Mokley — Roleplayer Guild

But for serious nows... @Mokley sooooo... like this inventory isnt gunna turn the RP into looting, selling kinda video gamey RP right? Like, I'm all good with the idea, just checking is all^^
@Bunnita

Nooooo it's just a thought, really. For example, if MC happens to pick up an interesting looking stone, and it suddenly becomes important 40 posts later, it would serve as a reminder that she has it. But then again, I guess it's pointless because I'll just remind you that you have it. ;) Edit: Whoa I can edit the title of the RP. And add tags. Shiny. Edit 2: As for the inventory thing again, I think what I actually mean is more along the lines of .... MC picks up an interesting key, and 40 posts later finds a similar looking keyhole. If you don't remember you have the key in your pocket, it alters the course of the story completely. In this particular case, I would not give you instructions. ;)

Simon, Kituo, Anise

As Simon was following behind the feet of the eager moving rabbit he scooped up the wolf mask that had been left behind from when Talan had gone missing. It might be of a benefit in the future, so he slide it into his pants and continued after the rabbit.
Simon

Wherever the smooth white wood of the mask touched Simon, his skin tingled ever so slightly. At the edge of the light of his torch, Simon might see shadows moving among the green-heavy trees. He might feel eyes watching him -- not only those of the batmonkeys that bounced in the boughs, but the eyes of something very, very old.

"Ah!" Kituo lost his balance, tipping over as the stray tree root caught his foot. He turned mid fall, now facing the man as he neared him.
Kituo

The root shifted and cracked, moving like a rheumatic snake in the hard ground. It slinked into the brush, as it satisfied that it had done its job. Above, branches extended over Kituo like reaching fingers. The lantern light cast an eerie green glow on masses of shimmering leaves, and made the old man appear ghastly in his interest.

"Get away from it!" Kituo snapped, kicking out and attempting to roll over. Very seldom did his fear cause him to lash out. However, given his circumstances, flight was becoming less and less viable of a solution. To kick the man was a very impulsive and probably stupid decision on Kituo's part. . . . "Help!" Kituo screamed, kicking out again to prevent the old man from getting closer.
Kituo

"Ooch!" the old man yelped, scuffling away from the boy's crazed feet. "Now, now -- hey!" While the first kick had had little effect but to knock the old man a bit off-balance, the second sent a sudden, electric zap up Kituo's leg, like a charged static shock. Bright tendrils of electricity rippled along the old man's armor for a split second, and his hair and beard stood on-end. "You watch it! I know you're no kith, settle yourself." he huffed, and he dragged his fingers through the staticky fuzz of his beard. But his eyes widened as the lantern light beneath Kituo's bulging shirt began to change and intensify. The green glow of the lantern swelled brighter, and brighter, like a star about to explode. And then it flashed in a quick stutter of light, glowed intensely for half a second, then pulsed rapidly again. The lantern was warm, but not scalding, against Kituo's stomach. In the woods behind the old man, a spot of intense purple light glimmered through the trees. The purple light stuttered in response to the green, as if the two were communicating. They exchanged rapid flashes twice, and then the purple light dimmed into the shadows and the green lantern faded to its original state. "Oh, the egg likes you, does it?" The old man frowned. "My father built that iron casing, and you should be glad for it, else the forest itself would be coming down on us. Now come, it's not a toy, give it to me, chop chop." His armor buzzed again with a bit of residual, broken electricity, and his face twitched but he continued to glare down at Kituo.

Kituo cried out for help and Anise found herself pulling away from Tyaelaem to go help. She rushed up to stand by his side and glared up the old man. "Leave him alone." She had her commanding voice on, something she had a lot of practice with being a princess.
Anise

The moment Anise released her hand from Tyaelaem's, the nighstick began working again. Where she stood over Kituo, facing the armored old man, she could easily see a prick of steady purple light in the distance, behind moving branches. Equally distant, and moving closer to the purple light, was a small group of people dressed in armor similar to that of the old man. They had bows and quivers, and one big man had an unconscious person slung over his shoulder who was dressed very much like Randold. All this was only visible to Anise: to everyone else, the woods were only shadows. The little bell still hung from a branch overhead. A group of monkeybats were perched around it, staring at it with mild interest. The old man's eyes were big again, this time in shock to see a lady in a rather muddy looking dress, standing defensively over the lantern-bearer and wielding a stick that he recognized very well. "Wh-what? What is -- who are you?" he huffed and sputtered, indignant and frowning. "Why do you have that! Where is Lord Argen?" He had barely finished speaking when a rock whizzed through the air and smacked him upside the head. The man stumbled a little, rubbing his head, and caught sight of Tyaelaem, who was preparing another stone. The old man calmly and heroically stepped between Anise and Tyaelaem as if to protect the princess, and withdrew his sword; the blade was etched with several dozen small runes, and unlike his armor it glistened like new. "Away, Kith demon!" he roared. He caught sight of Simon and gestured to him with the blade. "Don't just stand there, young friend. Attack, I say!"

Randold

Randold would awaken upside-down, his wrists and ankles tied tightly together, with a spinning head and a vague memory of being attacked by a shower of arrows. A gash had been opened on his bleeding arm; he'd been grazed by a poisoned arrow, which had knocked him out after only a few seconds. The last image he'd seen before passing out was Tyaelaem running off with Anise in tow, and Hania running back toward the mouth of the cavern. And now, he was being carried over the shoulder of an armored and well-muscled man as they passed between dark heavy trees. The only source of light was the occasional glimmer of stars through the gaps in the canopy. "You saw it, right?" a young woman whispered. She was walking ahead of the man that carried Randold. "A purple flash, just ahead, there." "Could just be a dying firecat," the muscular man proposed. Randold could feel his chest rumble as he spoke. The man's armor was old but well cared-for, and made of iron and leather. It was etched all over with runes and sigil arrays. A bow and quiver was slung over his other shoulder, and a long knife was sheathed behind his back with the hilt facing away from Randold. "No, this was something entirely different," the woman assured him. "I want to see before we go back." The third person was walking quietly ahead, discernable only by the rustle of a cloak and the swish of leaves under their feet.

Robin, Eveline, Elijah, Mia-Canta

It was quick like a blow to the head. Hot, crippling pain exploded in your skull. A piercing light flashed behind your eyes. A terrible, trembling horror ripped through you like knives of ice. Blinded, you felt as if you were falling, falling from an impossible height, down and deep into a hungry hot chasm stretched wide to receive you like the great maw of a beast. Its damp swirling breath smelled bittersweet, like chocolate laced with a hint of cinnamon ...

You awaken at night to the creaking of crickets and the sob of an owl. Your bruised, aching limbs are tangled in a pile of warm strangers -- other people, like you, deposited all in one place, to the detriment of whomever was first to arrive. The night air is cool and calm on your cheek; it smells sweet like rotting leaves and copper. You and your new comrades are collected on a low, circular metal platform, ten feet in diameter, that is nestled deep among thick roots and thick weeds and looks as if it's been there for centuries; there are markings etched into the surface of the platform, but they're obscured by ancient moss and creeping ragged vines. Above, a thick rustle of leaves and mossy branches obscures the sky, but you are not without light: a weathered iron lantern hangs from a bough of a tree, twelve feet above the platform, held up by a thin shimmering thread. It casts a steady purple glow -- the hue of a deep sunset -- and it softly illuminates the giant pale structures of mushrooms growing out of the tree. The tree -- old, twisted, and white beneath the layers of moss and vines wrapped around it, and whose gnarled dead branch supports the lantern that is your only light -- is ticking. While every other tree and bough is laden with leaves, the tree whose roots embrace the platform has no leaves of its own but has died and been enveloped by the forest. The dead white tree is now merely a host for huge, plaform-like mushrooms. Within the trunk of the tree comes a distict sound: WHRRRRR-CLIK-CLAK . . . WHRRRR-CLIK-CLAK . . . WHRRRRR-CLIK-CLAK . . .

Mokley Member

aka windyfiend

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