You throw your weight against the faltering oak of the main gateway. Dozens join you. A press of flesh and steel strives against the impending blow of a capped battering ram.
BANG.
You and your fellows are thrown backwards by the terrible force of impact, and just like that, the gate that has protected your peoples for so long crumbles into splinters and firewood. Some gasp in dismay, others whimper; few growl.
"Form up, form up!" calls the Watch Captain, running across your group with his sword shimmering in the firelight of the burning thatch behind. "Elsrador calls you, calls you to full-fill your duties as sworn Brothers and Sisters."
Jeers and blood curdling roars blast from the tattered hole that was once the city's main gate. The Porchlings have come, and with them they bring the promise of death, rape, pillage and enslavement.
"You die in chains, or you die right here in this courtyard," bellows the Watch Captain, lifting his plumbed helm to reveal a handsome face and blonde curls. "Form up, form up!"
His latest words rouse your spirit, and the spirits of your kinsmen. The air is suddenly thick with scraping metal as shields lock, and spears are presented. Within seconds the years of training shows promise, and a impenetrable hedge of bristling steel tips semicircles the breached gate.
"Elsrador!" yells the Watch Captain, lowering his helm again. He takes his place at the head of your shield wall with grim determination.
Kings may hide behind castles, and Lords behind their titles, but a true man hides behind nothing. He offers himself to the jaws of the abyss, and in the darkness he finds himself. The Watch Captain is such a man.
"Elsrador!" you shout in reply, and your voice is bolstered by the repetition of many.
The Porchlings, hulking creatures a slight larger than a man, spur themselves through the gate. They are a fearsome foe, with skin inflamed red from the iron plates welded to their flesh. Their teeth resemble jagged rocks, and their little yellow eyes look at you excitedly from behind their permanent visors. No army of Men has ever stood against them in the field, and no Kingdom has ever repelled them from its borders.
"Brace!" roars the Watch Captain, bringing his glimmering kite shield to bear.
The Porchlings crash into the spear wall. Shafts snap, shields tremble, but you and your peers do not break. Your foe's hide is of armoured plate, and spears are little use against the chest or the stomach - but the neck? The pit of the arms? Every joint and point of movement is a weakness ready to be exploited.
After several seconds of pressing into your shield - holding back the snapping jaws of your immediate enemy with the blunted point of your spear - you and your kin make for a mighty heave. The Porchlings find themselves thrown back, and now it is your time to turn the tide of this war.
You thrust, your spear catches a Porchling in the neck and it falls backwards; black blood arcs in a stream.
Then they are on you again, crashing into you and your kin. The line buckles slightly. A curved sword juts past your face.
The Watch Captain shouts, "heave!"
And again, you heave. The Porchlings break apart from you by a few feet, and once more, you lunge forwards.
RP Summary
Hello, and welcome.
The city of Elsrador is on the verge of defeat, as a vast horde of Porchlings descend upon it.
Pick up your sword and shield, and drive them back!
Other Fluff
- No character sheets. Join by posting in the IC.
- Male and female characters allowed.
- Custom races allowed.
- No magic.
- Lore is player made.
- GMing is democratic. If a majority of players do not like what you're doing, then don't do it. Or else.
- Have fun!
BANG.
You and your fellows are thrown backwards by the terrible force of impact, and just like that, the gate that has protected your peoples for so long crumbles into splinters and firewood. Some gasp in dismay, others whimper; few growl.
"Form up, form up!" calls the Watch Captain, running across your group with his sword shimmering in the firelight of the burning thatch behind. "Elsrador calls you, calls you to full-fill your duties as sworn Brothers and Sisters."
Jeers and blood curdling roars blast from the tattered hole that was once the city's main gate. The Porchlings have come, and with them they bring the promise of death, rape, pillage and enslavement.
"You die in chains, or you die right here in this courtyard," bellows the Watch Captain, lifting his plumbed helm to reveal a handsome face and blonde curls. "Form up, form up!"
His latest words rouse your spirit, and the spirits of your kinsmen. The air is suddenly thick with scraping metal as shields lock, and spears are presented. Within seconds the years of training shows promise, and a impenetrable hedge of bristling steel tips semicircles the breached gate.
"Elsrador!" yells the Watch Captain, lowering his helm again. He takes his place at the head of your shield wall with grim determination.
Kings may hide behind castles, and Lords behind their titles, but a true man hides behind nothing. He offers himself to the jaws of the abyss, and in the darkness he finds himself. The Watch Captain is such a man.
"Elsrador!" you shout in reply, and your voice is bolstered by the repetition of many.
The Porchlings, hulking creatures a slight larger than a man, spur themselves through the gate. They are a fearsome foe, with skin inflamed red from the iron plates welded to their flesh. Their teeth resemble jagged rocks, and their little yellow eyes look at you excitedly from behind their permanent visors. No army of Men has ever stood against them in the field, and no Kingdom has ever repelled them from its borders.
"Brace!" roars the Watch Captain, bringing his glimmering kite shield to bear.
The Porchlings crash into the spear wall. Shafts snap, shields tremble, but you and your peers do not break. Your foe's hide is of armoured plate, and spears are little use against the chest or the stomach - but the neck? The pit of the arms? Every joint and point of movement is a weakness ready to be exploited.
After several seconds of pressing into your shield - holding back the snapping jaws of your immediate enemy with the blunted point of your spear - you and your kin make for a mighty heave. The Porchlings find themselves thrown back, and now it is your time to turn the tide of this war.
You thrust, your spear catches a Porchling in the neck and it falls backwards; black blood arcs in a stream.
Then they are on you again, crashing into you and your kin. The line buckles slightly. A curved sword juts past your face.
The Watch Captain shouts, "heave!"
And again, you heave. The Porchlings break apart from you by a few feet, and once more, you lunge forwards.
Hello, and welcome.
The city of Elsrador is on the verge of defeat, as a vast horde of Porchlings descend upon it.
Pick up your sword and shield, and drive them back!
- No character sheets. Join by posting in the IC.
- Male and female characters allowed.
- Custom races allowed.
- No magic.
- Lore is player made.
- GMing is democratic. If a majority of players do not like what you're doing, then don't do it. Or else.
- Have fun!