Not so sure I agree with this facebook stuff anymore. I'd rather go back to pretending everyone on here wasn't... well, you know what I mean ;)
11 yrs ago
It's my Birthday. I am drunk, and will get worse as the night draws in. That's... that's all. Now all I need is an option to post all the messy photos :P
Bio
I like to write stories, and no genre is beyond me.
I guess. I wouldn't ask for volumes, like they do in advanced (crazy bastards, who has that kind of time to fritter away!?), but enough to fit the purpose.
I've written out the world's history. Taking it in a traditional fantasy direction.
I don't think school sick bays carry cardiac meds. As far as I know, that sorta stuff is pharmacy or clinic only .
Most probably. They'd have a first aid box and a phone with 911 written on it in big letters, though.
Still, there'd prolly be some kinda pain killers. They might help.
In the long term though, that old lady needs a hospital. Maybe you'll find an ambulance outside? Maybe a zombie will nab one of your toes as you walk past an empty janitor's closet. Who knows!?
Sounds interesting...How much would you expect us to write per post?
Pffffffffffft, well it would vary.
In the council, I imagine there'd be some short handed exchanges. I mean, how much could you drag out the simple action of your character agreeing with someone? On the other hand, if one of the vassals felt the need to voice their opinion to its fullest extent, then they may launch a speech spanning thousands of words.
With the council dismissed, the vassals carrying out their assigned orders, the post format would switch to the expectations of an average NRP post. And judging from what I've seen, they stay around the 1000 word mark (though some go well beyond, and some fall under). I wouldn't set the minimum at that of course, but I guess you could use it as an indication.
I don't really want to set a maximum length, and a minimum length would be a common sense affair. If the post looks half-arsed, lacking in delivery and is only a few sentences long, I'd prolly get funny with you.
Setting: Medieval Fantasy Magic: Yes Fantasy Races: Yes Custom Races: Yes GM being an actual GM: Yes
Something... something... Dark Side...
But no, in all honesty, I'm busy writing up the RP's story.
The Great Mage War
In Ages long forgotten, by mortal man and immortal Elf, the world was torn asunder by the awesome power of warring High Mages. These High Mages were a far cry from the meagre spellcasters we know today; indeed, in their time, their power was absolute. Everything they turned their hands to, be it the elements or be it the arcane, no magical feat was beyond their reasoning.
With such power, they could have achieved Godhood, indeed, they could have remade the world anew. They could have created a life without suffering; no more hunger, disease, pain, war, grief or sorrow.
Instead, their pursuits for increased power drove them mad. They turned on each other in a whirlwind of ice and fire, laying waste to entire continents and putting their inhabitants to the indiscriminate fury of their powers. The mortal races of the world could only stand and watch, in outright terror, as beings far beyond their earthly powers wrought untold destruction for centuries.
At the height of the Great Mage War, the High Mages used their powers to create lesser creatures to replace the heavily diminished stocks of the world's natural inhabitants. These, they called Elves, and they were blessed with long life, intelligence and great power - though not nearly enough to challenge their creators.
The Elves varied in breeds, depending on the High Mage who forged them, but all were pitted against each other as the expendable foot soldiers of their masters. They did their duty diligently, dying by the millions with each passing thunderclap of another release of arcane energy. This went on for millennia, and the High Mages never tired of their struggle, but at the same time, neither of them ever seemed to get close to holding victory over the other.
Meanwhile, the Menfolk were recovering their losses. Their lives were short, and their temperament unpredictable, but they had proven stalwart survivors of the harsh world in which they lived. From their strongholds, they gathered power; Wizards studied, training drums beat, and with each turning of another century, their strength swelled. All the while, the High Mages remained oblivious to the Menfolk's rise, occupied as they were by their eternal struggle for worldly domination.
The Menfolk's attack was swift, effective but far from decisive. Though they lacked the long lives of Elves, or the omnipotence of the High Mages, they were nevertheless a formidable opponent. Hundreds of thousands of wizards met the world's tormentors in an epic battle, slaughtering all but the last High Mage, before being slaughtered themselves by his inexhaustible powers.
As punishment, this last High Mage cast a spell upon Man, that he may never again unite. All across the Free Realms, people started to change. Some grew into the muscled but primitive monstrosities that we now know as Orcs, and others into the stumpy, bearded imps we call Dwarves. Some lost the softness of their flesh to the overlapping coldness of scales... and others, others became something not befitting of life.
The Elves saw this as unnatural, despite their own unearthly origins, and took offence to their master's meddling in nature's affairs. Many of their number, had also felt shamed by Man's courage, for they had thought him weak, and were now beginning to see the war for what it was: an abomination. They had thought that they served the greater good, but regardless of their tribe or original creator, they quickly realised they were all mere pawns; the end result of an unnatural industry.
The last High Mage saw the coming treachery of the Elves, and attacked them in earnest. He knew their designs, knew their weaknesses, but most importantly, knew how to control them - for by the rights of their birth, they were all bound to his arcane powers. Billions died, helpless to defend themselves as he ordered them to simply stand down and accept their fate.
Until Vanguard Grudol, the Sun Elf, figured out a way to break his master's hold over him. By carving arcane symbols into his flesh with the cindered bones of one of the fallen High Mages, he was able to ward himself from the mind-control of the surviving High Mage.
And when the two met, the Sun Elf proved a deadly adversary. For the last High Mage was unprepared for resistance, and Vanguard Grudol unleashed his elemental fury. A great battle followed, and both combatants consumed themselves in a pillar of flame.
No one. Not man, not Elf, not Orc, Dwarf or Lizard saw them again.
And so had ended the Great Mage War, and there dawned the Dark Age.
The Fall of the Elderborn
The Great Mage War left a bitter sweet victory. The world was a scorched ruin. There was no grass, there were no forests or rivers - just death, decay and cinders.
Man immediately set upon himself; his various forms finding fault with each other as soon as word reached them of the High Mage's demise. Their wars were small, but nevertheless upsetting to the Elves who had seen them fall from grace. Indeed, the Elderborn blamed almost everything the world had suffered entirely upon themselves, unable to forget that they were the footsoldiers of evil powers so great.
Gathering the last of their kin, for many had perished in the genocide placed upon them by the last High Mage, they set to restoring the world to its former appearance. Their combined magic reached a level of potency on-par with that of a High Mage, and together, they restored life to the scarred earth.
Rivers flowed once more, grass regrew, forests surged forth from the soils and volcanoes were silenced into white-tipped mountains. Beauty begun anew, and once they had finished restoring the world, they turned their hands to the creation of life.
Animals of every kind and shape had been wiped into extinction by the Great Mage War. With extensive research, the Elves were able to recreate many of these, and from these creations, sprung more beauty into a world that had until recently been barren of most life.
And as their creations grew in number, and as their restoration evolved to reflect the heart-felt compassion they had poured into it, the Elves rejoiced. They had undone all the wrongs they had helped wrought, and much of their guilt left them.
But Man kept warring. Always warring.
And the Elves were saddened by this.
So, with the best intentions of a misunderstood brother, the Elves sought to undo the spell that the High Mage had placed upon Man towards the end of the Great Mage War. But it could not be done, for the spell was now too old to rewind, and the resulting variations of Man were no longer magical in nature - they were beings on their own accord.
So the Elves reached deep into their well of combined magical might, and forged the High Man. The High Man was what they believed Man to have been, before he was changed. The High Man embodied to the fullest extent, the attributes of those he was based on.
But the Elves' work was folly, for Man had the capacity to be good, but also evil. In time, they realised the High Men were highly unstable, as if torn between the light and the darkness on a minutely basis. Unable to slay their creations, for to do so would be to become their own creators - a fate worse than death for any Elf - they banished the High Men from their realms, and foolishly set them loose upon the earth.
The High Men were quick in conquering the lesser races from which they was originally derived, and before long, most of the known world flew their banner. They turned their hungry, insane eyes to their creators, and in those eyes, the Elves saw the real terror of their folly.
The Sorrowsong War lasted three centuries, with the High Men almost completely extinguishing their masters with their endless legions. Though, the Elves rallied, and they eventually triumphed through their superior use of battle magic - and drove the High Men into the darkest depths of the earth, where they thought them defeated.
But alas, though the Elves were victorious, they were a broken peoples. Their number had been so vastly reduced indeed, that their ability to tend to the world as they had done was greatly hampered. The Mortal Races were now free to run amok, to establish their Kingdoms and their Empires unmolested.
The Age of the Elf had ended.
The Rise of the Mortals
Man flourished, his ability to procreate quickly unimpaired by Elvish intervention. For where they would usually interfere before an Empire could be established, now there was no one to stop a Warlord from pressing his borders as far as he dared.
Nations arose, and through their wars, they expanded. Soon, the world was a patchwork quilt of a hundred cultures, of a hundred Kings and of a hundred armies. They looked at each other, with that same deluded mentality wielded by the High Mages of old, and so begun yet another great battle - the Mortal War.
The Elves, exhausted from their toils, retreated to their strongholds to regroup. Though they were far from powerless to stop the ensuing carnage, they simply reasoned that they had meddled enough in mortal affairs, and were content with preserving whatever joy could yet be found in their lives. From their beautiful fortresses, they acknowledged Man's unending bloodshed with grim resignation, and left him to his business.
This continued for several more millennia. Mortal nations proved short-lived affairs, and the Elves soon lost track of them - soon stopped caring. It seemed that Man's nature was simply what it was; a brief exercise in futility, repeated over and over. So long as they did not bother the Elderborn, then why should they care?
And so the Elves turned away from the world, and for several millennia more, they flourished in a New Golden Age... though they were far from their former glory. They revelled in earthly delights, they forget their duties, but they were happier than they'd been since before they could remember. Many of those who had lived through the Great Mage War were now dead, either because they tired from life and ended their boredom - as many Elves were known to do, or because they had been slain in the Sorrowsong War. What had once been profound wisdom and knowledge, had eventually become close-minded ignorance.
And so, they too forget their folly.
The first news of the High Man's resurgence reminded them that they had yet again given themselves to unforgivable foolishness.
March of the High Man
The High Men appeared from their subterranean networks after centuries of replenishing their number, and refining their war-craft. They, like Man, were hopelessly flawed and briefly lived, yet unlike Man, they possessed advanced intellect and their unnatural origins granted them greater access to the forces of magic.
Legions flying the banner of a white fist upon a black background, surged forth into the realms of the mortals. The High Men were fearsome warriors, graceful in their tactical executions, but brutal in their zeal; the mortal armies perished before their advance.
The Elves, looking on with horror from the safety of their fortified strongholds, hastily reactivated their war machine. Spears were dusted off, magical arts were re-mastered, and new armour was forged - though all the while, the world beyond their borders burned with the fires of war.
The High Men had learnt their lessons from the Sorrowsong War, and their knowledge in battle-magic was vast and practised. When they clashed with the first Elven hosts, they achieved crushing victories time and time again, throwing the Elderborn ranks into disarray. Indeed, within a decade of their resurgence, the High Man had conquered seven of the ten remaining Elven strongholds, and once more threatened the species with extinction.
And then the mortal realms united, as they had done in the stories of old, when the terror of the High Mages ruled the land. Orc, Dawrf, Man, Lizard and Beast all merged their collective strengths into a tidal wave of iron and flesh, and threw themselves at the High Men. The war escalated to the world's four corners. Kingdoms and Empires crumbled; armies rallied and triumphed. Millions died, and millions more were left homeless, fleeing the fighting.
Though eventually, it was the powerful magic wielded by the High Men, that turned the war in their favour. They pushed on against the numberless hordes of Man, breaking him in every confrontation as they turned their full might against him. Cities were scorched, farms were pillaged, and across the whole world, every living creature knew the folly of war.
The Elderborn had been bought time by Man's intervention, and the Last Host was assembled. An impressive force of a million immortal creatures, utilising their greatest wizards and warriors, launched a counter-attack that spanned the continent of Earth's Pillar. They were victorious in a string of titanic battles, and drove the High Men back.
In the final confrontation, between child and father, the White Fury - the High Men's greatest warrior and leader - met the Last Host in a destructive battle of magical energy. The Elves' most powerful sages, seers, wizards and mages united against him in an effort to bring the war to its decisive conclusion, and quickly. However, the White Fury's powers were beyond equal, and his rage was terrifying. He threw down all of his opponents, and then turned his insane gaze to the ranks of the Elves. He unleashed wave after wave of flame upon them, blasting entire formations with a single wave of a hand - displaying the kind of power one had seen wielded by a High Mage in the days of old.
The Last Host was forced into retreat, fleeing before an enemy whose power far surpassed their understanding. The White Fury's soldiers followed them, killing the Elderborn left and right with gleeful enthusiasm. As the High Men crested the hills of Artor, on which the battle had been primarily fought, they paused at the sight of a hundred thousand wizards of Man.
Orcs, Men, Dwarves, Lizards and Beast, all united under one banner, all wielding a deadly and volatile cocktail of magic. They attacked the High Men, returning the devastation they had wrought upon the Elves. The land was blackened as whirlwinds of fire swept through White Fury's ranks, scorching thousands. Blizzards kicked up, dropping man-sized icicles on top of their war machines. Within minutes, their advance had stopped, and they cowered before the awesome power of the united Menfolk.
The White Fury sprung his attack, hoping to destroy the amassed force of spellcasters as he had done so with the Elves, and unleashed his rage upon them. It was a battle worthy of legend, and for six hours, one High Man faced off against an army of thousands.
Eventually, White Fury tired, and he withered under the incessant barrage of magic. Before he finally gave into death, he gathered his last reserves of arcane energy for one final spell. His body turned to pure light, and he slammed his staff hard against the earth. An explosion of excessively potent magical energy rocked the planet, from north to south, and a thousand mile radius of where he stood crumbled under the resulting shockwave. Both the armies of Man and the High Men were reduced to ashes within an instant, and so too was White Fury.
In their place then stood a land, scorched and blackened. The war was finally over, but at what cost?
The Present Day
With the High Men's defeat, came the breaking of Man's unity. It seemed that without a common foe to war against, his grievances with himself were unreconcilable. His Kindgoms, broken as they were by the war, turned on each other and fought with what futile resources they had.
The Elves meanwhile were utterly exhausted. Their number had been reduced from tens of millions to tens of thousands, and their control of the world had been snapped in half by White Fury's earlier onslaught. They fled in all directions, hoping to acquire for themselves some small corner of the world in which they could yet find peace.
The world returned to its state before the High Men's invasion. War and folly ruled the day; kingdoms and Empires rose and fell with each passing decade.
One such Kingdom of Man differed from the rest however. Its unity had not been broken by petty grievance, lust, greed and selfishness. Theirs had withstood, if even for a heart beat, the folly of its very nature.
The Kingdom was young, forged from several as the High Men poured into their lands, and it had withstood the test of their strength. Indeed, it was their wizards who had led the charge against the White Fury, and now, they led the charge into a brighter future.
Whilst the Elves were merely content to once again bury themselves away from the world, and whilst the other kingdoms were also content with continuing their never-ending wars, this kingdom, this land of unity, the Realm of Ekrol, saw through the stupidity of it all. High Man had not been defeated, they knew this, for he had simply retreated back into the earth as he had done centuries upon centuries ago. He would return, and with the world in the shape it was, and with the Elves broken as they were, he would return much sooner rather than later.
The world could not withstand them again.
The Realm of Ekrol
The Realm of Ekrol is a bastard land of bastard peoples. Originally, it was comprised of four individual Kingdoms, who submitted to unity as the High Men surged across their borders. Along the western coastline of Ekrol, lived the tribes of the Half-Elves, who forever dabbled in the foolery of Man and the folly of Elf in perfect unison. Their numbers were small, but their arcane mastery was unsurpassed, as was their skill at arms. In the ragged mountains, known as the Spine of Ekrol, lived the Orc clans. Their numbers were many, and their strength and courage could not be matched by others of their kin; they had died by the hundreds of thousands upon the battlefields in Ekrol's war against the High Man. In the grassy flat lands, between the Spine and the Sea, lived ordinary Man; mundane in his skill set, and diverse in his beliefs. Beyond the spine, occupying the marshes, lived the Lizardfolk, whose cunning had made them effective fighters in the uneven terrain of their home.
But Ekrol's diversity was furthered still, by the surge of refugees fleeing the conflict. Every race, of all shapes and sizes, had sought refuge behind their faltering spear-walls, and they had stayed long after the war's conclusion to rule the counties, dukedoms and earldoms that had been left barren by the fighting.
Now this multitude of minorities, looks to its neighbours, and understands that they too must be brought into their social utopia - before High Man returns to wreak his vengeance upon the world once more.
Canon Races
"We created Man anew, so that he could live beside us in his rightful place as Hero... but what we created, wasn't Man at all. It was something far darker, far more terrible, than the High Mages could have ever themselves made." - Talas Soe, Elven Priestess. Written after the Sorrowsong War.
High Man is the physical and metaphysical peak of Man. Like the Elves, there is few variations among them, and indeed they all look eerily similar. Their intentions range from the greatest good, to the lowest evil, and due to the many miscalculations made in their creation, they constantly switch between the two. The end result is a race of insane, not necessarily evil, super humans. Their strength, vitality and magical prowess is unmatched by Mortal Man, and this makes them terrifying enemies.
In the Sorrowsong War, they were broken by the Elves' superior knowledge of battle magic. In the second war they waged against the world, they had bridged this gap in knowledge, and ruled the battlefield with total arcane superiority. Indeed, it had taken the whole might of the Elves to turn the tide, and even then, they were eventually repulsed.
Even though they were hopelessly out numbered during the second conflict, they still managed to hold dominion over much of the planet, before their leader, White Fury, was slain by a united force of mortal spellcasters.
For their one weakness, owing to their insane nature, is their inability to unify - just like the race on which they were based. It takes a strong warrior of great power to gather the warring subterranean states together, and to restore some semblance of government. White Fury had been that individual.
They live for about a century, and appear as pale-skinned humans with either black or blonde hair, but always blue eyes. To look upon them, you may think them beautiful, even charming - but look upon them too long, and you'll see for yourself the folly of Elves who made them.
"We were created by evil hands to full-fill evil purpose. We marched in the millions, doing our Lords' biddings without question. For centuries we knew nothing else, and we were blinded by our ignorance. Man showed us we were wrong with his courage when he cast down all but one of our masters. We have been wrong ever since." Dulen Hem, Mage of the Sun. Written after the High Men's resurgence.
The Elderborn, or Elves, are an immortial humanoid species created by the magic of the High Mages long ago. Then, they were used as footsoldiers instead of Man, for Man had been ravaged by the war and at one point was almost extinct. The Elves, on the other hand, could be created by the thousands at the whim of a High Mage.
They were designed to be flawless warriors with an advanced grasp of the arcane arts. In this role, they formed the armies of the High Mages, and fought against Man as he rose to defeat them. After Man defeated all but one of the High Mages, and then was subjected to a flesh-changing spell, the Elves became confused as to their purpose.
All their lives, they were taught that their respective High Mage was a force of good in a world of evil. They fought and died believing this, for hundreds and hundreds of years. Yet, as Man regained his might and waged his war with powers he could never hope to beat, they found themselves dumbfounded.
Man was inferior. Yet he was free.
The Last High Mage butchered man, twisting him into many forms, so that he could never again unite. The Elves, with their illusions of fighting for a greater good now broken, saw this as an inherent evil. They swiftly collaborated against their Master.
The High Mage, however, foresaw their treachery. With the other High Mages dead, and unable to contend him for control of the Elves, he used his magic to mind control the whole lot of them. He made them stand there, defenceless, as he smited them with one mighty spell after another.
It was Vanguard Grudol, the Sun Elf, and the highest ranking commander of the High Mage's forces, who broke free of the mind control. He did this by cutting arcane wards into his flesh, with the scorched bones of a slain High Mage. Vanguard Grudol was no match for the High Mage in a pitched battle, and so he used his cunning.
Believing Vanguard Grudol was under his control, the High Mage ordered the Elf to first kill his daughters, then his wife, and then himself. Vanguard Grudol went along with the order, striking his first daughter across the face as she begged him for mercy, but as he raised his sword, he spun and unleashed the full extent of his power.
The High Mage was mortally wounded, raising his defences too slowly for a blow he thought impossible to come. Still, he had enough power to kill the Elf - or so he thought. A great battle ensued, and eventually, Vanguard Grudol gripped the High Mage and pulled him into a pillar of flame. They both presumably died.
After the Great Mage War, the remaining Elves set to restoring the planet; driven by the guilt for their part in the carnage that had destroyed it so.
Then they turned their hands to creating life, replenishing many animal species that had been made extinct by the fighting. Eventually, the world was green again, and full of life - and they rejoiced at their work.
But Man was still a butchered form of his former self, and their guilt returned. So they tried to fix Man, but their powers were unable to reverse the spell put upon him. Instead, they decided to create Man anew, hoping to populate the world with the likes of those who put down so many of the High Mages with their bravery.
Their resultant creation, the High Men, was an abomination who quickly set about enslaving the world and attacking their masters. The Elves suffered terribly in the consequential Sorrowsong War, but were victorious in driving the High Men into the earth.
Broken, the Elves no longer wished to police the mortal realms, and retreated to their sanctuaries. In their absence, Man's various forms flourished, and they established nations across the world. This went on for thousands of years, and though the Elves were regathering their strength, they lost many of their oldest kin to suicide. For an Elf was just a man at his core, who would eventually become bored with all the world had to offered. Indeed, though Elves were immortal, the oldest have only been known to live for a few thousand years before falling to madness and ending themselves.
When High Man resurged, the Elves were unprepared. They suffered terrible losses, and were almost wiped from the world were it not for the intervention of the mortal realms. They fought one last battle against High Man on the Hills of Ardol, but were utterly broken by their fearsome and powerful leader, White Fury.
As with the Great Mage War, it was Man, albeit in his various forms, who cast down the world's greatest tormentor.
After the High Men's defeat, the Elves had been reduced so heavily in number that they simply fled to the most remote areas of the world, hoping yet to find peace.
Though some stayed, driven by their duty to heal the world, and make amends for past mistakes. They settled with some of the mortals, giving rise to Half-Breeds. Indeed, through the mortal realms one can find a small scattering of Elven enclaves.
They are the masters of wisdom, and are by far the greatest spellcasters of the known world - equalled only by the High Men.
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In the meantime, here's what the RP is about:
Set in a Feudal Kingdom, within a fantasy-medieval world
The King has died, leaving no heirs.
The Kingdom's more powerful lords gather to appoint a new one from their ranks.
Winner assumes control of the Kingdom, but must delegate responsibility to each of the Lords.
The GM creates issues for the Kingdom to deal with, such as war, pestilence, famine and economic woes.
The King either alone, or with advice from the Lords, formulates a plan to deal with each of these.
So on, so forth, yada, yada, yada. Come back tomorrow, and I should have something up here for you.
*Squints* ... yeah sorry about that text, it got squished.
Pro-Tip: I think RR stands for Recovery Room, which I'm assuming is what Americans may or may not call their school's sick bay.
You may find something in there for poor old Dorris, but I'm uncertain if heart medication is something you'd get - or could find an alternative for. If only Doc Richardson hadn't of broken down like he did.
The group have made it to safety, for now. The horde, having finished feasting, were not alerted to their get-away and are now shambling around aimlessly in the gymnasium... best be quiet for now though, just in case.
Inside the corridor the group have found themselves in, there is an eery silence. The lack of shamblers means there'd a good chance no more remain throughout their immediate area, for surely the earlier gun fire would have drawn them. Nevertheless, one should never follow their assumptions blindly!
On a nearby school notice board, nestled between redundant notices of "After School Chess Club!" and "Army Strong, Find Out More Today!", sits a map of the Washington-Lee campus.
Trying to do away with that pesky tier system. Here's my proposed replacement so far.
Current Tournaments:
The Humanoid Blood Crown
Contenders wishing to seek access to this tournament must be humanoid in nature, and are restricted to a certain height and weight. The weapons used in these matches are randomised, and a contender must make do with what they are given - even if it's far from their skill set.
The Stats and Numbers
Name:
Race:
Age:
Age Group: Adolescent, Young Adult, Adult, Middle-Aged, Old.
Gender:
Appearance: Include armour.
Can Fly: Yes/No
Jump Height: In feet.
Reaction Speed: Slow, Medium (Average human), Fast, Unnatural, Insane.
Strength: How much weight could you character lift? 61 kilograms is the average human male's.
Weight: Include weight of armour. Average human male wearing ordinary clothes is around 65 kilograms. Maximum: 325 kilograms.
Height: Maximum 12 feet.
Speed: Slow, Medium (Average human), Fast, Unnatural, Insane.
Magic Here's where it gets a little complicated. List your spells, describe what they do, and more importantly, state how long it takes to prepare. Anything over five seconds will require a turn to "charge".
Abilities: These are the things your fighter can do without the aid of magic. This covers things like cybernetic implants. If in doubt, ask me. This also covers anything your armour can do, like cloaking.
DO NOT POST THE FOLLOWING SECTION. PM IT TO ME INSTEAD.
Known Weaknesses: An example would be a Vampire beinging scorched by sunlight, or a werewolf being vulnerable to silver.
Bone Density: Low, Medium (Average Human), Hard, Steel-like, Unbreakable (Although not quite)
Armour Type: What attacks is your armour designed to push aside? Bullets? Slicing actions? Stabbing actions? Magical resistance? Laser resistance? Every armour in the known world was designed with a purpose in mind, and it's unlikely your character's is any different.
If you're wondering about how I'd pair warriors, I would first try to match them judging by their perceived strengths, but would probably fall back to nerfing if needs be. For example, I'd disallow a character from flying, or weaken their armour/skin, or slow them down etc. Though I'm also hoping my randomised weapon plan, will play a part.
I intend for a weapon pool to be displayed prior to the match. It might involve a laser blaster, a P90, a chainsaw, a greatsword, a bolter, a light sabre etc. I'd then roll a dice. Would make for an interesting twist, I think.
King Pagani had not slept for a week. He was exhausted, far from sober, and finding little comfort in his beautiful and exquisite bed warmers.
Being a King had not been everything he expected.
With a sigh and a misty head, he rose from the stacked fur blankets of his bed with a heavy heart. Moon light shone dimmly through the opening of the curtains to his chamber's balcony. The same balcony he proclaimed the death of Francis II to the people of Naples. How they had cheered, how they had roared his name in utter ecstasy.
He felt he'd live to see a hundred, that day.
Now he was unsure if he'd see the coming Winter.
His District Marshals were moving against him. His open defiance of them in Parliament had been a foolish move, for even with his absolute power, it was a dangerous business to shame ambitious men. They had denied him their Knights after he had forced them to put the Blue Coal on the free market, which was of no consequence by itself - The Kingdom was not at war.
However, the District Marshals had also taken it upon themselves to immediately leak the details of the meeting. The whole Kingdom was outraged, and in mere days, tens of thousands of his angry subjects had come to protest outside of his Palace. At first, he met them with the compassion of a misunderstood father, but as their chants continued through the nights, and their numbers swelled, he ordered the Palace Guard to disperse them.
It wasn't a blood bath, thankfully, for his men were obedient, restrained and noble. Still, it had proved symbolic of his true relationship with the people - that he was their master, and they his slaves. His was all powerful, and it was his to make decisions, not theirs. Even if those decisions were against their wishes.
All the while, the District Marshals were sewing further discontent with the masses. He hadn't definite proof of their actions, but he knew it in his heart. They were subtly trying to oust him from the throne.
"BASTARDS!" he roared, picking up a wine-stained chalice and throwing it against the wall.
A woman squeaked from within his bed, pulling the blankets close to herself as if they'd offer protection from the King's rage. He'd been very unstable of late, and had become acquainted with some rather bizarre erotic practices - so much so that even women skilled in the arts of pleasure, were quickly becoming afraid.
King Pagani had not slept for a week. He was exhausted, far from sober, and finding little comfort in his beautiful and exquisite bed warmers.
He looked down at the two documents, one presented to him by the Dutch, and the other by the Germans. Both offered him the security and the investment he sought, and either one could save him from his impending doom. He was under no illusion of the District Marshal's plans; soon or later they would challenge him openly, and he doubted he could raise enough men to fight their forces. They controlled 80% of Naples' army, after all.
But a Western Ally, with all its industry - they, they could ensure the survival of his reign. They could save him. With their help, he could dismiss the District Marshals, put them all to the gallows, and proclaim his power as absolute - as he should have done from the start. Many would die, but then that was the point of being a King, right? It was his duty to carry the nation's guilt, and his duty to delight in its prosperity.
He hated factories. He hated guns. He hated the idea of chaining one's self to a smog filled ghetto, plying away youth to a better's fruition, until diseased old age snatched them from the cruel Earth on which they were enslaved. But if he was killed, or dethroned before he could create an alternative, then what would be his legacy?
"Here lies King Pagani, the Fool. The Blind. The ... the Unjust?" he mumbled to himself, pausing with grim resignation as the last words rolled from his tongue. "Curse this world. Curse Blue Coal. Curse God, curse him for-" his rant stopped dead in its tracks.
Hastily he dropped to his knees, clasped his hands and stared intently at the Moon through the balcony's curtains. Taking a few deep breaths to calm his temper, he started a prayer unknown to Bible.
"Oh Father, who art in Heaven," he began, his voice wavering. "Give me the Strength to be the Man I once envisioned myself to be. Give me the Wisdom, that I may see to the needs of my people. Grant me Dignity, when I must stray from your Path, for know I shall return. Give me the Courage, to love my enemies. Amen."
As if the prayer had been an energy-inducing elixir, the King jumped to his feet with renewed vigour. He hastily sat himself down at his table, and drew a quill. He knew what his people needed, and by God's Grace, he'd see to their prosperity - his life and legacy be damned.
"My noble Kaiser of the German Peoples,
Having reviewed your generous offer for gold and agricultural assistance, as well as the guaranteed territorial sovereignty of my Kingdom, I hereby declare the Blue Coal mines of Mt. Etna and Mt. Vesuvius territory of the German Empire. Take them, they are yours. Take the lands around them, too, do with them as you wish. The sooner their deposits are extinguished, the better. They are an evil upon my Kingdom, and I will not have my people suffer the temptations offered by them. Nor will I have the rest of the world eyeing them with bloody minded envy.
So long as the gold, agricultural assistance and security guarantees are honoured - to put it frankly, as King to Emperor - I do not care what you do with them.
You have my love, and my thanks,
King Pagani, of the Kingdom of Naples."
"Steward!" Pagani shouted out, excited. The blanketed girl flinched, unsure if he was having another aggressive turn.
The doors to the King's chamber swung open, and in walked a refined man of middle years wearing a suit of polished mail. He came to a halt half way across the room, and bowed.
"Take this to the German diplomat. Tell him to present it to his Emperor," King Pagani ordered. "But do not disclose the contents. At any cost. You are to die before they fall into the hands of anyone but the Diplomat's. Take the whole Palace Guard with you, if you must."
The steward nodded, and stood. "My life for your order, my Lord."
With that, the steward took the letter and headed off to hand it to the German diplomat.
And then the King returned to his seat, to put quill to another letter.
@Green Yeah, it needs to be done. You have to remember, not many people are all that brave - even on the internet. I imagine there's been no end of them who have come into Arena, looked at it and thought "Wtf? How does this work?" but are too afraid to ask because they feel they'd look stupid.
Even if the Tier system and fighting rules vary from thread to thread, it sounds like they're based on existing principles, but tweaked here and there by whoever GM takes the helm. I'd say getting a "General" overview of both up as a sticky, would be a good thing to do. At least that way those who are daunted by the prospect of asking the established players about how arena works, will have somewhere to go to get an idea.
I'd say get them drawn up, maybe conferring with the other silverbacks first to A) get their approval B) their feedback/suggestions, and then ask whoever runs RPGN to do a little article on them once they go up. That'd be some nice publicity.
Yeah, I know about your crash. I was lurking over at some place called IwakuRoleplay (not my cup of tea, I gotta say), and we had this huge surge of players from here round Christmas time. I remember because arguments would break out between them in the OOCs, and it'd cause drama.
I came here out of curiosity, and kept tabs on it. After the head honcho gave it a makeover, I thought Heck, why not? To be honest, I like its simplicity - something I felt Iwaku lacked at times.
Somehow I told you some of my history. Odd that.
Anyways, I'm going over the Tier system at the moment. It hikes a bit, I've found. Maybe that mult-layered Tier system you were talking about would be better, it makes more sense to me anyway.
