Lord Zee
Vec
JFK
Fetzen
Thayr
BingTheWing
I can only hope that I got a lot better, I literally wrote that years ago. We're all pretty critical of our own writing, but I can honestly say that I think everyone in this RP has been doing a great job. Just compare what we have so far to the RP I linked above, and I think that's pretty apparent.
As in for your question, I would allow more characters so as to help keep the RP flowing good, but as usual I will defer to BBeast and Lugubrious. My vote is just one out of three.
Cyclone
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Bio
Back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, I got started with writing online on the Spore forums. Man, those were the days. We're talking like 12 years ago 2010-ish!
I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.
I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.
Word of my splendor:
Most Recent Posts
That particular post overall wasn't atrocious, but it certainly wasn't good. The interesting thing is that the RP stretched on for a couple years, so if you look at my posts on page 3, they look like they were written by a different person than the ones on page 100. If you guys care, you could go look at that RP yourself. We've had two subsequent Dungeon Keepers since that one, but neither of them lasted long.
Dungeon Keepers: the Fifth Age
If you decide to go over there, my username was elemental7. I jumped in on page 3.Try not to judge
Dungeon Keepers: the Fifth Age
If you decide to go over there, my username was elemental7. I jumped in on page 3.Try not to judge
It's awful in that I want to laugh at it but can't, since I'm the one who wrote it and it's not intentionally funny.
Balon was surprised by Enly'air suddenly surging forward with some sort of conjured spear. She was moving fast, and by pulling herself down along the haft of his spear she had put him in an awkward position in which he wouldn't be able to intercept her with his shield. So Balon made a quick decision and did something that would no doubt be equally unexpected; his spear and shield clattered to the ground with a tremendous thud as he dropped them. Then, the giant fell straight forward like a domino, intending to crash down on his foe like an avalanche.
Since Enly'air was already darting through the water towards Balon, suddenly switching directions in the fraction of the second that she had would be difficult. Her instinctual reaction would probably be to raise her spear and let the giant impale himself on it, but Balon's massive chestplate was like a wall of bronze. However, being crushed beneath Balon would not necessarily be a sure death; the tunnel's floor was uneven and with the water to cushion any impacts Enly'air might find herself merely bruised and trapped between two bumps in the floor, with Balon unable to crush her.
________________________
Ifrit's poor vision was a mercy, for there were only haunting and cold things to be seen in spirit realm. Everything was as it was in the world of the living, only dead. Mounds of bones were strewn across the landscape, while dreary winds whistled between what dead, petrified trees. Not far away was the ruined version of Paterdomus. The mountain of rubble was hardly recognizable, and more resembled a cairn than a necropolis. The sky was bleak and grey, the sun itself dead in this world. The soft, sickly glow of ectoplasm was all that illuminated the landscape.
In this desolate plane, Shaige was at home. His form always yearned to be here; if it were not for the vial of blood that was his dungeon heart, Shaige would have little to anchor him to the world of the living and would no doubt end up trapped in this bleak world. Ifrit, however, did not blend in. This was a dreary, dead world of blacks and whites and greys. The vibrant oranges and yellows from Ifrit's raging flames could be seen for miles, and such colors and signs of life would attract the souls of the damned like flies to a corpse.
After a pregnant pause, Shaige responded to Ifrit with a simple statement, "I saved you from the humans."
The Shadow took a few fleeting glances off into the distance, and seemingly saw something. Whatever it was, the Keeper did not share, though he was worried enough to raise his staff into the air. A cloak of impenetrable darkness now shrouded the two of them and their immediate surroundings. With Ifrit's light not visible it would take some time for any revenants to find him, though the warmth of the living would eventually lead them to their prey.
The Shadow's whisper came again from within the empty depths of its hood, "I just spared your life a second time. We are in the spirit realm. Your light would have attracted unwanted attention, and you are not welcome here. You will have to leave here soon, or not at all. Tell me of yourself, and I will heal you."
Since Enly'air was already darting through the water towards Balon, suddenly switching directions in the fraction of the second that she had would be difficult. Her instinctual reaction would probably be to raise her spear and let the giant impale himself on it, but Balon's massive chestplate was like a wall of bronze. However, being crushed beneath Balon would not necessarily be a sure death; the tunnel's floor was uneven and with the water to cushion any impacts Enly'air might find herself merely bruised and trapped between two bumps in the floor, with Balon unable to crush her.
________________________
Ifrit's poor vision was a mercy, for there were only haunting and cold things to be seen in spirit realm. Everything was as it was in the world of the living, only dead. Mounds of bones were strewn across the landscape, while dreary winds whistled between what dead, petrified trees. Not far away was the ruined version of Paterdomus. The mountain of rubble was hardly recognizable, and more resembled a cairn than a necropolis. The sky was bleak and grey, the sun itself dead in this world. The soft, sickly glow of ectoplasm was all that illuminated the landscape.
In this desolate plane, Shaige was at home. His form always yearned to be here; if it were not for the vial of blood that was his dungeon heart, Shaige would have little to anchor him to the world of the living and would no doubt end up trapped in this bleak world. Ifrit, however, did not blend in. This was a dreary, dead world of blacks and whites and greys. The vibrant oranges and yellows from Ifrit's raging flames could be seen for miles, and such colors and signs of life would attract the souls of the damned like flies to a corpse.
After a pregnant pause, Shaige responded to Ifrit with a simple statement, "I saved you from the humans."
The Shadow took a few fleeting glances off into the distance, and seemingly saw something. Whatever it was, the Keeper did not share, though he was worried enough to raise his staff into the air. A cloak of impenetrable darkness now shrouded the two of them and their immediate surroundings. With Ifrit's light not visible it would take some time for any revenants to find him, though the warmth of the living would eventually lead them to their prey.
The Shadow's whisper came again from within the empty depths of its hood, "I just spared your life a second time. We are in the spirit realm. Your light would have attracted unwanted attention, and you are not welcome here. You will have to leave here soon, or not at all. Tell me of yourself, and I will heal you."
I thought your post was actually pretty good, although the idea of ballistae walking around on 'pillars of meat' struck me as hilarious.
And my day has been alright. Was going to go for a run but then a huge storm appeared out of nowhere, so I decided to get a few laughs reading a previous Dungeon Keepers RP. I just hope my writing has improved since then... Just read this excerpt from one of my earliest posts.
And my day has been alright. Was going to go for a run but then a huge storm appeared out of nowhere, so I decided to get a few laughs reading a previous Dungeon Keepers RP. I just hope my writing has improved since then... Just read this excerpt from one of my earliest posts.
Yeah, it is. The priest thought it was their fire god's doing. Red is his color, after all.
Uhg. I was going to post as Shaige, Balon, AND Carver/Ripper all in one go. But as usual, that didn't work out since I went into too much detail and ran out of time. If someone else posts soon, I'll try to work in a Balon post later tonight.
A silent man, garbed in robes of midnight black, stood atop Paterdomus' grand walls. The stranger's hood was drawn up, hiding the sinister thing that hid within. Perhaps the stranger could have passed for a woman in mourning, for the billowing robes revealed nothing of whatever form that was concealed within their folds. Still, a mourning woman would not have been allowed to defile the sanctity of the Holy City's walls by walking atop them; that was a job only for sworn knights, righteous crusaders, and ordained priests. Still, the stranger walked unchallenged, as the men on the walls were lost in the scene unfolding just outside the city.
Row after row of Paterdomus' soldiers and sorcerers had amassed outside to guard the city from the Infernal King's scion, and they had broken like so many clumps of dirt flung at a wall. The huge, fiery beast billowed out smoke and ash, and before long those shrouded the entire battlefield. In the ensuing chaos, there was a rout, with dozens of men running back for the walls. Normally they would be condemned for their cowardice and left to die, but not this time. The stranger saw the men in the gatehouse, a good hundred feet above the ground, slowly operate a winch to raise the iron portcullis before opening the heavy oaken gates.
The stranger, however, continued to peer down at what was happening below. He knew tales of lesser ritualists working the art of golemancy, creating magical automatons from inanimate objects and either their own willpower or the souls of the dead. He suspected that this hellish leviathan wreaking havoc for no purpose and against impossible odds was stray and without a master, content with merely destroying things for lack of any other instruction. However, from the whispering from the bleating, cowardly men standing atop the wall besides the robed figure, it was possible that a so-called 'Infernal King', scourge of this city, still commanded the monster. The stranger had to wonder whether this creature, and the Infernal King, if he was still alive, would be hostile or a potential ally.
The stranger's musings were cut short by a monstrous roar from within the smoke, accompanied by a tremendous thud. The smoke gradually cleared to reveal the creature lying upon the ground. A raucous cheering quickly erupted, rather than panic, as a priest garbed in crimson saw the sun's sudden change and declared, "The Fire God has saved us! Praise Caldor!"
As in for the creature below, it didn't appear dead. It was likely either crippled, dying, or collapsed from exhaustion. In any case, it would not be long before the cowardly humans worked up the courage to execute the now helpless thing. The cloaked figure let his hood fall and tore off his robe, revealing what was underneath- nothing. A shadow. A nearby soldier, just now noticing him, let out a cry in alarm. However, the Shadow had already gone, and as the robes fell to the ground they too vanished into nothing, having been made of woven shadows themselves.
Shaige quickly reappeared down on the battlefield, amidst burned corpses, dying men, and the occasional straggler who walked around aimlessly, made lightheaded and disorientated by the ash. The Keeper walked towards Ifrit, and with a gesticulation manipulated the dispersing smoke. The fumes immediately ceased thinning out, and were pulled back to the center of the battlefield, concealing the fallen monster and revealing all the carnage and charred land. Safe for a little longer within a cloud of impenetrable smoke, he had time to devise a way to rescue Ifrit. Perhaps it was stray, and would prove a loyal minion, but if not it still would not help to have a friend in this 'Infernal King'.
As Shaige had a closer examination of the infernal, skeletal hound or massive proportions, he quickly realized that he had not even the slightest indication of what was wrong. The Keeper's spell was weakening; soon the smoke would disperse once again, for good. Shaige would be able to escape easily enough, by simply drifting away or moving into the spirit realm. However, drifting away with Ifrit in tow would be impossible, and dragging the monster into the spirit realm would require a tremendous amount of power, power that Shaige simply lacked so far from his Heart and after all his recent exertions.
There was, however, a huge abundance of one particular resource in the immediate area- souls. The helpless ghosts of the hundreds of men that had been burned, suffocated, or crushed would be more than enough to create a huge hole to the spirit realm right where Ifrit had collapsed, at least for a moment or two. So the robed figure that was Shaige manipulated the darkness beneath the smoke to form a staff, and then raised the black rod into the air. The ominous wailing of hundreds of souls could be heard as they were ripped from the bodies of both the dead and the dying, and pulled into a great vortex. They spun and spun, whipping up a cyclone that swirled around with ash, smoke, and spirit alike. Then, Shaige tapped Ifrit's skull with the staff. The cyclone abruptly died, and the air rapidly cleared. What was revealed was a burned field full of the dead. The scion, the souls, and the strange hooded man had all vanished into the wind, not unlike smoke.
Shaige stood before Ifrit in the relative safety of the spirit realm, the tiny shadow somehow managing to loom over the massive beast. Then, the Keeper began to wait, hoping that the creature would wake up. Patience was a virtue that Shaige did not lack, unlike most of his Keeper brethren. Still, he would not wait a terribly long time. Ifrit would have to awaken soon, or not at all, as the spirit realm had a way of sapping the vitality of things that weren't dead, and there were all manner of nightmarish phantoms that could descend at any moment to attack such easy prey.
Row after row of Paterdomus' soldiers and sorcerers had amassed outside to guard the city from the Infernal King's scion, and they had broken like so many clumps of dirt flung at a wall. The huge, fiery beast billowed out smoke and ash, and before long those shrouded the entire battlefield. In the ensuing chaos, there was a rout, with dozens of men running back for the walls. Normally they would be condemned for their cowardice and left to die, but not this time. The stranger saw the men in the gatehouse, a good hundred feet above the ground, slowly operate a winch to raise the iron portcullis before opening the heavy oaken gates.
The stranger, however, continued to peer down at what was happening below. He knew tales of lesser ritualists working the art of golemancy, creating magical automatons from inanimate objects and either their own willpower or the souls of the dead. He suspected that this hellish leviathan wreaking havoc for no purpose and against impossible odds was stray and without a master, content with merely destroying things for lack of any other instruction. However, from the whispering from the bleating, cowardly men standing atop the wall besides the robed figure, it was possible that a so-called 'Infernal King', scourge of this city, still commanded the monster. The stranger had to wonder whether this creature, and the Infernal King, if he was still alive, would be hostile or a potential ally.
The stranger's musings were cut short by a monstrous roar from within the smoke, accompanied by a tremendous thud. The smoke gradually cleared to reveal the creature lying upon the ground. A raucous cheering quickly erupted, rather than panic, as a priest garbed in crimson saw the sun's sudden change and declared, "The Fire God has saved us! Praise Caldor!"
As in for the creature below, it didn't appear dead. It was likely either crippled, dying, or collapsed from exhaustion. In any case, it would not be long before the cowardly humans worked up the courage to execute the now helpless thing. The cloaked figure let his hood fall and tore off his robe, revealing what was underneath- nothing. A shadow. A nearby soldier, just now noticing him, let out a cry in alarm. However, the Shadow had already gone, and as the robes fell to the ground they too vanished into nothing, having been made of woven shadows themselves.
Shaige quickly reappeared down on the battlefield, amidst burned corpses, dying men, and the occasional straggler who walked around aimlessly, made lightheaded and disorientated by the ash. The Keeper walked towards Ifrit, and with a gesticulation manipulated the dispersing smoke. The fumes immediately ceased thinning out, and were pulled back to the center of the battlefield, concealing the fallen monster and revealing all the carnage and charred land. Safe for a little longer within a cloud of impenetrable smoke, he had time to devise a way to rescue Ifrit. Perhaps it was stray, and would prove a loyal minion, but if not it still would not help to have a friend in this 'Infernal King'.
As Shaige had a closer examination of the infernal, skeletal hound or massive proportions, he quickly realized that he had not even the slightest indication of what was wrong. The Keeper's spell was weakening; soon the smoke would disperse once again, for good. Shaige would be able to escape easily enough, by simply drifting away or moving into the spirit realm. However, drifting away with Ifrit in tow would be impossible, and dragging the monster into the spirit realm would require a tremendous amount of power, power that Shaige simply lacked so far from his Heart and after all his recent exertions.
There was, however, a huge abundance of one particular resource in the immediate area- souls. The helpless ghosts of the hundreds of men that had been burned, suffocated, or crushed would be more than enough to create a huge hole to the spirit realm right where Ifrit had collapsed, at least for a moment or two. So the robed figure that was Shaige manipulated the darkness beneath the smoke to form a staff, and then raised the black rod into the air. The ominous wailing of hundreds of souls could be heard as they were ripped from the bodies of both the dead and the dying, and pulled into a great vortex. They spun and spun, whipping up a cyclone that swirled around with ash, smoke, and spirit alike. Then, Shaige tapped Ifrit's skull with the staff. The cyclone abruptly died, and the air rapidly cleared. What was revealed was a burned field full of the dead. The scion, the souls, and the strange hooded man had all vanished into the wind, not unlike smoke.
Shaige stood before Ifrit in the relative safety of the spirit realm, the tiny shadow somehow managing to loom over the massive beast. Then, the Keeper began to wait, hoping that the creature would wake up. Patience was a virtue that Shaige did not lack, unlike most of his Keeper brethren. Still, he would not wait a terribly long time. Ifrit would have to awaken soon, or not at all, as the spirit realm had a way of sapping the vitality of things that weren't dead, and there were all manner of nightmarish phantoms that could descend at any moment to attack such easy prey.
It's all good, aside from the vomiting of blood. I went ahead with the double post, so now Jay can at least do something.
The runner's darting movements through the water annoyed the giant; normally, Balon moved far faster than one would expect for a thing of his size, but that was currently not the case due to centuries of rotting in the depths of the ocean combined with the injury that the runner had just inflicted upon his heel. Three eyes leered at the runner: one blackened by the plague, one that was blinded and cut in half in some ancient battle, and the final one that could kill. When the strange creature attempted to bite at an eye, it unfortunately picked the wrong one. The blackened eye had been petrified by the plague's noxious fumes, and was hard as stone. The runner would be lucky if half its dagger-like teeth didn't break upon biting down.
Regardless of whatever happened to the runner's teeth, what happened to its face wasn't pretty. By biting at Balon's eyes the creature had maneuvered itself right in front of the giant's face, scant inches from the eye that still saw and still killed. The runner's attempts to wrap around the giant's neck and to slash at his face with the barbed tale were both stymied by the massive bronze helm that crowned the old king's head.
Feeling the runner's life ebb away as it thrashed with more and more fatigue, Balon now ignored that worm and focused his attention on the girl that had narrowly dodged his spear, just in time to see her metamorphosis. Balon roared to the girl, who now more resembled the runner than a human, "Sea witch! One of your ilk once dared to fight me. She broke before me like tiny waves on the fjords, and I cast her defiled corpse and those of all her followers into the surf. Do you think that you will fare better?"
The old king hadn't even noticed that the girl was withstanding his gaze without any sign of harm. Balon hadn't killed anything purposefully that way; in all honesty the giant still hadn't grown used to that boon of sorts as this was the first time he had fought since being imprisoned and cursed. Enly'air, who was at this point touching the spear embedded in the wall, would find herself in a tug-of-war with Balon over the humungous weapon. Balon had maintained his grip on the weapon ever since it had buried itself into the bedrock, and so he was able to try ripping it away as soon as the girl approached. If Enly'air wanted to disarm the giant, she would have to either surpass his strength or somehow break his grip, both of which would be challenging even with her master's help.
Regardless of whatever happened to the runner's teeth, what happened to its face wasn't pretty. By biting at Balon's eyes the creature had maneuvered itself right in front of the giant's face, scant inches from the eye that still saw and still killed. The runner's attempts to wrap around the giant's neck and to slash at his face with the barbed tale were both stymied by the massive bronze helm that crowned the old king's head.
Feeling the runner's life ebb away as it thrashed with more and more fatigue, Balon now ignored that worm and focused his attention on the girl that had narrowly dodged his spear, just in time to see her metamorphosis. Balon roared to the girl, who now more resembled the runner than a human, "Sea witch! One of your ilk once dared to fight me. She broke before me like tiny waves on the fjords, and I cast her defiled corpse and those of all her followers into the surf. Do you think that you will fare better?"
The old king hadn't even noticed that the girl was withstanding his gaze without any sign of harm. Balon hadn't killed anything purposefully that way; in all honesty the giant still hadn't grown used to that boon of sorts as this was the first time he had fought since being imprisoned and cursed. Enly'air, who was at this point touching the spear embedded in the wall, would find herself in a tug-of-war with Balon over the humungous weapon. Balon had maintained his grip on the weapon ever since it had buried itself into the bedrock, and so he was able to try ripping it away as soon as the girl approached. If Enly'air wanted to disarm the giant, she would have to either surpass his strength or somehow break his grip, both of which would be challenging even with her master's help.
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