The good thing about this story, I think, is that we could continue with as many people as we've got as well as a few less. It would be sad to see them go for sure, but the story could survive. That being said it doesn't seem like anyone is planing to just disappear. So that's a good thing.
LadyAnnaLee Member
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STATUS: Every time I see an ad for a Ryan Reynolds film I think "That's so dumb." Then I go see said film and am blown away. I highly recommend "IF." 22 days ago
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Every time I see an ad for a Ryan Reynolds film I think "That's so dumb." Then I go see said film and am blown away. I highly recommend "IF."
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Outlive her children? Outlive her grandchildren? Suddenly the truth of that hit Darin like a ton of bricks. The work they were doing, both here today, and in their whole trip, would outlive Ridahne, and her children and her children’s children, and her children’s children’s children. It would outlive Ridahne’s descents for more generations than Darin cared to count at the moment. And yet she would get the chance to count them. And she wouldn’t just count the generations of Torenzis. She would count the generations for Thomas, for Milla, for more people than she could fathom. Darin would outlive them all.
She wouldn’t even be remembered. How many generations did it take before The Gardener’s name was forgotten? How many more until his true mission and home had faded into myth and legend? How many generations until no one knew him as a man and only knew him as The Gardener? How many years until all the people he knew personally had died? How long did it take until he had been a stranger, a myth, a legend, an untouchable, in a land he had helped create, but would never be home? How long until his family and friends were gone from anyone’s memories save his own.
Darin’s hands came up to grip tightly to her hair and skull as she stared unblinking at the ink that wouldn’t come up. How long until the only piece she had of Ridahne, her mother, Thomas, Milla, Talbot’s person, Harris, and others were only her faulty memories? She had planned for a life that was sixty, maybe seventy, years long, if her own clumsiness didn’t kill her first. She could barely comprehend living to Ridahne’s one hundred and three years. How could she live a life that was practically timeless? Her breathing was becoming sharp and erratic. Ravi said it was her, that it had always been her. Yet each realization, each truth that Darin finally forced herself to see, made her feel that much more lackluster. She was human. She was flawed. She was damaged. She was no one’s favorite. Even RIdahne, who she adored beyond all measure and couldn’t imagine a life without, was only here because it was her thigh The Seed was strapped to.
She looked at Ridahne with a pained smile on her face, “You’re right. It’s a lot of pressure. I didn’t realize how much when I asked you to do this.” She stood and forced a laugh out, “It still needs to be done, but we can take a break. The books aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Let’s get outside for a moment.”
Darin was quickly gathering papers and closing books. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t seem to control her breathing. Darin tried desperate to not let Ridahne see that. She needed to get out of this room. She needed to get out of this building. She needed to just breath. She couldn’t breathe. She just didn’t want it to seem like she was running. She was so tired of running, running form Ridahne and from responibilites. She just wasn’t sure how she could handle the weight of the world when she couldn’t even breath. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking and she dropped the papers that she was holding. She was moving too fast. Her limbs were jerky. She tried to collet the drawing again. They scattered again. Darin suddenly jabbed her nails into the flesh of her arm. She needed to get a flipping grip! She needed to breath!
She wouldn’t even be remembered. How many generations did it take before The Gardener’s name was forgotten? How many more until his true mission and home had faded into myth and legend? How many generations until no one knew him as a man and only knew him as The Gardener? How many years until all the people he knew personally had died? How long did it take until he had been a stranger, a myth, a legend, an untouchable, in a land he had helped create, but would never be home? How long until his family and friends were gone from anyone’s memories save his own.
Darin’s hands came up to grip tightly to her hair and skull as she stared unblinking at the ink that wouldn’t come up. How long until the only piece she had of Ridahne, her mother, Thomas, Milla, Talbot’s person, Harris, and others were only her faulty memories? She had planned for a life that was sixty, maybe seventy, years long, if her own clumsiness didn’t kill her first. She could barely comprehend living to Ridahne’s one hundred and three years. How could she live a life that was practically timeless? Her breathing was becoming sharp and erratic. Ravi said it was her, that it had always been her. Yet each realization, each truth that Darin finally forced herself to see, made her feel that much more lackluster. She was human. She was flawed. She was damaged. She was no one’s favorite. Even RIdahne, who she adored beyond all measure and couldn’t imagine a life without, was only here because it was her thigh The Seed was strapped to.
She looked at Ridahne with a pained smile on her face, “You’re right. It’s a lot of pressure. I didn’t realize how much when I asked you to do this.” She stood and forced a laugh out, “It still needs to be done, but we can take a break. The books aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Let’s get outside for a moment.”
Darin was quickly gathering papers and closing books. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t seem to control her breathing. Darin tried desperate to not let Ridahne see that. She needed to get out of this room. She needed to get out of this building. She needed to just breath. She couldn’t breathe. She just didn’t want it to seem like she was running. She was so tired of running, running form Ridahne and from responibilites. She just wasn’t sure how she could handle the weight of the world when she couldn’t even breath. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking and she dropped the papers that she was holding. She was moving too fast. Her limbs were jerky. She tried to collet the drawing again. They scattered again. Darin suddenly jabbed her nails into the flesh of her arm. She needed to get a flipping grip! She needed to breath!
@Tsar Gatto
The tags are kind of misleading. You have it tagged as both small group and large group. So it's hard to know what you, as the GM, are looking for.
But then again I'm not the best person to ask. Every group role-plays that I've been part of on this site has fizzled quickly. So in my experience group role-plays just don't work. I'm hoping this one goes better, but we already have people dropping.
The tags are kind of misleading. You have it tagged as both small group and large group. So it's hard to know what you, as the GM, are looking for.
But then again I'm not the best person to ask. Every group role-plays that I've been part of on this site has fizzled quickly. So in my experience group role-plays just don't work. I'm hoping this one goes better, but we already have people dropping.
Katrina Valance needed work and she needed work badly. Even throwing out the fact that she and Rolf needed to eat just taking care of all her weapons was a costly endeavor. She never had enough money. It didn’t help that she was trying to stay discreet. There were certain people that she didn’t want to find her. So, she didn’t take jobs that she knew she could handle easily simply because they were too high profile. She found herself chasing off practically harmless monsters from farmers’ fields. Well, the warrior supposed that wasn’t completely true. The monsters were harming people’s livelihoods, and Katrina truly didn’t mind assisting them They just couldn’t pay much, and she felt bad for taking more gold than the job was honestly worth. At least the farmers and their families wouldn’t let her and Rolf leave without full stomachs.
Which brought her to now. She had heard tales of werewolf harrying people. Well that just wouldn’t stand. So she had strapped on every blade and weapon she had and made the trek. Katrina was not the only warrior that had heeded the calling for fighters. She looked around at the people assembled in curiosity. That one looked like a child, and that one looked like a vagabond pretending to be something he wasn’t. There was a Leonin, several Half-Elves, what looked like a Half-Orc, and more than a few humans. It certainly was an odd bunch. She was far from the oddest one here.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t odd. She was decked out in riding leathers, steel armor, and just about every type of weapon imaginable. That wasn’t even an exaggeration. She had more than enough knifes, at least five different types of swords, a bow and arrows, a whip, and those were the ones that were easily spotted. She also had a ball and chain around her neck, a poisoned ring on her finger, and each hair stick in her tightly braided halo of chestnut brown hair doubled as a sharp pointy thing. There were also countless knifes hidden in her boots and coat. She wasn’t the tallest one here, but she still felt like she towered over the, with her solid form and perfect posture. Her grey eyes were hard, unrelenting, and unforgiving. She had clearly some for a fight.
She listened to the Duchess’s captain as she twirled a silver edged dagger around and around and around over and over again. Her eyes were not on her dagger or on the speaker. Instead they were on the forest that contained the threat. Her already hardened eyes narrowed at the fact that the werewolves were also kidnappers. That had not been in the information her contact had given her. This whole thing just kept getting better and better. Katrina scowled. Why were they wasting time on chitchat when there were children in danger?
Finally, they were cut loose form the talking. Katrina headed into the forest as she let out a soft clear single note whistle. Rolf, her great hawk, soared from the trees to sink his talons into the leather shoulder pad designed for that purpose. He was clearly a warrior’s bird. He had on a breastplate that matched Katrina’s. What could she say? She was a fighter and a monster hunter first and foremost. She was also a woman, and was vain enough, and self-aware enough, to like looking good and put together. So,if it meant Rolf matched, the bird would have matching accessories.
It wasn’t long before the group actually encountered the natural wolves that the werewolves had somehow dragged into their pack. Katrina scowled at the distraction, but she still fought as if her life and the lives of others depending on it. She had drawn the rapier from her hip and was using both the silver dagger and the sword to hack and slash her way through the pack. It wasn’t an easy fight at all, but it wasn’t difficult. It was mainly just tedious. From the corner of her eyes she could see others fighting their own wolves. Just how many of them were there?
Then from the corner of her eye she saw one of her companions in trouble. She planted the rapier in the ground, reached into the pouch on her thigh, and threw the throwing dagger in one fluid motion. The knife embedded itself in the side of the wolf. Another whistle from her and a pointed finger had Rolf diving at the wolf’s eyes with his talons. Katrina yanked the rapier out of the ground and practically stalked towards the three wolves circling the small warrior messing around with an instrument. The fighter could only hope that he was a music-based mage of some sort. She kicked a wolf with a grunt as she stabbed the creature with her knife.
She planted herself between the person who barely came to her knees with her sword held in front of her face and wisps of hair escaping her braid, “Get that fixed!” Her voice was harsher then she intended as she order, “Now!”
@JJ Doe
Darin scowled, but didn’t argue when Ridahne mentioned not covering up her Seed-Chained mark completely. This was just going to have to be one of those things that Darin let go of. She didn’t like that. She didn’t like it one little bit. She supposed that she could force the issue to resolve her way because she was The Seed-Bearer, but Darin had already basically bullied Ridahne into creating a new Ojih mark. The human didn’t want to abuse her power, especially in regard to her friend. That didn’t mean she had to be happy about it. Because she wasn’t. Still she would let it be and not bring it up again.
Instead she continued to scowl as she pulled the stack of papers towards her. Darin had vague ideas of what a quill was. That didn’t mean she knew how to use one. When learning to write the elder that taught the children her age had created sticks by missing charcoal and tallow and then wrapping the shaped sticks in fabric and twine. Darin had never advanced to quills. It hurt to hold the thin sticks for too long and her page always wound up covered in black marks and her face was the same. Looking back that may have been the first time then elders decided that she was going to be difficult. Darin grew morose as she thought about it. She had really tried to get it right. She tried as hard as she could. She had wanted to impress her teachers. She hadn’t and while that wasn’t the last time, she tried to impress the elders it was certainly the last time she tried that hard.
Apprehensively Darin watched Ridhane and her long graceful fingers to see how it was done. Then, hesitantly, Darin copied the movements. She knew that this was going to be a disaster the moment she picked up the quill. It was even thinner than the charcoal sticks that she was used to. Her hand already hurt. She gritted her teeth as she dipped the quill into the inkwell before moving it towards the page. A heavy droplet of ink fell on the page to create a stark black blot. Darin wouldn’t let that defeat her. She placed the quill tip on the page to draw out a line, only to press to hard and tear the page. Okay, this was not going well. Darin carefully put the ruin page to the side before moving to redip the quill. Only she moved to fast and her arm bumped the inkwell and sent it toppling over. Letting out a shout of panic she lunged for the inkwell and set it upright to prevent more ink from spilling. Then, seeing where the ink was heaing, Darin let out another shout and quickly dive for the book that was in peril. The blank pages went flying. The inkwell landed on the ground, and Darin’s shirt wound up covered in ink. The books were all safe though.
Darin quickly began to stutter, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry.”
Unbidden a thought came to her mind. ”You know the elders say Martian Left cause of something Talia did. I bet they’re wrong. I bet it’s you fault. I beat her couldn’t stand having a clumsy daughter that can’t even dance without stepping on toes or walk without tripping.”
There she had gone again, being a clumsy fool, knocking over inkwells, falling off cliffs, tripping over things that weren’t there. It was made worse by the fact that the ink had to be ruining the table and the floor. At least the books weren’t hurt. Darin carefully book the book with the traitors’ mark in it to the side as she got gone to the floor to try and contain the damage. Tears pricked at her eyes and she tried to blink them away. She wasn’t going to cry in front of Ridahne. She wanted the Elf to like her, to be impressed with her, to think she was worth something, anything. She didn’t want the Elf to leave. Not like him. Her apologies had yet to falter.
Instead she continued to scowl as she pulled the stack of papers towards her. Darin had vague ideas of what a quill was. That didn’t mean she knew how to use one. When learning to write the elder that taught the children her age had created sticks by missing charcoal and tallow and then wrapping the shaped sticks in fabric and twine. Darin had never advanced to quills. It hurt to hold the thin sticks for too long and her page always wound up covered in black marks and her face was the same. Looking back that may have been the first time then elders decided that she was going to be difficult. Darin grew morose as she thought about it. She had really tried to get it right. She tried as hard as she could. She had wanted to impress her teachers. She hadn’t and while that wasn’t the last time, she tried to impress the elders it was certainly the last time she tried that hard.
Apprehensively Darin watched Ridhane and her long graceful fingers to see how it was done. Then, hesitantly, Darin copied the movements. She knew that this was going to be a disaster the moment she picked up the quill. It was even thinner than the charcoal sticks that she was used to. Her hand already hurt. She gritted her teeth as she dipped the quill into the inkwell before moving it towards the page. A heavy droplet of ink fell on the page to create a stark black blot. Darin wouldn’t let that defeat her. She placed the quill tip on the page to draw out a line, only to press to hard and tear the page. Okay, this was not going well. Darin carefully put the ruin page to the side before moving to redip the quill. Only she moved to fast and her arm bumped the inkwell and sent it toppling over. Letting out a shout of panic she lunged for the inkwell and set it upright to prevent more ink from spilling. Then, seeing where the ink was heaing, Darin let out another shout and quickly dive for the book that was in peril. The blank pages went flying. The inkwell landed on the ground, and Darin’s shirt wound up covered in ink. The books were all safe though.
Darin quickly began to stutter, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry.”
Unbidden a thought came to her mind. ”You know the elders say Martian Left cause of something Talia did. I bet they’re wrong. I bet it’s you fault. I beat her couldn’t stand having a clumsy daughter that can’t even dance without stepping on toes or walk without tripping.”
There she had gone again, being a clumsy fool, knocking over inkwells, falling off cliffs, tripping over things that weren’t there. It was made worse by the fact that the ink had to be ruining the table and the floor. At least the books weren’t hurt. Darin carefully book the book with the traitors’ mark in it to the side as she got gone to the floor to try and contain the damage. Tears pricked at her eyes and she tried to blink them away. She wasn’t going to cry in front of Ridahne. She wanted the Elf to like her, to be impressed with her, to think she was worth something, anything. She didn’t want the Elf to leave. Not like him. Her apologies had yet to falter.
I do. I have no idea what it is. Give me a minute.
Meh. Give Katrina a week with Olo and she'll probably kill anything that threatens him. If she doesn't kill Ronan of Fayren first. So we might be okay. Maybe.
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