Dark Jack

The Prophecy

Hey Yoshua, hope you're doing all right. And, eh... with a prelude of a humble "I don't know if it's incredible", I suppose it's gotten this way because 1: I've had a lot of time to think about it, and 2: the RP and its players has kept me on my toes and made me flesh out the world even more to have answers to their questions. And, of course, everyone else have added their little bits to the world as well, so there is that.

The Prophecy

Overall I think Athanar sounds pretty good and interesting, actually. I'm particularly interested in how his power will end up playing out; I have another universe I write about in which telekinetics adhere to very similar circumstances of still being subject to Newton's Second Law, though those telekinetics could at least, with enough practice, compensate somewhat by exerting opposite forces on different objects to cancel out the effect on themselves. But I digress; I don't think I have any objections to that part, at least.

The part I am somewhat confused about is his demonic craving. Either it isn't stated clearly in the CS, or his craving is supposed to specifically be garnering knowledge about the Divide? You could possibly convince me to go with that if you had a good reason, but Hymith's cravings are usually one-word directives and typically not that specific. They don't usually get the directive "kill this person in particular", for instance, but rather just "kill", if that's their directive. You could conceivably make it so that Athanar's craving was simply one of knowledge in general, and that the interest in the Divide is one he decided on himself. The result would be the same, albeit with the freedom to shift focus, and it would adhere completely to the existing norms of demonspawn.

The Prophecy

You'd certainly be welcome to. I realize that I'm repeating myself, but I'll reiterate as many times as needed that you are free to ask if there's anything you want to know.

The Prophecy

I wouldn't worry too much about "filling gaps" in the group as much as I would making a character that will be enjoyable for you to play. I mean, heck, one of the characters making up the current group is basically a non-combatant whose only useful traits seem to be the ability to universally understand languages and that he's generally a likable guy. Your character can basically be anything, as long as it adheres to the rules of the Prophecy universe.

That said, if you do want to specifically fill a vacant "role" in the group, I suppose they're missing (a) mage(s).

The Prophecy

"The deal"? Nothing much, really... if you want to join you can just go ahead and (start to) make a character; I'll help with anything you (or any other takers) need help with in making it. Once I have approved of your character, for all intents and purposes, you're in.

The Prophecy

Meanwhile...

Oratory of Fate, Kreshtaat’s Domain, the Lower Plane

It was never what one would refer to as “quiet” in Hell, with the constant infighting of demons and widespread torture, murder and rape going on everywhere at all times, but even by the standards of the Lower Plane the cacophonous pandemonium around Wagor was bad. On the ground, in the air, even under the ground and merged into ethereal shadows demons were clashing in the tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands; it had reached a scale where numbers stopped making sense, nor did they really matter. Two huge swarms of demons were simply throwing themselves at each other in droves, killing and maiming each other with wild abandon, only to dissipate and reconstitute themselves upon death so they could come back and fight on.
Pointless, he thought, faintly registering that a hostile thalk was apparently attacking him with bolts of purple lightning, though such lowly creatures were no threat to a demon lord like himself. He waved a hand at the thalk, releasing a small burst of energy that made the vaguely human-shaped demon explode in a mess of black gore and white bones. Lowly demons should just fight among themselves instead of trying to mingle with their betters.
A fourteen feet tall orlgarh came at him next, roaring thunderously and flexing its absurd muscles as it swung its giant flaming axe, apparently intending to use it to cleave Wagor down the middle. Wagor simply held up the back of his left hand and called his relic, though, manifesting his heater shield, Black Mirror. The axe struck, resulting in the orlgarh’s entire right arm vanishing into a cloud of black mist, before the Lord of Vengeance made a cleaving motion with his right hand and tore the brute in half.

He looked up into the sky, watching how the churning green, red and black soup of nightmares up there spat out multicolored lightning, rained fire and got pulled toward the ground by chaotically forming tornadoes everywhere but here. Immediately above him, unlike in most of the Underworld, the uniform black sky was uniquely docile, tamed by Wagor’s liege to protect the Oratory of Fate. This place was the most precious, most holy place in all of the Lower Plane, and for these heretics to try to seize it was unforgivable... so why was he the only demon lord here, defending it?
Of course he knew that Valderoth was on the other side of the oratory – even if Kreshtaat had not assigned them each their own side, it was impossible not to notice the dense aura of power over there – but he was the only one. It was both a good and a bad thing; on one hand it meant that the invaders would focus all of their attention here, with Wagor, since none of them dared to risk annoying Valderoth. On the other, the lazy bastard would never drag himself to this side, even if someone broke through. In fact, Wagor suspected Valderoth would not lift a finger even if the oratory was lost and was being torn to shreds right in front of him.
The truth of the other lords’ absence was simple, though, and he knew it: most demon lords wanted nothing to do with the battle, and while some might feel that such a battle was beneath them, Wagor knew most simply wanted to avoid punishment while at the same time hoping for the oratory to fall.
The Oratory of Fate was where Kreshtaat kept the Oracle, of course; everyone knew that. Everyone also knew that the Oracle was due to wake in just a year’s time, and that for one day only her limitless knowledge would be offered. They also knew, however, that the Lord of Darkness only allowed a few to approach the Oracle, and even then he permitted them only to ask the questions he provided them with. The Oracle was for Kreshtaat only, and no one else, not even his greatest demon lords, were allowed to even see her. These insurgents wanted to “liberate” the Oracle from Kreshtaat’s control, which probably meant that the winners would be the ones with exclusive right to ask her questions... though no matter who took her, taking her from them would be far simpler than taking her from Kreshtaat. If there was one universal rule in the Lower Plane, it was to never cross Kreshtaat.

The very air – thick, heavy and foul-smelling as it was down here – trembled for a second as Wagor sensed a sizable discharge of energy, and a quick look around confirmed that hundreds of demons on the defending side abruptly collapsed, crippled and incapacitated by the volatile debilitating magic affecting them. Truth be told even he felt somewhat weakened by the destructive energy burrowing into his flesh, though a minor effort on his part was all it took to dispel it from himself. The others affected could just go ahead and die. They were inconsequential anyway.
A shadow suddenly leaped out of the crowd in front of him, moving much too quickly for him to properly react, and abruptly Wagor found himself raised into the air and moving backwards at breakneck speeds, a hand around his throat and a vile, crumbling, rotting grin in front of his face. The hand holding his armor-clad throat was skeletal, flaky and crawling with maggots... as was the hand that now seized his right wrist, and the third hand grabbing the left one.
Wagor swung a leg in a powerful kick, easily shattering the ghoulish creature laying hands on him in time to catch himself with a burst of energy, stopping himself in mid-air before he was carried too close to the oratory. He let himself down onto the dry, frozen and barren ground gently, all while preparing himself for what was to come.
A second later the skeletal figure came at him again; it was a shapeless mass of bones, carrion insects, mold and dripping slime held within a cloak of rat-skins, shrieking wildly as its eyes burned a venomous green and hands emerged from the tangle, stretching their wicked fingers toward him greedily.
Wagor held up both hands as he pulsed dark energy, just in time to counter the blast of power emerging from his enemy. The force of the two shock waves colliding sent demons sprawling through the air in all directions and cracked the the earth beneath, but barely bothered Wagor’s regal humanoid form or the other’s – Myrtoloin’s – hideous skeletal one. Lesser demons were retreating all around them, most of them smart enough to realize that they did not want to be caught anywhere near where two demon lords clashed.
Myrtoloin screeched and filled the air with green lightning, arcing into Wagor’s body and trying to sap his strength. Wagor groaned, scowling under his hood as he channeled destructive energy into his right hand before shooting it at the other as a shapeless blob of darkness that exploded on impact, shattering Myrtoloin into dust... only for a new vessel to form immediately and Myrtoloin rushing him again, all the while crying out in rage.
The fight went on for a little while, but Wagor found that it was a very discernible difference between how he and the Lord of Decay fought, specifically in terms of how each of them had decided to make their vessels. Wagor had opted to spend a significant amount of energy to create a sturdy and powerful form, making it so dense and durable that it took minimal damage from attacks, requiring less repairs, and had high offensive power. Myrtoloin, on the other hand, seemed to spend as little energy on his vessel as possible, making it so fragile that it was literally falling apart on its own, but in turn making it disposable. Wagor could destroy Myrtoloin as many times as he wanted, but Myrtoloin just kept making new vessels; sometimes Wagor even found himself fighting multiple Myrtoloin vessels at the same time, being abruptly seized by one Myrtoloin from behind while fending off another in front of him, but the other demon lord was too cunning to overuse the trick. In the end it came down to who would tire first; Wagor from maintaining his vessel, or Myrtoloin from regenerating his.

Suddenly Myrtoloin vanished into smoke, and though Wagor could tell that that the Lord of Decay had teleported behind him just from his aura, skeletal hands wrapped themselves around his limbs before he could react. A toxic yellow miasma filled the air that Wagor instinctively started counteracting, preventing it from corroding his vessel, at the same time as he pulsed destructive energy from his back. Myrtoloin survived the blast, surprisingly, and only clung to him more tightly as more and more hands emerged to wrap the Lord of Vengeance in a tighter stranglehold still, bony fingers clawing viciously at his face and body...
Why did he change tactics? Wagor thought, jumping high into the air before propelling himself back-first into the ground with rock-shattering force; a maneuver that Myrtoloin shockingly still withstood without being destroyed. His strategy was viable. He has the power to match me blow by blow... but like this, I have the advantage. What is he thinking?
He elbowed the creature on his back, hearing bones crack and unmentionable things squish, and with some effort he ripped his right arm from the other’s grasp with enough force to tear off the skeletal hands holding it, sending them crumbling into the distance. He started funneling a large amount of energy into that right hand, preparing an attack powerful enough to disintegrate Myrtoloin... when he noticed the ground trembling under his feet.
No! he thought, too late to act, as the ground quaked, bulged and cracked, pushing upward in a surge of rock, dust and molten lava, all while a deafening rumble echoed throughout the domain. The ground finally crumbled away entirely as Wagor, Myrtoloin and any other demon unfortunate enough to have been too close to them were carried into the air on gray lips clad in scales of stone, attached to a creature so gigantic that size as a concept stopped making sense. A serpent of stone ascended out of a hole in the ground so huge that an entire mortal city could have fit in the pit, its body so long that an end was nowhere to be seen, even as it lifted the two demon lords miles into the air, far into the inky blackness above, where the harmful skies of Hell tore at their bodies and threatened to tear them apart.
Wagor unleashed as much raw power into the serpent’s head as he could muster, but unsurprisingly it neither slowed nor seemed to be any more than superficially singed by the blast; this was Akronos, another demon lord and one with a vessel even more durable than Wagor’s own, not to mention thousands of times as heavy and powerful. Akronos was a being of nothing but brute strength, an unstoppable force once in motion...
This was not something Wagor, the Lord of Vengeance, could stop.
With a sound of grinding stones, though less like rocks rubbing together and more like the motion of the tectonic plates of the world, Akronos’ jaws opened, and Wagor helplessly fell into the darkness of its gullet.

A moment later Wagor was reformed, somewhat annoyed at having to create a new vessel after spending so much energy making the first one, but by then it was too late; even hovering in the air at a distance, held aloft by his magic, Wagor could plainly see Myrtoloin’s abominable form crawling up the now-cracked ashen steps to the Oratory of Fate. It was impossible to teleport that close to the oratory – the same magic that calmed the sky prevented supernatural travel there – so the most Wagor could realistically manage would be to hit Myrtoloin with a blast of power from afar, but even then... Akronos was still there, beside him, a seemingly endless pillar of rock stretching from within the deepest bowels of Hell to far into its hazardous sky, the very movement of his body causing more of the landscape to quake and crumble. The Beast of Time could dive back out of the sky at a moment’s notice, and if it did it would tear a huge chunk of Kreshtaat’s domain asunder.
Wagor prepared his energy, unsure how to attack but knowing that it had to be huge, but it was too late. Myrtoloin reached the white structure at the top of the stairs, his grotesque form reaching for the handles on the colossal double doors into the place...

But then there was a form next to Myrtoloin, materializing out of the shadows. A pale, feeble-looking human man, his body marred by black veins and marks of disease, whose hair was like that of a corpse and whose only clothing was a tattered black skirt. A finger jabbed at Myrtoloin, and the demon lord was summarily obliterated. He did not reform, nor would he for a while, Wagor knew; there was no point. Myrtoloin knew better than to fight the Lord of Darkness himself.
Akronos apparently did not, though; the titanic serpent abruptly shot out of the sky with meteoric force, letting out a roar that shook the entire plane to its core. Wagor considered whether he was supposed to do something, but ultimately decided against it; he would only be in the way or, more likely, get caught in the destruction.
Kreshtaat looked up with annoyance, raised one hand and wagged an admonishing finger at Akronos... before the serpent’s head exploded, sending chunks of rocky flesh and showers of black blood raining down over the entire domain. The rest of Akronos’ body went limp with the destruction of the head and started slowly retracting back underground, though it would never make it that far; Wagor could already see it starting to dissipate into black mist now that the infernal consciousness within was gone.

“I thought I made myself clear,” Kreshtaat’s voice boomed across Hell, the sheer power and authority of him, even with his puny form, was enough to make Wagor fall to his knees in submission.
“No one enters the oratory.” He waved a hand with disinterest, and every demon assembled before the oratory, defenders and attackers alike, were instantly vaporized. Even the crumbling form of Akronos’ body instantaneously dispersed, leaving only a gaping, seemingly bottomless pit where it had emerged.
“No one but me.”

The Prophecy Recruitment Thread

Hello, and thank you for checking this recruitment thread. I am here because my fantasy RP, The Prophecy, is in dire need of new players, and I hope to entice as many of you as possible to consider joining.

And so a new adventure begins... let us see how many will join me.

Jaelnec

The Prophecy is an "open world" and "open ended" RP, permitting the characters to explore a vast and detailed world with deep lore and rather fleshed out mechanics for non-standard things such as magic. Along with players adding their own touches to the world, I am always expanding it, both writing new entries for its Compendium and expanding things behind the scenes, detailing new lands, magics, societies, characters and creatures.
Posts in The Prophecy are quality over quantity, and for most part I would like for us to strive for at least one new post a week.

Though the RP is not quite as dead as it would appear here, as much of the OOC activity is currently handled on Discord, there is no denying that The Prophecy has seen better days. What you need to understand is that The Prophecy is old; one of the oldest running RPs on RPGuild, if not literally the oldest, dating back years into the days of the old RPGuild, and that is only counting the newest iteration of it. Having started back in 2011, some quick math makes the RP eight years old at the time of writing.
Since its infancy players have come and gone, frequently at first, but more and more slowly as time went on. I have had the pleasure of some amazing players over the years, at least several of which I now count as friends, but time has taken its toll. Life has interfered for a lot of people: some found themselves unable to post and unwillingly stalled the RP, causing others to stagnate and lose interest; some ran into trouble in real life and had to leave; others yet simply lost their drive and decided to retire from the RP rather than force themselves to write uninspired posts.
I blame none of those people; perhaps more than anyone I blame myself, but blame does not change the present circumstance. Players have left, and with the age, size and currently slow progress of the RP, others have not exactly been encouraged to join. At this moment in time the cast of The Prophecy counts only me as the GM, Legion X51, ASTA, Biscuits (formerly cthulu) and, last of the original players of the RP, Shienvien.
The RP needs new blood to thrive. So here I am.

"A philosopher once said... All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing. And it is easier to stand by and do nothing, than to intervene and place oneself in harm's way."

Angora Kelenwyn

I have written up some points about the RP here for relatively quick perusal and consideration, which you may read as much or as little of as you like. Any questions you have are not only welcome, but encouraged; I will do my best to help you decide whether The Prophecy is an RP that would interest you.

What is The Prophecy?

The World

The very first iteration of The Prophecy, though then by another name, started more than seventeen years ago, and has been slowly developed and built upon until this, what I think is the fifth iteration, which is still even now being expanded upon. Not only have I established a huge amount of information about the world, the players have also been adding their own species, races, nations, organizations and historical events, all of which I work to integrate into the world. In case it was not clear, you are allowed to add to the composition of the world, with a promise from me to work to fit your additions into the existing world.

The short version is that The Prophecy takes place in what is collectively known as the planes, a collection of worlds existing within the non-plane of Stupor. For most part the composition of the planes will sound quite familiar: the Upper Plane is home to gods and angels, while the Lower Plane is segregated from the rest by the barrier called the Divide, and is home to demons. The Spirit Realm is the chaotic plane of dreams and the subconscious, within which we find Reniam, the first plane and the world of mortals. In Reniam we find the ruler-less kingdom of Rodoria, the Land in the Middle, and it is here the story has its epicenter. A supernatural plague is killing millions, the country is torn apart in civil war, monsters and outlaws run rampant, all while threats beyond the borders seem only more pressing by the day. And through it all one grim plot after another is revealed; brainwashed human tools, superhuman assassins, powerful half-demons, soulless indestructible heart-eaters, vengeful gods... one insurmountable obstacle after another. Yet it is here that the characters must prevail. The challenges your characters face will almost always be superior to them in one way or another, and it is up to your characters to find a way to beat or even the odds.

With help from Shienvien I have put together an ever-expanding Compendium of information on the world of The Prophecy, and even then what you see there is only a fraction of the things I have prepared privately, established but kept secret from the players until such a time when they might discover the truth. The Prophecy is an adventure of many things, including discovery... and believe me, there is much to discover in this old, old world.

The end-goal is entirely up to your characters to decide; nothing is adamantly predetermined in The Prophecy, and the story is whichever story we tell. Currently the characters are on an urgent quest to end the devastating plague known as the Withering, but other objectives keep appearing by my hands or those of the characters. One character has fallen in love with another and prioritizes this love highly, another wants to dismantle the crime syndicate she used to be a part of, and a third wants to rebuild an extinct order of knights. The objective is chosen by the characters... although sometimes choices have consequences.

“Yes. We all have a common enemy in the Withering.”

Jaelnec

Beyond the Characters

Your characters might be protagonists of the story – or antagonists, if you want – and there will undeniably be a hand of fate making it significantly more likely that they have interesting encounters, learn about relevant things and discover rare creatures, locations and artifacts; in this, The Prophecy is no different from your run of the mill RP. There is one thing I am very particular about, however: just because your characters are in one place, all other places still exist. The world goes on with or without the characters.

Whenever time progresses in The Prophecy, I keep track of a huge amount of things that happen in the background, much of which you may never even realize, or wont realize for a long time yet. Political machinations, battles, economical changes and migrations are happening all the time, even when your characters are not there to see it. Just because the characters have been somewhere does not mean that that place will be the same if they return later; events occur all the time, everywhere.

This persistence also carries over to the characters and their actions: whenever a player adds something to the world, or a character does something, this might very well set events into motion that will affect the world of The Prophecy for years to come. The soulless monster currently rampaging through Rodoria, having already wiped out one of the ten major cities of the kingdom, was once a player-character set loose due to how that player decided to write himself out of the story. The character of another player who left was killed, sending a plot-character on a quest for vengeance. Every action has a reaction, and the ripples of what the player-characters do can continue spreading indefinitely. What your characters do today may come back to haunt or help them tomorrow, or a decade later; I keep track.

Deus ex machina

For those unfamiliar with the term, deus ex machina is a plot device that has quite frankly been overused in a lot of modern media. Wiktionary defines it as:

Any resolution to a story that does not pay due regard to the story's internal logic and that is so unlikely that it challenges suspension of disbelief, and presumably allows the author, director, or developer to end the story in the way that he or she desired.

Wiktionary

or

A contrived solution to a problem, relying on an agent external to the situation.

Wiktionary

Now, veterans of The Prophecy will know that I have employed deus ex machina in the past to resolve situations stalling the RP, but they will also know that I loathe doing so, and will go to great lengths to avoid it.

What this means in practice, then, is that I enforce that events in The Prophecy adhere to the mechanical rules that apply to them. While some plot armor is unavoidable since the player characters are each guided by their own demiurge with the ability to pause time to think, expand their knowledge beyond what the character knows and alter the characters’ state of mind, plot armor in The Prophecy is not to be relied upon. No one is safe in The Prophecy; anyone can die.

Now, this is not just a threat, but also a promise to you: literally anyone can die, be they your characters or one of mine pivotal to progress of the story. I have already witnessed the death of what was canonically one of the protagonists of the story, and we have seen an antagonist that was canonically defeated survive the encounter that could have vanquished him. Nothing is going to end a certain way just because it is the most convenient for the story; if odds are against one side, that side will lose, and if a character finds itself in an unsalvageable situation, they will likely die. I give a lot of leeway to save characters, especially if other characters make efforts to protect them, but no one – not your characters or mine – are invincible.

"Aside, peeple be peeple. Ye cannae control wha' 'ey do." He shrugged. "Jus' learn tae expect wha' 'ey do."

Domhnall MacRaith

Life Happens

The Prophecy is an advanced RP, make no mistake; posts may vary in length and quality as the situation demands it, but always entail a good deal of consideration and work for the one who writes it. While it would be great if everyone had the time, drive and constitution to spend hours upon hours every day reading and writing RPs, it just is not a realistic expectation to have. We all have lives outside the RP, and we all need to respect that... but we also need to preserve the RP, something I have failed at in the past but endeavor to remedy in the future.

The expectation I have, and that I encourage everyone else to have, is that a post will most likely take several days to have ready, possibly even as much as a week, and that this is the kind of timetable we are working with. If someone is able to write a post in less time than that it is great, but it will likely be the exception rather than the rule.

On the other hand, we must also work to ensure that the RP progresses at a reasonable rate, unlike the abysmally slow pace it has been going at for far too long. To that effect I strongly encourage players to make sure to get posts done at least in a week’s time, and otherwise communicate about conditions preventing them from posting so that arrangements can be made to avoid the RP stalling. This goes for me, too. In turn, I promise that just as I have kept this RP running for years already, I will continue to keep it running for as long as there are players invested in it.

Don’t say what you’re thinking. Don’t get angry, don’t belittle her, don’t tell her what an idiot she is... Say something positive. No? Come on, anything will do! You’ve been silent for too long, Gerald! It doesn’t have to be positive, it just has to sound positive! Say something!

Gerald Glass

The Cast

Let us have a look at the characters currently at the center of the story of The Prophecy, just for a little more context. I will start with my own “player characters” that I will prefer to use for narrative point of view when applicable, though it should be noted that I also “play” NPCs and, preferably in Harbinger’s voice, assume direct control of other or new characters as the RP calls for it.


What one might call my “main character”, who has been in the story from the very start and has always been an integral part of the main group of companions, Jaelnec is a nightwalker; a human-like creature with somewhat longer lifespan, slower maturation and black eyes that are extremely receptive to light, allowing them to see in all but perfect darkness, but also makes even moderately bright lights painful and blinding to them.
Having acted as the leader of the group for some of their adventure, Jaelnec is a squire of the Knighthood of the Will, an extinct yet storied order of exceptional warriors. He is an extraordinarily skilled swordsman and knife-thrower, possessing different techniques fit for fighting man and monster alike. He is capable but inexperienced and naive, being only twenty years old, and is haunted by insecurity, which caused him to give up leadership of the group.
He possesses a cuirass of ghiril, a light, flexible and durable metal that protects his torso from piercing or cutting attacks but less so from blunt force, and a sword of Sartal, which is nigh indestructible, inhabited by the soul of a deceased dragon called Roct. He is quick, strong and has been taught many things of the various monstrous and supernatural beings of the planes, to better fight them when they threaten the innocents he is sworn to protect.


Olan is also a nightwalker from the main group, though significantly older than Jaelnec, and is for most part an unknown to the companions and himself alike. He recently lost all memory of his past, and though memory recent events returned quickly, his more distant memories continue to elude him.
Fancying himself an “explorer extraordinaire”, Olan is no fighter; he bears no weapons and typically retreats out of the way in battle, though he has proven willing to put himself in harms way to protect his friends. He is a kind and patient, if quirky, man, and always have words of encouragement for anyone who need them.
Remarkably, he does possess one ability that sets him apart from the rest: for reasons not even he understands he wields the primordial language known to some as the true words, a language from which all other languages were derived. This allows him to speak any language fluently, to understand and communicate with anyone, even animals, and to speak words universally understood by all at the expense of magical energy. More remarkably, the true words function not only as the base of the mundane languages, but also the languages of magic; though demanding incredibly huge amounts of magical energy, they allow the user to command reality to bend to their will. If someone commands another to die in true words, they die. Whether Olan would actually do this is doubtful, however, since it is all but certain that using the true words like this would kill him.


Lastly there is Gerald Glass, the exiled step-son of Count Remdal of Zerul. Physically feeble and with fragile health at best, Gerald is a capable arcanist and necromancer, specializing in delicate control of magical energy. Once taught by agents of the Black Tribunal, a sinister coven of practitioners of the outlawed art of necromancy, Gerald betrayed them and set out to use their powers for his own purposes: preserving the world at any cost, and ultimately trying to resurrect his late wife and unborn child.
Gerald is a grim, pessimistic and pragmatic man for whom smiles are hard to come by, and even then they are usually derisive, sarcastic or wicked. Despite his ungainly personality, Gerald has a genuine desire to protect all things, even if he does so on a different basis than Jaelnec; whereas Jaelnec wants to save everyone in the most humane way possible, Gerald believes that ends justify means and that sometimes the few have to be sacrificed for the sake of the many. This is made manifest by the fact that he is one of the only people to have survived contracting the Withering, but rather than having cured himself he has gained dominion over it, using the plague to drain magical energy from others, killing others to replenish his own magical power.
Originally a member of an offshoot group narrated for the sake of a player who has left the RP, Gerald is not currently engaged in the immediate story of The Prophecy, but was engaged in a hunt of a human cult-leader possessed by a demon lord, as well as a quest to end the Withering.

Next, the players’ characters:

Shienvien

Aemoten

A Sekalyn (made by Shienvien) from the southern lands of Balazth, Aemoten is a member of the caste that his countrymen name what can only be translated as “warriors”, and is someone who not only was trained hard and long as a potent soldier, but also has the benefit of a longer life than should be humanly possible. Due to a bargain made between his mother and the deity Koraakan (made by Shienvien) to bring Aemoten back from the dead, Aemoten no longer ages with time and, regardless of how badly he is wounded or even if he is technically killed, he always regenerates, albeit only at the rate ordinary humans would, making death highly inconvenient still, potentially taking him out of action for decades.
Having always been a part of the main group of companions along with Jaelnec, Aemoten was the natural choice for a successor when the nightwalker chose to abdicate leadership of the group, and he has been the leader ever since. He exhibits incredible self-control and both physical and mental constitution when necessary, demonstrating high discipline and strong will.
He is a skilled and powerful swordsman, wielding a black sword that time and use has rendered practically impervious to magic, and has undergone specialized conditioning that causes him pain or outright kills him if when subjected to mind-affecting magic. He is accompanied by his horse and a foreign beast called Etakar, a dekkun (made by Shienvien) that is big, strong and with almost human-like intelligence.

Domhnall MacRaith

One of the éireannach (made by Legion X51), specifically the so-called forestfolk of the race, Domhnall is another foreigner who speaks with a much more noticeable accent than Aemoten, is less disciplined and arguably more charismatic, and who is generally more likely to get curious about things than he is to feel intimidated, even if he is appalled at just how fearsome things have come after the companions in the past.
He is a hunter, not a warrior or any sort of likely champion, with little to no experience fighting anything but mundane animals. He fights using either his crossbow, a spear or, in a pinch, one of his knives.

Sir Yanin Glade and Jordan Forthey

Though they have not yet encountered the companions, these native Rodorians have not played much of a role in the RP, but this is likely to change. Both are human, but whereas Yanin is a knight from a respected family with significant holdings, known for their prowess in battle, Jordan is a mere son of a farmer who became Yanin’s squire. Yanin is a formidable and well-rounded warrior, capable of wielding his mace, halberd, bow or sword as the situation demands it, and is teaching Jordan to fight, though the squire has yet to manage to win a sparring match against his master, even armed with a spear against the knight’s bare hands.
The two are accompanied by two horses for transportation and for carrying their equipment, but more notable is Yanin’s passenger, something until now referred to only as a “void beast”. This void beast apparently has dominion over Yanin’s dreams and is seemingly weakening his soul, while at the same time disrupting magic near him. The void beast is considered a problem and Yanin is determined to learn more about it and its purpose with taking residence within him.

Legion X51

Another of the éireannach like Domhnall, though of the highlanders rather than the forestfolk, Iridiel Taileflaith Caomhánach was exiled from her people for killing an official meant to apprehend her upon discovering her affinity for magic and has been traveling since, and as such has very little knowledge of the Rodorian language. She seems somewhat meek and with dubious constitution, but has strategic value through her being “Marked” by the deity Sulis (made by Legion X51), giving her significant powers of healing and the ability to periodically call lightning.
Aside from having travelled with Domhnall since her exile, the two of them are now with the companions and have shown interest in undertaking the task of ending the Withering. She is also accompanied by a tame wolf and carries two small crossbows, a sword, a dagger and a hand axe.


Encountered by the companions only recently, Angora is currently the youngest in the group at the age of nineteen years, yet is viewed some mixed feelings as their introduction to her came through her attacking the group. Formerly the henchman of a Zerulic crime syndicate known simply as “the Firm” (made by Legion X51), Angora failed to report back after being assigned to steal an artifact being smuggled across the country. This artifact was what Angora has simply named the Black Sword, which is a weapon with the property of being a ceaseless siphon of magical energy from the Spirit Realm. Something else unfortunately got caught by the sword as well, however, and when Angora claimed the weapon she quickly melded with what is generally referred to as an “outsider”. Melding with the outsider drove Angora insane for a long while, and for months she lived in the wilderness, attacking and killing those who came near, until she attacked the companions and Iridiel managed to restore a semblance of calm and sanity to the girl.
Though her skill with her sword is unimpressive and she has no real way of taking advantage of the limitless magical energy supplied by the Black Sword, Angora fights with an almost feral ferocity that turns into an almost blind frenzy under the influence of the outsider, ignoring pain and fatigue and stopping at nothing to maim and kill her opponents.

ASTA

Ajanok'Tez, or Claw

Another currently somewhat tentative member of the companionship, Claw is a del-korm (made by ASTA) from the distant island of Malkor’Kurz (made by ASTA) and a practitioner of the magical ability known as the Echo (made by ASTA). A fur-clad, mildly wolf-like hulking creature that stands twice the size of even tall humans, Claw is a brutal fighter that fights with tooth and claw, using raw strength and ferocity to rip opponents to shreds.
For Claw the Echo manifests as the ability to manipulate sound, enabling him not only to use sound as a weapon but also for subterfuge, to silence what he does not want heard, projecting sound to distant places or mimicking sounds he has heard before. The Echo comes at a high price, however, for it is fueled by the life force of other creatures; Claw must absorb the life force of subdued prey to continue to wield this terrible power.

Biscuits, formerly cthulu

Thaler

Thaler is a naturally occurring half-nightwalker, half-human crossbreed known as a daywalker, which means that she was born with nothing but sclera on the exterior of her eyes, meaning that she has no pupils to see through and is effectively blind, with completely white eyes to contrast the totally black ones of pure-blooded nightwalkers. A long-time member of the group, Thaler is a former thief once infamous in Zerul under the moniker of Black Sun, though the companions, once they learned of her prior profession, convinced her to leave this life behind. Aemoten is in love with her and is fiercely protective of her.
Beyond the skills one might expect a thief to have, including a perhaps unexpected proficiency with lighter, dexterous bladed weapons considering her blindness, circumstances have left Thaler with her share of curses and blessings. Due to the deity Rilon taking interest in her at an early age, Thaler has been given gifts that persist even if she is now free of the god’s influence. One gift is the ability to use echolocation to perceive the world in a way beyond what others might, and another is what Olan identified as being bastardized and flawed true words, capable of issuing orders like perfect true words, but only to influence creatures mentally, and only how the recipients of her words interpret the command. Unknown even to her she is also under the protection of Rilon’s divine intervention, allowing her to either make one request of the god or to cheat death a single time and be returned to life.
Much has happened with Thaler as of yet, from her discovery of Rilon being her malevolent influence to her agreeing to become his champion and mortal instrument, to finally betraying the god and using the gifts he gave her to enslave him to another god, Koraakan. Events have left her deeply mentally and emotionally fatigued, and she and Aemoten have temporarily segregated themselves from the rest of the group to recover.

The story so far

At the beginning of their journey, the first companions met while attending a supposed auction for a cure to the Withering, which proved to be a ploy by the Crusader’s Guild, a racist human-centric cult under leadership of a demon-possessed man, who intended to kill all those attending; a plan that failed due to the efforts of the companions.

Recognizing their common goal of ending the Withering, the companions went in search of a supposed source of information about the Withering nearby, and found yet more crusaders besieging the place. After defeating the crusaders they discovered that the information they were looking for was at the hands of Gerald Glass, who not only revealed that the Withering was of provably magical nature, but that it was actually of demonic origin and functioned by continuously siphoning the victim’s magical energy to the point of death by magical exhaustion. He also provided another clue to follow in the Anaxim Forest, where victims of the plague were reportedly inexplicably recovering. The companions opted against going to the forest, however, choosing instead to seek out a confirmed survivor in Zerul City. Gerald chose to follow them, but only as far as the forest.

The companions’ next challenge came with the discovery and exploration of a ruined place of worship hidden away in a small forest, where they first encountered Thaler, but then discovered that the ruin also housed a small pack of vampires. Though at the cost of some wounds and a ruined pair of trousers the companions prevailed, only to find that one of their numbers, the mercenary Immanuel, had become a soulless creature known as harvesters. Rather than slay his former allies Immanuel luckily elected to chase more nutritious prey, and the adventure was allowed to continue.

When they reached the Anaxim Forest the companions were once again struck with misfortune, this time as they encountered another temporary ally being chased by a horde of goblins, small vaguely humanoid creatures with unquenchable bloodlust and no sense of self preservation. Though Gerald slipped away in the confusion the companions were victorious, slaying every last savage beast.
The companions were not safe just yet, however, as unrest in the group caused one of their numbers to be scrutinized and criticized by the rest, leading to increasingly intense arguments culminating in the dragon-spirit Roct possessing Jaelnec to protect him. Though Roct was quickly subdued the offending companion proceeded to reveal her demonic nature, prompting a fight that ended with her and Aemoten fighting until the demon could escape. After this Jaelnec was so devastated by his own failures that he abdicated, passing on leadership of the group to Aemoten.

On their way onward towards Zerul City the companions encountered a witch, a practitioner of outlawed black magic, named Jillian, at a ferry-station wrought with carnage after a black spell cast in self-defense went out of control. Unable to forgive Jillian for the dozens of lives lost at the ferry and her blatant disregard for the danger of black magic, the companions instead pointed her in the direction of Gerald, hoping that the two practitioners of forbidden arts – black magic and necromancy, respectively – could find support and companionship in each other.
Jillian soon after arrived at the Anaxim Forest, only to be invited in by the living wood itself, as the sapient collective consciousness of the plants of the forest opened the way for her and guided her where she needed to go. It turned out that the Anaxim Forest was under attack by a sizable force from the Crusader’s Guild under personal oversight of Kevalorn the Holy, the high priest and leader of the cult. While the attack was done under pretext of being a purge of non-humans, however, the true purpose was to retrieve a magical crystal acting as a demon prison for the violent, fiery demon lord Hazzergash, the patron deity of the cult. Jillian joined Gerald and the creatures of the forest, and though they ultimately failed to repel the crusaders, resulting in the destruction of the forest and the massacre of its inhabitants, they managed to escape with the demon prison to stop it from falling into the hands of the Guild.
Accompanied by two of the defenders of the forest, an ancient sorceress called Crone and an elder dragon called Renold, discussions were had about their next step as they found themselves facing two important tasks: contain the part of Hazzergash that had already escaped his prison and taken residence in Kevalorn the Holy, or focus on ending the Withering. An agreement was reached with Crone that they would seek to contain Hazzergash first in exchange of her brokering a meeting with the Grand Master, one of the most powerful demons, known among other things for being willing to barter for almost anything. Gerald and Jillian entered a wager with the Grand Master to get the information they needed, and learned that the Withering is actually caused by Kreshtaat, a former human that is now the single most powerful demon in existence, who infects mortals through their dreams, when their souls pass into the Spirit Realm. He told them to go to the duchy of Fokon, where experts would be able to help them become conscious within the Spirit Realm to allow them to find Kreshtaat’s mortal self and purge him from the Spirit Realm.

Meanwhile the companions traveled onward, crossing the river but deciding to find rest at a border post of the duchy of Zerul, where the guards deemed to grant them food and shelter. While there Thaler was visited in her dreams by Rilon who, for the first time throughout his haunting of her, revealed his identity. Whether because of desperation or belief that she could redeem the evil god Thaler agreed to become Rilon’s champion, receiving the relic that held part of the god’s own power and essence, the sword Black Thorn. She also received a mission to steal the relic of Rilon’s sister, Reina, in exchange for a promise of Rilon’s divine intervention.
Upon waking Thaler found that Black Thorn had materialized, only for her companions, especially Aemoten, to chastise her for agreeing to Rilon’s demands and driving her to undo her ties to Rilon. Thaler ultimately agreed to give Black Thorn to Koraakan, knowing that a relic of one god would enable another god to control them, in exchange for the promise of safety for her and her friends. Rilon discovered this and initiated a fierce assault of the border post, culminating in a battle between the avatars of Rilon and Koraakan for possession of Black Thorn, which Koraakan ultimately won.
While the two gods fought, however, the companions furthermore discovered that the border post was also home to a conspiracy, as one of the guardsmen was secretly an agent of the Death Clan in service of Kreshtaat, and that this agent had been breeding and training the predatory snakelike vermin known as yths. The yths were slain and the agent confronted, though the confrontation was complicated by the agent absorbing a mysterious sphere, naming himself a Nephilim, gaining immense physical and magical strength, indifference to pain and the ability to seemingly life through any injury. Aemoten managed to kill the agent by weakening him with divine energy traded from Koraakan to negate the infernal energy giving the agent his power.

Finally able to move on from the border post, the companions next encountered another group of travelers, Iridiel, Domhnall and Claw, who agreed to accompany them, only to be assaulted by a frenzied Angora. After a short but intense skirmish the companions managed to subdue Angora, and with the help of Iridiel restored sanity and self-control to the girl, who in turn offered to join them on their way to Zerul City.

Finally the companions arrived at Zerul City, where they were greeted and informed of recent events elsewhere, learning that Immanuel had wiped out Nemhim City after leaving them and that interviewing the survivor identified by the companions had revealed the apparent cause of his recovery to be vicinity to the nearby Mount Zerul; information which, when it was made public, caused those in the city inflicted with the plague to travel to the mountain en mass, regardless of the dangers involved. Despite the urgency of their quest the companions, recognizing that they were in desperate need of rest, spent the night in Zerul City, and have just now started the next day.

Independently from the companions, some other small groups of adventurers have also made their own discoveries. Several adventurers encountered an agent of one of the Rodorian dukes, a so-called tool who proved to be specialist brainwashed units rendered totally obedient and without any personal desires, though this tool was soon after summarily executed by the Fixer, a mortal agent of the Grand Master of extraordinary prowess, who was also a former tool and the dead tool’s true target. He allowed the adventurers to live, though with the promise that spreading word of his existence would only result in the death of innocents.
Later that day the adventurers encountered two high-ranking members of the deo’iel, an organization of professional monster-hunters, and learned not only of Immanuel’s rampage, but of two especially powerful half-demon demonspawn, one of which was supposedly near Zerul City and was known to kill other demonspawn and being able to acquire the abilities of his demonic victims.
Finally one of the adventurers encountered one of the long-lived humanoid species deigan called Male’dai, although this deigan proved to also be possessed by an archangel, one of the most powerful angels, called Nimbus. The two had become somewhat intertwined since Male’dai summoned the angel in a fit of panic, trying desperately to save her home city from an enemy assault, but not only managed to summon just the angel’s soul, but also managed to drain herself to the point of certain death. Male’dai and Nimbus expressed interest in joining forces with the adventurer, being eager to do some good in Reniam before Male’dai inevitably expired, but were ultimately left alone due to the adventurer choosing a different path.

"Time is worth about as much as you have of it. The less time you have, the more valuable it is, and the other way around. Those sitting in one place and complaining over boredom obviously have too much of it. I, for one, think this is an easy fate to come if you don't take what you do into your own hands, and just wait something to happen. Might be that the right opportunity passes and you'll never have an equal one again."

Aemoten

The Prophecy

Jaelnec, Thaler, Aemoten and Olan have now earned the title:

Though not even those present for the event know all the details of what happened, word is already spreading of how four travelers on a quest to end the Withering saved a Zerulic border post from not just one, but several sinister threats against the vigilant guardsmen posted there. Not only did they uncover and defeat a treacherous agent of the Death Clan as well as the compliant lieutenant who made the cultist’s work possible, they also discovered a lair of piaan-addicted and trained yths who would have doubtlessly devoured the guardsmen in their sleep in time. Most notable of all, however, was the fact that these travelers faced off against Rilon himself, managing to steal away Black Thorn from him and deliver it to the hands of another god, forcing Rilon into compliance and submission. People are wildly impressed with the feat of besting a life-blessed god and are already predicting their names to become legend, though there are also many who question the decision to give another god control over Rilon’s power, and others yet who swear vengeance on Rilon’s behalf.
So it is that these four will henceforth be known as Banes of the Blood God!

The Prophecy

Zerul City

Even though Thomas tried eagerly to convince Jaelnec and his companions to meet the survivor of the Withering in person, the young nightwalker maintained that they needed to find Aemoten and Thaler before doing so. Jaelnec wanted not only to ensure that Aemoten had all the information he needed to lead the group wisely, but also could not be rid of the burden of leadership too soon. The survivor could wait until later in the evening or next day, if need be. Olan supported the decision to prioritize finding their friends wholeheartedly, it turned out, wanting nothing more than to find Thaler and honor his promise to her, to always return to her side as soon as he could.
Luckily it did not take too much time or effort to convince Thomas to delay taking them to the survivor, after which the boy remarked that he had arranged for the companions’ stay per William’s request, and that they were all free to come with him and stay at the Remdal estate, where they would be hosted, fed and – he remarked with a glance at Angora – dressed, should they wish to be so. Once again Jaelnec and Olan declined, citing once again their wish to find their friends as soon as possible. Thomas described the location of the Remdal estate and how to find it nevertheless, noting that they might not be able to find their friends and, even if they did, were free to bring them, too. If any of the group wanted to, going with Thomas was most likely the safest and most comfortable way to spend the night in Zerul City.

Jaelnec and Olan entered the city, though, and started their search. It proved a simple task to track the others at first by simply asking various street-vendors and the like whether they had seen a creature matching Etakar’s description, and for most of the search they were optimistic that finding their friends would prove relatively quick and easy. There were still dead ends in their search, of course, and sometimes they had to ask around quite a bit before they found someone who had either seen Etakar or heard about him from others, but eventually they managed to locate the dekkun... only to discover that the foreign beast had parted ways with his human, likely having found no suitable accommodations for himself wherever Aemoten and Thaler had settled.
They asked around a little more after that, hoping that someone might have either noticed Aemoten’s somewhat foreign appearance, Thaler being a white-haired daywalker, or where about Etakar had parted with his riders. By then it was getting late, though, and the streets gradually drained of the people who had been out and about during the day who either retired to their homes or migrated to different parts of the city. Sullen and defeated the nightwalkers finally followed the instructions given by their greeter and, in what to them was blessed darkness, arrived at the Remdal estate.

The estate was nothing less than a mansion, it turned out, located in the wealthiest part of the city and being significantly larger than most other residences near it, and one of the rare Zerulic cases with a building actually having two floors. The inside was richly decorated, the floors either tiled stone polished to mirror-like sheen or luxuriously soft carpets, depending on the room or hallway they found themselves in. The food and drink on offer was less extravagant than the estate itself, it turned out – according to Thomas there were limits to how much he could procure at the moment, especially with his father gone on business – but it was still quite plentiful, varied and well-made enough that both of the nightwalkers got to eat their fill before being shown their separate chambers.
The estate turned out to have quite a few bedrooms, and though not all of them were equally exuberantly furnished, they were all a huge step up from sleeping on the ground. Every room had a large bed big enough for two people to lie side by side, with mattresses filled with wool, more pillows than one could possibly need and warm quilts, and all had curtains run around them; clearly Count Remdal was used to hosting people of high standing. The bedrooms also all had the necessary equipment for grooming and bathing, a pitcher of water and a chamber pot.

After a night of better rest than Jaelnec could remember ever having, morning – and an offer of delicious breakfast – came, and the nightwalkers reunited and made to rejoin with their companions once again; both those they had left at the city gates and Aemoten and Thaler.

From Downfall ReRisen

Kay hang back for a moment while Enn got off the truck and started introducing himself, not because she did not want to stand by him when officially meeting their leader, but because she had to detach her cart from the truck so Ell and the others could resume their patrol.
Some of the other Eighfourians seemed to realize that Enn was not one of them while he was speaking, staring at him with wide eyes, whispering to each other with expressions of curiosity and concern and generally plotting the routes they had been walking along before his appearance so that they gave him a wide berth. One man – one of the ones that had been talking to Gramps when they arrived – seized a handgun by his side, but was stopped by an admonishing finger from Gramps before he could even draw the weapon, despite the leader of Eighfour not even looking in his direction. His attention – intense and neutral, seeming neither wary nor trusting yet – was focused solely on Enn.
Despite wanting nothing more than to believe that Gramps would solve everything and that he would just immediately accept Enn’s help, Kay’s attention was nevertheless held breathlessly by the two of them, a hard knot forming in the pit of her stomach as unbidden thoughts of what would happen if Gramps decided to treat Enn as a hostile, or simply discarded the man as a burden. She knew Gramps to be a warm and protective man, but also an extremely practical one, almost pragmatic at times... Chances were that even if he decided to trust Enn and wanted to protect him, he might cast him out if he deemed him not worth feeding and protecting. He would want to help Enn, and to accept Enn’s help, Kay was sure of this, but Gramps was also responsible for all of Eighfour; he had to make the decision that was for the best of the faction.

Gramps’ eyes scanned Enn from head to toe, lingering occasionally on parts of his equipment, but always returned to Enn’s face shortly, letting him know that he was listening intently. Only when Enn had finished his introduction did Gramps let his gaze stray from the stranger momentarily, darting to Kay immediately, then to Ell, and finally back to Enn.
“You take care of things here for a moment, Chubby,” he said over his shoulder, prompting a quick affirmative from a woman with a pretty average build holding an electronic PDA. “Continue preparations and make sure to keep the perimeter secure. I need a moment with Enn-Que.”
‘Chubby’ - whose name was actually Ex-Ell and got her nickname from her name being the same as the initialism of “extra large”, just as people would annoy Ell by greeting him with “Hello, Ell-Oh!” on the street in less stressful times - started directing the Eighfourians coming for instructions to speak to her, and Gramps left behind the crowd to approach Enn.
“My name is Dee-A, but everyone calls me Gramps. You must be weary with everything that has happened,” he told the soldier with a measured smile. “Let’s talk in my quarters. Food was one of the first things we packed up, unfortunately, so I can’t offer a proper meal just this moment, but I think I might still have some crackers in a cupboard, or some cookies. And I’ll make something to drink. Do you prefer tea or coffee?”
“You come too, Kay-Gee,” he remarked just as Kay came up next to Enn with her cart, earning a grateful smile from her. It was just like Gramps to spot how things fit together without anyone having to explain it to him. Kay happily followed, and together they headed to Gramps’ quarters.

His “quarters” was actually a ten by seven meter shack just a short way from the center of the settlement, just a few minutes’ walk from where they had found him, barely discernible from the multitude of other small structures lining the streets beyond it seeming perhaps a little more worn than the others, with a metal door that bore signs of having been repeatedly mended, and the dirt in front of which bore signs of being heavily traveled.
They traveled mostly in silence until they got there, where Gramps opened the creaking door and bid them both inside the somewhat cramped space inside. The entire structure was made up by just a single room, though the two ends of the room were furnished for different purposes. The end they entered was clearly where Gramps received guests, with an old, well-worn dining table and wooden chairs took up most of the open space, and a series of cupboards and closets lining the two adjoining walls to their right. The other end, to their far left, seemed to be much more for personal use, containing a small unmade bed, a closet and a chest of drawers, but also a desk facing the wall, filled with piles of random junk around an turned-off PDA and various devices in different states of disrepair.
“Have a seat,” Gramps offered with a gesture at the dining table, heading straight for the string hanging from the naked light-bulb in the ceiling, pulling it to turn on the light; the shack, like all buildings in Eighfour, had no windows. They closed the door behind them, leaving the room lit solely by the cold electrical light.

“So,” he said, leaning against a cupboard once they were fully in private. He still did not smile, but simply looked at Enn intently with a decidedly neutral expression. “An Anderekian soldier who actually had enough independent thought to realize that your faction couldn’t care less whether you lived or died, and that before you got yourself shot or lost any of your equipment. If you’d be presumed dead and lost there must’ve been a battle. Probably with the Trenians. And the Anderekians lost.” He sighed. “I don’t suppose you know whether the Anderekians or Trenians use AI?”