"Walking hunks of bad meat trying to eat me, or a bunch of old hags that'll un-man me if I so much as look at them?" said Buckle with a jittery smile. "I think I'll stick with you. My shooter ain't got the capacity to be poking holes in the walking dead, and besides, I think you're biggest and baddest of us all. You just lead on ahead, I'll keep well back, ya get?"
Making for the doors of the church, Buckle turned and nodded his head at the others. "Pleasure, truely. Thanks for dragging me into this fucked up situation y'all got going on here, that's real swell of ya, real swell. The money better be good, Cyrus, not every day a man has to let go of everything he's ever known and then go talk to some nightmare face to face-" Buckle paused, looking at Gavril nervously. "I mean, go stare at the ground five miles back from aforementioned nightmare whilst this big fellah does the talking."
Stepping into the cold of night, Buckle went about rolling another cigarette with trembling fingers. He was half sure he was mad, and half sure that he had fallen asleep at the hands of some strong whiskey. Either way, he was here now, so until he got his entrails ripped out, or woke up from this bizarre dream, he was just going to have to ride it out. Clipping a match and holding the flame to the cigarette, he wondered if this was a sign from the Lord above - a twisted way of tormenting him for previous sins, and of those there were many.
Consumed in his own deluded thoughts, he waited for his companion to come and lead the way.
SyrianHamster Member
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The fishes aint biting like they used to.
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Growing increasingly impatient, Bertil raised a hand. "Fealty," he spoke softly, his goatee riding high around his beaming smile.
Pulling himself from his chair with elaborated effort, he dislodged a bejewelled ring from his finger and held it to the light of the hearth. It sparkled a rainbow of colours, and to the keen eyed observer, there was the worn engraving of a single sailed longship stretching across its golden shank. With careful and humble steps, he walked the length of the table, bowed deeply and presented the ring to Henrik.
"Long has this bauble been in the possession of my family. My great grandfather had it crafted to celebrate the christening of his first ship, before he sailed the coasts of the continent searching for riches. It signifies prosperity, as may be obvious, and long has it served as my inspiration - perhaps to no one's surprise. Many see me as a greedy man, a gawking merchant with no steel in his veins, and maybe they are right to see me in that light," he said sullenly. "However, I believe that it is easy for those of this land, who are all too eager to bleed their neighbours, to see a man such as myself as weak and dishonest. I do not hold this against them, it has always been this way."
Placing the ring onto the table in front of Henrik, and looking the ageing Jarl in the eyes with steadfast conviction, he spoke further. "I believe that honesty and loyalty are essential in a merchant, and in me you will find plenty of those qualities. Just as a Jarl cannot trust devious Thanes, a patron cannot trust devious shopkeeps." Pausing briefly to smile gleefully, he continued, "the world is changing. Norsia will be left behind if it does not embrace the qualities of others. My name is well known in every major trading junction from Galadriel to the lands of the Saxons. Should you ever need an ambassador to carry your righteous council to foreign ears, then you will find no better than myself. This I promise you."
Taking three measured steps back with head bowed, Bertil stood straight, "The ring I give to you, as a token of my loyalty, and of my honour. It is my hopes that you will find within me more metal than most give me credit for. I am yours, my King. Though the crowning is yet to take place, I am from this moment, at your call. Anything you command of me, I will endeavour to see it done."
Respectfully, Bertil returned to his chair, shooting Jarless Eyildr a very brief, but very hard stare. We will see what Henrik prefers, hag. Your archaic wisdom? Or my modern rationale? Time will tell, but if I were a gambling man....
Pulling himself from his chair with elaborated effort, he dislodged a bejewelled ring from his finger and held it to the light of the hearth. It sparkled a rainbow of colours, and to the keen eyed observer, there was the worn engraving of a single sailed longship stretching across its golden shank. With careful and humble steps, he walked the length of the table, bowed deeply and presented the ring to Henrik.
"Long has this bauble been in the possession of my family. My great grandfather had it crafted to celebrate the christening of his first ship, before he sailed the coasts of the continent searching for riches. It signifies prosperity, as may be obvious, and long has it served as my inspiration - perhaps to no one's surprise. Many see me as a greedy man, a gawking merchant with no steel in his veins, and maybe they are right to see me in that light," he said sullenly. "However, I believe that it is easy for those of this land, who are all too eager to bleed their neighbours, to see a man such as myself as weak and dishonest. I do not hold this against them, it has always been this way."
Placing the ring onto the table in front of Henrik, and looking the ageing Jarl in the eyes with steadfast conviction, he spoke further. "I believe that honesty and loyalty are essential in a merchant, and in me you will find plenty of those qualities. Just as a Jarl cannot trust devious Thanes, a patron cannot trust devious shopkeeps." Pausing briefly to smile gleefully, he continued, "the world is changing. Norsia will be left behind if it does not embrace the qualities of others. My name is well known in every major trading junction from Galadriel to the lands of the Saxons. Should you ever need an ambassador to carry your righteous council to foreign ears, then you will find no better than myself. This I promise you."
Taking three measured steps back with head bowed, Bertil stood straight, "The ring I give to you, as a token of my loyalty, and of my honour. It is my hopes that you will find within me more metal than most give me credit for. I am yours, my King. Though the crowning is yet to take place, I am from this moment, at your call. Anything you command of me, I will endeavour to see it done."
Respectfully, Bertil returned to his chair, shooting Jarless Eyildr a very brief, but very hard stare. We will see what Henrik prefers, hag. Your archaic wisdom? Or my modern rationale? Time will tell, but if I were a gambling man....
caliban22 said
I have to ask. has this been abandoned?
I'm afraid so. My apologies, but the more I fleshed out the world, the bigger the mountain became. I wanted to make it at least half believable, but I gravely underestimated the amount of worldly knowledge required.
If anyone wants to steal it and do something with it, however, then they have my blessing.
Sorry again, it's not often I run from my own ideas!
GreivousKhan said
Hey Syrian, I was reading you bio some time ago and was wondering, would those mercenaries Bertil got hold of possibly have been from the Whitemane's? As they do run something of a mercenary guild form since before they became a noble family.
That idea is fine by me. He needed an army quickly, he wouldn't have cared who it was he hired, so it'd fit with the lore on my side of things.
The world of Gorika was dying, and none knew the reason. The land cracked beneath the feet of those who lived upon it; entire nations crumbled into fissures, and the seas boiled as the planet’s core sought to escape its prison. The skies sent forth volleys of corrosive rain down onto the inhabitants of Gorika, devouring those who were not fortunate enough to live under the protection of hastily erected magical forcefields.
Knowing their doom, the grand multitude of Gorika’s races gathered together on the last barely surviving continent, even as the very ground they stood on slipped into the abyss, and there, despite centuries of war, they allied themselves against the unstoppable force of nature. Thousands of wizards, mages and sorcerers merged their power as one, and vied to match the Quiet One’s strength by achieving a Godly feat of passage.
Calling to them the chaotic energies erupting from the planet’s surface, this gathering magical practitioners were able to force open a series of portals, through which their kin could escape. They paid a heavy price, however, as to keep the destruction from following those they were saving, they had to remain behind to ensure the portals were closed. This selfless sacrifice is known to all as ‘The Great Giving’.
The portals bypassed space and time, appearing instantly on planet Earth. This was never the design of their creators, whom lacking adequate preparation, had simply projected them towards a random star far from their dying home world.
The skies above Europe were torn a sunder, as unseasonal storms boiled from seemingly nowhere, striking the ground beneath them with forks of malevolent lightning. The Atlantic Ocean, reeling from the sheer power wrought by the gateways connecting Earth and Gorika, was whipped into producing gigantic waves. These destructive walls of water crashed across Spain and Great Britain, threatening to submerge them entirely, but withholding at the last second. Earthquakes racked France and Germany, bringing towns and cities to their knees.
The portals appeared randomly, all over Europe. The first of Gorika’s refugees to emerge, were the High Elves of the now non-existent Realm of Quandier. Appearing outside of the very walls of Rome, they were heavily sickened by the tolls taken on their bodies from traversing the gateways. Pope Innocent III, proclaiming that Hell had spewed forth its legion, ordered the Catholic nations of Europe to rally their armies for the ‘end times’.
Markward von Anweile, the Holy Roman Emperor’s defacto ruler of a recently defeated Kingdom of Sicily, descended upon the High Elves with an army of twenty thousand men.
… We came upon them at dawn, many of us mounted upon beast, and we fell upon them with lance and sword. They were a strange peoples; shorter than we, with long white hair, pale angular faces and piercing eyes of sapphire. They pleaded with us in an unknown tongue; but we heeded not the words of the devils, whom had surely come to claim our souls. For the greatness of God, we put them to the sword without question. Men, women and children all. Some resisted, and their weapons were of a strange quality, but they bled the same as us and soon victory was ours… – Makward Von Anweile, the Rome Massacre of Prince Thalas’ column.
Other portals soon opened however, pouring into the world a multitude of various beings. Some were as helpless as the High Elves at Rome; others, like the Orcs of Blackspire were not. Normandy burned as the Orcish Warchief Brakkar Fellblade led his warbands across the vast expanse of the Norman countryside, pillaging and slaughtering as he went. The English fought back with Arthur of Brittany leading the charge. After a bloody battle outside of Caen, Brakkar was finally brought to heel, but not before he had put the greater part of the region to the torch.
As the human Kingdoms and Empires fought a war of genocide against the ‘demon spawn of Hell’, Gorika’s refugees started to rally. Realising they had happened upon a hostile world, those who were fortunate enough not to appear in the face of the enemy from the moment they stepped from the portals, established themselves as armies with the objective of securing a foothold from which their people could continue to congregate safely.
The second High Elf column, appearing outside of Rome, and seeing the remains of their massacred kinsmen, quickly stormed the city. After a fierce melee upon the city’s walls, and a brutal engagement in the streets, the High Elves overcame the Papal army with the heavy use of lesser magic. After seeing fireballs launch from the hands of their adversaries, it was not long until other native forces within the city’s immediate bounds retreated north and south to the safety of the Holy Roman Empire.
The Pope was held responsible for the murder of the High Elven prince and his peoples, and was burned alive for ‘crimes against the innocent’; an ironic end to a man of such standing. With Rome secured, and the human population subdued under the boots of the High Elven occupiers, the way was clear for the rest of their kin to safely make passage through the portal; thus allowing them to establish the first Gorika kingdom on Earth. Other races from Gorika started to follow suit; despite early native victories, they were able to forge their way through the hostile world, and lay claim to areas of land which they would later call home. The Colliding of Worlds was in full swing…
Hello, and welcome to Colliding of Worlds. In this RP, players will choose one of two options:
Option A) To claim a race from Gorika, and to choose a nation that they have successfully liberated from native control.
Option B) To choose an existing native Kingdom or Empire.
Option B) To choose an existing native Kingdom or Empire.
You must then lead your country through this catastrophic time. Whether you are the English King, driving Dwarves from the fringes of Scotland, or a Halfling Prince, trying desperately to establish peace with Saladin in the Eygpt, your goal is to survive and expand. Form unexpected alliances, unite against your kinsmen, or indeed with them. Embrace Gorika’s refugees, or put Earth’s native humans to the fire for their evil reception of your desperate peoples.
- Live map of Europe, with coloured borders to denote the extent of all nations.
- NPC nations to be controlled by the GM, who will decide their diplomatic and military objectives towards players.
- Inclusion of lesser magic; to be explained in final product.
- Seasonal time system; simple and paced.
- Simple troop recruitment and technological mechanics.
- Diversity. Players will be able to create their very own fantasy races.
- Simple combat system. Detailed in final product.
- Religions, such as Catholicism, Orthodox Christian, Islam, Paganism and Krelanism.
- And more!
For those who are involved with me in other RPs, including the one I am currently running, the Fractured South, do not fret. Unlike everyone else, I somehow have plenty of time to see to my RP obligations despite having an active love life and a dreadfully depressing job.
To those who aren’t, does this garner your interests? I’ve got the RP outlined, and I just need to start fleshing it out. I don’t want to waste all of that time and effort if it’s for nothing, however.
Taking questions and suggestions.
TheRpgGamer said
Sorry guys I ran out of internet for 2 days and I think my nation is still on NPC Passive mode so i'm confuse
Wasn't sure if you were coming back. I'll remove the NPC ownership, post at will.
Bishop, you've got it spot on with Escgor's map, good job buddy.
Bertil looked at Koval with amusement. Ah yes, finally, a true warrior speaks up. I see fire in his eyes, and with sons to his name, he'll be sure to charge us all head first into the fires of war. Not today, Koval my man, not today.
"Must we look on Gothra with old eyes?" Asked Bertil, appearing as modest as he could. "Yes, there is bad blood between Norsia and they, but my friends, no nation has ever benefited from prolonged conflict. As Jarless Crowsfoot has pointed out, along with our much beloved Otrygg: War has many draw backs. Speaking from a merchant's point of view, if I may, a war with Gothra would need to be brief and brutal. Already our trade fleets are challenged by other nations, when it is we Norsians, rulers of the waves, that should have a stranglehold on the seaborne routes of commerce. A war with Gothra would deplete what we already have, and what we have, and forgive me for saying, is very little when I think upon the matter of what we should have." Looking towards Henrik, and once more raising his pewter goblet he nodded, "Henrik is right to approach them with caution, as any good Norsian should when dealing with an adversary. However, if there exists a possibility for our two nations to benefit in mutual coexistence, then Norsia would stand to gain from the opening of trade links, and further deals resulting henceforth. We must not shut out the world, and approach it with sharpened axes, no. We must approach it with open arms, but keeping our eyes on the dangers that arise from our dealings."
"Must we look on Gothra with old eyes?" Asked Bertil, appearing as modest as he could. "Yes, there is bad blood between Norsia and they, but my friends, no nation has ever benefited from prolonged conflict. As Jarless Crowsfoot has pointed out, along with our much beloved Otrygg: War has many draw backs. Speaking from a merchant's point of view, if I may, a war with Gothra would need to be brief and brutal. Already our trade fleets are challenged by other nations, when it is we Norsians, rulers of the waves, that should have a stranglehold on the seaborne routes of commerce. A war with Gothra would deplete what we already have, and what we have, and forgive me for saying, is very little when I think upon the matter of what we should have." Looking towards Henrik, and once more raising his pewter goblet he nodded, "Henrik is right to approach them with caution, as any good Norsian should when dealing with an adversary. However, if there exists a possibility for our two nations to benefit in mutual coexistence, then Norsia would stand to gain from the opening of trade links, and further deals resulting henceforth. We must not shut out the world, and approach it with sharpened axes, no. We must approach it with open arms, but keeping our eyes on the dangers that arise from our dealings."
Buckle pulled his Colt Model 1860 New Army from its holster and gave it a look up and down, as the others talked. It had served him well his entire life; weighty and solid, it smelled pungently of a gunpowder, though he hadn't used it some years. He rotated the cylinder slowly, checking that the percussion caps were still firmly in place upon the nipples. Yes, it had served him well, but after six pulls of the trigger it'd take him about fifteen minutes to reload the thing. Six bullets was plenty enough when you were gunning down some lowly criminal and his friend, but a thing of nightmares? That might be another matter altogether.
"I volunteer to go and erm, you said negotiate? Yeah, negotiate with them witches you spoke of, but I sure as Hell ain't going there alone. Pardon, me, Father, I mean I sure as heck ain't going there alone," he said. "Who's with me?"
"I volunteer to go and erm, you said negotiate? Yeah, negotiate with them witches you spoke of, but I sure as Hell ain't going there alone. Pardon, me, Father, I mean I sure as heck ain't going there alone," he said. "Who's with me?"
Duc de Canard said
Well, we could certainly be trade rivals.
That is pretty much going to be the focus of Escgor/Hjaldr's Vale relations. I'm going to treat it that technically you are more established, and wealthier, but he is going to attempt to change that. We'll see how it goes. I'm always about the story, as opposed to winning, so whatever reads better will win in my mind. But that's a ways off yet.
Theodorable said
So can we proclaim Henrik King or what?
I actually thought of trying to murder you for your incessant table slamming, haha. Mr. Bishop will declare all in due time, I am sure.
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