Flagg

In the Court of the High Queen

Hey just FYI I'm withdrawing interest. This looks like a great RP, I just realistically dont have the time. Have fun all!

The Empty Throne: War in the Broken Lands

Daigon allowed a small smile to play across his thin lips as he turned from Erlendr to Evar.

"Lord Regent Erlendr," he said, and though his voice remained quiet he could be heard over the shouting of the Horse Tooth and Þyrseig and a half dozen other petty clans declaring support for Evar and denouncing the Coward and the Shattered Moon, "the Jarl of Sentinel warns you against my duplicity."

He approached Evar as he spoke, and the Varvudda guardsmen and thanes eyed him warily. But the Coward was unarmed, his empty palms open and facing out as he walked.

"I am duplicitous, I am a liar," Daigon said, as the hall fell quiet. The Jarl of the Broken Hammer loudly guffawed at the melodrama and audibly slurped down more mead. Evar's hands closed into fists as the Coward came within striking distance.

"I am a murderer," said Daigon, and though his voice was barely above a whisper no one failed to hear him.

"But I am not the only one. Do you know why I fled the field, now so many years ago, Lord Erlendr? Fled before the Stonecutter and Red Knot armies?" he asked more loudly this time, "Do you know who invited me to attack the late High King? Told me where he and his men would be, straggling north from Sentinel? Do you know which jarl begged me to join him, to rid us all of the Stonecutter yoke? Promised me reinforcements that never appeared, forcing me to withdraw?"

Daigon's eyes fell on Vignar, "You never told him, your own son?"

The Coward turned, with practiced theatricality, away from Evar to the rest of the room.

"Let such matters concern us no more," he said, "Let us kill the past, and fight together for our future freedom."

In the Court of the High Queen

I'm in, this looks awesome.

Darkness Visible: Summer in San Judas

@Flagg heya boss.

Okay so like I'm almost done my app but just want to clarify before completely finishing it.

~what kinds of magic based charas can we play? Like for instance, I want my chara to do warding/fighting against bad spirits
~Do spirits/demons come into play here?
~If we are magic based what is the source of magic?

Thanks ya!

@Girlie1Bomba

I guess the emphasis here would be horror a bit more than fantasy. Magic/demons/ghosts etc do come into it, but I dont want to be too specific about a 'magic system' or how exactly the cosmology works.

So yeah...some kind of warding/exorcist character might work, but you're not going to have demons materializing every two seconds.

Kind've make sense?

The Empty Throne: War in the Broken Lands

Alrighty folks. In a day or two I'm winding the Moot down, so get your posts in before we fast forward to newer and better things (more killing)!

The Empty Throne: War in the Broken Lands

New post up here: roleplayerguild.com/posts/4579049

The Empty Throne: War in the Broken Lands

Avenge yourself against yourself. Meet inner turmoil with outward calm.
- B'zuri aphorism

Nyssos, the Rainlands of the Salished Empire...

Lord Vissaban stood with hands clasped behind his back and a frown hovering above his jutting chin. His eyes traced the breathtaking and terrifying mosaics adorning the high dome over the throne room. In the scene directly above him, Dimaza, ancestor of the Salizi, was wielding the First Blade against the Gorelord Incarnate and his abhuman hordes. The legends said it was Dimaza who first allied with the Servants of the Forge.

Vissaban silently cursed his memory, if truly he was to blame for these ubiquitous priests, always worming themselves into affairs of state and war. They were currently in the process of delaying his invasion of the Broken Lands.

A Forge Priest- an immensely fat man with a twitching eye- was going on at some length about augurs and what the shapes in the forge-smoke had foretold this morning. The fleet must stay at anchor another week, the gods had -apparently- indicated. They had not yet had their fill of flesh from the last war. Only once glutted fully would they bless a new offensive.

Lord Vissaban noted sourly that His Dread Immanence the Shashul of All Azoth, Lord of the Rainlands, Shadow of the Gods on the Realms of Men, was nodding sagely along to the prognostications of the bloated and bloviating half-wit in clerical attire, who was seated just to the left of the Imperial Throne.

Vissaban was without question the second-most powerful man in the Empire, perhaps in all of Azoth, and was quite unused to waiting patiently for instructions. It took some effort of will not to erupt in a shower of profanities at this newest excuse for delay.

"Majesty," he said, as the priest paused to take a breath. His voice rang throughout the immense throne room, and the crowd of courtiers and sycophants arrayed around the throne looked at him with alarm. Few dared to interrupt here. The Shashul turned his head languidly to face his general, "with all due respect to the oracles of the Sacred Forges, may I remind His Immanence that he is running out of summer, and that an assault on the Broken Lands in fall or winter would be...enormously more difficult, if not a guaranteed disaster. And that's to say nothing of what happens if the northmen do not collapse into civil war. If they elect a new king."

"The gods do not care for trivial matters-" began the priest, but Lord Vissaban lunged forward, up the steps to the Imperial dais, his usually olive skin turned scarlet, the scales of his gilded armor gleaming in the candle and torch light. He grabbed the cleric by the folds of his crimson robes and lifted him bodily out of his chair. The Shashul's Guard drew swords and rushed to intervene, and His Majesty looked dazed, like he was witnessing something fundamentally beyond his ability for comprehension.

"LISTEN TO ME YOU FAT LICKSPITTLE," Vissaban shouted, face to face with the cleric, "The gods want blood, I'll give them blood! If I stay here because of your be-shitted omens I'll feed the Forges myself with their own priests, starting with you."

The first of the Shashul's Guard reached Vissaban, and grabbed his shoulder. Vissaban threw the priest to the ground and shoved the guard away, knocking him off balance, before spinning on his heel to face the Shashul, whose mouth was still hanging open.

"Majesty," he spat, "it's time to choose. Shall we invade the Broken Lands or not? If we invade, we can have no more delays, not if you still honor me with this command."

His Dread Immanence closed his mouth, and his face regained its regal hauteur. He looked from Vissaban to the priest, struggling to his feet, spluttering and shocked, and back again.

"We shall risks the gods' displeasure," he said, "And make it up to them with sacrifices innumerable. The Broken Lands will be ours. Begin the invasion, Vissaban."

The Empty Throne: War in the Broken Lands

The malady is kinder than the cure.
- from The Conquest of the Rivers, a Salizi Tragedy in Three Acts

The Moot...

"I, for one, will not tolerate this situation to continue. If you, my peers, feel the same, then lend me your support. Otherwise, I can only hope that your yokes lay lightly upon your necks."

The Moot erupted into shouting- "here, heres!" and "Well saids!" vying with loud accusations of disloyalty and dishonor. The young king went pale upon his throne, and looked to his mother. The High Queen, dark and still and beautiful, said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on a corner of the room, on the shadows behind one of the smoldering braziers.

"It'll be all our necks soon enough, Varvudda," said a low, gravelly voice that seemed to echo amid the vaulted ceiling. It took a moment for the crowd of jarls and thanes to notice the man in black walking calmly down the center of the great gray hall, toward the royal dais, and another for the Moot to lapse into relative quiet.

The Stonecutter guards made to intercept the newcomer, but at an almost imperceptible shake of the Queen's head they nervously kept their places. The man in black stopped at the steps before the throne and, smirking, gave a slight bow before turning to face the Moot.

"And who the fuck is it that speaks thusly to the Jarl of Sentinel?" spat Evar, rising once more. Several of his own older thanes eyed their lord with alarmed surprise, and his father grabbed his arm but Evar shook him off, "Who addresses the jarls and thanes of the Broken Lands?"

"Daigon," slurred the elder Varvudda, "It's Daigon, boy!"

Evar looked at his father, understanding dawning of his face, and turned back to the newcomer.

"I am the Jarl of Sepulchrave," said Daigon, "Master of the Gravemire. Though I believe many of you have another name for me."

He turned from Varvudda, meeting the gaze of the other jarls, "We do not have time for Moots, brethren, meetings, or talk of taxes. You know I am no friend to Clan Stonecutter, but old arguments died with Aigoth."

"Ah," said Evar, "So the Coward makes his bid..."

"Not for myself, Evar Varvudda," said Daigon, his pale eyes meeting the younger man's angry glare, "but for unity. You know where I have been. The Salished have turned their gaze north, to our lands, once more. The Union no longer threatens them. The Clans must face the Empire together, or fall individually. The boy king cannot lead us with a boy regent."

"Will the clans follow a sellsword, absent from our lands for a lifetime?" asked Evar.

"No, they would not," said Daigon, "I nominate Erlendr of Clan Red Knot as regent."

Darkness Visible: Summer in San Judas

Heya!!

Okay so I'mma work on my app :DD

But @Flagg just need a bit of clarification in the Bio section. I don't understand this sentence:

<Snipped quote>

What is the 'gift?'

@Girlie1Bomba

lol. What indeed? Meant to say 'the gist'.

Darkness Visible: Summer in San Judas

I just turned my character sheet into a full-blown opening scene for my character. I hope that's alright and that it gives the necessary information on him.

Batholomew Grimsby

---

“That the kid? Scrawny one with the shaggy hair, looks like he just came outside for the first time in weeks?”

“Yeah, I think so. Pretty sure that’s her brother. Mr. Grimsby?”

The young man looked up from his feet, dark blue eyes behind glasses first landing on the detective’s badge and then his face. He had the look of a cop; deep-set wrinkles around his forehead and mouth, rough hands, tired look in his slightly bloodshot eyes. His voice had the same authortative raspiness to it as the one he spoke to on the phone; he was the one who called him down to the station.

“Yes.”

“Detective Fresk,” he extended his hand as he spoke. Bartholomew, Bart for short, awkwardly stretched his hand out and shook the detective’s. The man had a strong grip, much stronger than Bart’s meek response.

“If you don’t mind, could you come into the next room and answer some questions?”

“Of course,” Bart rose to his feet, almost a full head shorter than the detective, who had to be somewhere over six feet.

He followed Detective Fresk into the next room, which turned out to be an interrogation room with a metal table, two chairs, and a two-way mirror so he would be on display like an animal in a zoo. He seated himself opposite the detective at the table.

“Alright. You’re Bartholomew Grimsby, age twenty-three?”

“Yes.”

“You and your sister, Alice Grimsby, moved here about a year ago?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grimsby. Sorry for pulling you in here. It’s really the only privacy you get in a station. I’ve got a couple more questions for you.”

He nodded to show he was listening, his eyes staring down at the table.

“Where did you and your sister move here from?”

“The next state over. She moved here with me after I got accepted into a Masters program here in the city.”

“Did she have any enemies back where you’re from or here, anyone that had a grudge against her? Did she hang out with any seedy people that you know about?”

“No, uh, no one I know about…”

Lying…

Bart flinched in his seat as if someone had swung at him. It was slinking around in the shadows again.

“Are you okay, Mr. Grimsby?”

“Yes, I’m… yes.”

“Alright. Do you and Alice have any other family?”

“No. Our parents died when we were young, so our grandparents on our mother’s side took us in, but they passed shortly before we moved here.”

“I see. Thank you, Mr. Grimsby. You need to know that the window to find a missing person closes pretty quickly, but we’re interviewing anyone she had contact with that we know of in the city. We’ll do what we can to find her -”

Lying…

“If you think of anything else we should know, contact me. Here’s my information.”

He slipped a card across the table with his name and number to Bart. He pockted the card without looking at the detective.

“You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine. Thank you. Am I free to go now?”

“Yeah. We just needed some background on your sister to help us fill in some blanks. Take care, Mr. Grimsby.”

“Thank you.”

He stood and passed back into the main part of the station and then out onto the street. It followed him. He could see it out of the corner of his eyes, slinking around in the shadows like a cat but not quite. He kept his head down and quickened his pace away from the police station. Alice had gone missing two days after he heard her yelling at someone on her phone in the other room of their apartment. He didn’t know who it was, and her phone had gone missing along with her. Who had she been talking to?

It was probably just a work friend, they just had a fight.

Lying…

Its silky voice pervaded his thoughts, mocking him. It followed him everywhere, just beyond his field of vision at times, but at others it slink just in front of him like a black cat crossing his path, and like a black cat it had just brought misfortune to his life. He bumped into someone on a street corner and stumbled.

“Watch where you’re going.”

“Sorry…”

Lying…

Again the thing’s voice invaded his mind. He did what he could to ignore and keep from looking at it as he finally reached his apartment. He raced upstairs and locked his door behind him, deadbolt and several chains for good measure. He slipped into his bedroom and sat down. The desk he sat at was covered in old weathered tomes with old cryptic languages spreading across the pages, looking more like gibberish and scribbles than actual languages. Their meanings were clear as day to his well-trained eyes though. He ignored the books and their texts, his head thumping onto the nearest of them. His eyes shut, and he felt a wave of exhaustion hit him from nowhere, dragging him into a fitful sleep filled with images of that… thing.

@Ink Blood

Accepted!