itself.  With a quick signal that should not of been seen by a normal set of eyes in this darkness the shadow sent its message down to it fellows waiting at the base of the tree.  A couple of the figures departed to inform their lord.  Even they who consider the forest their domain knew that it was not safe for any motal creature even them. Especially once night has fallen.

  • (Wait, I don't get it. Do we just continue the story in Jane POV or make our own characters? And what is the goal or point of this RPG?)
    Bazooka Duck of Fire | High Councillor of Inrazimad | That Person with an Addiction to Cookies 

    Um . . . I don't have enough titles. I must brainstorm!

    @au1 ~ graceL.H.E - Level 70 - Storm Cloaks - The Terrible
    @en1 ~ InsaneDuckling - Level 70 - New Vision - The Terrible

    One of those weird old players who became all sentimental after leaving the game before they could see dear old Empire rot away even more. 
  • JackelKight (US1)JackelKight (US1) Posts: 533
    edited 23.09.2015

    (well gracel.H.E. generally the rpgs I played in so far we just throw in our own characters, sometimes some throw in multiple but it seems that this one seems to going Jane POV but I say you can do either one you want.  Just don't create too many characters that you can't keep track of them yourself.  the point of this rpg while that be to just to have fun and enjoy ourselves while seeing what we can imagine up.)

    The rut in Mick's brow deepens.  The couple of scouts that went out upon landing the day before still have not returned.  The smell of cooking reaches him and reminds has stomach that he has not eaten since the night before.  Three of the crew are gathered around a near by fire. Joining them he is quickly handed a plate of grub. (basically a mix of meat, potatoes, eggs and what ever else you got to throw in)  The ideal chit chat was no where to be found.  An ominous feeling has settled over the whole crew during the night.  After a few bits Mick decides to break the silence.  "Have anyone heard any word about the scouts yet?" A few grim faces shake their heads.  The solemnness of it all make Mick return to his meal without father discussion.  After a few minutes he starts to hear shouts and a crackling sound   Looking up he sees a pillar of smoke far too large to be from any camp fire.  His plate flies away forgotten as Mick jumps to his feet and sprints full speed towards the river.

    Post edited by JackelKight (US1) on
  • Dan o Shanter (US1)Dan o Shanter (US1) Posts: 396
    edited 22.09.2015
    Dougal o'Shanter sighed as Mick dashed past him towards the river.  He really didn't want to see the captain of this particular band of sailors lose his head, figuratively or literally.  He shouldn't have cared one way or the other; in fact, he wouldn't have cared if he had only slipped away in the night a few days before, as he had planned; knew he should have...as he ALWAYS knew he should; knew that on this trip ESPECIALLY he couldn't afford entanglements if he was to accomplish his purpose; and he stayed anyway, just a day or two too long -- and then it was too late, he was involved...AGAIN.  And he muttered to himself, as he had thousands of times before: "Sentimental old fool, Dougal, you KNOW you get attached to people; you KNOW it never turns out well for either you or them; why do you keep DOING it?"  Shrugged; too late now.  He stood up and grabbed Mick's arm just before he ran out of reach.  Slipping back into the southeast Everwinter sailor's brogue he'd been using most of the trip...and certainly the whole time he'd been with this particular crew..., he growled into Mick's face. "Hauld oan, keptin, bide a minute an' think..  There's cracklin', tae be sure, an' we see th' pillar ay reek an' flam, but can ye smell onie ay th' reek?  Fur myself, Ah can smell naethin' but th' grub, an' I've bin near enaw burnings an' tae spaur tae teel th' a body frae th' other.  An' yer sister's fire was tay wee tae kindle th' whole woods thes suin.  There's somebody playin' tricks thes nicht, an' afair we gang runnin' aff intae th' darkness an' scatter beyond aw recallin' it woods be weel fur us tae ken who an' why."  He looked around, a trifle uneasily.  "An' whaur has she gotten tae?  Th' lest Ah saw 'er was amang th' tents, but Ah dinnae see 'er thaur noo..."  As he spoke, he slipped his finely balanced throwing dirk from under the folds of his kyrtill and moved cautiously forward in a diagonal path that gave him as clear a view as possible of both the tents and the area of the forest where Jane had collected her firewood earlier.












    Post edited by Dan o Shanter (US1) on

    Proud non ruby-whiner
  • (Oooh, fun. Anything we like!)


    Rye shifted in her sleep, unconsciously trying to find as best a comfortable position as she could manage, in the lumpy mattress the innkeeper had allowed her for the night. She had been relieved when she found somewhere to sleep - other than a small stable, or on a doorstep - but later on in the night, she wondered if sleeping in the stables had been a better option. At least it would smell better than this rickety old thing.

    But running from the local authorities had taken a toll on her, and she decided a warm room, and a bed that didn't consist of a horse and a horse blanket, was worth the stink. She had rubbed down and loosened the straps of her beautiful chestnut stallion, Bolt, and ate a low quality hot meal in the common area before retiring to her room - a small dingy box with a low bed and a chair in the corner that looked as if it were about to crumble into ashes.

     The sad thing was, this had been a luxury compared to the rough couple of weeks Rye had managed to survive through, after the local Lord's patrol had caught her almost assassinating said Lord. They had attempted to arrest her for attempted murder of this one particular Lord, but after a week or two, the charge morphed into 'attempted murder of Lord something-or-other, murder of two dozen soldiers from somewhere-or-other, and damage of property'. They had no name nor face, so they settled for rough estimations or build, which usually didn't work in their favour, considering the amount of times some random citizen was tackled to the ground because of their rough estimation of build. 

    Rye had shaken the pursuing soldiers off her trail only two days ago, by travelling in the water for a couple of hours, which meant that their hounds couldn't identify which way she had gone. They probably could've split their forces and searched both upstream and downstream, but considering they only had about thirty soldiers in their search party, and Rye had already bested more than half of that number (granted, it was only three or four at a time), they were likely to be unwilling to lessen their number if it did come down to a confrontation. If they did turn after Rye straight away, they would have had to stop after about an hour anyway, as night would've been closing in on them, and that wasn't likely, as they had proven to be quite stupid in times beforehand.

    Rye deserved some time to relax.

    *~*~*~*~*

    "Some coffee, please," Rye groggily mumbled to the bartender. "Plenty of milk, and a tad bit of honey."

    It was early in the morning - about an hour or so after dawn - which meant it was the perfect time to get some food in her stomach and leave before anyone else woke up.

    "Comin' right up," he grunted in reply. "Want summin' to eat for break'ast too?"

    "Two loaves of bread and three apples, if you will. I'll be leaving in a bit and I just need to stock up on supplies."

    "Aye, pro'a'ly why you're up so early," he commented as he began making her coffee. "I'll go get tha' now. And an extra apple, free o' charge. I reckon they be for your horse, ain't they?"

    Rye nodded, staring at the boiling water, willing it to bring her some much-needed coffee faster. 

    The bartender came back with a sack of food that Rye had requested, and poured her a fresh cup of coffee, adding in a generous amount of milk and a little bit of honey, just as she had requested. In turn, she slid a couple of coins onto the bar, just enough to pay for all the consumables. 

    She sipped her coffee, watching as the two men - who had also decided to rise early - leave the common area. Instantly, the bartender's seemingly friendly demeanour changed, and he leaned forward, lowering his voice so he could speak to Rye without anyone listening in.

    "Last I heard, your gang's moving towards the east. Robbed a couple of stray carriages along the way, apparently. They seemed to have gained two more."

    "Any ideas where their destination is?" Rye hissed back.

    "I don't know. All I know is that they're going south-east. You seem to be going south as well, so you should run into them sometime or other."

    Rye nodded curtly. "Mmm, thanks for the heads up."

    "No worries."

    Rye finished her coffee and handed her mug back to the bartender, before turning her back on him and exiting to make her way to the stables.


    (I tried to shorten it to the best of my ability, but I really needed to get the RPG running around, out of my system. Plus, it's 1 am now, and my brain's a bit fuddled up, so I'm going to stop.)


    Bazooka Duck of Fire | High Councillor of Inrazimad | That Person with an Addiction to Cookies 

    Um . . . I don't have enough titles. I must brainstorm!

    @au1 ~ graceL.H.E - Level 70 - Storm Cloaks - The Terrible
    @en1 ~ InsaneDuckling - Level 70 - New Vision - The Terrible

    One of those weird old players who became all sentimental after leaving the game before they could see dear old Empire rot away even more. 
  • JackelKight (US1)JackelKight (US1) Posts: 533
    edited 23.09.2015

    (that's the spirit gracel.H.E.  Also welcome Dan o Shanter and a nice start.  well had to change a misspelling in the post before so don't worry nothing change)

    Mick stares directly at Dougal O'Shanter as his words make it pass the adrenaline running though Mick's veins. At the same time Mick's eyes widen in astonishment and understanding Dougal steps at an angle forward and pulls a dirk form underneath the folds of his kyrtill. Following his gaze towards the forest he spots a dark figure stumbling out of the forest before falling.

    ======================================================================================

    Blood soaks into the leather gloves she wearing.  Once upon a time this would of been the focus of Jane's attention, but now her mind was busy with more important things, such as the three men standing in front of her.  These three dark clade warriors are all that left of the small gang that tried to grab her from her tent. Leaves crunch under her as she thrust her short sword forward.  as expected they doge pout of her way.   Appearing as if she was going to go for the two men on her right and then spins around just as the one to the left tries to stab her in the back. With ha flash he is gutted, but that is all the other two need.  The grab her from behind and no amount of failing could break her free.  The berserker instincts of her ancestors roar in her head not letting her give up.  Then one of them staggered as if hit from behind.  A triumphant smirk spread across Jane's face as she regain footing and jerks them both to the ground.  With in seconds she decapitates the closest soldier before turning to the second, who lied on the ground dead with a dirk in his back.

  • Dan o Shanter (US1)Dan o Shanter (US1) Posts: 396
    edited 24.09.2015
    Dougal grinned inside with relief and amusement as he caught sight of a mere three attackers confronting Jane.  Though his training was to deliberately choose not to imagine possibilities until corroborated by actual experience, he was such  a firm believer in the Good Folk and in the bad he'd personally witnessed some folk to do that his mind (already inclined to the skaldic and the tales of the barrds and fiili, and the wondrous images his own fancy could conjure up without need of any such aid) had been wobbling back and forth between a dark faerie laird of the Unseelie Court who might rapt them all in spells, to the scouting vanguard of a marching army going north to destroy the Bonnie Prince and the last hope of the so-called "renegades" who actually respected a much more ancient tradition and bloodline than the foul usurper Ulthoor, who of course would have the numbers to overwhelm all of them outright and the instincts for rapine and plunder to make the experience unusually unpleasant.  To see three obviously skóggangur outlaws, none of whom would pose Jane as he'd instinctively evaluated her as a fellow warrior any more difficulty than a plate of grub were it not for the light and reek and strange crackling noise he was still inclined to attribute to the sorcery of the skraelings...  He chuckled inside as he launched a single overhand cast at the closest of the pair who were obviously circling for a rear attack; that would be all that was needed, no point drawing another dirk though of course the instincts do it anyway without one's conscious input anymore, and if you hit another one she'd probably be insulted.  He wondered idly if they'd REALLY been stupid enough to attack with only three, or if this were all that were left; matterless.   Except -- that if somehow the crackling and so forth HAD been natural rather than the productions of some wizard or runesinger or Fair One. it would have needed more than three to produce the illusion, and the fact that it was ongoing and fairly realistic in the details it did depict implied a great deal also.  He mentally ran over the fragmentary list of possible contacts and useful individuals he'd been given before he left, hoping that if any of them were involved it was to be working against the attackers, not for them,  At the same time he tried to imagine from the soul of their names what their styles might possibly be.  The lesser ones he didn't waste too much time on; easy enough to improvise with them, whether they were one of the ones that knew of the Prince's cause or not.  But when he came to a major name he pausd a while on that one, trying to imagine what they were like, and how they might fight; what they might know, and who, and how their soul sang, in tune with the music of their name or discordantly against it.  "...Brummel... dinnae fash me wi' laughter... Minton... Ljodbrok... Rye... ---"  He paused.  "A bit of a mystery, that one; definitely a professional, though, streamlined as her name.  The kind of a one who always has a card behind the card, a purpose behind the purpose.  Which may be just what we need, so long as we heed to our shadows and count the hairs on our head the whole time.  Not sure this theatrical show of smoke and sound is quite her style, though.  Whether or no, though, whether or no: either she's worth sounding out as an asset and an ally; or she's worth keeping an eye on as a possible threat."
    Post edited by Dan o Shanter (US1) on

    Proud non ruby-whiner
  • Dan o Shanter (US1)Dan o Shanter (US1) Posts: 396
    edited 23.09.2015
    (if anyone is interested in basing a character in the hybrid Scots/Viking mix I've imagined for Dougal's homeland of southeast Everwinter, I've given below the llink to the Scots dialect online translator I used to get the brogue mostly tuned:

    http://www.whoohoo.co.uk/scottish-translator.asp

    I also include a link to a translator that can give perhaps a different, less stage/theatrically oriented dialect translation
    http://www.scotranslate.com/# )
    Post edited by Dan o Shanter (US1) on

    Proud non ruby-whiner
  • JackelKight (US1)JackelKight (US1) Posts: 533
    edited 24.09.2015
    (sorry i missed up thought the list was on paper for some reason) Hidden behind a simple and easily over-looked illusion the dark mage watched as the useless grunts that he been forcefully supplied with were quickly dispatched.  A silent curse left his lips before a quick spell to conceal himself from magical detection as the magice user he sensed came into view and lent some non magical assistance.  A tingling sensation warns the dark mage of magic being performed.  Another simple spell identified it as a soul feeler.  Watching as the magic played out he sensed the souls as the magic user did but without the knowledge of the names.  Silently disappearing into the forest he smiled since he might have now made this otherwise wasteful assignment worth wild.  Then a distant howl sent the chill of fear racing down his back.  The guardians of the forest were at large.
    Post edited by JackelKight (US1) on
  • Dan o Shanter (US1)Dan o Shanter (US1) Posts: 396
    edited 25.09.2015
    He paused, confused, as his thoughts suddenly whirled and eddied on the breeze of a sensation he'd never felt before; which was strangely familiar yet alien at the same time.  Dougal shuddered and made the symbols across his breast and forehead for Derg Corra, the God in the Tree; and for Brighid, Goddess of Fire and Poetry; and he added the Faerie Star just to be on the safe side.  He wondered briefly if this were how the barrds saw the world; or the faeries; or the various orders of runesingers, shamans, wizards and sorcerers that were said to infest this land, some of them stemming from the original shamans of the skraeling savages and some driven south by the onset of Ulthoor and his absolutely idiotic persecution of any and all magic...how the deil was the land to be kept safe from the darker beings of the fae, from the Each Uisge or the Fachan or the Boabhan Sith, without the wisewomen and runesingers to hold them back ... he wondered if this was the sort of seeing they routinely beheld, this quick, almost fragmentary glimpse he'd caught of swirling, invisible currents and patterns of energy.  It seemed that one of the more twisted and gnarled whirlpool-eddies in the pattern was reaching out towards him, trying to pin him down or to see into his soul, and he flinched back.  Once, when he'd been crewing the thirteenth oar on a shorthanded karve, one of the barrds they'd been ferrying from Alpin to Tryggvasson had been bored enough to condescend conversing with him; he knew that magic was part of their training, and had heard in excruciating detail the various horrible fates, disappearances, torments and misfortunes that could be visited on those unlucky in dealing with it, whether barrd or ordinary mortal: he'd sworn after that trip to have as little as possible to do with even the ordinary children's charms and verses of normal folk and everyday village life, and absolutely nothing whatever to do with real magic.  Yet somehow, this strange new seeing beckoned as well as terrifying him; just like he'd always held the barrds themselves in fear and awe and yet found a resistless fascination in them, their tales and their manner and the strange life they led among the creatures and legends every Albannaich learned of from the time they were a wee lass or lad playing among the green glens and strange, twisted rockfaces of home.  He peered deeper into the forest, wondering.  "There's somethin' oot thaur, Mick -- somethin' strange.  Dae ye nae feel it oan th' win'?"





    Proud non ruby-whiner
  • The wave hits Mick full force before he could answer, fear nearly crushing him.  Recovering he looks over at his sister, all the blood seemed to have drain form her face.  A quick glance at Dougal O' Shanter reveals the same thing.  As he about to draw breath another wave hits.  Mick gasps for air. and manage to release one single word "Run!" just as a howl reaches their ears.  All three of them run towards the camp the twenty yards seem to feel like miles and miles with each step.  The howling increases as they stumble towards the clearing.  Looking over his solder Mick sees Jane laying on the ground Dougal a few feet ahead of her.  A new wave of strength surge though his body as rushes back to them.  Quickly he stands his sister up and lean her against him.  The cold sweet pours off her.  Dougal now walking seemingly sightless ahead reaches the clearing first soon the siblings reaches behind him.  A glance over the chaotic camp sends all hope draining from his body.

    ===================================================================================

    The dark mage sprints full force crashing through branches and briars as if they didn't exist.  The fear still leaking though the complicated and complex shield magic he always carried at the ready in many runic symbols woven into his robes.  Behind him he heard the sound of the guardians' wolf hounds getting closer.  Voices from the shadows whisper to him.  'Come on Melvin.',  'You know you can't escape us.',  'Why not make it easy for yourself'.',  'Give up.' 'All who spill blood in the forest must pay blood'  Silently Melvin mutters a pray to any power that might be listing.  With no bearings of any kind he just keep heading forward knowing that he could not last much longer.  The sound of hooves soon reaches his ears.  Suddenly the trees give way to grass and about thirty yards away the river flows by.   With a clear mind he casts an old spell one that merges more into a blessing then anything else for shipwreck sailors.  'Don't be a fool mage.'  a voice more solid then the rest hooted from a short distance behind.  With his legs failing him the dark mages lunges he last few feet to the river and as the world goes dark he feels a satisfying cold splash.

  • Rye stayed off the path as she made her way toward the stable. None were out at this time, but she found from experience that making sure nobody knew she was leaving was a great deal more convenient than having a couple of thugs trying to rob her of her last coin. Which - considering her occupation - would sometimes vary between many last coins, or just the one. 

    Her horse was still tied off to the sturdy pole to the right of the door in the corner, standing as still as a horse could, so as to divert attention from himself. He was observant as always, and spotted his rider almost immediately as she ghosted past the open entrance. The leather saddlebags lay by his feet, and his saddle straps were loose to give him some slight comfort for the night.

    Rye allowed the stallion a few minutes to scarf down an apple, before squeezing in the extra supplies into one of the saddlebags, and tightening the straps. She hesitated a little, listening for any noises that suggested somebody was making their way toward the stables, then mounted the horse in one smooth motion when there weren't. 

    After tugging several times at the somewhat loosely-tied rope that held her horse to the ground, she managed to free the horse from the damn pole, and collected the rope in loose coils, placing it around Bolt's wide neck. Not waiting any longer, she nudged the horse with her stirrups and allowed him to quietly thread outside of his own accord.

    There was still nobody outside, and at another nudge with her stirrups, Bolt quickened his pace to a slow trot, only making a slight noise now and then. The two of them easily made it past the dingy inn, and onto the main road. The Sun was just rising above the low houses, and remembering the innkeeper's information about Rye's usual gang of merry outlaws and assassins heading south-east, she tugged her horse around to face ninety degrees right of the Sun, where she knew she would make it to the safety of the woods faster. 

    Bolt's slow trot continued for several more minutes, until they finally left the paved roads behind and reached the border between the more populated area of the town, and the scattered farms and fields that lay outside it. Rye grinned slightly and nudged Bolt with her feet again. Bolt took off down a gravel trail just wide enough to allow him through.


    (I still don't get the storyline, dammit.)
    Bazooka Duck of Fire | High Councillor of Inrazimad | That Person with an Addiction to Cookies 

    Um . . . I don't have enough titles. I must brainstorm!

    @au1 ~ graceL.H.E - Level 70 - Storm Cloaks - The Terrible
    @en1 ~ InsaneDuckling - Level 70 - New Vision - The Terrible

    One of those weird old players who became all sentimental after leaving the game before they could see dear old Empire rot away even more. 
  • (there really not too much of one yet gracel.H.E..   We all working trying to build it together just find a way to tie your character's story line in with the rest of the players.  So far we just have a captain Mick and his sister Jane leading a crew away from the danger hunting them.  Among this crew so far is a Dougal O' Shanter who is on his on mission, but got caught up with the rest of the crew so far.  Right now they are in a strange forest with its guardians being awakened by the spilling of blood with in it boundaries with everyone suffering for it.  We also just got the first long term adversary Melvin the dark mage added (how long he is there depends on what we decide), but none of the characters know about him yet only us the players do.  Which I added a little insight that he has a history with the forest and its guardians but we don't know what yet.  Then there is your character Rye who is so far spent the night at a tavern so she can rest from all the running and hiding from those on her own tail, but still act as casually as she can.)

    (sorry no story lines from me this time.  It needs someone else to take the reins for the next part in the camp just to keep it going right.)

  • Dan o Shanter (US1)Dan o Shanter (US1) Posts: 396
    edited 27.09.2015
    Dougal stumbled into the camp, heading instinctively for the spot where the last cask of rum was being kept cool in a holding pool scooped out of the riverbank.  He'd not been accustomed to this spirit before his current voyage, being much more familiar with the mellower, thrice-distilled uisge beatha of home; but by now he knew just how much to take in a situation like this, where he wanted his head braced up but not fuddled, and he followed his dram by plunging that same head over the ears in the icy river water.  Then he shook his head and looked around. Now that his worst fears were realized, strangely enough, the fear became detached from himself, another problem to deal with like so many others; and he readied himself as he had so many times before, eyes moving, seeking information, body ready to follow as soon as the best course of action became clear.  So the faeries of the Unseelie Court were all about them, ready to devour his soul and the souls of all his friends.  He hoped he'd give the bloody buggers indigestion.

    Proud non ruby-whiner
  • Dan o Shanter (US1)Dan o Shanter (US1) Posts: 396
    edited 27.09.2015
    (@graceL.H.E. (US1) : second what @JackelKight (US1) said; filling in Dougal's part a bit, though none of the other characters know this yet, he's an agent for the rebel Prince who's opposing the tyrannical rule of the barbarian king of Everwinter, Ulthoor; your character's name appears on a fragmentary list he's been given of potentially useful "human resources" (everything from potential contacts and politically influential nobles to rogues, spies, and shadow mercenaries), but other than that name he knows absolutely nothing about her for sure save intuitive guesses.)


    Proud non ruby-whiner
  • JackelKight (US1)JackelKight (US1) Posts: 533
    edited 28.09.2015
    Something was going on inside Jane's head, she only whished she knew what.  The fear that was suppressing her mind was still present but it seemed far off almost as if it was happening to someone else.  She was dimly aware of the chaos raging all around her but inside all was still.  Music slowly drifts in playing a tune that she could not caught a single not for more then a moment.  A soft rhythmic voice spoke, "Stand up child."  Without knowing how Jane found herself upright, feet firmly planted beneath her.  "Raise your blade."  whispers the voice.  Automatically her hands grips the hilt of her sword and draws it out of its sheave.  Instantly a change came over Jane.as she behold the transformation of her blood stain blade inform of her the worn beaten iron grew smooth and shown as winter snow.  She was no longer the scared little girl she was in her father's court nor was she the warrior she had made herself into after turning her back on everything she once knew.  She was something else entirely now but what was a mystery to her.  The sound of hooves broke though her completion. As the first rider burst out of the tree line she was standing calmly waiting for it.  The elegant rider pulled the reins back in surprise bring the horse to a stop.  Then the soft voice whispered one last thing into her mind.  "Use my gift well.  Destroy them."  Before Jane could fully understand the words the rider charged.   
  • It had hardly been four hours of riding, but Rye had been intercepted by a small group of bandits - likely new to their choice of occupation, considering the rabble didn't have a clue who she was - and tugged at Bolt's mane to draw him to a halt, studying the people who made up the small gang. Without a word, she watched the eight figures - six men, and two women - surround her with an air of confidence. 

    She allowed them to stop moving, before speaking aloud. "You people are amateurs. Really, really inexperienced amateurs. I'd say you've only been doing this for a week - two weeks at the most."

    One of the women - a tall, skinny woman who seemed middle-aged - narrowed her eyes at Rye, and scoffed. "You're one to talk, you're probably younger than anyone here. If anyone is inexperienced, it would be you."

    "Just because you would actually dare say that to me, proves my point." Rye sighed, but continued. "You take too long to surround an individual. Look at this path - it's narrow for a rider, probably just enough room for a large warhorse to pass through. The trees and bush on either side of this path is too thick to guide an ordinary horse through. When you try to rob someone, you don't just jump in front of a rider like that in a group. If it wasn't for the fact that Bolt here has unnaturally fast reflexes from countless situations, at least three of you would be lying on the ground bloody and bruised while I go from a canter to a gallop. Have half your forces take up the path when your victim is at least twenty metres away, giving you less chance of being turned into a human pancake. Then have the other half close them in from behind so they won't just turn and gallop away or something."

    The woman who spoke from before just glowered at Rye during her little speech. "And why should we listen to you?"

    Rye resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Because you're all amateurs. And there's that fact that what I just said made sense."

    The woman butted in again. "And who are you to say such things?"

    This time, Rye couldn't keep herself from rolling her eyes at the stupidity of the woman. "The fact that you don't know all this proves my point. I'm Rye, go ask a bartender, or someone who's been in this business longer. I'm also in a hurry, and if the local guards from someplace or other whose Lord I just assassinated comes along, don't tell them I'm heading for the coast on the east. Ships help a lot."

    But alas, the woman decided to interrupt yet again. "And who said we were just going to let you run off without getting all the money in your little purse?"

    "Who said my purse was little? And besides," Rye looked down at her waist, where one of her smallest moneybags hung from, half in sight. There were at least four others, all of which were at least twice the size of the one that was attached to her belt. "I really have no time for this. With all of the advice I just gave you, and all the time I wasted with this conversation, I don't think it'd be worth it just killing the rest of you off when I could be getting to my destination instead. Help out a fellow criminal, will you?"

    "Ha! Says the one who decided to just insult us and tell us what to do-"

    Rye stared sadly at the small knife she had flicked at the woman's throat. "That was such a good knife too. Dammit, why didn't I just use the little one? What a waste."

    As if the death of the woman meant that Rye was their leader, the others parted for her to pass through when they saw her stormy expression directed at them. She gave them a nod, before waving them goodbye.

    Relieved that she could finally get on her way, she nudged Bolt with her boots and allowed him to returned to his paced canter. 

    Bazooka Duck of Fire | High Councillor of Inrazimad | That Person with an Addiction to Cookies 

    Um . . . I don't have enough titles. I must brainstorm!

    @au1 ~ graceL.H.E - Level 70 - Storm Cloaks - The Terrible
    @en1 ~ InsaneDuckling - Level 70 - New Vision - The Terrible

    One of those weird old players who became all sentimental after leaving the game before they could see dear old Empire rot away even more. 
  • Dan o Shanter (US1)Dan o Shanter (US1) Posts: 396
    edited 12.10.2015
    Dougal's eyes narrowed as he saw riders begin to emerge in front of Jane.  "Mercenaries of Ulthoor.," he thought automatically, but a second glance at the lead one's attire set him wondering again.  Not impossible, but less likely.  Anyway, the sort of fellow who'd be likely to have an expensive byrnie of good steel links hidden under his silk and velvet.  At the same time, he began straining forward into the darkness, trying actively to recapture the strange seeing he'd had just before the fear hit.  There was more going on here than just these riders, whoever they were or whatever their purpose.  And a wyte's a fool to close their eyes just because all around is strange, that's the time ye need to see the most and the clearest.  He sensed dark swirls all around them, wrathful spirits or corrupted beings; he sensed a more twisted but somehow less alien spiral near the river, and Jane...he blinked.  Jane was transformed into a symbol of white fire, a rune he'd never seen before. oddly familiar at the same time yet not so.  The riders remained as they were, but strangely cloaked; any who were still within the treeline could not be distinguished for certain, but he perceived them as dim shapes who might be riders or might be the dreaded Water Horse, the dreaded Each Uisge: a particularly anthropophagic faerie; translated into guid plain Scots, he killed fowk an' ate them.  There's mony a tale of a good lad or lassie devoured by the creature.  But the ones in the open were clear, perhaps half a dozen by now, and they were clearly ordinary mortals and nothing more, though one at least seemed to have some degree of warrior training, too early to tell much about the degree or level but it was there and would have to be factored in...  his mind whirled off in the strange sidelong swirling motion of an ash leaf...

    Memory came flooding back strangely, suddenly, memory of one of the barrds on that long-ago voyage speaking to him words only half-understood.  "Sic' harmonization allows th' barrd tae tap intae th' latent powers residin' in th' natural warld, within th' barrd herself, ur within onie other beings, includin' spirits.  Most ay these spirits ur ay nature ur woodlain beings, fur mony sic' spirits hae a special loove ay music an' value it abune aw things sae life itself.  Th' barrd 'en focuses thes harmonization tae perf'rm uncanny effects.  In general, barrdic powers dinnae physically change th' warld, but insteid manipulate latent forces ay nature and/ur manipulate latent emotions within livin' creatures."  How far the natural world could be manipulated she hadn't said.  Enough to raise a wind?  Enough to cause a possibly already slightly rotten bough to crack and crash down on a rider's head?  Enough to spook the riders' horses?  He doubted it would be enough to tap into the full magical and uncanny powers of the faeries, both light and dark; a lot of barrds would be traveling in a lot better style if this were true. since the powers that the faeries were reputed to possess were manifold and terrifyingly powerful; but then again (he marked Derg Corra. Brighid, faerie star again just for luck) you never knew.  The Gods could smile on them to a truly incredible extent if they chose, the sagas were full of such instances; the trouble was, it was equally possible for them to frown.  However, at the very least he'd introduce an element into the battle the riders weren't expecting by the distraction of his singing.  He hoped.  One hand still held a throwing dirk, he couldn't remember if he'd held onto it throughout the paralyzing fear or had instinctively drawn a new one as he'd stumbled to his feet headed for the dram, and that one remained cocked and ready for a throw as soon as...he hoped again,,,the distraction caused a moment of inattention at the least threw the warrior off guard.  His other hand drew out the tabor pipe he'd entertained himself and his forecastle mates with on many a night moored to shore on their passage south when mist was too thick to run, or on watch sailing by moon and star whenever they were bright enough.  Luckily the thing was designed to be played one-handed, he REALLY wasn't going into this without that dirk if the whole crazy barrd thing didn't work in any sort of a way the long-ago barrd's words tantalized at.  He raised it to his lips as he began to maneuver towards the riders' left flank, and broke into the rousing but eerie strains of "The Braes o' Killiecrankie"with occasional admixtures of "Thomas the Rhymer" in compliment to the faeries; it never hurt to be polite.

    Post edited by Dan o Shanter (US1) on

    Proud non ruby-whiner
  • The sound of music snaps Mick out of the surreal trance he has fallen into ever since they made it back to camp.  With a quick look around he soon  spots Dagoul O' Shanter as its source.  Holding a tabor pipe raised to his lips with one hand and a dirk raised in the other he was advancing towards the wood line.   There a few strange yet elegant riders with one set apart of the others by a few yards staring down at...  His sister Jane!  Hastily getting to his feet he had just enough time to shout as the rider charge forward bringing its blade down.

    ==================================================================================

    With in a heart beat the horse is dragged to the ground by the corpse of its former rider.  Jane having cleave not only though sword arm but half of the rider's chest as well.  Turning Jane slowly advances towards the several riders who as been cheering now froze in shock.  Unaware of O' Shanter's music or her brother's shouting she raised her blade in challenge.  One of the riders urged its horse forward and begin to charge but a quick flicker of its eyes away fro Jane and towards something in the camp spelled its death sentence. Gutted it fell from the saddle and lay next to its complain.  The sudden whoosh of a sword cleaving though air caught Jane's attention.

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