[quote=@Vahir]
Feel free to voice opinions and suggest your own.
[/quote]

What about a 100 Years/30 Years War type situation in a world with some weird sun/moon issues and an undead problem? Tone down the fantasy a bit from the first suggestion, but keep alot of it and put it into a grittier, more low-fantasy type setting?


Edit: I like the idea of a decadent not-France ruled by vampires warring with not-English/not-vikings....

Edit 2: missed the part about a sample post. See below, from [url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/126323-blood-debt-medieval-fantasy-rangers/ic]this RP[/url] by HeySuess.

[Hider=Example Post]

[b][center]Vendland[/center][/b]

The night was clear and cold and moonless, glittering with the chill light of pale stars.

King Harold traced the contours of familiar constellations with his gaze, looking for omens of his fate. The Spectre was bright tonight- thanks, he supposed, to the bloodletting of the day previous. At least that was his hope. His Majesty suppressed a niggle of unease as he turned his eyes from the heavens to the earth, to what was happening beneath the row of crosses and their writhing, gasping occupants.

Half illumined by torchlight, Veredict Daigon was leaning over the corpse of William of Barkstead, laid out on a wooden table set beneath the cross on which he had died. The mercenary was busy anointing the dead man with odd, dark-hued regents in swirling patterns across the rebel leader's chest and head. Harold tried not to look too closely at those patterns, as he found that doing so made him feel more than a little unwell. He didn't seem to be alone in that feeling. Rikmand was off in the bushes, violently throwing up dinner, and many of the royal guard assembled on the hill were looking fairly peaked.

Daigon himself seemed untroubled, going about his business with a faint smirk, occasionally mumbling what His Majesty took to be prayers or spells under his breath. He straightened up suddenly, wiping the strange ichor from his hands with an old oilcloth, and looked to the king, smiling.

"Majesty," he said, "It's time."

Harold's mouth thinned into a stern grimace as he strode over to the sorcerous sellsword. The expression on the Royal Face was somewhere between fear and haughty disdain.

Daigon held out two items for the monarch, one in each hand. A silk handkerchief and a small silver knife.

"Blood," said the mercenary, "Then sweat."

"Why sweat?" asked the King in a low voice, affecting a sneer.

Daigon grinned, "They like the taste."

The King took the knife and made a shallow cut across his left palm, holding the wound over the open mouth of William's corpse. Crimson droplets fell grotesquely across the dead man's face, and the King looked away. He thought he had seen some of Daigon's sinister paint twitch as blood struck skin.

He withdrew his hand, and Daigon gently dabbed the Royal Forehead with the handkerchief before wiping it across William's blood-spattered lips.

The body jerked violently, and though Harold did not shout in fear as did some of the guardsmen around him, he did stumble backwards like a man stung.

William's head thrashed back and forth, before pale, clouded eyes locked onto the King. The corpse grinned.

[i]IT IS LOOKING FOR THIS ONE'S CHILDER[/i] said the corpse, with a voice like buzzing wasps, [i]INSECURE IN ITS CLAIM, JEALOUS OF THE ONE NOW DEAD WHO INSPIRED LOVE NOT DREAD[/i]

Daigon was standing off to the side of the body, looking slightly wary and slightly amused.

"Tell us where he hid the children," the sellsword said.

[i]CHILDREN YES, MANY CHILDREN LIE IN YOUR PATHS[/i] said the body. The King remained frozen, his face a death mask of barely concealed terror. [i]IF YOU KILL THE FATHER, THE CHILDREN WILL COME FOR YOU. FROM THE WOODS, FROM THE SHADOWS, FROM THE CRYPTS OF MARI...[/i]

Daigon's eyes narrowed and head titled curiously. He opened his mouth to speak, but the corpse cut him off.

[i]NIGHTWOOD HIDES THEM[/i] said the corpse.

"[b]Brand![/b]" said the King, his fear forgotten in his greed, "He gave them to the fucking ranger!"

He began shouting orders at his guardsmen, who jumped like men woken from a nightmare.

[i]Nightwood hides them[/i], said the corpse, though only Daigon was still listening, [i]Nightwood hides them. And Harold's doom...[/i]

The sellsword raised an eyebrow as the body spasmed once more, and then lay still.

[/hider]