LancerDancer

Legions: Rise of Rome

PhoenixWhite said
No, Musket. It's on me. It was my post and I ended up setting it to the side for a bit, then neglected to check back for a few days. It's not you. I don't even have a reason aside from neglect either, so many apologies.

For your honesty, you may remain in the RP.

This can serve as your only warning though, because it ... well to put it kindly, fucks things up for everyone else.

Still, if you wish to continue with us, you may, and I hope this serves as a valuable lesson to everyone. However I cannot promise a repeat of my lenience in the future.

Legions: Rise of Rome

So Boerd said
Military tribune is below legate. We have tribunes under us. Propraetors are better.

£%£$&%"£$"" there's always one.

Tribuni militum consulari potestate, my friend, tribuni militum consulari potestate. An old office, enacted in times of turmoil, where four of six of them would take the place of the Consuls. Without enveloping people in the hideous complexity of the senate, I had planned to use the roles as temporary stand-ins during the Peoples' Assembly.

Excuse me whilst I go and make that perfectly clear in the IC :)

EDIT: Consular Tribune. Same thing, friendlier name. Now leave me alone, I've got a pizza in the oven and I'll be damned if you make me burn it.

Legions: Rise of Rome

Time for you guys to elect a leader, discuss who should be eligible to fight for Rome, and to propose a change to the way in which legions are composed.

Legions: Rise of Rome

The Massacre at Eporedia

It has been a long time since the Roman army has suffered what even the Senate considers as a "catastrophic defeat".

The Consular Army facing the Carthaginians in the north lies in ruins; its troops carpeting the base of the Alps like a bloody decoration of grim foretelling.

Thousands lost, heroes felled, and to what end? Hannibal has free reign of the north now, and he has not relented in his determination to bring Rome to its knees. Already, the Veneti who only a few months previous had been brought into the Republic's borders are revolting. Garrisons in Liguria have already fallen to the locals. The north of Italy burns, and in the midst of it all, the greatest son of Carthage rides down the middle.

Consul Tiberius Sempronius Longus is dead, and his seat at the head of Rome lies idle. Fortunate, though it is, that Hannibal returned his body to his peoples for proper burial; a kind act lost in the brutality of the man's battle tactics.

From afar, Rome's ancient enemy in Illryia has regained his confidence, and already Apollonia lays besieged by a force of twenty thousand Illyrian warriors.

Merchants talk of an Athenian-Spartan union, and of the resurgent power of Macedon. Will these foreign states see Rome's defeat as a beacon of weakness? Will they too try their luck with her frail borders?

No.

Already, Consul Publius Cornelius Scipio is marching north with the First and Second legions, and with over twenty thousand Etruscans swelling his ranks. He will meet Hannibal outside of Velathri, relying on the sheer prevalence of numbers to blunt the Carthaginian spearhead.

In Rome, the Senate has called for a Peoples' Assembly. Though with the sole remaining Consul busy with the war, the floor is given to he who wishes to speak.

The Peoples' Assembly

Rome is alive with anguish. Men and women hurry through the streets, decrying the end times, as news reaches the city of the slaughter in the north. Panic strikes the populace, and many prepare to flee southwards into Naples - though Hannibal is yet far away.

Escaping the anger and the desperation of the mob, the Senate of Rome has gathered on the city's outskirts under heavily armed guard. Around a tall and solid oak tree, two hundred senators gather to discuss Rome's future, and her moves to repel the Carthaginian threat in the event of Scipio's defeat.

Issues Voiced

Consul Election - Consul Scipio has declined to elect the successor of his deceased counterpart, and leaves it to the surviving Legates to decide who will replace Tiberius Sempronius Longus. Who would best fill the role?

Recruitment Reforms - Currently, a Roman soldier must be a citizen of the Republic, and hold relative wealth to be eligible for recruitment. Furthermore, Roman cavalry relies on the richer classes, who can afford their own horse, to propel the legionary flanking wings. Specialists, such as archers and slingers, are consistently drafted from mercenaries and non-Roman cities. With the Consular Army in ruins, and Scipio's legions representing Rome's last combat effective force, there is clamour from within the Senate to lower the recruitment boundaries and expand the existing focus of the legions from heavy infantry into more dynamic roles. How far should Rome be prepared to change her time-tested ways to adapt to the threat of Hannibal?

The Roman Problem - Rome stands alone, though she holds sway over Italy. There are those within the Senate who feel that her allies, such as those in Velathri, Naples and Ariminum, should be made Roman citizens. This would surely not only bind Rome's client-states into a tighter alliance, but also boost the current man power availability to her legions considerably. Does Rome need to expand her sovereignty over the peninsula? Or should she remain as she always has? Singular, yet coherent?

In wake of the crisis, all surviving Legates have been given the redundant title of Consular Tribune, thus giving their voice in the Senate a considerable boost. Combined, theoretically their power equates to that of a Consul, however it has been noted that their roles will last only for the duration of the assembly.

Legions: Rise of Rome

Dedonus said
I'm just waiting on 3 other people to post (since there is a posting order), so...

Duly noted. In my defence, I did a head count prior to putting up the battle, and did not foresee the insta-drop outs as a result. No matter, when I get home from work we'll soon have things moving again. Should have intervened sooner, but I was hoping people wouldn't dick things up so allowed more time.

Legions: Rise of Rome

Last chance to get this battle moving forwards, or it'll translate into an automatic catastrophic defeat, costing us northern Italy.

Beleagured City (No CS/Low Fantasy/War/Player Driven)

Haralt Ganir was a humble man, with humble intents. The son of a meagre blacksmith, he followed in his father's footsteps in metal craft. At the forge he toiled for sixteen hours a day, learning to bend the world's elements to his will, and fashioning them into tools and weapons. He married young, as was custom, but his wife died in childbirth - along with his first and only son. Life was rough is Elsrador however, and the tragic events did not ruin him.

When war broke out with the Blasted Lands, thousands of miles away to the west back when the Empire still held relevance, Haralt did well. There was much demand for good metal working in those early days, and he was capable - though not the best by any means. He slaved away for months, and years, to provide the armies of mankind with the weapons they needed to drive back the Porchling threat.

And now he stood watching his kinsmen buckling before the ruined gate of his home, as a mass of evil hatred threatened to break them.

Haralt was not a sworn brother of the City Watch, but such as the situation was, he could hardly stay out of the battle. Problem was, he was afraid to die; the thought of being gnawed to death by the broken teeth of a Porchling warband sat badly in his stomach. He should turn, flee, and take refuge in the temples with the holymen and their elderly charges. Or the King's keep, perhaps? With the pregnant women and the babes?

"No," he sighed, despite the racket of battle battering at his ears. "No running now, Haralt."

The heavy hammer in his right hand trembled with anxiety. The thick chain covering his body was stifling. Sweat ran in rivers down his chest and back.

"Rationalise man," he muttered. "If they lose the gate, no temple or keep is going to save you. You have to fight."

With uncertain feet, he edged himself towards the melee, looking for a 'suitable' place to position himself. Somewhere, where he could help, but not somewhere he would quickly become a forgotten hero.

Beleagured City (No CS/Low Fantasy/War/Player Driven)

You throw your weight against the faltering oak of the main gateway. Dozens join you. A press of flesh and steel strives against the impending blow of a capped battering ram.

BANG.

You and your fellows are thrown backwards by the terrible force of impact, and just like that, the gate that has protected your peoples for so long crumbles into splinters and firewood. Some gasp in dismay, others whimper; few growl.

"Form up, form up!" calls the Watch Captain, running across your group with his sword shimmering in the firelight of the burning thatch behind. "Elsrador calls you, calls you to full-fill your duties as sworn Brothers and Sisters."

Jeers and blood curdling roars blast from the tattered hole that was once the city's main gate. The Porchlings have come, and with them they bring the promise of death, rape, pillage and enslavement.

"You die in chains, or you die right here in this courtyard," bellows the Watch Captain, lifting his plumbed helm to reveal a handsome face and blonde curls. "Form up, form up!"

His latest words rouse your spirit, and the spirits of your kinsmen. The air is suddenly thick with scraping metal as shields lock, and spears are presented. Within seconds the years of training shows promise, and a impenetrable hedge of bristling steel tips semicircles the breached gate.

"Elsrador!" yells the Watch Captain, lowering his helm again. He takes his place at the head of your shield wall with grim determination.

Kings may hide behind castles, and Lords behind their titles, but a true man hides behind nothing. He offers himself to the jaws of the abyss, and in the darkness he finds himself. The Watch Captain is such a man.

"Elsrador!" you shout in reply, and your voice is bolstered by the repetition of many.

The Porchlings, hulking creatures a slight larger than a man, spur themselves through the gate. They are a fearsome foe, with skin inflamed red from the iron plates welded to their flesh. Their teeth resemble jagged rocks, and their little yellow eyes look at you excitedly from behind their permanent visors. No army of Men has ever stood against them in the field, and no Kingdom has ever repelled them from its borders.

"Brace!" roars the Watch Captain, bringing his glimmering kite shield to bear.

The Porchlings crash into the spear wall. Shafts snap, shields tremble, but you and your peers do not break. Your foe's hide is of armoured plate, and spears are little use against the chest or the stomach - but the neck? The pit of the arms? Every joint and point of movement is a weakness ready to be exploited.

After several seconds of pressing into your shield - holding back the snapping jaws of your immediate enemy with the blunted point of your spear - you and your kin make for a mighty heave. The Porchlings find themselves thrown back, and now it is your time to turn the tide of this war.

You thrust, your spear catches a Porchling in the neck and it falls backwards; black blood arcs in a stream.

Then they are on you again, crashing into you and your kin. The line buckles slightly. A curved sword juts past your face.

The Watch Captain shouts, "heave!"

And again, you heave. The Porchlings break apart from you by a few feet, and once more, you lunge forwards.

RP Summary

Hello, and welcome.

The city of Elsrador is on the verge of defeat, as a vast horde of Porchlings descend upon it.

Pick up your sword and shield, and drive them back!

Other Fluff

- No character sheets. Join by posting in the IC.

- Male and female characters allowed.

- Custom races allowed.

- No magic.

- Lore is player made.

- GMing is democratic. If a majority of players do not like what you're doing, then don't do it. Or else.

- Have fun!

Regicide: Talons in the Night

LokiLeo789 said
I almost got scared to post here, I thought this was the OCC, and I had post on the IC :PI'm really interested in this I would like to join.

Fantastic, we do not need many - just a handful will do.

And yeah, I'm sorry if it was a bit confusing. I like to make the RPs first, put them into the interest check, and see how they fare before I take it further. Nothing worse in my opinion than throwing out a vague idea in an interest thread, getting loads of supporters, and then creating something that ends up not being to everyone's tastes. Better to advertise as sold, I say.

Regicide: Talons in the Night

Regicide: Talons in the Night

City of Greffin

Made with this.

In the sprawling city of Greffin, a king sleeps.

His dreams are mired in his misdeeds, though this does not trouble him. He likes to relive the things he has done, does this king. He marvels in the brutality of his actions; in the defilement he inflicts on others. From having a thousand starving peasants put upon spikes for refusing his taxes, to taking children into his marital bed, the king loves it all. He loves it because he alone can do it. He alone holds the authority to do wrong to others with impunity.

Generals and lesser lords meld his banner. Thousands march in armour, charging valiantly into the homes of those who resist him; their sole duty in life is to defend their Liege, and in doing so, they must propel the scythe of his genocide.

Dissent is a bloody affair, and Castle Greffin holds plentiful chambers dedicated to the art of pain inducement. None are spared from them. Even the innocent, and the loyal, are thrown into their black depths on a whim. The king, he likes to watch, you see. He likes to hear the screams, the pleading and the sullen sound of submission. It warms his black heart.

The Kingdom of Ashendor is a broken place. Happiness finds no home here, and even foreign powers steer clear from the one they call "The Black King".

All stay clear of King Alfonso the Gouger.

All but those rare few. Those who have lost all that can be taken from them. Those who have been stripped into cold indifference. Those who live only for vengeance. Those, perhaps, who would be better off ending it all themselves.

In the sprawling city of Greffin, a king will die tonight.

RP Summary

Hello, and welcome.

This RP deals in simplicity and a player driven plot with a singular goal. If this is not your palette, then read no further.

Each player takes on the character of an assassin. The kind of assassin you may wish to field is down to you; be it the classic, albeit well worn mantle of the Assassin's Creed style professional killers, or the more colourful varieties. A man, wronged by someone well beyond his station, with no military training and only a fire burning in his heart to drive him forwards, would make for a better tale than a fully fledged hired sword with decades in the business, if you ask me, but I do not care.

Your character's goal? To kill King Alfonso the Gouger. He is a fat, short man of fifty winters with a stupid white beard and a balding scalp. A thick mole nestles upon his upper lip, complimenting his rotting teeth like a jewel in a necklace. His eyes are dark, yet small. His voice is squeaky, as if it never broke. It is said the mere sight of him drives men to their darkest depths through sheer disgust.

Hundreds of his troops patrol the streets of Ashendor's capital city, Greffin.

Agents of the Dark Table scour the alleyways, seeking dissenters and trouble makers. Fear them, for though they speak with a friendly tongue, their true interest is in rooting out a threat to their king.

Every fifteen minutes, guillotines thump at the necks of the unfortunate.

It is midnight, there is no moon, and a light rain. Your time to exact revenge is at hand.

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Character Sheet

I do not believe in character sheets, unless they are essential to the functioning of the RP. Indeed, I prefer characters to be developed solely through the course of the IC. When was the last time you opened a book, and on the fist ten pages found a list of characters detailing their hair colour, sexuality, bio, weapons and favourite food? Never, that's the answer.

Players join this RP by simply posting in the IC.

The setting is medieval low-fantasy. This means no magic, no zombies and no enchanted weapons. Custom races are allowed, however Greffin is a largely human city, and grotesque creations will stand out like a sore thumb. The Agents of the Dark Table will no doubt take interest in them, should they be spotted.

Early gunpowder is in existence, though rarely used - and very loud.

Femme-fatales welcome. A vengeful blade does not care for the gender of its owner.

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SUFFICIENT INTEREST WILL SPAWN AN OCC IN THE LIVE RP AREA