ravenDivinity

When the Flames Die

BingTheWing said
Now, how de we rp out some fast-paced combat here?

In the past we've just written it all out. But you write it with the same writing tips you'd use with a novel.

Of course, I read this really cool thing in RPGN about one GM writing entire fights out with all of the players in a live-synced document on a service like Google Drive.

Uldor, Land of Glory. (High Fantasy)

I did it, kids! I did it!

Uldor, Land of Glory. (High Fantasy)

Outside the Salted Chicken, a town crier came around the street corner, and he, a stubby Dorthan man with red hair and a short beard, announced in his orotund voice to those in the streets, "Hear, citizens! Our leader, President Dylaith Fathorin, is due to speak in Victory Square in roughly..." He paused to pull out his pocket watch, and he looked up to find the attention of all those in the city square. "Thirty minutes! Now, carry on!" The crowd's attention returned to whatever tasks it was in the middle of, while the town crier, Mister Haltor Quintel, continued on his way back to the city hall on the northern side of Wortgott. A some city workers showed as Quintel walked off Victory Square on the north road, and the workers, one handling a podium and four carrying a platform, set the stage before the large statue of their first president, the honored and beloved Aruneia Nymthor, who united the peoples of Himaya and triumphed as their leader through the war, which she resigned at the end of.

When the Flames Die

BingTheWing said
Just curious, who are the faceless legion?

The Faceless Legion is an elite part of the Lyoki military.

They're basically like the Black Ops.

When the Flames Die

"Good night..." Gareth trailed into deep sleep, knocked out cold by fatigue. He felt the demonic grip of nightmare immediately when his eyes closed, and his mind blanked. He was in the palace, but there were no people. Everything was colorless. The voices of the dead haunted him, the people he could've saved, and soon his own voice in his head mixed with theirs, blaming him for all of their deaths, for being incapable of saving them. He ran for what felt like forever until Cain cornered him at the throne and ate him alive after Harker was butchered by blades. In his sleep he tossed and turned, fighting his self-loathing and the demons that followed him, and he found no hope in his nightmare.

When the Flames Die

Gareth heard the wine swishing around in the bottle. Sophia was drinking again. This whole ordeal was turning the princess into a heavier drinker than Walden himself. Harker frowned in the dark. "Neither have I." He shivered. Its sewn lips, its patchy and ripped skin... Yes, the details were hard to tear from one's mind, and he remembered them fresh even an hour or two after the mess. But worse yet were the memories of the blood spilled all over the floors of the castle and on its walls and ceilings, the bodies that should've been there but weren't any longer. He shuddered. They became apart of the nightmare that was the Taggerung; they became its new patches of skin to cover up whatever repulsive form was beneath. Still, the story Sir Tyler told them, the legend of the Taggerung and the Lording curse, revealed how unkillable it was. Harker clenched his fist tightly together. "Cain will die."

When the Flames Die

Gareth fell silent after Sophia's words. They promised that Gareth and Sophia would make it out alive, but something picked at Gareth's optimism and caused him to question the odds of their survival. He felt doomed to die because the tragedy obscured all of his hope, and it became difficult to see the light. To think he used to stress over finding himself a man to love. The issues that faced them now were graver than relationships, more perilous than the lives they led before. Others searched for glory, for treasures, but Gareth and his companions sought a way out, liberation from their trials, a heaven on the other side. Then he stressed over his own survival. If he didn't live, he'd never rise to better occupations or find out what love would even be like. Harker wondered what the morning would bring.

When the Flames Die

"It's alright..." Gareth paused for a heavy amount of time, the silence paining him and likely Sophia as well. It took a while for him to fill that void of sounds with his melancholy voice. "I'd rather walk with someone in the dark than walk alone in the light." His words highlighted many of his actions over the past few days, over the years he lived. He stayed by Sophia to guard her, and he comforted her during the greatest of losses in the face of their unfamiliarity. "And... you're a friend. I can't lose you. Not now." Harker didn't plan on letting go of another life after the things he'd seen. He rolled onto his stomach.

When the Flames Die

"Yes." Gareth rolled onto his side, and his dull blue eyes seemed to pierce the darkness as the two who'd finally experienced loss stared at each other. "Neither can I." In the pitch black of the room, he knew Sophia couldn't see it, but he had a few tears running down his face. On any other night, he would've been at his old home, and he wouldn't have experienced the past few days if he hadn't visited the castle on the eve of the coronation. Harker did not deserve entanglement in the affairs of the kingdom, but he was submissive to the point where he allowed himself to make a vow to see the coronation. 'How tragic that turned out,' he thought. 'I'm so stupid.' If he didn't join the Order as a squire, if he didn't deliver Redwyne's package, if he didn't promise to Thomas that he'd come to the tournament and to the feast. He blamed himself for engrossing himself in things he had no business in. Even in all of his suffering, he continued to neglect to mention how much he despaired.

When the Flames Die

Gareth placed his bow and quiver down on the table next to Sophia's things, and he unhooked the sword from his belt, the sword also on the table now. Harker sat down on the other bed slowly, and however tired he was, he didn't feel like he could sleep just yet. An oil lamp kept the room lit in the corner, and he rose to blow it out, but after that he lied on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Thoughts plagued his head, and he rubbed his eyes, him stifling a deep and loud yawn. Even upstairs he could still hear some of the muffled activity downstairs.