Our first posts are up! The world-building is off to a rougher start than I'd have liked, but the plot carries on regardless. With skill, perseverance and a little bit of creative luck, we should be off to a running start - there'll be no five-month-long introductions to be found here!
Virgil
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In
The Vestiges Of Krolm - Vengeance Upon The "Civilized" Ones!
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5 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Just for clarification, Hertla and her son are Yullar's personal house-slaves - where he goes, they follow. Additionally, the whole point of Krolm's Anvil is to settle power-disputes between the clans; Every generation or so (10 years, give or take) the most powerful clans each send a warhost up to decide which clan is more or less proclaimed leader for a time, allowing for a Rule of the Fittest type of leadership while still maintaining relative autonomy from one another. Losers usually pay high tributes in terms of resources - it's entirely possible for certain smaller clans to join forces and pool together a warhost, even going so far as to meld older, weaker clans into whole new ones in order to have a stronger chance at rising up the political ladder.
Of course, as very briefly alluded to in the post, it's also possible for clans fade into obscurity or die out entirely, perhaps splitting off and joining others just to survive. The struggle for dominance is a constant dance of variables in the Ulgothe mountains.
Of course, as very briefly alluded to in the post, it's also possible for clans fade into obscurity or die out entirely, perhaps splitting off and joining others just to survive. The struggle for dominance is a constant dance of variables in the Ulgothe mountains.
"WHAT LIES WITHIN?!" He slammed his chest and spat out a tremendous fit of wheezing laughter, barely being able to hold the reigns of his stocky brown mare; The sound of his voice heaved across the camp like a rumbling thunder, streaking with aberrant gasps for air as Yullar desperately struggled to contain himself.
". . .LO. . .LOok around you boy - what caverns could possibly lie up here? When they said that warriors were put under atop Krolm's Anvil, they rarely meant it in the literal sense!"
Finally managing to catch his breath, the red-cheeked captain gave a weary pat of his scaled belly and slid off of the beast, wiping a few renegade tears from his eyes as they shot out over the collective motley of brightly-colored tents, cindering fires and dreary-faced fighters. Here and there in the forefront he caught the shifting attention of some nosy busy-body, and he was suddenly keenly aware of the daft presence adjacent him; his gaze returned to that of the ghoulishly pale youth.
"Come here you...", he began, tucking the spear into his left before strapping a beefy right arm around the shorter warrior's shoulders, dragging him a further few yards out from the tents with his head nodding affirmatively towards the distance. "...See those dots just a little ways off? No doubt you did, they arrived around the same time as the rest of our camp-builders; Now, count them - one...two...six in total, right? With us that makes seven, yes - the seven most powerful clans in all Ulgothe all come together for a regular little party, yes? And what party would that be, that requires the likes of civilization's fiercest arms, and the warriors who use them? Honor, boy - an honor unattainable through the use of talk or arguing, of the kind that rings true between even the basest ant and the proudest lion. Honor through Battle, where lots are drawn and settled by the spear and axe..."
His speech slowed, then went silent for a while, and his gaze stretched over the dusk's edge...then he latched an eye back onto his companion's frail form and continued:
"...I've been here thrice in my lifetime, lad - I still recall the days when we sat near the head of the council in the longhouse of the Grey Wyrms; But maybe you're just too young to remember...yes...- still, you ought to know better of the world by now, especially seeing as you're wielding the tools of an adult. And speaking of which..."
The portly warrior unhooked his grasp on the younger man, instead shoving spear and shield into the boy's stomach with a hearty nudge.
"Do me a favor and head for the camp-center to ask about my tent; If it's up, find Hertla there and tell her and her boy to get these nice and polished for me before we settle in for the night - the party'll start early in the morning, and we don't want to miss it on account of a few unfinished formalities. Don't worry about any introductions, they'll know its from me - and as for you, well...here today, gone tomorrow, yes? For myself, I've got a few old friends to do some catching up with."
He nodded towards a haphazardly strewn pile of bones laying just in sight of the camp, erected around the aged and rotting husk of an undoubtedly ancient oak. Then with a parting slap on the boy's back, the stout figure turned and strode off towards them, whistling merrily all the way.
". . .LO. . .LOok around you boy - what caverns could possibly lie up here? When they said that warriors were put under atop Krolm's Anvil, they rarely meant it in the literal sense!"
Finally managing to catch his breath, the red-cheeked captain gave a weary pat of his scaled belly and slid off of the beast, wiping a few renegade tears from his eyes as they shot out over the collective motley of brightly-colored tents, cindering fires and dreary-faced fighters. Here and there in the forefront he caught the shifting attention of some nosy busy-body, and he was suddenly keenly aware of the daft presence adjacent him; his gaze returned to that of the ghoulishly pale youth.
"Come here you...", he began, tucking the spear into his left before strapping a beefy right arm around the shorter warrior's shoulders, dragging him a further few yards out from the tents with his head nodding affirmatively towards the distance. "...See those dots just a little ways off? No doubt you did, they arrived around the same time as the rest of our camp-builders; Now, count them - one...two...six in total, right? With us that makes seven, yes - the seven most powerful clans in all Ulgothe all come together for a regular little party, yes? And what party would that be, that requires the likes of civilization's fiercest arms, and the warriors who use them? Honor, boy - an honor unattainable through the use of talk or arguing, of the kind that rings true between even the basest ant and the proudest lion. Honor through Battle, where lots are drawn and settled by the spear and axe..."
His speech slowed, then went silent for a while, and his gaze stretched over the dusk's edge...then he latched an eye back onto his companion's frail form and continued:
"...I've been here thrice in my lifetime, lad - I still recall the days when we sat near the head of the council in the longhouse of the Grey Wyrms; But maybe you're just too young to remember...yes...- still, you ought to know better of the world by now, especially seeing as you're wielding the tools of an adult. And speaking of which..."
The portly warrior unhooked his grasp on the younger man, instead shoving spear and shield into the boy's stomach with a hearty nudge.
"Do me a favor and head for the camp-center to ask about my tent; If it's up, find Hertla there and tell her and her boy to get these nice and polished for me before we settle in for the night - the party'll start early in the morning, and we don't want to miss it on account of a few unfinished formalities. Don't worry about any introductions, they'll know its from me - and as for you, well...here today, gone tomorrow, yes? For myself, I've got a few old friends to do some catching up with."
He nodded towards a haphazardly strewn pile of bones laying just in sight of the camp, erected around the aged and rotting husk of an undoubtedly ancient oak. Then with a parting slap on the boy's back, the stout figure turned and strode off towards them, whistling merrily all the way.
Alright, heading off for the day (things to do!); the introductory post isn't much, but I'm only warming up anyhow. As for the names, I'd say sticking with a first name (Yullar) and a last/nick name would work just fine ("Laxtongue") for anyone who doesn't have a highborn title or rank accompanying them (War Captain). Good luck with your character sheet and your first post, I'll be looking forward to it!
...Yew Lions...Hag Rams...Old Crows...Storm Hawks...Dead Rabbits...Blood Bears. . .Iron Elks. Like a pestilence they crept en masse along ancient pathways, unstable bridges, narrow chasms and deadly-steep slopes of firm-footed granite. Streams of bronze and iron glittered up the slopes from every direction, as if the very lifeblood of the region had suddenly decided to pool and coagulate, and strangle the heart with its encroaching volume. For a night and two days they rose along their ancestral passages, marching ever onward to crest the summit of their great journey...and what a marvel they beheld upon arrival: A flat, sparsely decorated plateau stretching three miles and five deep, plastered with a dull stone-grey between specks of green. Above it rode misty warriors in their puffy chariots, observing the sacred battleground from on high with a gentle ease; The old ones seemed pleased by the presence of their progeny.
Krolm's Anvil - a place of great honor, and yet greater loss; As Yullar sniffed the air from atop his sturdy mount, he noted the faintest traces of iron wafting about the decrepit bones of the dead. Here had many strove to be deemed worthy of entrance into Krolm's eternal halls, and many more would yet. It was a place of rock, bones and the idle bit of well-fed vegetation - a place where, they say, the souls of the damned and dying still wandered in strife, looking to redeem themselves in the eyes of their ancient lord. A place of sorrow for many, yes...but also of unrivaled wealth for the lucky few. Yullar would be sure to place himself among the ranks of the latter - it'd always sounded incredibly aggravating to die and live on forevermore as a wraith, a permanent mark of a warrior's inherent failure. He clutched the reigns in his left a little harder, easing the beast forward towards the preset camps that the clans' camp-followers had erected mere hours earlier. Seven distant spots, yet to each there seemed only the space for one - the anticipation was the real killer up here.
The Iron Elks would be resting in the southwest-most corner of the summit, as was tradition. He figured that to be quite unfortunate - they'd have to be downwind of the Hag Rams all over again.
Krolm's Anvil - a place of great honor, and yet greater loss; As Yullar sniffed the air from atop his sturdy mount, he noted the faintest traces of iron wafting about the decrepit bones of the dead. Here had many strove to be deemed worthy of entrance into Krolm's eternal halls, and many more would yet. It was a place of rock, bones and the idle bit of well-fed vegetation - a place where, they say, the souls of the damned and dying still wandered in strife, looking to redeem themselves in the eyes of their ancient lord. A place of sorrow for many, yes...but also of unrivaled wealth for the lucky few. Yullar would be sure to place himself among the ranks of the latter - it'd always sounded incredibly aggravating to die and live on forevermore as a wraith, a permanent mark of a warrior's inherent failure. He clutched the reigns in his left a little harder, easing the beast forward towards the preset camps that the clans' camp-followers had erected mere hours earlier. Seven distant spots, yet to each there seemed only the space for one - the anticipation was the real killer up here.
The Iron Elks would be resting in the southwest-most corner of the summit, as was tradition. He figured that to be quite unfortunate - they'd have to be downwind of the Hag Rams all over again.
(Make sure to edit your post if you need to tack on an additional comment - makes it easier to read and less traffic-throttling)
Hmmm...well, I can see that going in one of three directions:
1. He's a shaman/shaman's apprentice that particularly loves battle (despite the usual wisdom of shamans) - perhaps he feels he'd put his "skills" to better use against the enemy than his friends.
2. He's a warrior with some small, random level of talent in conjuring; He uses these random outbursts of unexpected power (spitting acid, scalding people with his hand, sneezing fire, et-cetera) to compliment a serious lack of combat skill...and/or to supplement a weaker physique (perhaps he unknowingly has a tape-worm and can never seem to get enough food to build up a good amount of muscle).
3. He's the child of a Ranaruun slave, a byproduct of those brought with certain clans during their exodus, those made to serve as generational stewards and lackeys to powerful members within these "families." Having been brought up among the Iron Elks, he considers himself an Ulgothen, and seeks to prove his loyalty (and perhaps earn his freedom) by tapping into the power of his particular genetic disposition. Also, his master(s) may or may not be attempting to get rid of a potential risk by simply chucking him into the first battle available - even barbarians are somewhat wary of the dangers of an enraged or underappreciated magic-user.
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@Shadow Dragon
(>_>) - "It's not a phase!" (...he says while unknowingly melting into the wall.)
Anyway, I'll get on to working up the introductory post - the clans make camp atop Krolm's Anvil after a weary march, preparing for the traditional bloodshed to come in the morning.
(...and there isn't a way to delete posts, sadly - so be careful in how you execute them!)
Hmmm...well, I can see that going in one of three directions:
1. He's a shaman/shaman's apprentice that particularly loves battle (despite the usual wisdom of shamans) - perhaps he feels he'd put his "skills" to better use against the enemy than his friends.
2. He's a warrior with some small, random level of talent in conjuring; He uses these random outbursts of unexpected power (spitting acid, scalding people with his hand, sneezing fire, et-cetera) to compliment a serious lack of combat skill...and/or to supplement a weaker physique (perhaps he unknowingly has a tape-worm and can never seem to get enough food to build up a good amount of muscle).
3. He's the child of a Ranaruun slave, a byproduct of those brought with certain clans during their exodus, those made to serve as generational stewards and lackeys to powerful members within these "families." Having been brought up among the Iron Elks, he considers himself an Ulgothen, and seeks to prove his loyalty (and perhaps earn his freedom) by tapping into the power of his particular genetic disposition. Also, his master(s) may or may not be attempting to get rid of a potential risk by simply chucking him into the first battle available - even barbarians are somewhat wary of the dangers of an enraged or underappreciated magic-user.
-------------------------------------------------------------
@Shadow Dragon
(>_>) - "It's not a phase!" (...he says while unknowingly melting into the wall.)
Anyway, I'll get on to working up the introductory post - the clans make camp atop Krolm's Anvil after a weary march, preparing for the traditional bloodshed to come in the morning.
(...and there isn't a way to delete posts, sadly - so be careful in how you execute them!)
@Shadow Dragon
Hey there Shadow - magic is quite rare in this universe, mainly performed by Gods and other powerful humans (because what's a powerful sorcerer/shaman if not a God yet to have staked a claim in the world?). In the societies of the Ulgothe Mountains, shamans are generally the only ones performing it at a consistent and perhaps even moderately powerful rate - but it is possible to have, say...a warrior capable of coating his middle-finger in flames and singeing an enemy with it when they least expect it (barbarians aren't known for much outside of their reverence for nature and prowess in battle). The main bad guys of our story (the people of Ranaruun) are somewhat more adept, but a powerful mage is still a rarity in their society; You'll definitely be fighting one at some point, and it will (probably) end in the quick death of anyone dumb enough to rush them head-on, but other than that magic is generally weak, enigmatic, and often far more dangerous to the user than their victims. As we'll see later on in the RP, even Gods don't have a tendency to cast particularly powerful magic on a common basis - because of course, anyone wise enough to make it to that point would immediately recognize the aftermath associated with the use of such power.
The setting itself is more Classical period, with the barbarians being based on the Gauls that fought the ancient Romans; In fact, the Ranaruun will be kind of like the Early Republic - they're a growing power with some strong potential, but're still learning their stride amidst the chaos of war and politics.
So in short, it's less Sword & Sorcery and more Rip & Tear.
Hey there Shadow - magic is quite rare in this universe, mainly performed by Gods and other powerful humans (because what's a powerful sorcerer/shaman if not a God yet to have staked a claim in the world?). In the societies of the Ulgothe Mountains, shamans are generally the only ones performing it at a consistent and perhaps even moderately powerful rate - but it is possible to have, say...a warrior capable of coating his middle-finger in flames and singeing an enemy with it when they least expect it (barbarians aren't known for much outside of their reverence for nature and prowess in battle). The main bad guys of our story (the people of Ranaruun) are somewhat more adept, but a powerful mage is still a rarity in their society; You'll definitely be fighting one at some point, and it will (probably) end in the quick death of anyone dumb enough to rush them head-on, but other than that magic is generally weak, enigmatic, and often far more dangerous to the user than their victims. As we'll see later on in the RP, even Gods don't have a tendency to cast particularly powerful magic on a common basis - because of course, anyone wise enough to make it to that point would immediately recognize the aftermath associated with the use of such power.
The setting itself is more Classical period, with the barbarians being based on the Gauls that fought the ancient Romans; In fact, the Ranaruun will be kind of like the Early Republic - they're a growing power with some strong potential, but're still learning their stride amidst the chaos of war and politics.
So in short, it's less Sword & Sorcery and more Rip & Tear.
In
The Vestiges Of Krolm - Vengeance Upon The "Civilized" Ones!
→
5 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
. 
Are you tired of the usual tales of sword and swoorcery? All that shiny armor gotcha down? Do you feel the sudden urge to violently take the unfortunate frustrations of your life out on those very same sword-wielding sorcerers? Well then, BOY do I have an offer for YOU! For the LOW LOW LOW (low) price of several days/weeks/months of your time, you could take on the role of a savage (or maybe not-so-savage) Gaelic-esc clans-person duking it out with both snobby-nosed riverlands soldiers and your own grizzled (and/or grizzly) neighbors in the lush and definitely populous mountains of Ulgothe...otherwise known as the Realm Of Krolm, patron saint of Nature! (And who doesn't love Nature?)
So come on over and choke yourself up an axe - we've got friendly enemy skulls to split!
Are you tired of the usual tales of sword and swoorcery? All that shiny armor gotcha down? Do you feel the sudden urge to violently take the unfortunate frustrations of your life out on those very same sword-wielding sorcerers? Well then, BOY do I have an offer for YOU! For the LOW LOW LOW (low) price of several days/weeks/months of your time, you could take on the role of a savage (or maybe not-so-savage) Gaelic-esc clans-person duking it out with both snobby-nosed riverlands soldiers and your own grizzled (and/or grizzly) neighbors in the lush and definitely populous mountains of Ulgothe...otherwise known as the Realm Of Krolm, patron saint of Nature! (And who doesn't love Nature?)
So come on over and choke yourself up an axe - we've got friendly enemy skulls to split!
. 
. . .Hum the hymn of battle, an ancient tune to which the sounds of spear and shield clash in a frenzied air. Hear it sing all the way from the steep mountains of Ulgothe to the deep valleys of Ranaruun - known to some as Honor, and by others..."Diplomacy". Yet listen closer still and know the truth that lies within, for war is but a plague - intoxicating to the mad, a pestilence within nobility, and overbearing upon the frail of heart. Worse than that, listen too greatly and you may heed its warnings no longer - for wisdom falls deaf on the hollow ear.
The detriments of conflict are not to be taken lightly - yet for the clans of the mountain-homes, as nurturing as they are brutal, war is life. Theirs in an archaic and savage way, staking claims upon their neighbors' by taking up the sword and axe...but it is also a necessity; For when the lion and bear put down their arms and cease to struggle, the Vulture comes out to play...
(The introductory post will arrive. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."shortly." Also, note that the "barbarians" in this universe are more equivalent to Gaelic tribes-people than Conan...but that's not to say you can't bridge the gap between those two aesthetics.)
. . .Hum the hymn of battle, an ancient tune to which the sounds of spear and shield clash in a frenzied air. Hear it sing all the way from the steep mountains of Ulgothe to the deep valleys of Ranaruun - known to some as Honor, and by others..."Diplomacy". Yet listen closer still and know the truth that lies within, for war is but a plague - intoxicating to the mad, a pestilence within nobility, and overbearing upon the frail of heart. Worse than that, listen too greatly and you may heed its warnings no longer - for wisdom falls deaf on the hollow ear.
The detriments of conflict are not to be taken lightly - yet for the clans of the mountain-homes, as nurturing as they are brutal, war is life. Theirs in an archaic and savage way, staking claims upon their neighbors' by taking up the sword and axe...but it is also a necessity; For when the lion and bear put down their arms and cease to struggle, the Vulture comes out to play...
(The introductory post will arrive. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."shortly." Also, note that the "barbarians" in this universe are more equivalent to Gaelic tribes-people than Conan...but that's not to say you can't bridge the gap between those two aesthetics.)
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