Cyclone

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

And another round.

@Dead Cruiser for Emel

Hider

This depiction of magic as used to kill Maro’s son seems much more in line with what’s intended for the setting, and Oraculum said that he talked to you a bit about the magic trick and is likewise satisfied. So with that matter settled, we’re glad to accept the CS now.

@Forett for Sol’Kureth

Hider

This iteration is much better than the previous one that we reviewed, so well done!

I’m fond of the narrative change to have the two trolls rather than the human wizard; it seems more fitting and I also like the implication that you’ll probably be having some arc early on that involves rallying (or corrupting, haha) the trolls and potentially then going on to invade the mainland with that force. Now, I will note that Oraculum in particular told me that he wasn’t enthusiastic with their speech being portrayed as so primitive and ‘caveman-like’. Maybe Oraculum had something more like Norse mythology in mind where they’d be more sinister and clever to contrast the ogres’ explicitly dim-witted nature. In fairness though the OP didn’t indicate how their speech might be portrayed, and with the Lord of the Rings as an obvious major inspiration, I don’t mind so much that your portrayal of them is more like how they appear in the Hobbit.

I told you about Ora’s thoughts in case you found yourself agreeing with him or reconsidering, but at the end of the day I think that either way of depicting the trolls would be fine. I’m glad to let you be the one to flesh them out as you see fit, seeing as it looks like you’ll be interacting with trolls far more than anybody else. Just try to be consistent in your portrayal of them, whichever route you go.

We noticed some minor typos and other errors, and in a few places there’s strange phrasing or word choice, with Oraculum citing this line in particular, “Flesh twisted and crawled over the skeleton until it looked more and more like a creature of flesh.”

My main concern from before, that of the misuse of the conditional tense, is mostly fixed but I still did see one or two instances of it. I’m not totally sure if you understand exactly what we’re talking about, so I’ll give some examples.

This was fine: “He had to follow his vision, if he did not he would not get what he desired.”

Switching from the past tense narration to conditional made sense for the end of that sentence, because you stated a condition ‘if he did not’.

Now for contrast, here’s two instances where you’re making an error because the surroundings are in past tense and there is no condition or discernible reason to use the word ‘would’:
“He would utter another word of power, and the stone glowed the same as the other.”
“The ground around the skeleton would crack...”

Having this error pop up just a few times rather than dominate the entire second half of the myth is obviously a massive improvement, but I’m staying a stickler about you fixing those last few instances, in the hopes that I can be reassured you understand what we’re talking about.

The narrative content of your myth and overall CS are quite good so I hope this isn’t discouraging. You’re like 95% of the way to the finish line; if you can just do some grammatical and structural corrections we’ll gladly accept your sheet. In fact you’re so close that another formal review seems unnecessary. Just catch our attention on the Discord after you’ve made some edits, and if we think it looks good we’ll tell you then and approve you on the spot.

@Tuujaimaa for Máthair-Amaidí

Hider

I praise your narrative myth for possessing the great trinity of being enjoyable to read, succinct, and a good demonstration of your writing skill.

Something that struck me about the first sentence -- you say, “Long before the White One began their...” and use the word ‘their’ when the Exalted One is unambiguously male, meaning ‘his’ would be correct, or maybe even ‘His’ if you want to point to the Exalted’s godly nature. That’s actually all that I found to nitpick though, so consider this paragraph just another pat on the back.

As GMs Oraculum and I find ourselves wondering what sort of things a character might do early on. Your character seems to have at least two suitable motivations: spreading this magical disease and its resulting insanity, and of course trying to somehow break free. I can infer that you’ll be able to put together a solid early plotline and find things to post about to further those two motivations, and while your position both geographically and as a pretty thoroughly imprisoned scion might limit your ability to interact with others, Pagemaster’s’ twins are somewhere in the same general region so maybe you two could still find a way to work on something together if you wanted, even before the big amphibious kraken-monster breaks free.

Sheet accepted!

@Legion02 for Allura

Hider

Oraculum’s chief complaint was the prevalence of sentence fragments, and I still see a few of them. Here’s two examples:
“The servant attacked. Expecting an easy slaughter.”
“They marched on. Until the stairs ended in front of a lonely hallway.”

The flow of many of your sentences, even some of those that may be technically grammatically correct, strikes me as very choppy. This is just stylistic advice now, but I suggest that you do try to make a conscious effort to string some of these thoughts together more fluidly, make more use of the comma, and try not to devote an entire sentence to what could just be a clause in a longer, compound sentence. Reading sentences aloud might help with this.

Anyways, if my memory serves then the sentence fragments were much fewer in number this time than they were before. You’ve made strides in the right direction for sure. If a few remaining sentence fragments were the only issue I’d probably be willing to take this CS, but there’s a bit more.

I’ll address something that I don’t think Oraculum did, which is your dialogue punctuation. I see some very consistent errors here; you terminate quotations with periods in some places where commas would be correct, for example in the very first sentence. And then right after that your dialogue tag ‘said’ is capitalized when it should be lower-case, as it’s technically part of the same sentence as the quotation that precedes it. I think that this is a page that you might find very helpful as it has numerous examples and can explain more thoroughly than I.

The content of your narrative myth was all quite good and I think Oraculum and I both dislike playing grammar Nazi, but hopefully you can appreciate our perspective -- if we don’t insist upon corrections here and now, it’s all but guaranteed any consistent errors will be carried over into all of the IC posts. As I said, you seem to have made steps in the right direction, but the grammar and punctuation still have enough errors for me to withhold acceptance for now.

@Leotamer for Cucaniensis

Hider

The content is good and I enjoyed this second myth.

That being said, to its detriment there's an assortment of typos, extra words left in, and other miscellaneous errors. These errors weren't of a consistent nature which is good and makes me more willing to overlook them as minor mistakes, but at the same time there were several of these small errors and some were to the detriment of clarity. Look no further than the first paragraph, for instance, "His father was once lived as an important and honorable man..."

I can't tell for certain if that was intended to be 'was an important or honorable man' or 'once lived as an important and honorable man' and this confusion then ripples into the next sentence or two where it's unclear whether 'he' refers to the narrator or the narrator's father, and I'm also confused as to who the traitor is supposed to be. The father, I guess? Or maybe just someone else that isn't elaborated upon?

This isn't enough to make me reject the sheet (though you should still fix these quickly before posting this in the characters tab, and proofread) but it was treading near the line. Accepted.

Lauder, Oraculum hasn't had the chance to give me his thoughts on your sheet yet, so it hasn't been reviewed. Unfortunately I don't think he or I will be doing anything on RPGuild for Christmas, so you'll probably have to just wait until the 26th. In the meantime I'll give you some quick and informal feedback: I like what you're going for and most of the character ideas, but for the dying words of some tired of great seer, those parts at the beginning were pretty long-winded and filled with what seemed like an unreasonably big amount of information. In Christmas terms, the present was good, but the wrapping was quite sloppy and it bordered closer to a description (as compared to a narration) than we would've liked; you know, the point of the sheet's weird format with the myth is to challenge you to 'show us, don't tell us'.

Merry Christmas everyone, and hopefully when we reconvene in a day or two the IC will be sprung into action! I already have a solid idea for an opening post.

Empire of the Dead

The past week or so has seen my attention diverted to the early and planning stages of a new RP that I launched. Hopefully I'll soon have it in a more stable state such that I'll be able to put together my next planned post, but in the meantime I just wanted to assure all that I haven't forgotten about or abandoned our zombieland!

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

Round two of the CS reviews is here.

@Forett for Sol’Kureth

Hider

So earlier today I remember we had a conversation trying to discuss and define what sort of powers your scion would actually have, and I think you made the decision to inch away from the necromancy a bit and more towards the corruption of the land.

It doesn’t look like you’ve gotten a chance to update your CS to clarify this yet. Based on what we talked about I think that your ideas and general themes will be acceptable though, once you’ve ironed it out here. Until then I’ll hold off on giving a final evaluation.

What I will say right now is that besides that, I can see some other cleanup that’s necessary.

The formatting of your sheet is somewhat confusing because the ‘Myth’ at the top isn’t the sort of narrative myth that we were looking for; you don’t get into that until a ways further down, and then you launch into it suddenly without much transition or separation from the rest of the sheet. I’d recommend solving this by just axing the entire top portion altogether and then just trying to put the relevant and important details into the narrative myth somehow, because it reads more like a bio. Alternatively you could just put the top part that’s more descriptive than narrative into a separate hider as some others have done; see the ‘Lore’ hider in Termite’s post on the characters tab of this thread for an example of this.

As far as the narrative goes, you start off strong enough (it’s odd that a human is running around on Skull Island by himself, but you at least partially explain that by saying where he’s at not even the trolls like to go) and my obligatory little nitpicking is just that you say Gold port instead of Goldport. But those things in the beginning are minor issues; much bigger is that around halfway through you switch from a more conventional past-tense narration into almost nonstop usage of the conditional tense, and I’m not quite sure why. You go from saying he did X, he saw X, to Y would happen, he would say Y, etc. Overusing the conditional tense like that shouldn’t be done on the IC and so I’d like it if you’d alter that part of your myth accordingly.

@Pagemaster for the Orphan Twins

Hider

I’ll start by giving you praise for the worldbuilding done here, giving the Slakte their demonym and establishing some of their culture with this exile and banishment (both of which seem fitting for the Danish vibe that Oraculum had when writing out that part of the world).

Beyond that the myth is rather basic, giving us just what information is needed and not much more. That’s fine though; I really do like that you’re doing things in Twenty Halls and I think the theme that you’re going for is a good one with lots of potential too. Hopefully the short myth just means you’re saving much of your storytelling for the IC.

For suggestions I might establish early on any additional powers or strange properties that their artifact weapons possess -- I know you already said they’ve granted the twins enhanced physicality and that they are sharp and unbreakable, but as pieces of the Chernobog’s body they could do so much more than that. In particular I’d like to see some of their corrupting effects, because their power certainly wouldn’t come free of consequences, but I think from your Norsca inspiration that you’re probably thinking along the same lines as me.

Sheet’s accepted!

@Vec for Manzallu

Hider

Poor Arwen can’t get a break, can he?

We discussed the alchemy things that you wanted to do a bit. Even though we don’t really see much of the potential of these powers in your myth because this possession of Arwen’s body is the only example shown, I’m not too worried. The nature of alchemy that you show means that it should fit in well with our conception of magic for this setting, where ritual and preparation are crucial elements, even if it does end up having potentially really powerful effects.

The most substantial complaints I can give are that we don’t really know where this is taking place (and by extension where you intend to start out) or why your character has the title ‘Eternal Wanderer’, but those things should be easy enough to depict IC and they’re not very crucial at the end of the day.

You don’t get to escape the fate of having me wag a finger at you for having a few typos, but the prose and storytelling was good and this sheet is definitely acceptable.

More to come tomorrow, when I can rouse my henchman Ora!

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

@Leotamer

By all means! There's no rush; I think we'll be accepting new applications even after the IC starts (hopefully that'll be in a few days). In the event that you make up your mind to join, DM Oraculum or I and we'll get you a link to the Discord.

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

Right so it's time to begin these formalized reviews. We've already given some feedback to many of you on the Discord channel, but nonetheless we'll still try to reciprocate your time and effort in crafting the CS with time and effort of our own in giving as much useful feedback and honest thoughts that we can, rather than just a flat approval or rejection. So without further ado:

@ZAVAZggg for Tarr'kash

Hider

We’ve already discussed how it’s fine to brush over our general criterion of the myth demonstrating something of what the character looks like, because you intend to reveal that later on as part of your IC storytelling. I do like how your myth here takes the form of a dialogue that actually serves as a sort of introduction for what you’ll be doing IC with this scholar investigating the mine, so you’ve already got an initial plot arc in the works and we know that you’ve got plenty of plans to see it further. All very good.

On its face the “eldritch abomination trapped down in the dark” archetype is a well-used trope and we don’t see any particularly unique spin here, but that’s fine so long as it’s done well and it leads us to solid plot arcs. Not every character needs to have some strange twist, and yours occupies a welcome niche of its own as I don’t think anybody else is focusing on causing insanity and eldritch mutations as a means of their scion exerting power.

I think Tarr’kash will be a good addition to the story, so consider your sheet approved!

@Vec for Gyvressainth

Hider

Gyvressainth is quite the mouthful! And fingerful. Good thing you gave him some easier monikers; we’ll probably all be using those or some sort of abbreviated name, haha. I liked how we got to see some details of what role your scion occupied and where and how it was defeated. Also I’ll reiterate that I think Stonetree Point is a cool place to set up shop and that I think the Paterdomus area will get really interesting with so many people setting up shop nearby.

Hopefully that praise can soften this blow to come: this quote, “ imploding their souls, killing them instantly” raised some alarm bells as it was NOT what Oraculum and I had in mind for the setting. I’ll refer you back to this excerpt from the OP so that you can hopefully realize why:

True magic is an elusive power in this world, difficult to wield and always coming at a cost: be that in the form of time, rare reagents, sacrificial blood, some mix of the three, or more…In general the usage of magic is too laborious to be of much use in combat, as extensive preparations must go into any ritual that hopes to channel potent magic.

OP

Though it’s perhaps thematically better than just lobbing fireballs like a generic wizard or shooting lightning from the fingertips like Palpatine, at the end of the day imploding someone’s soul is accomplishing basically the same thing, and that’s not how we want magic to be depicted or utilized in the setting.

Fortunately those few words could just be discarded or waved off as that guy talking in your myth not knowing what he’s on about or giving some exaggerated tale. The other things that you bring up are more interesting, but we note that we still don’t really know what ‘soul magic’ is intended to do or what twisting the soul has to do with “twisting his opponents into gross malformations of flesh”. Further explanation into what you intend to do with soul magic and how it works seems needed; ideally you might find a way to work it into your myth there, but if that proves too hard we can just talk about it on the Discord too.

A final point is that you give your scion titles like ‘Manipulator’ but we don’t really see why; Oraculum and I would like to encourage you to explore this insidious and cunning side of the character that you subtly hint at. Breaking the psyche of his victims or perhaps stealing their memories or knowledge (if that’s what you meant when you alluded to him sucking out souls to empower himself) seem like very cool powers for Gyvre. In conclusion we like the themes you’re presenting, but we feel like you’d benefit from honing these ideas down and focusing them a bit more. That might also make Gyvre stand out a bit more from Tarr’kash in what he does.

You’re on the right path; just a few changes and some more info and then I’m sure we’ll feel good about accepting your CS, but as of yet we’re not ready to do that.

@Humble1 for Shiran

Hider

I’m always a big fan of the ‘evil’ or ‘dark and twisted’ nature archetype, and it’s cool to envision that taking place around the Greatwood and Cape Rot. We’re not satisfied with the myth as it is, though. You’ve given us more of a detached description than a narratively told myth as we are looking for in these sheets, and besides we’re not sure about exactly what sort of powers Shiran would have or what sort of things she’d be wanting to do now.

At this point I don’t feel that there’s enough here for me to give you the rubberstamp of acceptance. We need more details and commitment to the sheet, but if you have any questions or would like to bounce ideas or get us to help brainstorming, Oraculum and I would be glad to help.

And of course @Antarctic Termite got accepted earlier today on the Discord. Oraculum and I have nothing but praise for your third CS there pal; it’s honestly better than the one that I made for King Uhtric, haha.

And that’s all for right now, for Oraculum is only a meager mortal and not a mighty scion, so he must succumb to weariness and sleep now. More reviews shall come later!

Those of you who get accepted can repost your sheets into the character tab for ease of reference later. And for anybody that didn’t get approved just now or doesn’t get approved on the first round when we do the pass over your sheet eventually, don’t sweat. A rejection from us is nothing personal; our criticisms may seem exhaustive, but that’s just because we don’t want to waste your time string you along three or four times when we could just tell you all our complaints so that you have a chance to address them in one go. For all our pickiness we’re happy to answer any questions and you’re welcome to edit your character sheets as many times as necessary, or scrap them altogether and start anew if that’s what you’d prefer.

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

@CollectorOfMyst@Forett@Dog

Hey fellas! I don't think any of you have come on into the Discord yet, so I'd like to invite you (and anybody else ut there that I'm overlooking) to come on in.

discord.gg/pFRmAzxy

I made this announcement yesterday on that Discord, but to anybody who isn't in there or who missed it: Oraculum and I will soon start reviewing the character sheets en masse, and hopefully within a few days we'll be able to get the IC started.

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

Kalkoroth

Kalkoroth
Goredrinker, Lord of Scars, Slave of Chernobog

Type: Rogue Being

---

A front of dark clouds hung over the not-so-distant landscape. It was a shadow wrought by the enemy’s horrible magic, of that the warrior had no doubt, and it was there as a shield to shelter fell and unspeakable monsters from the cleansing light of the sun. And the darkness was fast approaching. Sethre the Mighty watched, the burden of leadership heavy upon his shoulders. He wore no crown; the word of the Almighty, their Exalted God, was what had given him his station rather than some inherited crown of gold. The many long years of endless war had taken a toll and now he was an old man, nearly forty, with hair almost entirely gone to gray. But duty called, and he would have no respite. Until Larth was old and wise enough to lead this army on his own, Sethre was its general.

All around the camp, there was the great thud of trees crashing down and the cracks of branches being broken off. The men (and boys too, for some here were far too young, but necessity had made them soldiers all) scurried about erecting crude fortifications of earth and sharpened stakes to guard the river’s ford. There was no laughter and little enough speech, just tired panting and ripe sweat. The men were clearly exhausted, but deeper down and beneath that they were terrified, Sethre knew, and it didn’t take a veteran like him to realize it: even the young prince saw as much. But the foolishness and reckless bravery of youth and heroes was too much, and so Prince Larth’s courage was unwavering.

“There still might be time enough to cross and take up the high ground, there on that hill across the river. If we entrench ourselves too deeply, the undisciplined monsters might not come,” Larth’s sharp voice suddenly mused.

Sethre shook himself from his reverie; he’d been watching the distant shadow so intently that he hadn’t even taken heed of the approaching prince, his own nephew. His young commander too; sometimes it was hard to forget that the king had sent him here to advise and protect Larth, not to command in his own right...All the boy-prince’s brothers were far away leading their own armies, or already slain by the enemy, and his lord father was king of men and ever at the side of their God.

“No, there is no time and we cannot abandon our advantage here. They will come...they already march upon us,” the champion promised through his venerable beard. “The black horizon is their herald. All these skirmishes up and down the stream were but probing fingers, I fear, and now the enemy brings forth the fist of his army to finally break us. But we must not yield. Larth, you may command these men, but I was chosen to be your guardian and so I order you to set aside thoughts of folly. You should go through the ranks, to offer the men your encouragement and your blessing. By noonfall each and every one of them must be prepared to fight and die--”

“Victory is assured,” Prince Larth smiled, and his eyes were almost as golden as his hair. For an instant, Sethre almost forgot where he was. “I saw it in a dream, my sword aflame with our god’s glory as it pierced the heart of the monster that leads this horde,” the boy finished.

The veteran was given pause by those words -- not by the absolute confidence of his nephew (for he was still only a lad with three or four battles to his name), as a wavering man would have been, but by the content of the dream. “And did you see what this monster looked like?” The orcs’ matron had been cast down and shackled not long ago, sent forth to await judgement at the hands of the Almighty God of men; however, already the shattered remnants of her host had been rallied by some black lord. This lieutenant of the enemy was a dangerous foe, Sethre sensed, a cautious and clever one. The Great War raged all across the land, and a dozen other vast hordes of monsters and that many of the Black God’s scions still rampaged, and of course the Black God himself still tainted the land with its every breath. They would receive no reinforcements; even their Almighty Lord, exalted be his name and indomitable his body, was fighting elsewhere. They had to make their stand here with this weathered army and hold the river at all costs, and they weren’t gods or sorcerers, just men. Brave men with bronze in hand and hope in their hearts, but just men.

“Their leader was a foul demon. That one right there, in fact,” Larth laughed, baring his beautiful blade of gleaming bronze to point it across the river, and lo! There, atop the hill, Sethre beheld the stuff of nightmares: a great monstrosity of ashen darkness and burning blood, terrible and towering in its aberrant stature and twisted, horned face. It dwarfed the countless trolls and ogres and orcs (and other, stranger, worse beings) as the horde crested the hill just behind it. The land was suddenly shaded as the dark clouds above swallowed up the light and blocked the sun, but still, Sethre could see the demon clearly. Even wreathed in shadow and blackened scales, the demon’s eyes were burning coals and its whole form glowered like a furnace. So great was the heat that it radiated, the air itself seemed to shimmer and shudder about it, which made the thing only more fearsome and unnatural to look upon. Into every bit of its flesh were carved dark glyphs and symbols, the open and wounds weeping fiery blood. Sethre had seen demons before -- their ilk numbered among the horrors that the enemy could call upon -- but never had he seen one so massive, so painted in scars, or so horrible to gaze upon.

A massive, glowing scar upon its chest was the only one that even the seasoned veteran recognized -- the mark of the dreaded Black God itself. Sethre’s heart sank. “That is a foe far beyond you!” he shouted, but the prince only laughed and jokingly mocked his father for a craven, then raced off to organize the men into their formations.

From atop the hill, the demon did likewise, roaring orders with its diabolical rasp of a voice. The monster arranged its great host in deliberate ranks, pointing out their places here and there with a massive blackened greatsword that it held in one claw like it was no more than a dagger. In another claw the monster gripped a great scourge that confirmed its rank as overlord. But then the demon cracked the whip, and there was a shrill grating sound like the scrape of metal upon stone. ’That’s its terrible laughter,’ Sethre realized. A massive ogre strode forth, and the demon tossed it the whip for safekeeping, freeing that claw to snatch up a great sack from the hands of some orc. Then the demon strode down the hill and into the river alone, the rushing waters that rose to a man’s belly hardly touching the demon’s knee even as they steamed at his infernal touch.

With a casual flick of its wrist, the demon hurled the sack in a high arc across the river. Halfway through the air it came undone to reveal its contents: a dozen severed heads of brave men who had been scouts. The grisly remnants rained down still dripping blood, and nearly burst from the force of impact as they tumbled onto raised shields and rolled amongst the army of men.

In its profane tongue the monster taunted them all, brandishing its greatsword and waving it about in sweeping motions mighty enough to shear a half dozen men in half. ’The demon issues a challenge to single combat,’ Sethre realized. ’A bold, but calculated move.. it knows that its own horde was broken only days ago, that their morale is a fragile thing, and it thinks that we have none brave or mighty enough to match it. It thinks that this display will dishearten us and embolden its own brutes, but it didn’t account for me. If I slay it here, they will all scatter to the wind, and this battle will be done before it begins!’

So Sethre the Mighty was suddenly spurring himself into motion, abandoning the commanding place in the rear where he’d stood to survey the ground. He seized up a spear and suddenly was sprinting, hardly even thinking, moving as fast as he could. The demon was already growing tired of this show; it looked as though it was about to turn around and return to its own ranks, but then a challenger appeared upon the riverbank.

Larth. The fool!

The sound of the prince splashing into the river and wading forward made the gigantic demon spin back about, and when it saw the boy that would fight him, it laughed and snarled and grinned. Its visage seemed almost torn in half by that cruel smile from a mouth that was entirely too large, and filled with rows and rows of teeth like knives.

Most of the fell folk were stupid and driven half-mad by their bloodlust, but not this demon. Rather than charging forward to meet the boy-prince, the demon remained where it was in the center of the river, just barely out of range of arrow and javelin. And the ranks of fell folk across the river were suddenly animated, stomping and shouting and braying like dogs in anticipation for the duel. The sound of their thunderous cheers carried over the waters; they were chanting a name: Kalkoroth! Kalkoroth! KALKOROTH!

The men of his army let off feebler cries of encouragement, but it was enough to drown out Sethre’s shouts and orders for the boy to come back.

Larth never faltered. His short strides became a sprint as he slogged dauntlessly through the water, shield and sword held high. When he was just ten feet from the demon, the horrible monster offered an almost lazy swing of his sword. The prince, a boy of surprising skill for his age, managed to deftly dive out of the way and come to his feet at once -- the demonic blade only bit the water where the boy had been, and Larth had closed half the gap. Still, before his own much shorter arm and blade were within striking range, the monster’s barbed tail whipped forward. Larth clearly hadn’t been expecting that, for it was all he could do to turn his shield in time. The demon turned his back upon Larth to face back to its own horde, and then it let out another harrowing cackle.

This Kalkoroth’s arrogance and hubris were perhaps its only weakness. Larth tried to seize the opportunity and leap up to stab the monster in its back, but the demon of course anticipated as much and it spun around. It made no move to counterattack, nor even to take advantage of its great advantage in reach by creating more space between them -- it just effortlessly twisted and spun away from every blow that Larth tried, absolutely mocking and ridiculing the boy’s prowess with this lack of respect. In truth almost any man would have been hard-pressed to strike the demon though; it moved far faster than a being of its bulk should have, with its muscles and joints jerking abruptly and extending in unnatural ways. Its alacrity was awesome, yet somehow never graceful; its body looked almost like a giant puppet animated and made to dance by some unseen power. But after a short time of that, the fell folk across the river grew restless and the demon itself seemed tired of the display, so it began to furiously press the attack.

Like lightning it kicked and slashed and hacked with such dexterity and force that it was all Larth could do to scramble backwards -- the boy couldn’t dare try to block or parry that massive sword, for the force behind the thing would cleave through his own blade or shatter the bones within arm that held his shield. Almost miraculously, Larth landed one firm strike -- or did the demon allow it? -- upon the beast’s long arms when its claws had shot forth, but if it felt any pain the demon didn’t show it. It only offered a menacing grin as fiery black blood and ash poured from its wound. It smeared the gushing blood over its own body, and where the foul ichor touched the glyphs carved into his body, the magical symbols came alight and burned with searing power. And then it ran the length of its blackened greatsword through its own blood, and shouted a terrible word: Chernobog!

And even as the force of the Black God’s terrible name sent icy spears through the hearts of every man on that field, Chernobog’s power was invoked by its champion. The demonic blood running down Kalkoroth’s blade was suddenly transformed into sickly, withering flames, and what was once a greatsword was now an unholy, fiery brand. Ghostly flames and waves of heat followed the greatsword’s path with every swing, and the attacks were coming faster and faster as the mad demon laughed and laughed. Larth’s body drew too near to the otherworldly fires, and suddenly his own shield was alight. He scrambled and shouted in panic as he tried to free his arm before the devouring flames crept past the shield and began to consume him. In his desperation the prince even tried to hack off the shield’s straps with his own sword, but he couldn’t because he suddenly had no sword arm. One stroke of the demon’s greatsword clove through the prince’s bronze armor with so much force that Larth’s sword-arm had been shorn free and sent flying through the air. The fight was finished in an instant, and all that happened next was...butchery. A battering blow to the flaming shield shattered the bones within the remaining arm, and then another quick stroke hacked it off.

The demon eviscerated the prince (bronze hauberk torn asunder by the flaming greatsword, as if it were no more than cloth) and finally beheaded him. It seized the lifeless body and held the mangled corpse high so that all the shocked and speechless men could witness as it drank the blood and entrails that cascaded out. Then this Kalkoroth turned back to his host and bellowed something in the Black Tongue. A frenzied warcry answered him, and the ogre that had been entrusted with the overlord’s scourge cracked it in the air. At once the tides of orcs and trolls and ogres surged forth to storm the river’s ford.

Some of the men broke and ran, but battle gave a presence and clarity of mind that let Sethre pierce through the veil of his grief and terror.

“Stand fast! Shields up!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, and somehow the brave, brave men who’d stayed by his side steeled their nerves and obeyed. Some knelt to kiss the ground and put clumps of dirt into their mouths to chew; perhaps the last thing they’d ever taste. But the champion broke free of the line for a few moments, and he strode ten feet forward to where he saw a gleam in the rippling waters. He cast aside his mundane spear and reached down to claim his boy’s unmarred sword, shining in its splendor and with the water that coated it. It was like his nephew’s golden hair -- nothing had ever been so beautiful. Sethre backpedaled to his place in the front and center of the shieldwall, and he gripped the blade tighter as he eyed the monstrous demon leading the charge.

’Go for the heart,’ Mighty Sethre murmured half to himself and half to his nephew’s blade. That was the way to kill a demon.

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

Human Antagonist Characters:

King Uhtric of Marleon

King of Marleon, the Usurper, Griffin's Bane, the Silvered Lord, Grandmaster of the Knights of the Boar, Lord Commander of all True Knights of Marleon

---

I lost my knighthood ten years ago.

It was a dark and cloudy night, and I was restless. There was a silence, a dampness clinging to the air, a foreboding weight in my chest that denied me sleep, so I found myself awake long after my watch, sitting in some lonely corner of the ruined castle. I shivered beneath my steel.

And then there was suddenly a thundercrack, without any flash of lightning. My reverie was shattered in an instant but still I was confused, as if in a daze, untilI heard a second boom. There was the sound of wood splintering, and then a dozen cries:
“They’re at the gate!”
“To arms!”
“Protect the king!”

It was all in vain. I looked across our camp and bonfire in the center of the darkened court, to the gatehouse on the other side. The weathered and half-rotted planks in that gave way after just the third strike of a battering ram, and then a black tide of shadowy silhouettes poured through the breach. “A griffin! A griffin,” we cried -- yes, my order was that of the noble Griffin, so you know that we were meant to guard the king with our lives.

But it was futile. We were just a few dozen, and taken by surprise in the midst of the night besides. We slept in our armor in those days when we were on the run, of course, but even so half my fellows were slain before they could even bare their own steel; the first enemies to come through were footmen with axe and hammer and mace, and they quickly battered and hacked down the guards we’d posted up front. Then they moved aside and swept out to circle round to our fire and slay our men in the tents, while a second wave poured through the ruined gates. That time it was knights on horseback, not mere men-at-arms -- I could tell from their heraldry in the moonlight, boars and lions and dragons. The knights couched their lances and rode down what feeble resistance we had left; I was grateful for the darkness then, for it spared me from witnessing the worst of the gore and agony wrought upon my brothers’ bodies. A knight dies just as quickly and ignobly as some levied peasant when he has a foot of steel lance driven into his chest, and the Arcosi mercenaries that we’d hired threw down their bows and raised their hands at once.

There rode one last knight behind the rest, and I saw him clearly for the moonlight shone off his polished breastplate and helm, and he wore a long cape woven from tiny links of silver chain that shone in the night as brilliantly as the moon. With a sideward glance, this commander sized up our surrendered mercenaries in a moment. Then with a mere flick of his wrist, he gestured for them all to be slain where they stood. The men-at-arms under his command obeyed quickly enough, and then there was suddenly only one man standing in the courtyard, surrounded by all his enemies.

My lord and king was brave. “Lord-Commander Uhtric,” he called out as he tore free his left gauntlet and cast it to the ground. I was frozen. The night was suddenly silent once again, save for a few gurgles and moans of those who lay dying, but my king was reaching for his scabbard on the ground and drawing his sword. “You have no right! The Exalted will curse you for a traitor!”

The silvered lord scoffed and leaped down from his horse. “I seem to wear my silver as well as you wear the white. You’re a craven king that’s bowed before the serfs and the Arcosi for far too long; you’re not fit to rule.” The words and justification seemed feeble, but nothing else about the menacing man was.

And then a squire rushed forward and knelt to present the enemy with his own scabbard, and the silvered lord drew five feet of naked steel that gleamed almost as brilliantly as his silver cloak. There were no more words after that, just the dance and the song. The two swordsmen fought as I watched from the shadows. Steel rang upon steel, their blades grinding together with agonizing shrieks, until the silvered lord suddenly guided the tip of his sword into the gap at the elbow in my own lordship’s armor. I heard a grunt of pain, and then a sword clattering to the ground, and then the second sword’s pommel being smashed into my king’s helmet. He collapsed to the ground dazed, and this Uhtric raised his own weathered blade high before driving its point down into my king’s neck. And then it was over.

“The king is dead, along with the last of his griffins,” I heard one of the knights say after a long pause, one of the boars. I guess that’s when I ceased to be a knight, when I did not come forth to die beside my king.

A light rain began to patter down, as if the sky itself were weeping. It started to wash away the blood from the silvered chains upon the kingslayer’s back -- perhaps that’s why he didn’t just wear a white cape like every other knight. “I am the king now,” he said.

“Long live the king!” the boars cried out.

“Long live the king!” the dragons echoed, then the lions, until all the beastly traitors and false knights were clamoring so loudly that it roused me from my reverie.

I crawled to the stairs leading up to the battlements and then jumped off to flee into the darkness, cursing my own cowardice and drowning myself in drink for years, until I finally realized why the Exalted left me on this world -- to expose the Usurper-King Uhtric for his lies, and for being the false knight and the treasonous, bloodthirsty viper that he is.

Father Caius of Paterdomus

Father Caius, Ordained Priest of Paterdomus, the Lawyer, Servant of the Exalted One

---

Breathless, Caius slid onto the ground and pressed his back against a thick tree. The cold, rock-hard bits of bark poked into him as he hid silently in its shadow. He strained his ears, listening for footsteps, yet all was quiet. The branches above were bare now, but there were no leaves to crunch underfoot and betray the coming of his pursuer. There were never any leaves now, because all these trees had been dead for a really long time. Nobody was sure how long; the trees around Stonetree had been dead and turned to rock even before their village was first founded, his pa always said.

“I’ve found you!” his sister shouted as she burst from around the other side of the tree, but Caius was already laughing and sprinting away, just barely escaping the touch of her outstretched hand. His sister was quiet, but she wasn’t fast, so she always lost at tag.

But she was stubborn and didn’t know when to give up either, so she chased him on and on through the old dead trees until they were both panting and nearly gasping for breath on the ground, and then suddenly they’d come all the way back to their little house at the edge of the village.

“Got you,” she finally said, smiling between pants, but Caius wasn’t paying attention to the game anymore. There was a pounding sound in the distance, not of the old smith in his hut hammering out some new plow or axe head, but of the hooves of horses. His big brother heard it too, and looked up from his work smashing up gravel into little bits to put into the buckets of gloop. “There,” he called out, setting down the big hammer in his hand to point over one of the hills, “the riders are coming from the road to the holy city. It’s the Templars!”

Those half-dozen Templars, radiant like the dawn with their polished steel helms and fluttering long white cloaks, rode down the little dirt path and to the small church at the village’s heart. They’d be going to talk to Father Lucius about things for just a little while and then they’d be back off to ride to the holy city again, where they’d protect the walls and guard the priests and carry out the Exalted One’s justice.

“I want to go see them closer!” Caius blurted out when the party of horsemen vanished behind some other houses on their way to the church. “Me too!” his sister cried as she grabbed at his hand and started to almost drag him over there, but their big brother frowned.

“No,” he said in that same growly tone that their pa used. “You know what pa says. Those priests and paladins and other shiny holy men are all busy, and you don’t wanna get in their way or speak to them ‘less you’ve got to. Nothing good can come of it. Best you bow your head if they come close, and keep back if they don’t.”

“But we see Father Lucius all the time! I talked to him just last week!” his sister pouted.

“He’s different. He’s not like the rest, and besides, he’s the one here for us. The rest? No good reason for us to bother them, and they mightn’t take kindly to it. Don’t take the chance.”

The door to their small house opened, and their father stepped out with his masonry tools. “Got that mortar mixed up yet, boy?”

Their brother reddened a bit as he looked down at the half-crushed stones, still very much not fine like sand and not mixed up into the goop. Their father scowled when he saw it too. “We were watching the Templars! They came down the road and rode-”

Their pa spat. “Tax season. They’ll have come to take their dues from our village. Maybe it’s best that mortar ain’t mixed yet; that wall can wait until they’re gone. Come inside now, Father Lucius will deal with those men, and we’ll stay out of sight until they’ve gone.”

And just like that, all the fun and magic was ruined. The three followed grumbling, and then they crammed into their tiny squat house with their pa, their ma, and the baby in her arms. And then pa pulled down the shutters so that the Templars wouldn’t even chance to see their faces looking out the windows as they rode by, and the family sat there in the gloom nibbling at bread and making smalltalk while they tried to ignore the baby’s frequent wailing.

But then an hour later, the sound of voices drifted through the windows. The voices drew closer, and their pa peeked through a window and scowled. A few moments later there was a rapping knock upon their door, and pa had no choice but to grab a bowl of silver that he’d counted out (carefully, and probably a dozen times over the last hour) and look into its depths, deciding at the last moment to toss in a half-dozen more coins for good measure even as their mother gasped. Then there was no more time, so bowl in hand, pa got up and went to open the door. Outside there waited Father Lucius, and just behind him were all those Templars, and to his side there was another man dressed in a clergyman’s white robes and a head of equally colorless hair, rather than the Templars’ armor and gleaming helms. But this was still a man who had a stranger’s face; Caius knew everyone in his little village, so this stranger had to have ridden in with those Templars.

Their pa bowed his head to the holy men quickly and low, then stepped outside to talk. That seemed a bit rude at first, but Caius realized there really wasn’t enough space inside their little house to let in all those men, and they wouldn’t have liked to hear the baby anyways. His pa tried to close the door behind him, but Father Lucius gave a tiny shake of his head. “That won’t be necessary, my friend. We have nothing to hide from one another, and why not let your children watch? One day that strapping son of yours will make a fine stonemason himself, but I fear he too will have to pay his tithes. Best let him see how this goes. Ah, but I am remiss! This good fellow besides me is Father Titus, come all the way from Paterdomus.”

“Father, your holy presence does me and mine a big honor,” Caius heard his pa say, even as the big man bowed his head again in an even more groveling way. “I have here the silver already for you to count out. Business has been good this year, so there’s more than last time. We can both be happy for that! Heh.”

Caius had never seen his pa this nervous. Something felt wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. Still, pits began to open in his stomach, and he heard a sniffle and looked over to see his mother with red eyes.

Father Lucius forced a small smile, but he didn’t really look pleased by the good news. More...sad? “The Exalted One has looked favorably upon you, for you are a good man. I can say with happiness that we have not come to ask for the silver that was the fruit of your toil, not this year. That tax will be waived as a sign of goodwill from the church; I’m afraid you know why.” Their village’s priest stepped closer and laid a hand upon his pa’s shoulder. And even from behind, Caius saw that his pa had gone pale.

“Please step aside, and tell your boy Caius to come out,” Lucius said after a long moment. And then his pa bent his neck again and did as they said.

Half-dazedly, Caius stepped out, wondering what was going on. He hadn’t done anything wrong! His big brother and his sister looked just as confused. That other priest -- Caius had already forgotten his name by then, sized him up closely and gave a slight nod.

“Caius,” the old white-haired priest spoke, “I’m told you’re nearly ten?”

Caius nodded nervously, looking to his pa and then back through the doorway to his gawking siblings and crying mother. He wasn’t sure what to say to make the men know he didn’t do anything! How could you deny something you didn’t do when you didn’t know what they thought you’d done because you hadn’t done anything?! Were those Knights Templar going to carry him away in irons like they did to villains and monst--

His thoughts were broken by kind Father Lucius, who suddenly interjected -- came to his defense! “He’s about the right age, in good health, and a clever lad too. I’ve never made note of any moral turpitudes, and he is as attentive as any boy his age can be when I hold sermon.”

Caius grinned sheepishly, happy that he’d always been good and quiet in church like his ma and pa taught him, that Father Lucius was a nice man and a kind priest and not like ‘those others’ that pa sometimes talked about.

But that other priest didn’t look troubled, or swayed at all! He only nodded, then answered, “Yes, I think he is a fine choice. Best gather him up in an hour or two with the other children you’ve picked. We’ll need to be off soon, but they will still want to say their goodbyes.”

’Where are they trying to take me?!’ Caius thought to himself.

The old priest saw Caius’ face and stooped down closer, carefully keeping the white of his robe from brushing against the dirty ground and being sullied. “Boy -- Caius, I mean, you must be brave. Think of this as an adventure! The start of a new life, an honorable one. I know that this might not have been your choice, but still, take heart knowing that the Exalted One will smile upon you for walking this path, and in knowing that there are some who would take this path if they could, but never managed to find it. My name is Titus, and now I am an old servant of our Heavenly Master, but once I was a boy just like you--”

“Where are you trying to take me? What’s going on?” Caius thought again, out loud this time.

His pa looked down, and now Father Lucius looked angry. Caius shrank and tried to murmur an apology for his outburst, but nobody heard because they were all looking at his pa.

“You didn’t tell him?” Father Lucius demanded.

“I-I-I knew you said it might happen, but I hoped not. There’s plenty folks ‘round with one or two more children than I, and I hoped -- well, I hoped with all this silver you might decide to take it instead, I don’t need this year’s tax waived, I done good enough for myself...” his pa stammered.

Inside his mother was now bawling along with the baby, and his brother seemed to have realized what was happening because his face grew long too. Only Caius and his sister were in the dark.

Father Titus had risen to scowl at his pa, but he remembered Caius then and looked back down to the boy. “Caius, you’ve been chosen to come with us back to Paterdomus. To become one of us, to serve as a clergyman bound to the Exalted One and his holy city and all his people.”

The bowl of silver pieces clattered onto the ground by pa’s feet as the man fell to his knees. “Please,” he pleaded, “I’ve only got these two sons, and my daughter, and--”

The baby’s wail grew to a crescendo at perhaps the most inconvenient possible time. “--and that infant, a third son,” Lucius finished. “This pleading does not become you. Sure, some folk have more children -- but a farmer has need for many hands to bring in his harvest, and you’re just a stonemason. You have your eldest son to take up your trade after you, your daughter to help your wife keep the house, and if the Exalted One is merciful then your fourth child will grow hale and you shall have his hand too to help you mix your mortar. Caius is especially suited for this. And besides, it is not a bad life that your son will live, not at all. He will be well-fed, and he will grow learned, and he will be permitted to send you letters of course--”

“But I can’t read them! And he can’t write them! What good are a few scratches on a piece of parchment, compared to a son’s smile?”

“He will learn to write,” Lucius insisted, “and whenever he should choose to send a letter to our village, I will make certain to read it to you. And besides, you may yet meet him again -- there is nothing to stop you from going to Paterdomus, and indeed a pilgrimage there can only be good for the soul. And not every holy man is bound to write ledgers in the capital or sworn to guard its walls as a Knight Templar, or to fight the Exalted’s enemies all across the land as a paladin. No, there is a decent chance that he will eventually be assigned to serve somewhere in the countryside, perhaps even to a place closeby. Perhaps he might find himself taking my place here in this very village, if my own health should fail so soon, though I hope you will forgive me for praying that is not the case!”

And just like that, the conversation was over. Caius offered all the heartfelt goodbyes that he could over the next hour, hugging all his family and kissing his mother in an ordeal that consumed nearly the whole time and left just a few minutes for him to go about the village stammering to his friends and cousins and uncles and aunts. And then he was mounting a mule (that was something new!) and riding it behind the horses of Father Titus and the five Knights Templar. There were other mules besides him, though. Two other children from his village (at least he had those friends coming with him) rode mules of their own, and the rest were packed with the silver and other tithes gathered from the village.

Their party journeyed for days through the bleak hills and past the ancient trees made into stone sentries along the path. After passing through a few more small villages much like his home, they came across one large town where they stayed a while to resupply and rest before they left Stonetree Point altogether. In time he grew at ease around Father Titus, who didn’t seem so bad. He even spoke a bit with those five Templar Knights, who were quiet and alert for the most part but occasionally willing to jest and talk at night when they made camp, at least the ones who weren’t circling around the campsite on first watch. One of the five knights was always awake at any given moment during the night, to watch the road and guard over the rest of them. That made Caius feel safer, if not any less homesick -- in truth he suspected they were watching as much to keep him safe as they were to stop him from trying to run away when everyone else was asleep. Caius had thought about doing that of course, but he realized that even if he did find his way back home, Father Lucius would be angry and send him right back to Titus. His ma always said he was wise beyond his years.

After leaving Stonetree Point behind, the roads became wider and more traveled; that slowed them down, because Father Titus stopped to bless everyone they passed. Anyways, they pressed on for several days longer before they finally came within sight of Paterdomus, Great Paterdomus, ancient and strong, the ifirst capital of the Holy Kingdom before some old king who died a really long time ago decided to move to its sister-city of Marleon. Paterdomus, the mighty bastion of good whose walls had once been blessed by the Exalted One himself, not long before the ramparts repelled ten thousand orcs (and the walls were smaller back then, too!) and withstood a siege that lasted a whole year. Caius hadn’t believed all these tales and things Titus had been telling them about Paterdomus as they went, but now to see it looming over them as it crowned the foothills, he found that he could believe all those things after all.

Paterdomus looked absolutely massive, and it only seemed to grow bigger for the rest of that day as they drew closer. With its fortified walls like sheer cliffs of grey granite and its towering temples and spires of marble almost like mountains, the fortress-city stood defiant, proud, and unconquered before those ominous Ashmonts in the distance behind it. Caius knew that somewhere beyond those black peaks were evil mountains that wept fire and smoke, and beyond even those was the accursed land of Arugoth filled with orcs and ogres and demons, but it was hard to imagine any army of monsters breaking this city. Caius had never seen a city before, and this one was a dozen times grander than anything he’d ever imagined.

They arrived in the shadow of the massive walls he’d heard so much about, and eventually passed through the main gate and into the city proper, and it still all felt surreal, a strange dream conjured into the realm of the waking. But the splendor soon faded as they were quick to assign Caius to his tutors - he met them after only one day of rest to recover from the journey, for his education was to begin almost at once. The learning of law and history and theology soon consumed what felt like every waking hour, broken by a few welcome times devoted to exercise (or ‘tempering of the body’ as the priests called it) and occasionally a foray into martial arts. The library was always his sanctuary though, particularly that one corner where they kept the books full of laws and the rulings of old judges, bulls of past pontiffs, and even decrees of the Holy Kingdom’s sovereigns and their magisters. Thoughts of Stonetree and home gradually grew rarer and rarer, until some day came when he realized that he’d started to think of Paterdomus as home.

And then the years passed quickly after that.

Hnikar Tröldvangnar

Trollcatcher, Troll-Cursed, Joldursson, Three-Notched Axe, Seed of Tosku Fjord, Grey-Topped Pine, Five Horns at Noon, and many others

---

It was when winter had been twice thin-snowed,
When Brynnhöll’s get had sated ravens ‘yond the sea
And come back laden with gleaming blades and gold,
That Mrifk the tröld at Gurre forest made his rest.

On pine-knives he laid his bed, in a dim cavern,
Where the river Brelunde runs to the fjord of Skell;
He was mighty of limb, the born of black swamps,
To the sons of olden Sjötli he brought ruin and rapine.

Spoke Hávard, who holds Sjötli’s gilded sword-anvil:

“When I turn my eyes to the fields and pens of our hall,
I see trampled stalks, the spilled entrails of our cattle.
When I turn my ear to our hills and hearth-gates,
I hear cries and mourning for the taken unbloodied.

“The fen-beast alone will count the goods of Jurrehöll,
Gleaming in steel and gold, if we do not spill its blood.
The gray-pelted brigands will gnaw on our starving bones,
Worn thin by winter, if the tröld will not rejoin its lord.”

He took his hirdmen, all mighty elms, tempered by storms,
And his brothers both, Gjuki who bore Sjötli’s war-serpent,
And Hrólge of sharp eye, who donned his bright steel peak;
They went into Gurre in arms to water the pines with blood.

Many were laid low on the moss, much did the wolves feast,
By the walking-cairn’s hand; he was devious as the serpent.
Hávard’s war-face halted his fist, and Gjuki’s steel-skull alike,
And so did Hrólge’s flame bite him, yet still was he fiercest.

There came Hnikar Trollcatcher to the get of Sjötli, and he said:

“Here are I and Regin Hog-Face, and Gunnar the Long-Footed,
Us all whose wound-tongues are notched. We came over the hills
That hold the Brelunde’s flow, like fingers the grip of a sword,
To run our hands through the pine-trees where hides the tröld.”

Hávard answered:

“Would you go into Gurre, that has swallowed more than the sea?
Your axe is twice-notched, your hird knows bog-born blood,
But the tröld is wily as the night-face; to meet him is an elm-crash.
Twice you overcame, but the third time you may taste the soil.”

Hnikar said:

“The earth-gnawer himself I might meet, and I won’t be shaken.
I have a net fine as the sun-smith's eye, and strong as his hand,
Many notched blood-paths, and a prize that fen-dwellers desire.
For a wealth of rings of red gold, I will rid your land of the tröld."

The grey-topped pine took his band, and led them into Gurre,
To run and seek like wolves, to lie in wait like bloodied huntsmen.
They found the skulking tröld and the forest they made their anvil;
Fierce was the bone-chewer, but he was brought to feed the earth.

As he lay dying, Mrifk said:

"I have quaffed too deep to drink, and it seems that now I must die.
But I will not grieve as I breathe my last, for I lived long and merrily;
Many have I devoured, young and old. Soon you will follow ingloriously,
Gnawed painfully by my kin, or betrayed by yours; this is my curse."

Hnikar answered:

"Do not foul the wind at me, tröld, but spare your words for your master.
I have not the barrow-kind to fear, nor the swine-begotten word-breaker.
From the lakes to the mouth of stone, all know the fame of the Tröldvangar:
Who would defy me? But you, filth-eater, will have only dust and worms!"

---

Character Sheet Format

Identity: What the character is known as. Can include names, titles, nicknames, kennings and more.

Type: Scion or rogue being?

Myth: Describe what is notable about your character in the form of a brief narrative. This would include their history (or maybe just speculation about it), distinctive features of appearance and personality, and remarkable abilities they may have, as well as anything else you feel should be mentioned. It doesn’t have to take the form of dialogue or a full story scene, but it can if you so prefer. Just remember to keep it fairly short - there’s no need to overdo this part.

Please post characters on the OOC until they've been approved; you can repost them here afterward.

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

Felt like I should mention I've been lurking ln this since the int check was posted. I already have a character adaptation in mind. It won't take me too long to write it up.

@Sierra

Ah, nice to finally meet you then. I'll look forward to seeing what you come up with. Might you have already joined the Discord under a different username? If not, it'd be nice if you did since most of the talking is going on over there.

@Cyclone, discord link is busted. I might be keen to drop a character. I like the idea of being an evil critter.

@Pagemaster

Yeah I've been setting the links to expire after a day just because I don't like to leave the door permanently open on a publicly visible page; makes spambots etc. possible. I saw your PM and sent you a new link there already, but I'll post another one here for anybody else out there.

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

In case anybody here is turning up without having seen my message on the interest check, here is a link to the Discord.

@Humble1 Would you happen to already be on the Discord under a different username? I'd be interested in hearing about some of your potential plans for Shiran.