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    1. OneEyedChurro 12 yrs ago

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I like my metal really melodic and deathy, like Mors Principium Est (probably one of my favorite bands right now) or Omnium Gatherum.

Oh yeah, and I got rid of the 'WIP' tag I had on my character sheet forever. Forgot to take that off.
@NewSun:
I've yet to actually start writing a post as I was not too sure what to with the time-skip period and was away most of yesterday. I suppose I can work with either option (after some talking with the other players, anyway)...
It now occurs to me that I might have forgotten about one character who was already on the scene and was even noticed by one of the forming group, but never got as much as the chance to introduce himself (or have others confront him for snooping around, for the matter) - namely the Prince of Lies.
So, @OneEyedChurro - would you prefer to have the Prince introduce himself at the scene where he was/is now?


PMing NewSun about this cause I had an idea- but either way, Prince will be introducing himself after the newest time jump.

Posted. Feel like I forgot something for some reason.
In the valley, the Prince slumped along, half-mesmerized by fatigue. Rest was becoming increasingly difficult for the man to come by, as rocks and dirt draped in dirty, thin and worn purple robes made for a very poor bed. He was also careful of how he slept, for he didn't want to wake up sore. An ailment such as that could sometimes make a huge difference, from what he's experienced, and keeping his body free of physical soreness was just one of the small victories he could easily keep established, even if it meant sacrificing comfort.

"It's so grey." The man muttered to no one in particular. He would mutter to himself often- he was afraid of forgetting the sound of his own voice. The lack of color in this land was astounding; he was thankful for such vivid imagery in his memories, else he would likely forget what color even was. He walked slowly with his head tilted down. The sun was to his back- it's faint warmth felt nice on his neck- but such a bleak landscape was difficult to stare at for long periods of time. He shifted the weight of his sheathed blade on his shoulder- he had switched from carrying it on his back to resting the whole thing on his right shoulder, wrist draped over the hilt- as a fisherman would carry his pole or a woodcutter his ax. The young man's belly emitted a faint rumble, though the Prince had only just eaten some of his fruits and tubers he had collected in his pack. He was quickly running low, not that he was eating more than he needed, but rather this valley he had found himself in hadn't offered..anything, really. He had fully accepted that he must look like easy prey right now- no cover, slowly trudging, head down, blade anything but at the ready.

The Prince cleared his throat and glanced back behind him- still nothing. He let out a quiet sigh and felt his shoulders slump lower. He had started back towards where he had already come from..what, several days ago, now? His original hopes were to put distance between him and the mountain behind him so he could get a better view of the castle he knew lay behind it- but so far, his backtracking had done little but tire him out and waste food and drink. At this point he judged it may be better to simply go back into the forest that was a few days trek further ahead- he could probably scrounge up some more food to replace what he had used, at the very least. Assuming no manner of foul beasts lurked in the trees, of which the Prince was sure there were. It was his suspicion of such that he had avoided it the first time around, anyway.

As it normally did, his mind began to slip back towards what Tomb had said. 'What matters is your pick among the roses,' it had told him. What did that mean? Should he even bother contemplating the words?

A spur of motion in his peripheral caught his attention and brought his head up- he gripped his sword's hilt tightly.

A tall stone-like mass stood several hundred yards away. It's glass-like face reflecting the little light there was and offering only a look into the grey ashen valley it stared at. It's form was wrapped in voluminous red cloaks. The color of a rose.

"Tomb." The Prince muttered- not wanting to call that out to the being. The Prince had given it that name, anyway, for in their last conversation it hadn't offered its own.

The Prince took a few steps towards it but stopped abruptly- its mirror-face was reflecting the light of the sun at the Prince and it was blinding. Was it going to attack this time? As the man recalled, it didn't seem entirely intent on being immediately hostile, hence the conversation. In fact, it was difficult to discern what Tomb's intent was, at all.

The reflected light ceased after a few moments and the Prince found himself alone. The distant Tomb seemed to have simply..vanished. Did it teleport? The Prince remembered well that Tomb hadn't moved much last time he saw it; that was something that added to its unsettling aura. The Prince had moved on, Tomb watching him as he left, until the being was out of sight entirely.

The Prince felt like yelling. Or crying. He wasn't sure of the amalgamation of emotions he felt- fear that Tomb appeared as the Prince had thought of it; anger that the stone figure wouldn't allow another question; sadness that more conversation wouldn't be had. He clenched his non-sword holding hand tight and stooped to one knee, gritting his teeth. He felt weak.

"Damn it all," was all he was able to quietly mutter. The Prince wasn't sure why, but he always felt so afraid to yell, especially in this wide valley with very little to cover oneself with. He reassured himself of his health in his own mind, and given a few minutes the Prince found himself travelling towards the forest once more, his mind plagued with more questions that ever before. At least Tomb got his brain working, he'd give it that.

He was trotting up a deceivingly tall mound when his train of thought was broken by..a voice! The Prince halted his movement. It was faint, but it sounded like the voice's source resided on the other side of this mound. He heard another voice, the second much more faint.

The Prince crouched and lowered his blade off his shoulder. Clutching it in one hand, he crawled on hands and knees to peek above the peak of the mound- and there they were. The two voices had come from three bodies. Three people? All this time spent alone, and all of a sudden he comes across the most humanoid things he's seen as of yet.

An armored man stooped on his polearm- it was a faint tickle, but the Prince almost could remember men wearing similar armor in a memory- the one where he is knelt before the crowned figure, most likely a king. Beside the metal bulwark was a figure clad in black- it was difficult at this distance to discern any distinct features of the two beyond what they were wearing. The third appeared more feminine, judging by the long hair, but it was still tough to tell. She held an axe out at the two.

He wasn't sure what had happened prior to his gazing, but from what the Prince saw now it looked like a post-battle scene. The woman may have attacked the knight, besting him and his...companion? Perhaps she now offered mercy? The Prince hadn't heard any battle, though. Perhaps the speaking he heard were threats and a battle was about to begin? The Prince couldn't be sure. He tightened his grip on the sword and continued watching, hoping he was adequately covered by the mound.
- The Prince is in his own place? (One post, none after timeskip.)


Yup- heading towards the Turncloak's locale. Probably run into that small group in my next post.

Which will be up tonight.
Falahad-


Zanzeb- that is, the original croppings of mud huts and adobe abodes, would have displayed a certain architectural curiosity were the city not cut in half by the river nor surrounded by similar yet small villages. In many places throughout the city it became a similar problem that these small homes were being built outside of the original wall, the small hovels being built closer and closer until many found their stability on the wall itself. It was during these years that the second wall was built to shield these outliers. It quickly became a caste in and of itself- around Zanzeb specifically one may find the 'outer' peoples live nearly oblivious to the functions of the 'inner' folk.

The architect whom pondered such musings- Rord- stood atop one of the inner wall's gatehouses, staring into the river below. It glistened beautifully even on a relatively cloudy day such as this. But his reminiscing on the city's historical construction had been abruptly interrupted by the loud gong of a bell. The bearded man glared towards the direction of the noise- the only bell that loud was housed in the middle of the circular city, and was used to hail significant events, most often regarding the Ketua. There was one thing that came to mind, something most of the populace had been expecting for months; the sounding of the bell were their dreams coming to fruition. A second gong rang out. The time between the gongs was as quiet as a post-warfare battlefield. A third.

The city below Rord erupted into cheer, applause, and merriment. Three rings of that particular bell could only have meant one thing:

Idris Setuin, sister-wife of the Ketua, Falahad, had birthed a child. A son, no less.

No doubt the festivities were already being arranged. As per Armanian tradition when a leader's child in born there are great feasts held the next supper in celebration. This was one of the few traditional events that the powers that be chose not to reform when they restructured their ruling. While their new found Republic meant the son of the Ketua didn't naturally inherit and power, their opinions were often seen as a reflection of the Ketua himself, and often times if the populace were favorable with one Ketua then his children were often nominated to be next in line, at the very least.

But this particular child had come at a very convenient time- much of the former aristocracy were still bitter about losing their official power, so if the Ketua were to service his child to become a ward, hiring a guardian for his child from among the upper class, then it could be possible that they raise the child to reinstate himself a King.

Of course, such grand a plan had required months of planning and subterfuge, of which Rord was plenty guilty of. He had been a secret letter carrier for several months now- ferrying capsules filled with written letters, plans, charts, and graphs to and from the upper class in an attempt to further the cause. Luckily, today's leadership was not very smart.

Inbreds.
----

Oluro-


The road was muddy today.

Not necessarily surprising, considering many were built next to or over rivers and their tributaries. But why was he walking? Surely he, the Grand Triarchate of the Church of the Ternion, deserved to be carried, especially on a task as important as his. For long the Church of the Ternion had operated solely out of their singular, massive Ziggurat in the equally large city of Kyk. Such an old and fundamental religion deserved its own piece of land- though not in Arman-Arhus. The Church's worshipers were spread throughout the world and the Grand Triarchate had decided it time they were offered haven. Thus, it had been decreed that the Church and its missionaries would begin searching for appropriate land on which a colony of sorts could be built, perhaps even a second Ziggurat to glorify a second patron god, for the existing one in Kyk was devoted to Edesu, the Goddess of Fertility and Growth.

To further their agenda not even the Grand Triarchate was pardoned from the gruntwork that would be required. Of course, a contingent of the Ketua's own Oathguard were dispatched with him to safeguard him on the road, for though his destination were the Commonwealth's one enemy but long-time allies in the Dominion of Terus, the road to get there had passed through some of Khumer and A Seihid, who had had little contact with the Commonwealth. Not to mention some of the peoples of Azraca still made Oluro nervous.

Yet their journey was nearing completion. The Oathguard and the contingent of Triarchates that accompanied Oluro were all tired, but the aging Grand Triarchate was becoming ecstatic at the thought of finding a place for a new Ziggurat, or perhaps even a new city. No doubt of which he would own, of course.




TL;DR


-In Zanzeb, Ketua Falahad becomes a father to a son. This pleases the upper class, who have been plotting for months to try and convince the Ketua to service out guardianship to someone in Zanzeb, who would then collaborate with other peoples of the upper class to try and convince the boy he should become King, overthrowing the somewhat recently established Republic when he becomes of age.

-Meanwhile, the Grand Triarchate of the Church of the Ternion (How's that for a title) is travelling to Azraca to try and find suitable land on which the Church may build something new. Whether 'something new' refers to a settlement for churchgoers or a new Ziggurat, that's yet to be decided. Regardless, Oluro's journey is getting close to its destination.

@Cyclone

Yarp. Sorry if I've been quiet, wanted a few people to post before me to get an idea of what else was going on.

EDIT: Posted.


In the void, the spire loomed. It extended upward like a blackened finger among the knuckled fists of stone that surrounded it.

At least, the Prince believed it to be the castle he has sought for so long. In the fog and the darkness, his very eyes could be deceiving him towards a mountain, for all he knew. Out here in the ash-like dirt, that castle in the distance was the dirtied noble's only guidance- fairly good guidance, at that, for the Prince was seemingly unable to ever gain any ground on the complex. But there it loomed, possibly eternally, on the horizon.

The Prince blinked away a stray blonde hair that had blown into his eyes. With some of the things he'd seen, he wouldn't be surprised if one day he woke up and the entire stronghold had disappeared, leaving the Prince's horizon and its onlooker lost. Not to imply that the Prince exactly knew where he was going, but the great building in the distance seemed an amicable goal, at the least. Working towards it had led the young looking man to some very strange and oft disturbing places of equally disturbing inhabitants. Of the inhabitants he's met, only one seemed to offer up any conversation, though it did little in the way of explaining...anything, really. The Prince had called it Tomb, for it had appeared to be a tall Tomb covered in cloaks of red and purple. He often thought about their conversation, trying to make any more sense to its riddles or odd references.

"At the age of six, you picked a rose. There were many around- but you chose one in particular. Why?"

"How do you know anything about my childhood? What are you?"

"Under moonlight, do roses bloom?"

"Er..yes?"

"You are a skeptical man. I offer you one answer."

It took the Prince a moment to fully realize what he was offering. But would this being's answer be any less enigmatic than its questions? The young man brushed his hair back and thought a moment.

"What is my name?" He had asked. The cloaked stone creature was silent for several moments, and the man was almost ready to walk away when its odd, almost mechanical voice perked back up.

"Your name matters not, Prince of Lies. What matters is your pick among the roses."


And so the formerly unnamed man took to calling himself the Prince of Lies. Or to others, should he ever encounter another being, just Prince. It seemed to fit with the vivid images that were on repeat in his head, one involving a throne and a king. The others were less than pleasant to think about. But was he a Prince, this ragged and torn figure of lean muscle? If so, was the castle on the horizon his? Or, rather, a member of his family? Did he have a family?

He shook the thoughts and questions away. None of them really mattered, ultimately. If the other memories offered any sort of explanation, he was dead. Or exiled, at best. Doomed to eternally wander this hellscape and reach for a throne in a castle he couldn't get to. The Prince turned from the castle and shifted the weight on his shoulders- he had taken to carrying his sword on his back, rather than his hip. Less practical? Probably. More comfortable? Definately. Luckily, his leather belt had been able to stretch enough to fit over his chest. The terrain before him looked harrowing, at best; an ashen valley, with a mountain appearing on one side with a forest down the other. The Prince had gone around the forest and had continued toward the castle, but his view was quickly becoming obscured by the encroaching mountain. So, he made the decision the night prior that he would backtrack towards the forest enough for the castle to come back into view fully and then work towards it at an angle, so as to gradually go around the mountain while keeping his best form of direction in sight. So today would likely be uneventful, then, as he trekked back towards where he had come from several days before.

Sighing as he pulled his dirty purple garments closer and making sure his weapon and pack were in order, he started off towards the hauntingly colorless forest.

I was thinking. The Prince, Maldron, Jester and Oblivion all could be more or less related to the same story. A war between two nations, assassination of a King, and a prince. Maldron was most likely that other guy who killed the king.


Had the same ideas. I'd be up for working something out.

Boop.

And we're off.


Nice- should have a post up in a bit.
Added a few memories for the Prince. Hope they check out.
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