At the far reaches of the universe is a planet called Third Earth. It is a time of warrior’s mystic’s magicians and Kings. The sky here is grey when at day and black at the night. There is no sun to brighten the lands. Many different races live here many chose to fight and others chose to quest across the lands some quest until death reaps them. The kings pay handsome rewards for deeds done bounty’s collected and trophies returned. Dragons will occasionally set flight across the skies looking to burn villages and other warriors who dare to battle these giant creatures. King Victor Arcadius the first Rules the land known as Blackthorne this is the last place governed by Men. Blackthorne is the wealthiest land on all of Third Earth. In Blackthorne many travellers come to seek fortune and rewards. Also across Third Earth exist the The Dark Mages who unleash their evil. King Victor Arcadius the first calls for all who will Journey to the darkest corners of Third Earth looking for a precious stone. The Ravenstone. The Ravenstone is a powerful orb that will shield all of Blackthorne from the evil Dark Magic of the Dark Mages. This journey will be perilous route with all kinds of Dangers On your Journey you will face the Dragons of Reds Deep the Orc’s Giants and the retched goblins, you will even face the undead. But worst of all these adversaries you will face the dark Mages. The Game You will travel across Third Earth in search of the Ravenstone fighting off any dangers. Its up to you if you wish to team up together or travel as a loner. Your Stats Only two players can be magicians For each character type there can only be two no more. That way we don’t have t10 dwarfs or ten magicians and one Knight. Race: (Knight, Noble, Elf, Dwarf, Warrior priest, Magician, Hobbit, White Witch, Barbarian, Bounty Hunter,) Age: Weapons: (Max Three) Armour: (Light, Medium Heavy) Occupation: If a Magician or White Witch What Spells do you have. (Max Three) Sex: Personality: Appearance: As the games goes I will from time to time post in a situation for you to solve or fight your way out of. Please only join if you will be actively playing regularly Games starts on 16 April 2007
Name: Morian Race: White Witch (Erm. Sorta.) Age: 16. (And that's where we reach the "sorta." Weapons: A sword, an enchanted bow, and herself (A very deadly weapon.) Armour: Light. Occupation: Apprentice white witch, on her first mission. Her spells are: Risearth (A spell that controls plants, trees, etc.), and Armory (An enchantment on any weapon to give it unlimited ammo and aim- in this case used on her crossbow). The rest is sheer witchiness. (Real witches don't need spells, after all.) Sex: Female Personality: Unusual for her time, but very usual for a witch, Morian is an independent, intelligent, outspoken young woman, who has no foolish preconceptions about being polite to others older than her. She will speak her mind, and when in a pinch, she is absolutely deadly. Appearance: Long, chestnut-brown hair, wearing a crown of laurel leaves, and vibrant green eyes. Tall, graceful, and deadly as a phantom. Wears a sensible brown tunic, unusual for a young girl like her.
Eh. Why not? Name: Shannon Darrosdatter Race: Barbarian Age: Thirteen and five (18) Weapons: A long-handled greataxe, a composite longbow and a large wooden shield. (If you don't think it's a weapon, you haven't been hit by one.) Armour: Medium. She wears an aketon and leather jerkin over a cotton shirt, leather rerebraces and leather gloves, and armoured boots (sabatons). Occupation: Farmer/rancher. She trained as a fighter because her clan has been involved in skirmishes recently and even women need to know how to defend themselves. Sex: Female Personality: She tends to think that the city-folk are softies who could never survive a week in the wilderness. Generally, Shannon prefers horses to city-folk, and regards those who cannot fight as liabilities. She tends to jump to conclusions and has no pity for those who are too lazy to learn how to do things in a better, easier way. Appearance: Dark brown hair, with a bleached streak of red-blonde hair running from her widow's peak backward. (Denotes her rank as a fighter.) Muscular, with many small scars on her hands from learning how to fight with bladed weapons. She is about five and a half feet tall.
Name: Orara Race: Bounty Hunter Age: 27 Weapons: Bow & Arow, short daggar Armour: Light Occupation: Type of freelancer. Sex: Male Personality: all-around- reckless, cautious, proptective, loveable, hateable, etc.) Appearance: Red messy hair, green eyes, light cowhide vest, black leather pants, wristbands, a silver earing
(It seems that it shouldn't be too hard to play more than one game.) Name: Laramy Swift Race:Noble, I suppose that's close enough to bard for my taste. Age:22 Weapons: Rapier, Violin (I guess that it should go in this category, and, my sultry, velvet pipes. Armour: None Occupation: Singer, dancer, charmer of women. I also happen to be an accomplished scam-artist. Sex: Male, at last check at least. Appearance: 6 foot one. Dark hair. Medium length goatee. Brown eyes. Fairly handsome, in a rugged way. Dresses in fine Grey & green silks, but wears a coarse black cloak over the top of it. Personality: I'm the kind of person who tends to find out how people tick and really get under their skin, if they anger me, or, if they're a pretty young lass, under their...um, you know. Love to drink. Love to hide when a fight breaks out.
Name: Jonath Alrond Race: Knight Age: 38 Weapons: Greatsword of Alrond; Dagger; Long bow Armour: Heavy - Full plate armour(no helmet) Occupation: Finest knight of the kingdom. Sex: Male Personality: Arrogant, pompous, but subtely charming at the same time. Rigid and unmoving, though strangely compassionate. Appearance: Tall, with a wide frame, and heavy set build(you'd get one, doing what he does). Dark blue eyes, and greying brown hair, with a small goatee.
Name: Tabula Rasa Race: Bounty Hunter Age: 39 Weapons: poisoned caltrops (sedative), a long hooked chain wrapped in silk, and short stabbing spear. Armour: Light - Reinforced Leather Greaves and armlets, soft black-leather doublet. Soft boots with specially hardened soles. Occupation: Doer of questionable things. Sex: Male. Personality: Quick to smile, slow to anger, relentless in the persecution of duty - though that duty is solely to his own pocket. Gritty, practical and not squeamish. Appearance: About 6' nothing in his hose; half bearded; unruly long dark brown hair with a streak of pure white running back from the temple. Murderer's hands with fat strangler's fingers. Not bad looking in a 'people regularly hit me in the face with hard pointy things' kind of way. Mickey Rourke caught somewhere in between starting his boxing career and having his face end up looking like a slab of dough.
King Arcadius thanks you for taking up the challenge to bring back the Ravenstone. Once you leave Blackthorne you will have to pass through Reds Deep land of the Dragons. Some of the dragons are good fire breathers but some are very bad. Its up to you if you travel alone through the whole game. You can interact have conversations or just join up from time to time. Occassionlly I will post up a situation for you to wade through. The Quest Begins
Tabula sits and puffs, blue grey smoke curling away to become one with the horizon. He grunts and shifts his back into a more comfortable position against the rock that props him up; his feet stretched out in front of him on his bedroll. With the tip of his spear he prods idly at the dirt-track nearby: Light grey sand rucked up by the wind, pock-marked by what looks like worm-spoor. He's a patient man. He's waiting for one of the others to pass this way on the road toward Red's Deep. He's got something to ask them. A question.
((Is it too late to join? I wanted to wait for more people to start posting before I posted my character profile... Should I have PMed this to the thread creator? ))
(ooc: BOO HISS RARR. Dumb idea. All people should be able to join whenever they want (At least before the climax) if they can work themselves in. Otherwise you're cutting yourself off from new members, ideas, places, choices- new fun, in short.) Morian sat in a bar, waving over the barkeep. "Hey," She said. "Can I have a mug?" "Sure," The bartender shrugged, and turned around. Then he turned back. "Hey, wait! You don't look old enough!' Morian sighed, grabbing her staff and hopping off of her seat. "Crud. Why is it that everyone says I look two years older, but just when I want to, I don't? Oh, well." She threw a coin over her shoulder. "Here's for the good service and music. Witch's blessing on this place, all that, blahblah." The barkeeper stared as the tall girl gracefully ambled out of the bar, then shrugged and got back to wiping the counter. Meanwhile outside, Morian turned onto a road (Not into one. All witches are careful to make that difference). She walked through the city, ignoring the calls of the prostitutes, the harkenings of the beggars and sellers, and the general clatter. She came soon to the border of the city, looking for some quiet. She found a nice rock off by a road and sat down, resting her head against it, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath of the misty, yet bracingly clear, morning air. She opened her eyes just a bit and noticed, farther down the road on a similar rock, a brown-haired man with a curious streak of white. Morian rolled her eyes with the high level of skepticism found only in teens. He had to die it. How horribly cliche. Witches didn't do cliche. They did witches. But then she did something else witches did- absorbing. When they get too close to a noticeable person, they catch a glimpse of what has been and will be with that person. And the glimpse hit Morian in a rush- a feeling of great distance, a shock of fear, a spirit of adventure, a danger, a great, great, danger- -and then it was gone, leaving Morian's eyes wide with wonder, a hard feat to achieve in a witch. Something was about to happen with this man. Something big. Morian smiled. And damn if I'm not going to be a part of it. She got up and walked over to the man, who looked up, opening his mouth to speak. Morian cut straight to the chase, glaring at the man. "Something's happening with you. Let me in on it." She sat down next to him, suddenly smiling softly, and waiting for a reply.
A personal address from the king himself. My, my. The mere fact that the king had adressed him in person was not what astounded Jonath; the fact that the king spoke to him like a son, and presented him with this quest. It was amazing - the oppurtunity of a life time. A chance to glory his family, a chance to glorify himself and his king, and seal away evil forever. Incredible. Jonath rode from the unbarred city gates at speed, atop of Grein, a noble chestnut warhorse that had carried Jonath for the past three years. Jonath had become quite attatched to him. They rode along the cobbled, wide roads that always sprung up near cities at a great pace for many hours, stopping only so Grien could drink. It would be a long ride.
“And stay out of my house, you Drunk!” The words resonate in my mind; their sharp edges weren’t being dulled by the near gallon beer I just swigged down. Raising my glass towards the sky, I say “Well, Dad, I guess you were right about me. I’m nothing but a drunk, a low down, dirty alcoholic, nothing more. Hell, even our Ass of a king thinks so. The bastards sending me outta the damn kingdom. I guess I even managed to piss him off somehow…” I trailed off. People were begging to stare at me. I stand, and with a fair amount of effort, I manage a fully vertical stance for about three seconds, before I fall back to the ground. I can hear a few people laughing. “ Ha ha Boy, you best learn how to handle your drink.” Screw them. I get to my feet, a little more shakily this time, and with the support from various beams and pillars, I find myself leaving the establishment. The old wood of the floor, the rustic chairs and tables, all seams…irrelevant as I reach the door. Why do I keep coming back to these places? I look back at the man who gave me drinking advice. It certainly wasn’t the company. Closing the door, I take a swig from my flask. The whiskey was rather bad, horrible actually, but it’s been a long time since I drank for the flavor. Massaging my forehead, I make my way along the street. Stumbling and falling periodically, it takes me a good hour to reach the gates of the city. I look up at the guard tower, at the brilliant bouncing off thesteel of a knight’s armor. That could have been me a long time and a few thousand drinks ago. I was going places, top of my class at the academy, excellent violin player, and all around likeable guy, but then Sarah had go bitch-out and die. Taking another swig from the metal canister, I push her from my mind. Thud. From my position on the ground (The damn street was uneven), I see a dog across the street sitting, and I couldn’t believe it, looking down on me. I was being judged by a ****in’ dog. His eyes, big, brown, and round look down on me, judging me. Incredible. This is rock bottom. No, I passed that a few months back, I’m well below that if an animal that licks its own ass is being judgmental towards me. The sun hurts. It was trying to kill me, it was just that, God must hate me. Must? ****, of course he does. I’m only about thirty yards out from the guardhouse. I spent that night crawled up under the porch of someone shop or other, curled up next to the judgmental dog. It took me a full hour to decide not to leave all the booze I had on me under the porch. I had considered it, and I’m sure that the dog opinion of me had lessened after it watched me take the bottle out from my pack, stare at them for a few minute, and put them back and leave. I can’t hear a thing over the pounding of my head, leaving my eyes as my only real sensory instrument. With my hand over my semi-permanently squinted eyes, I notice an elderly man, not old, but older than the girl he was talking to, sitting on top of a rock. Unless my hangover was more severe than I thought, the girl was a witch. Well, this was getting interesting.
Dawn came. The day before had been long and hard, for both man and steed. But Jonath was a knight. He was tougher than your average man, and as nature painted flashes of orange and scarlet across the horizon, Jonath rose and rode on. The track was grey and dusty now, the dirt and grit getting in him and his horses eyes. Jonath decided that a break need; so was a stream. Up ahead on the dirt path, A man lay propped against a large unintersting rock, gently puffing his pipe. Jonath brought his horse to a stop, and looked down on the man, smiling faintly. "Greetings, fine gentlemen. Do you know of any nearby streams or lakes?"
'Damn' Tabula thought, a horseman. And wearing full armour. "Greetings, fine gentlemen. Do you know of any nearby streams or lakes?" The cultured tones of one of the well-to-do, a boy playing at knights and horses. Well, he'd learn. Tabula rose, dusted himself off and touched his cap obediently. "Arrr - I don't be knowing the laand arround these parts m'lud, I'm just a simple traveller trying to scrape a livin' from the larrnd... You'd best be movin' on, don't you be awastin' yer time on and old-timer loike me." Tabula ended his soliloquy by cutting loose a quick tight fart. The knight's nose wrinkled in disgust. With narry a 'fare-thee-well' he spurred his charger toward the horizon, his horse's hooves kicking dust in Tabula's face. 'ptttui' Tabula spat red dust between his feet and then settled down once more to wait. A pity he thought, the knight would have been a fine prize. Hours passed. Tabula tapped his pipe out on the rock as the White Witch approached, her soft leather shoes making hardly any impression on the hard packed dirt of the path. She drew close and sat, folding at the waist in a jangle of charms and talismans. "Something's happening with you. Let me in on it." She exclaimed abruptly. Then she squirmed, a stone perhaps sticking into her backside. Tabula broke into a grin, wide and slightly rueful. "Well young lady, something is indeed happening, but not so much with me, as with you." The White witch stared at him blankly, her mouth lolling open, and a single glob of drool escaping to dangle like a silver thread from the corner of her lips. "You see, you've just sat down in the middle of a patch of my special sleepy little caltrops. You are gonna have one hell of a headache in couple of hours." Gently catching her unconscious form as she collapsed he propped her next to him in some semblance of normalcy on the rock. 'Damn' he thought, wrong victim. Just then he heard someone approaching. 'By all the Gods' - he cursed inwardly, 'Adventurers are like camel-trains, you wait and wait, then three come along at once...'
Shannon Darrosdatter strode down the semi-busy dirt road. Her weapons were to hand, and her supplies, stacked neatly in her leather pack, kept her company as she walked. It had been a week since she had left Hartland, sent by Houston the Raven in response to one of the King's messages. Well, fine. She'd get the task done, whatever it was, and be back before planting time next year. After many hours of walking, she neared Blackthorne. Outside the city, she spotted a group of people who looked like they might very well be the "mages, warriors, and sissies" the King was also sending on his little quest. Well - one of them looked as though the sun had knocked her out. She'd fainted, not at all bravely, and Shannon rolled her eyes to the sky. Well, if this was the group, so be it. She approached the group, hailed them with her fist in the air. "Long live the King! His blessing on the Wilder-Folk!" Then she waited, lowering her fist, for whatever response might come.
Jonath rode a short distance on. The old man had angered him. His motives were not true. He was no mere beggar. Jonath looked to the sky wearily, remembering the kings words. There were others on the quest; was that man one of them? As Jonath neared the small city of Blackthorne, he decided that tomorrow he would go back and see the old man once more.
Very true. But I'm just thinking of other members Ivan. But feel free to join if you can keep up with the game i don't mind. But once the game reach's its climax fear not another will start straight after. ~Raven.
Obviously the newcomer was not about to approach as uncautiously as the girl had done. Tabula stood up and beckoned at the teetering figure. "Hail and well-met stranger. If you're a friend step forward, if you're anything else I suggest you stick your head in a barrel of cold water and come back tomorrow - you look as if the barest breath could knock you on your arse." The figure stayed where he was, one hand sheilding his eyes from the weak light pervading the landscape. "Ho welcoming one, what would you have me do..? Come stepping blithely over your hidden points and fall a-napping like your girlfriend there..? Nay, I reckon Laramy Swift shall stand awhile and admire the view." Tabula snorted, this new one seemed to be no-one's fool. "Well Mr. Swift, approach along the left of the path, and leap to the rock from where you see that stick dropped on the path. Let's talk." Soon the pair were as thick as the thieves they were. "Long live the King! His blessing on the Wilder-Folk!" A rawcous voice broke them from their discussions. Facing them, one grubby fist in the air, was a diminutive figure dressed in leather. Not the leather you might see in one of those special shops along the waterfront, but rather the kind of apparel you'd see gracing a swineherd amid a mass of hogs. Tabula turned toward her and said "Be home now with you girl, as you see we have no swine for you to drive and have no time for your bawdy farm-girl charms." The barbarian girl went a bright shade of purple and, peeling her greataxe off her back, thundered through the scrub toward the trio by the rock, howling incoherently. Tabula noted her path and fumbled in his pouch for his pipe. Laramy Swift started up, his hands reaching for his weapons. "Are you mad sir..? She will cleave us like capons..!" Tabula lifted a finger and said "..Hold." At that moment the barbarian went down like a sack of beets as she tripped over a wire concealed underfoot. Snarling she pushed herself up from the dirt, swiping at something stuck to her cheek. Something metal, something pointed, somethng smeared with yellowish goo. Then she keeled over like a felled tree. Tabula sighed and went over to drag the heavy woman over to the rock. The two men gazed down at the catch. "So," Said Laramy eventually, "what were you intending to do with them..?" "We're headed into dragon country and I've got nothing to wear my friend - nothing to turn away dragonfire at least." Tabula said, and slapped his purse. "And the coffers are empty. I thought to borrow some small sum from my compatriates... But it seems all I've caught is some hippy and an escaped farmer's daughter." "They're going to be somewhat testy upon awakening my strange friend. Perhaps we had better make haste." Observed Laramy drily. "This enchanted bow looks like it should fetch a pretty penny..." Tabula mused as he plucked it from the sleeping Witch's back. Then he stood and dusted himself off. Squinting at the horizon he turned. "Aye Mr. Swift - let us strike out, should you wish to accompany me..?" Tabula paused and stooped to tie the laces of the sleeping ladies' footware together, a crazy grin on his face...
...which was wiped off when he felt the earth rumble under his feet, and before he could respond, vines burst from the ground, wrapping around his arms, his legs, his waist, and slamming him to the ground spread-eagle, keeping all his limbs from connecting to save himself. Morian stood above him, holding her head in one hand and her staff in the other. The look on her face could have burst a book into flame. "You're harassing an innocent girl..." She spat, rubbing her sandals around Tabula's nose, "...you're horribly arrogant, you just tried to put me under with the very element I control, and I have a hell of a headache. And it is not a good thing to piss off a witch. Now, please explain yourself so I can be gone on my mission for the king. She put her hand down and waited expectantly. (ooc: Oh, and please don't try another stupid move to make yourself look oh-so-cool and powerful and mysterious. To be frank, it's getting quite annoying.)
(ooc: But I am oh-so-cool, powerful and mysterious. ) The Witch spun on her heel, and abruptly fell over once more, having forgotten to untie her shoelaces. "I suppose you'll be wanting your bow back then m'lady." Tabula said. "And if you'd get these plants off me... I'm not as young as I used to be." Tabula had always wondered how exactly plant magic worked - did they carry the seeds around in their pockets..? How'd they get the vines to grow in such a cold climate..? Where did the actual biomass come from..? Or did the magic words conjure instant manure..? Or perhaps some breed of instant sub-terrainian micro-cow to fertillize the seeds..? Why didn't they just buy a chain of farms somewhere and make an absolute wodge of cash for little to zero effort..? Just then, something else happened.
