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    1. KitsuneWarrior 6 yrs ago
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2 yrs ago
Current Live hard and fuck fast. Now there's a Christian value that I can support.
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Doesn't seem to be a lot of interest in this so I'm just going to put this on the shelf for later. Thanks for the feedback everyone.


Farewell Happy Fields
Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrours, hail
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell.
Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by Place or Time.


- Milton



In the decades following the Great Revolt, it was customary for the Kings of Caphan to subject the defeated rabblerousers to a fate they deemed worse than execution: exile.

Stripped of the protection of the laws of any realm and all their possessions, the exiled were unceremoniously deposited on the shores of a vast, uninhabitable continent to the southwest known as the Hinterlands. A land of steaming jungles and brooding forests, fire mountains and ash deserts. Red tides ring its shores, tinging black sand beaches blood red and rendering sealife poisonous and inedible. The coasts were infested with pirates and reavers, hiding within the innumerable coves and fjords of the continent's jagged coast. But the interior of the continent belonged to a thousand nations of savage cannibals. Anyone left on such shores would surely die.

Or so the masters of Caphan thought.

Some thirty years after the Great Revolt, something in the Hinterlands has deeply unnerved the masters of Caphan. So much so that King Amond has seen fit to establish a great fortress in the Hinterlands, manned and supplied at tremendous expense as all food and supplies have to be shipped in across the sea. Within the freshly-built walls of Semaphore, one might almost forget they were 200 leagues from Caphan were it not for the fifty-foot ramparts and enormous garrison of soldiers. But only the bravest souls on official business dare exit the gates into the wilderness, for many of them never return.

Somehow or another, you have been sent to the Hinterlands. A soldier or mercenary maybe, or even the governor of Semaphore. Maybe you are just a smuggler or bartender, or some failed merchant trying to scrounge enough silver to catch a cog back to Caphan.

Or perhaps it is you that keeps King Amond awake at night: the Emperor in Exile.






Any interest in this?
while we do this can we please summen a suckubuss for me? i am lonly :(
If your application is more than 500 words, you’re doing wrong in my opinion. Every roleplay should be Jump In, no cap.
@KitsuneWarrior@nasty

love it, accepted.


🥺

I hate applications, hope this works instead:




14 Months Earlier


Porous, jagged earth crunched softly under their boots as the Ordinators negotiated the craggy terrain up the mount and toward the derelict structure built atop it. They were five in number, creeping up the crags of glassy volcanic rock with a deliberate and cautious pace that was at the same time surprisingly swift. They scanned their hellish environs with utmost caution from underneath the shaded goggles and cloth facemasks they wore to keep the fine windborne ash out of their eyes and lungs, sweeping over their surroundings with the repeater bows cradled in their arms. Theirs were not the typical vestments of Darkwatch Ordinators; white capes and brass-trimmed plate armor of silvery steel had no place in the brimstone-encrusted badlands of Nagath Major. Thick woolen cloaks over a cuirass of studded leather provided adequate protection out here and were far less conspicuous. Sparsely-peopled as Nagath was in this age, a Darkwatch presence deep into Nagath would be noticed by someone and word would eventually get out.

The Ordinators reached the summit of the cinder mount and found themselves up against the footing of a towering ruin of corroded metal. Built directly inside the caldera of the small cinder volcano, it was constructed in the alien architecture of the Dark Lord's empire. Decaying buttresses anchored a funnel-shaped keep to the rim of the volcano. The rusted remains of metal smokestacks reached into the hazy sky some one hundred feet up above, badly damaged and eroded by frequent lightning strikes and ash storms. Dozens of similar clockwork factories had been constructed across Nagath when the Dark Lord ruled this land. Once these structures were home of the greatest technological marvels the world had ever seen, now they crumbled back into hellscape, howling wind whipping through their rusting skeletons like the fossilized ribs and backbones of primordial monsters.

There were no windows or openings into the ancient structure, only an iron door firmly sealed shut. Inset into the giant gate was a piece of brass clockwork stained blue-gray by corrosion, composed of four rotating disks. Engraved into the disks were devil runes spaced at even intervals such that a combination of four runes served as a pass-word of sorts. Such locksmithing made the simple locks on even the great vaults of Pharazon look primitive in comparison. For all the evils and follies of Daigon and his devils, nobody could possibly deny their ingenuity. Even after three centuries of complete abandonment, the looters, pilferers, and psychotic descendants of the Dark Lord's devils had all been shut out of this place by this piece of ancient clockwork.

Until now.

An Ordinator approached the door, slinging his repeater bow over his shoulder and removing the goggles from his eyes. From a satchel slung across his chest, he produced a scrap of vellum. Torn from a larger scroll and singed on the sides, a string of devil runes written upon it read ᛤᛠᛪᛮ.

Stone gray eyes flitted from the paper to the disks of the lock. In a gloved hand, he seized the first disk and began to turn it. Centuries of volcanic grit and verdigris held the disk fast for a moment, but it soon relented and was spun until the ᛤ glyph was positioned facing directly outward. And so he went with the other three disks, until the combination on the lock matched the runes on the vellum.

As soon as the last glyph was spun into position, the door gave a creaking groan before slowly sinking into a recession into the floor. The compatriots behind him stepped back and trained their bows into the darkness beyond the sinking door. The anemic light of Nagath's haze-veiled sun filtered into the interior of the ruin, illuminating a stone walkway suspended over a confounding network of brass machinery and clockwork.

"Go," Erigos ordered, tucking the scrap of vellum back into his chest satchel as his subordinates passed him into the ruin.

Sconces bearing glass ampules containing a strange gas that burned with a weak, orange glow dimly illuminated the interior of the ruin. All around the Ordinators was a network of cogs, flywheels, and linking rods, all seized shut by centuries of corrosion and disrepair. The air inside was hot and reeked of brimstone, and somewhere below their feet, one could hear the hissing of volcanic gas venting freely into the air. In the age of the Dark Lord, Erigos surmised, this structure had been built to harness the vapors venting out of the volcano below them. Like a water wheel turning a grist mill, the volcanic gas was used to turn this vast array of clockwork. And that clockwork power was in turn harnessed to build machines, grind and carry ore, pump magma, and stoke forges. All without a spark of magic or divine power.

As far as Erigos could tell, that was what made clockwork "dark magic" and Daigon the Dark Lord. Because there was no magic to it at all. Complicated and difficult to master, certainly, but with determination and cleverness, this craft could be used by anyone. Daigon had mastered this craft, and with it nearly conquered the world and remade it in his own image. The Darkwatch, Synod, and the Five Kingdoms would ill afford to allow anyone an opportunity to wield such power ever again. And so Erigos and his subordinates had been sent 300 leagues from Azon into the heart of Nagath to destroy some artifact from Daigon's War.

They found that artifact in the upper reaches of the ruin. The stone causeway from the door went to a staircase coiled around a central pillar of volcanic stone, atop which was a viewing platform of sorts that gave Daigon's engineers a commanding view of the entirety of the structure's interior. In the center of the viewing platform was a raised stone dais and a stand of blue-tinged copper that held an armillary sphere of concentric rings of silvery metal. The rings orbited freely inside one another, tethered in place by some arcane force.

The Ordinators stood to behold the artifact before them, raptured in silent wonder.

One of the Ordinators removed his goggles from his face and stepped closer to inspect the device, slinging his bow over the shoulder. His eyes followed a flitting sliver of iridescent metal twirling inside of the rings. In the faint light of the burning gas sconces, the central needle shimmered dazzling shades of green, purple, and blue.

"In the center, is that.."

"Azjalum," Erigos declared. The rarest of all the precious metals.

There might have existed an ingot's worth of Azjalum in all of Geryon, as it doesn't naturally occur on this world. It could only be purified from some kinds of fallen stars or summoned from the Beyond. It was highly sensitive to magic and, rather predictably, strictly prohibited by the Darkwatch. Merchants were routinely arrested and tried by the Darkwatch simply for possessing little cogs and gears of Nagathi make; Erigos himself had confiscated a dozen cogwheels from a single wealthy collector in Azon. And so it was little wonder the Archlictor wanted this particular device so badly.

"What do you reckon it does?" Asked one of the Ordinators.

"Doesn't matter," spat the Ordinator nearest the sphere, watching the rings orbit about one another as he reached to pull the artifact from its stand. "It's dark magic, we're better off not knowing why the Dark Lord made these things. Our only concern is getting it to Azon so that the Archlictor may-"

The unmistakable sound of a repeater bow discharging could be heard behind him. Thwock-thwip, click. Once more, and then a third time.

The Ordinator turned and saw three of his companions laying on the stone gurgling bloody saliva out through their dustmasks. Each had a crossbow bolt embedded deep in their backs. Erigos stood above them, slinging his expended repeater bow over his shoulder as he drew his sword from its scabbard and closed the distance between him and his last surviving subordinate.

"The artifact is coming back to Azon," said Erigos as he planted his blade through the sternum of his comrade. "But the Archlictor will not be having it."
Brainstorming a character right now. Would you be open to someone playing the Prince’s asshole uncle? No worries if not.
@KitsuneWarrior

Looking great, friend! All good to go!


When can we make our first IC post? As soon as we’re accepted?
@KitsuneWarrior

Well, I'd like to have at least a basic idea. I completely understand your dislike of character sheets, however. If nothing else, please PM me with some of the details in mind for me to give them a glance? That aside, it looks good!


You got it. Added a blurb about Khayun's strengths and weaknesses.
@KitsuneWarrior

Your history looks great - but what about the rest of the sheet?


Glad you liked the history! :)

Details about the country, strengths, weaknesses, etc. I'd prefer to not lay right out on the table but rather introduce via IC. Honestly not a big fan of character sheets in general, but if you insist I can add those little details.
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