[b]World[/b]

Earth, for the most part, is exactly how we knew it in the days of the old west. However, its face is new. Instead of bustling towns, most are deserted, except for Dralokian mining cities above deposits of Versonium, or verso as it is more commonly referred to. A mineral that when harnessed allows the manipulation of magical energy. Those who initially discovered the mineral abused its power unaware of its addictive dampening effect on their emotions. To the first people who harnessed verso, it made them sporadic. They became obsessed with the substance, and began using its powers to manipulate their bodies to live longer, become stronger, and ultimately, wield more power through the use of the mysterious mineral, becoming something entirely inhuman. It is said that the ancient Dralok still live, surviving purely by the versonium human's desperately mine to maintain relative peace.

[img]http://www.wallpaperup.com/uploads/wallpapers/2015/05/12/685353/big_thumb_1f35509a9e3e9c95cf600523770a38ea.jpg[/img]

Humans, the minority in control, wield the youngest yet most powerful magic of all - [i]Emothiaen[/i], but are kept highly in check by the governing Dralok. If a prominent and gifted Emothiaen wielder rose up, often he or she was quickly and ruthlessly assassinated or killed by a feared Dralokian assassin nicknamed the Executioner. Such occurrences are rare, but happen more often then is realized, as the Executioner also hunts those that the power of Emothiaen rests heavily upon. Having not learned all that their form of magic is capable of, wielders and potentials of the young power stand little chance against the old and powerful Dralok.

[img]https://cdna0.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/001/931/308/large/jaeseong-park-death-knight.jpg?1454757799[/img]

Though a little is known about the origins of Draloks they are seldom seen, governing instead from the shadows of their black castles through corrupted humans. As result of their secrecy, some towns don't even believe they exist, instead holding to the idea that it was a story created by a governing council of humans to incite fear and maintain control over the lesser peoples.

[b]Emothiaen[/b]

Emothiaen is a young magic, no more than fifty years old. A mysterious yet straightforward power born of versonium. It is theorized that after the earth was cracked open by miners exposing verso to the atmosphere its power was birthed. After a few centuries of the human race being exposed to verso, they discovered they were suddenly able to use the strength of their emotions to perform feats of fantastic power. For example compassion, love, empathy, and peace all commonly manifest in healing and utilitarian ways. It is rumored some individuals have found ways to use these positive emotions in offensive ways as well. Anger, fury, hate, on the opposite spectrum, often manifest in bursts of magical energy. Fire, lightning, blasts of kinetic energy, etc, the manifestation often varies from wielder to wielder as all people feel and respond to emotions differently. When someone summons the power of Emothiaen, the emotion they choose to wield is brought to the forefront of their mind, greatly amplifying its intensity.

[b]Harmony[/b]
A style of Emothiaen wielding known for its tactical strength. The emphasis is that when the mind, body, and surroundings are in harmony one man can assess and confront many men by utilizing his surroundings… A mental serenity is required. But mastering this magic can increase the power of your five senses and enhance your strength considerably. Some Harmonic Wielders were even thought to have a sixth sense, and could feel, manipulate, absorb, or even redirect magical and physical energy forces. Wielders of Harmony often practice martial arts to gain more control both over their physical and emotional sides. There are stories of strong Harmonics wielders even known to dodge bullets.

[b]Passion[/b]
By many fronts this style is the opposite of Harmony. Where Harmony seeks to gain control and peace over its emotions, passion looks to completely embody its strongest emotions. Often resulting in power physical manifestations of energy. Talented Passion Wielders know how to roll through the effects of each emotion as the feelings come. Followers of the path of Passion, are very acquainted with strong emotions and as a result of their unrestricted power, often become victims of the [i]Executioner[/i]. Few follow this path anymore do to these killings.

Though both sects have advantages, they are also both flawed. Harmony seeks to control and tame what makes it powerful, and Passion to embody it at the sacrifice of being consumed by it. If someone could balance harmony and passion they would be among the most powerful wielders on earth. They could hold onto a single emotion for longer periods of time… Where as someone who only practices passion, often shifts through different emotions very quickly. Conversely, a harmonics wielder would not delve into the manifested power of passion Emothiaen at all. 

[hider=Prologue]
“Formless?... That is their name?”

“No, n-no, no-” Chattered the second voice fearful and mouse-like. “They are formless…not but shadows dancing in the dark…”

“You’re telling me you’ve seen them?” The first voice questioned again, the deep gravel in his tone grinding impatiently.

“You cannot see themmm... Will not see them. You simply will one moment be, and the next be not. A warning will not come…” The second voice squeaked, as his dark brown eyes began to mist over. “W-w-we are all going to die…” He choked on his words as began to walk, stumbling every few steps. Then said in a hissing whisper. “Swallowed by the blacknessss...” The small man began moaning like a wounded animal, life - or rather his sanity, slowly and excruciatingly draining away. 
 A cold breeze rose from the snow coated ground, lifting the mottled brown robes of the gravelly voiced man in a small cyclone of snowflakes. The fringes of his coat, whipped and snapped around his bulky legs as he stood facing towards the blackness of night. “Shadows-....” The gritty voice grumbled. “Dancing in the dark…” A fist sized flame its light an ambient white hovered over the stout but strongly proportioned man illuminating a small circle inside the forest clearing he and the other man stood within. Silhouettes of evergreens, and skeleton aspen trees towered over its outskirts, and small saplings were poking up through the snow around his wet booted feet. Scratching his cinnamon colored beard the man tilted his red haired head back, staring into the sky that was shrouded in black. It was among the darkest skies he’d laid eyes on. “Swallowed by the blackness...” The stout man muttered slowly, as if tasting the words before they dribbled through his cracked lips. Noticing the wounds, his hand slid up from his ginger beard gently stroking the burning sores caused by hours traveling through wind and sun. Suddenly he noticed a weight pulling him towards the ground, not the rusty chain-mail he wore, the weapons he carried, or any ordinary cause of fatigue. It was a deep weariness, the kind that so often came before one’s death. He had vengefully hunted the invisible, chased what might as well have been the wind, and challenged the unchallenged. Often he won, but more often he lost. Yet here he found himself, weariness finally draping its inviting covers over a weathered mind. Finally swallowing him up in the blackness. Giving his head an authoritative shake, he shoved all thoughts of the inviting void aside, now was not the time to rest. Not now. 

The mouse like man’s rambling abruptly went silent, replaced by a ghostly whistle, which was actually the wind steadily slithering through the tree limbs. The stout man closed his eyes for a brief moment, willing the dancing white flame above him to shine brighter, and so it did. Illumination swept out into the darkness revealing patches of bare ground, fallen trees, and finally the rambling man’s footprints in the snow. The stout man did not move, observing the trail from a distance. It looked like the path of a drunken fool, meandering and stumbling this way and that through the white powder. “A flying fool.” The stout man grumbled to himself as the footprints suddenly stopped, revealing no rambling man standing in the last two empty holes. The words spoken by the man earlier came to mind “... and the next… be not.” muttered the stout man.

“How long have you hunted me?” Asked a deep and demonic voice suddenly behind the stout man. He inhaled sharply, resisting the impulse to whirl around and attack the voice. He knew it. Not by its sound, but by years of searching for its owner. Years of daring its owner to come after him. And if there was one thing he knew about that voice, it was that in the next few seconds he would be dead, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. “Since the power of Emothiaen first awakened within me. Years ago, I might have challenged you. But now…” The stout man responded slowly, his shoulders slumping as he willed them to relax. “You killed them?” He asked, more of a statement then a question, over his shoulder refusing to look back. “Yes. All of them.” Was the immediate straight response void of sympathetic emotion. The weariness that had come upon him earlier, began to ooze back into his soul again. Besides the rambling man, there was another dozen men that had accompanied him to this place, all wielders of Emothiaen, both devoted students and dear friends. All gone without even a cry for help. Their lives heavily added to the weight he felt pressing on his tired mind… The white flame that hovered above the stout man flickered, audibly crackling and then began to grow in intensity. Something needed to change. Payment must be made for their loss. For the crippling loss their loved ones would certainly soon feel. For the young lives cut short of fullness. Anger rising from deep within the stout man’s soul  over the lives of his companions boiled to the surface transforming the levitating ball of flame into a glob of dripping magma. “Amusing.” Chided the demonic voice. The stout man smoothly dropped into a deep stance positioning himself to attack the voice that was behind him. Incandescent blue light gathered around his now tightly clenched fist as he spun around to face the voice. As he turned he caught sight of two glowing fiery green eyes shrouded in terrifying smoke. With his target acquired he directed the momentum of his fist glowing fiercely with energy close and alongside his body. Viciously lashing out, his anger poured out through his arm and out his fist manifesting with a crack of thunder and bolt of lightning. The light that hovered brightly moments ago ceased… Swallowed by the blackness.
[/hider]

Playable characters could include Wielders of either sect or a non wielder if you choose. 

The humans maintain peace with Draloks by holding a draft of of-age (16 and older) people to mining versonium. The largest towns are built around deep verso mines, as the resource is depleted the mining town would actually expand under ground following the progress of the miners. The largest of these towns in the world is named Seerithia. After many many years of mining, more city can be found underground than above.

[b]World Weapons & Combat[/b]

The world is set to be technologically comparable to RL mid to late 1800s. However in this world, guns are very difficult to obtain under Dralok rule. They are most commonly owned by Dralok human enforcers. To give you an idea of the firearms that might be available during this time you can see here [url]http://www.truewestmagazine.com/22-guns-that-won-the-west/[/url]. Many of the humans that are under Dralok rule have been reluctantly allowed to own swords, axes, etc.

I am still developing a lot of these ideas. It would be awesome to get a few people on board to help. We could plan a couple characters, a starting location, etc. But for now, I'd love to just see who would be interested in this. I currently am going to be working nights a lot, so I'll have a fair amount of time to type things out at around midnightish central standard time.