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Who am I? I’m a super geek who grew up in the 80’s with the old D&D cartoon, He-Man and the Thundercats. I’ve taken that geekiness into my adulthood along with a love and passion for writing. I want to delight you with my weird and wonderful tales of heroic derring-do and my eclectic yet memorable cast of characters.

Let me into your role play world — we will do wonderful things together.

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Awesome, fire me up a CS and we can take it from there.
The Hidden Kingdom

Behind the walls of an impenetrable mountain range, deep within the Unapproachable East, there lies a kingdom of unimaginable beauty. A kingdom where the walls are set with beautiful rubies, and where the streets are lined with gold and inlaid with glittering gems. There, inside this lost kingdom, the streams run with silver, and the people that live within.....they live lives of idyllic tranquility.

It was not always so.

Once, many hundreds of years ago, there dwelt an evil warlord by the name of Ambuchar Devayam. The ruler of a fell realm of demonic oni, the warlord travelled down the Great Silk Road, deep into the mountains of this mysterious realm, and he spied the hidden kingdom of unearthly beauty. Devayam, desirous of this kingdom, vowed to conquer it and bring its subjects under his rule. Returning to his realm, he raised an army of demons and hurled them against the kingdom in his obsession.

This hidden kingdom, this Shangri-La of humankind was not defenceless though. Inside its walls, the fiercest monks and martial artists gathered, and with the courage and blessing of the Padhrasattava, stood against the approaching demon army. Standing at their head was the blessed of the gods themselves, Tsenya Garbo, their leader. Tsenya, realising that hundreds of thousands of lives would be lost in the battle, instead challenged the warlord to single combat. If Devayam won, he would have Tsenya's realm for himself. If he lost, he would have to take his army and leave, never to return for five hundred years. In his pride, the warlord accepted the terms, so convinced was he that he would win the duel.

The two of them battled with both sword and spell for three days and three nights in a war that seemed that it would never end, so perfectly matched were the two. Yet at the end of their bloody conflict, Tsenya Garbo finally emerged victorious.

Defeated and bloodied, the warlord nevertheless honoured the terms of their battle -- the gods themselves demanded no less. Taking his army, Ambuchar Devayam retreated to the empire of Solon, and there he consolidated the grip on his throne. As he did so, he kept his jealous eyes on the beautiful realm he so desired for his own, even as he once more built up his power. And as years rolled into decades rolled into centuries, the warlord remained patient, for the time would come when the terms of their conflict would pass, and the time would come to strike once more.

And as the years passed, Tsenya Garbo grew old and complacent. So certain in his belief that he was protected and beloved by the gods, he became nothing more than a shadow of the man that he once was. And as the armies of Solon gathered their strength once more, and the warlord began to dream his dreams of conquest, his victory seemed all but inevitable......

Five hundred years have passed since that fateful battle, and whilst Tsenya Garbo has forgotten that which came before, the warlord once again turns his gaze eastwards.....


Soon, the Unapproachable East will erupt into the bloodiest and deadliest conflict that the world has ever seen. And into the middle of this conquest, a group of adventurers will stumble into the centre of this deadly situation. Lost and alone, they are tasked with averting a war between two kingdoms. Soon however, this mission will become one of deadly import for them.

And thus begins an epic quest set in a mystical and beautiful part of the world that has only been seen by the luckiest few. This will be a tale of life, of love and heroism against almost unimaginable odds. This is a tale of beautiful princesses, a tale of fearsome dragons, of demons and the living dead, and of knights in shining armour. It is a tale that will live on, both in this world and the world beyond. It is a tale that you will carry in the deepest parts of your heart and soul for forevermore.

Will our heroes become the destined champions that fate would decree them to be, or will they be lost in the shadow that sweeps over the land?

Come forward my champions -- come be the protectors of the weak, and the heroes you were always destined to be.

This is an epic quest the likes of which the world has never seen before....and will never see again.

Please submit your applications in the following format:

About the Game:

As Beatrice attended to his wound, Morgan glanced at her. As she worked over him, the way she moved....the way she acted, a memory surfaced within him.


"Stay still now. You'll make it worse."

The girl gazed at him with eyes of clearest blue, as her golden locks fell to her shoulders. Trying to stand, Morgan was felt with the resistance of a hand as she pushed him back down.

"They say you're the best huh?"7

Her tone was none too impressed as she looked down at him, lying there with a bandage over his head.

"Is that how you got that head wound sparring with your crewmates, or was it just typical laddish boisterousness?"

Lying back down, Morgan laughed, turning his head around to face her.

"Who bit you this morning? Are you always in this much of a bad mood?"

The sound of her sigh was the sort of sound that one would make when they were tired of dealing with complete and utter imbeciles. "I suggest physical activity to make sure your cognitive faculties, lacking though they are, are not damaged from the blow you took. I suggest the pool."

Picking up a bag of supplies, the girl threw them over at him. "I hope you're ready for a swim."

Catching the supplies, Morgan grinned, still looking to her. "I still got it," he stuck out his tongue as he glanced down to the bag he held. "What's your name?"

The blonde girl turned around, looking at him, her blue eyes glinting from the hint of curiosity.

"Vanna. My name is Vanna."


She tossed him a bag of supplies and his gear and she told him "I hope you're ready for a swim."

Catching the supplies, Morgan grinned, still looking to her. "I still got it," he said, looking down to the bag he held.

Beginning to stick out his tongue at her, he suddenly paused..... His face drained of colour and his blood turned to ice.


The sound of his voice....there, for a second, it was broken.....smashed like a glass dropped to the floor. But of course, the woman standing before him wasn't Vanna. Vanna had died in his arms. Nor was it anything more than the ghost of a memory that simply would not let him go. Shaken, Morgan turned away from her. Opening the bag with trembling hands, he looked inside to see the gear that she had put inside it. Nodding his head in approval, Morgan kept his face turned away from her. Zipping the bag back up, he went over to a storage container to the back of the cockpit. Opening it, he took out two wetsuits. Throwing one to Beatrice while still keeping his face away from her, Morgan quickly donned the second one.

As Beatrice put on the other wetsuit, Morgan strapped the oxygen canister to his back, and placed the mask over his face.

Walking over to the console, he glanced out of the window as the Falcon continued to sink. The underwater world passed them by on the outside. On the odd occasion he could see shadowy shapes flitting in and out of view as they plummeted down.....still further down. Yet there was no choice, irrespective of the danger. This was something that they had to do.

Finally looking back to Beatrice, he simply nodded to see that she was ready.

Then he flipped the switch to open the pod.
When Beatrice pulled him away from the controls, Morgan's head was hurting badly. His vision was darkened from the blood that spilled out from the open wound in his forehead. As she laid him down, the one thought prevalent in his consciousness was the fact that he no longer had the flight stick.....was no longer in control of what went on on the ship.

Her words went in and out of his ear amidst a cacophony of ringing noise. Trying to rise, he struggled to get to his feet. His head spun, and spun, and spun, and spun......

Outside the cockpit, the darkness of space went, transmogrifying into the blueness of the sky as the pod entered the atmosphere. He felt the temperature rise as the pod continued to hurtle down, coming down, down, down....

"Brace for impact!"

He heard that loud and clear.

"Beatrice...." he gasped, struggling to find the words.

And as he tried to rise unsuccessfully once more, as his exploded into bright light as he slumped back down, Morgan wondered if this time he had pushed it too far, and whether this would be the time that he died. His mouth turned into the slightest of smiles at the thought.... I've earned this.....this rest. I deserve this. Closing his eyes for a second, Morgan lay his head back down, ready to join the ghosts that haunted him.

What is the point in living when you don't feel alive?

Every night since it had happened...... It was always the same. Terrible, terrible dreams that haunted his subconscious like a dark angel hovering over him, bloody scythe in its hand. The dream always took him back to the same place. The place they had met. Yet here, now, in this hollow mockery of a place conjured up by the darkest recesses of his diseased mind, there was nothing. Nothing but an empty wasteland inhabited by ghosts and shadows.

Echoes of what once was, but could never be again. And so he searched. He searched for her, and although his dreaming mind conjured up a hundred or more ghosts, each bearing her face.....her body, they were nothing but empty, decaying husks. And although these spirits looked like her, his Vanna, although they moved like her, spoke like her, told him that she loved him, it was all a whispered lie. She was gone, and Morgan could no longer be sure that it wasn't he who was the husk.

Although these ghostly doppelgängers stole her face and body, they could never be her. Vanna was gone now. Gone forevermore. And Morgan wondered, deep down, why the dark angel's scythe had not fallen upon him.

He jerked up sharply at impact. Yet he did not die. They did not die. In fact there was no impact. Blinking, trying to ignore the pain flashing in his head, he looked out the see water. Lots of water.

"Beatrice," he whispered. "We're underwater...."
Yup, waiting on some more characters/responses before I start this though.
Merrill shook his head, holding onto her.

"There's nothing to apologise for Callie. Nothing at all. It'll all be ok."

He hadn't ever had to comfort anyone before, and so Merrill was a little unsure about whether he was doing it properly. Eventually he settled for just patting her back awkwardly. The night was drawing on, and it had been a long night indeed..... In the distance the fire became nothing more than a damp smoulder.

Still holding Callie to him, Merrill lay his head on hers.

"You'll make it, I promise," he whispered to her.


The next thing he knew, sunlight was streaming down into the small grotto. Its light reflected off the surface of the water which ran next to him. His eyes flickered open slightly, taking in the small sliver of light that illuminated their surroundings. The feeling of a small weight on his chest drew his attention. Glancing down, Merrill saw Callie's head, still laying on him, her eyes closed. They must have both fallen asleep from their exertions the night before.

Wincing inwardly, Merrill stood, gently moving Callie off him and withdrawing his arm from around her.

That was inexcusable, an inner voice hissed at him. You were supposed to stand watch over her as she slept. The demon could have come back....or your sister, or worse. You could have lost your charge because of your incompetence.

Sighing softly, Merrill walked over to the river. Sitting down there on the riverbank, he crossed his legs, and he watched the river as it flowed eastwards.

And as he did, he reflected on the fact that that was the first night he could remember for a long long time that he didn't have any nightmares.
Pressing the button, the world around them became a blur. The stars shot by them as they tore their own way through the multiverse. And as they did so, little did they realise that they were heading towards destiny.

The planet they were heading towards had only been seen in passing by the Galacticus's sensors. Noone had been to it, and as far as Morgan knew, they were about to be the first of humanity to set foot on it.

He should have been excited.....but he was not. All he felt inside of him was a barren, nothingness, and it was the nothingness that had consumed him slowly from within. The drink was a balm.....when he was drunk, it numbed the grief that he felt inside of him. But what it could not take away was her face. Her face, her eyes as she looked at him.....looked at him as she fell, begging him to help. That, inasmuch as he tried.....he was too late. It ate away at him, his dreams.....nightmares. The same one every single night, and each night he watched the same terrible vision. He was too slow. He was always too slow.

There was nothing he could do that night.....or was there? Was it his own failure that Vanna was dead? Her corpse nothing but empty vacuum now as it had been shot out into space, the way that she wanted.

Those women.....the women that he took to his bed. They all wore her face. They all had her eyes. And they all looked at him in that same accusing way.

You couldn't save me. You were too slow, and I am dead because of it.

Morgan should have been excited, yet like all things, like his bravado and his manner, it was an empty fake thing. Deep down, he hoped, as he hoped every time, that this mission would be his last.

And every time, every single morning he was disappointed. And every single day, the ghosts continued to follow him. They....she watched him.....and she waited for him to die.

All the sounds becoming distant,
Breathing easy,
As I melt in to the ground,
There is calmness on the water,
Moving slowly,
No darkness hiding here,
A strange kind of comfort,
Maybe this time it's good for me,
Took a while to get there,
So many days of falling apart,

There was a strange kind of in oblivion.

The red flash shook Morgan from his reverie. Eyes blinking in alarm, Morgan glanced over to the console, to the red blinking light warning of an object that had come into close proximity to them.....

" did it get past your charts.....?"

He moved his hand to the flight stick, trying to twist the pod of its way, out of the collision path that it was on...... But he was too late.

Too late once again Morgan. You're always too late. You couldn't save me, and you couldn't save yourself or your partner.....

The asteroid smashed into the side of the pod. The impact caused an explosion from behind. Morgan's head jerks forwards, slamming straight into the console. All of a sudden as pain ripped through him, his vision turns red as blood pours from where his head had split open...... Gasping, as white lights suddenly flashed across his eyes, mixed with the blood that dripped over the sparking console, he reaches out, punching buttons into the damaged console desperately.

The pod was spinning, round and round and round and round and round and........

"Beatrice......we have to land......nearest planet......NOW!"

His vision suddenly blacked for the briefest of seconds as he closed his hand on the stick again, trying to pull the Falcon back under control as it went spinning out of control.....

And as he did, he looked up to see her face, looking back at him once more.
My name is Merrill Anwin. Once, long ago, I was just like you.

He wakes, to the sound of horses and the motion of wheels moving. Opening his eyes, the first thing he sees is the sight of a raven haired beauty looking to him with an expression of concern on her features. She was wearing a long, flowing dress of multi colours, a garment that framed her beautiful, lithe form to perfection. Hanging from her neck was a beautiful emerald set within a golden pendant. She had worn the amulet for as long as Merrill had known her.

Dulcimae. Sister. The Dark of the Moon.

Sitting up slowly, Merrill winces at the sudden shooting sensation of agony that knifed its way through his gut. Dulcimae stood, laying a hand on his chest to settle him, pressing him down gently.

"Not this way. It should not be this way. You took a nasty wound from the sword."

Dark eyes looked down at his bare chest as worry flickered across them. Glancing down, Merrill saw the bloodstained bandage wrapped around his bare torso as she continued.

"It could have been worse though. Despite the fact that the man struck from the shadows, you managed to react just in time to avoid the worst of the blow. Either you have cat-like reflexes, or you were born with the gift. Except we know that that is impossible of course."

Laughing softly, the expression not lessening the worry in her eyes, Dulcimae stood. She missed the brief, pained expression crossing Merrill's features as he grimaced, and not from the pain. In all the years of their people, there had only been one recorded instance of a male child born with the sight that had lived to adulthood, and that man had been hunted down and killed. Legend told of a prophecy that a male born child with the sight would bring about the doom of their kind.

Dukkar, or Darklings as they were called, often showed their abilities early, and such children were killed before they grew to adulthood, and old enough to be a threat.

Merrill tried to rose again, but Dulcimae shook her head, pressing him down gently once more. "Rest, brother. Please, for me. Mother and Father have things in hand. We will cross the border tonight. We are clear of the bandits."

Dulcimae's eyes reflected her worry. Since childhood, the siblings had been inseparable. Their bond was one of blood, and it was one that the dark land they lived in could not break. From an early age, the troublesome siblings had inflicted all sorts of mischief on their long-suffering kin. And yet, despite their mischievous antics, the twins were regarded with much fondness and love from their tight-knit community. The others saw the twins as a lucky omen. Merrill was the light of the sun to Dulcimae's dark of the moon. And in the dark land they lived in, there was little enough good left to hold on to.

Tonight, they would look to cross the border, to escape from the tyrannical, lord who hated them and their kind. They would leave this place where their kind were hunted down and butchered on the whim of the mad lord, to make a new life for themselves. Tonight, their lives would change forevermore.

And as he lay down, as he looked his sister in the eye, Merrill nodded, and simply replied, "Aye."

For him, his own reckoning would come soon. Merrill knew, deep down, that he could not hide his "condition" from the others much longer. Already, there were mutterings in the camp. There were whispers that Merrill possessed some strange power that they could not comprehend. Sighing sadly, he closed his eyes. He would miss them....especially his twin, whom he had never been apart from. Once he was gone, he would carry a hole in his heart.

Yet, he knew no other way.

The door closed softly behind her. Opening his eyes, Merrill looked towards the door, where she had stood only moments before. A soft whisper escaped his lips.

"Goodbye, my sister."


He wakes to the sound of her crying. As his eyes flicker open, he feels a strange weariness overtake him. The last thing he remembered was the fire. The fire.....and burning. Bringing his hands up to touch his face, Merrill looks to the sky. Tracing his fingers across his skin, he is almost surprised to find that it, and he, is still whole.....

But how could that be? I died.....I remember dying in fire.....

Sitting up slowly, holding his head in his hands, he blinks once....twice. This didn't make any sense. There wasn't even any pain, just the memory of it.....burning away at him. Moving his hands away, he blinks again, looking over to see Callie there, on her knees, crying.

"Callie," he whispers, as he moves over to her.

He places his arms around her, drawing her into him as he holds her tight. Squeezing his eyes tight, he holds her.

"Its ok Callie. Its ok.....its all going to be ok. I promise." Tears formed in his eyes, spilling as they fell.

"We doesn't matter how, but we did it....." Bringing a trembling hand up, he runs it through her hair as he holds her head into his shoulder.

"We survived....." he whispers again.

In the distance, the fire still burned, but the rain was dampening it. Soon it would be nothing but smoke on the wind.
Looking forward to seeing what you come up with.

No heads required :P
When it comes down to it and you stand here, at the very edge of the world, and the end comes for you.....can you look in the eye and say that you’ve done everything that you wished to do.

He burns. He feels the pain, the searing sensation of agony across his back from the flames. Yet even as he burns, Merrill shields Callie from the worst of it. He holds her as he pushes through the inferno, covering her from the fire, using his body to shield her. Feeling his arms burn, his legs burn, his face burn, Merrill doesn’t flinch as he presses onwards.

Lying in the arms of night,
In the shadows of the firelight,
Suspended by this feeling of fading away,
I want to run away with you,
So meet me by the cut through,
Together we'll make our sweet escape,

For the second time tonight, the forest turns into fiery death as Callie’s magic takes spark. Trees burn. Bushes burn. Grass burn. The animals, those too slow....they were caught fast in the tendrils of burning doom.

Despite it, despite all of it, Merrill pushes through. Scooping Callie up, his body now a shroud of fire, he holds her into him......ignoring the terrible pain and ignoring his fading strength as he continues on, one foot in front of the other.

The vision won’t come true.....not this time. The end comes for me.

The flames eat away at him, and the thought pushes away the dark void inside of him. He was dying, that he knew. Yet, that was immaterial.

”I am expendable,” he gasps, his features twisted, burned beyond recognition.

”But you must live.”

One foot, another one. Carrying on, because that was all that there was.

Under a canopy of stars,
Where thought and truth divorce,
In that latticework of dreams we are shameless,
I want to run away with you,
Somewhere they cannot undo,
Together we'll make our sweet escape,

Through the tops of the trees, the canopy of stars shone down on the burning man and the girl he was trying so hard, so desperately hard to protect. Even though it cost him his own life....

And then finally he was free. Free of the fire around him. Free of the smoke. Here, once more at the brook, he fell to his knees, letting Callie go. Falling forwards, hiding his burned face from her, holding his hands up to hide it, feeling his life fade from him.....dissipating into the ether like the ghosts that had chased him now for so long.....he gasps.

”Callie....” his voice is no more than a faint echo.....a ghost on the wind. ”The world is yours to change.”

Then his world fades into the blackness of oblivion.....


”Your magic is powerful, but uncontrollable,” the woman steps out of the shadows, as she had stepped out only minutes before to confront Merrill.

Her dark eyes gleam as they fixated on Callie, standing as she was there with the fallen Merrill. The colours of her clothing were in sharp contrast to the darkness of the grotto, outlined by the orange fire in the distance. Walking slowly over to where Merrill lay, her dark expression was unreadable.

”I came here to kill him. I did not expect him to die at the hand of the girl he was trying to protect.”

A small smile crosses the face of the stranger as she looks at Merrill’s ravaged body. She reaches out, her own perfect hand touching burned skin.

”Not this way. It should not be this way.”

Her eyes spark for a moment. Dark irises become white, and her hand begins to glow. Before Callie’s eyes, Merrill’s burned skin begins to fade.....becoming whole and pink once more. His body glows, and the wounds close, the burns all across his body fade. She gently turns his body round to face the stars. His chest rises and falls gently.

”His life has a price. It is one I will come to claim from my brother in time, as was pre-ordained.”

Standing, she looks to Callie. The strange woman’s voice begins to fade as her form begins to dissipate. She looks to Callie as she does, and she smiles softly.

”Remember girl, despite what you may have been told, and despite what history would have you believe.......not all of us bring death.”

And then she was gone.
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