[CS]Messengers

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GreasyOypus
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[CS]Messengers

Post by GreasyOypus » Tue Jan 24, 2017 11:04 pm

DELETE THIS
Last edited by GreasyOypus on Thu Nov 16, 2017 4:16 pm, edited 15 times in total.
No mistakes, just happy accidents.

GreasyOypus
Member
Posts: 391
Joined: Mon Jan 23, 2017 12:12 am
Location: Michigan

Re: Messengers

Post by GreasyOypus » Wed Jan 25, 2017 10:22 pm

CS

Name: Hadley M. Bullock
Age: 27
Gender: female
Species: human
Role: Messenger
Appearance:
received_1075974489196279.jpeg
received_1075974489196279.jpeg (75.08 KiB) Viewed 950 times
Weapons & Gear:
d90103bf46f8a93ae0d15421f957c8d6.jpg
d90103bf46f8a93ae0d15421f957c8d6.jpg (40.15 KiB) Viewed 952 times
- a 5 inch dagger
- 16 arrows
- flint stone
- water canteen
- some food rations
- old maps of Alia
- parchment and pen, as any good messenger should have
f4f5f1824a7a5a35720da7305e832439.jpg
f4f5f1824a7a5a35720da7305e832439.jpg (61.09 KiB) Viewed 952 times
- Horse is male, named Pixie
Weight: 165 lbs
Height: 5 ft 7 in

Personality:
In her occupation, the woman messenger has learned to distanced herself from most of the world to carry out her duties. Despite the harsh world around her and the many threats one is forced to face everyday, Hadley has turned out to be a rather friendly soul. She isn't one for first impressions or rumours, allowing time to pass and trust to grow before passing judgement over someone. However, the girl can turn bitter quick if she becomes offended or if she feels looked down upon, silently boiling over in her mind. She tries to think fairly, never really one to take sides and values the facts of the situation above all. Though she has learned to not let her emotions get the best of her; they do, or at least only half the time. The woman has that maternal instinct about her, her anger can sometimes get the better of her and she can really hold a grudge. It not easy to get forgiveness from her, but she may come around sooner or later. If their is one thing she is its honest; good constructive criticism also meaning she isn't afraid to tell it like it is, she will call you out on any funny business or unfairness. Hadley also isn't one to pry on peoples business unless she feels it necessary; usually she waits for others to come to her oppose to making any sort of first move. She seems to be sneaky in nature and not one to open her mouth, but that's how she has grown up; learning to keep secrets from those they aren't meant for.

Roleplay example:
Small, dirty hands pulled the cinch tight till the small bag of food was sealed, the fingers worked quickly to knot the leather string as a finishing touch. The small child's eyes would look up from the closed bag, her face lit up with a bright orange light of a candle as she stared on in a puzzled silence through the dark space. Once more the voices of her parents grew rapid and loud for a brief moment, her glassy eyes would blink once before she slowly turned away from the candle light and back to the floor. She tried to busy herself more to ignore the fighting of her Ma' and Pa', beginning to move the many bags she had been instructed to pack across the dusty wooden floor towards the doorway. Behind her she heard the small patter of feet following close behind as she heaved one of the heavier bags down from her shoulders, but her worried blue eyes did not cast down in it's direction. Both hands gripped the cracking door frame and she would carefully poke her head through the threshold, just enough for one blue eye to look out into mud clad country. Torches held up into the night by hands of older men on horseback, clad in armor and colors of the new province, lit the cloudy night beyond her home. Their long swords and slanted eyes glistened against the orange light, their breath huffing out into the air as they muttered and hissed words inaudible to the girl. What where they doing here? Some faces she managed to recognize in the dark, friends of her father, but they were waiting. Waiting for her family no doubt, why else would she have been told to pack away all this stuff?

A tug finally came at the end of her gowned and the girl dipped her head down, taking a step back from the door as she did with her hands falling to her sides. Long locks of her brown hair fell over her shoulders as she stared into the face of what appeared to be a feline of sorts; walking on two legs, capable of forming words, intelligent; the girl only friend in this world. A worried glance was shared between them, both pairs of round eyes looked through the darkness where the staircase would be that lead to the attic; a place where her mother had stayed for weeks now. It started with just a tickling cough, but would soon grow to fever and ugly, red bumps that would sometimes ooze a putrid liquid. In recent days she had hardly been able to venture out of bed and the little girl had been forbidden to travel up the steps or she may fall ill as well. The little girl feared she may only see her mother again if she died, not at a proper burial either; this was not the first person to fall sick in her village. Many had already died with similar symptoms, so many so that they had begun burning bodies in mass quantities out in the old crop fields. Voices rose again and the young girl good quietly by the kitchen table with her companion, looking on at the flickering candle, letting it fill her with the little warmth it provided, silently praying for her mothers well being. Unfortunately this would be the last night the girl would be able to see her mother; it was time to leave the dying village and move with the tide of things.

Things fell quiet again upstairs and heavy footsteps would follow, the tall figure that was the girls father loped down the creaking staircase. His lids hung heavy over his dark eyes, but a stern and determined expression still clung to his hairy face as it always did with a tight frown. The hairy creature scooted closer to the side of the girl beside the table as her father would pass by the two, waving his hand just over his child's head; a gesture for her to follow. "Come along, little lady." He'd call to her cooly, drawing a long cape over himself with brown and grey furs curling around the shoulders, he'd check over the bags near the doorway that he had instructed his daughter to get ready. "...Where are we going?" Inquired the child, placing her chin down on the table top, her eyes never leaving the dark staircase, her turning from wonder to uncertainty as she listened to her father's reply. "To Brigham, a few days North of here." He would leave the large wooden hut with several bags, likely to the horse to load the saddle and chat briefly with those waiting outside. The girl and her companion stood silent in the unsettling atmosphere of it all until her father entered again, he would pause beside the table seeing the small girl had not moved from her spot; eyes trained intently on the staircase. "There is nothing for us here..." Her father would begin, his hand reached out to set over her shoulder once he quickly noticed his daughter was paying no attention. The girl's brown hair whipped back around her shoulders as her head turned, gazing up at him by the candle light. "Nothing but disease; no one can tend to crops, the soldiers have driven off the animals. We can't stay here much longer." The girl was only puzzled by his words and her head would look back to the stairs, her hand briefly tugged at his sleeve. "What about Ma'?"

The question seemed to break her fathers stoic gaze, his hand lowered away from his daughter and he would crouch low beside her, grabbing the girls attention once more. In the girls eyes, she saw her father reluctant to speak, unable to look her in the face for sometime. He breathed out and became tired looking, one large hand reached out to grab hers and the girl would grow afraid, tears weld up in her eyes. "Your mother can't come with us, she is too sick to -"
"No!" She'd blurt in defiance, the feline beside her jumped in surprise and would scamper away from the two as voices were raised. The girl turned on her heel and tried to rip away towards the stairs, but her father held on tight. "Don't! You will get sick too..." Soon she was trying to jerk her arm free and was then lifted from the ground by the large man; his arms wrapped tight around her and she would be pressed close against his chest, struggling to keep the girls arms from lashing about. "No! No!! S-stop! I said stop!!" The girl would cry out into the dark as she was easily overpowered by her, her small fist pounded on his shoulder while the other tried to reach for the table; red, teary eyes on the staircase. She'd kick and scream while her father would silently carry her out of the home, crying for her mother in the cold night. They couldn't just leave her, they couldn't! Her mother was alone and sick, how could her father do this!? Soon she could hardly speak and would only sob uncontrollably as her father lifted her onto the saddle of the horse, soon jumping on so that he was behind her; his large arms blocked anyway of escape for her as he grabbed hold of the reigns. "Let's go!" His voice echoed out into the cold, signalling the five others to go on to Brigham and the feline would hesitantly join, climbing onto a horse of one of the other men present. The girl struggled to look on back at her home, but was only drawn to gaze at her demolished town through her hot tears. Black plumes of smoke rose into the dark sky from miles away, the landscape glowing a bright orange just beyond the rooftop's.
Last edited by GreasyOypus on Thu Feb 02, 2017 4:00 am, edited 3 times in total.
No mistakes, just happy accidents.

User avatar
Parps
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Re: [CS]Messengers

Post by Parps » Thu Jan 26, 2017 3:55 am

Name: Theodore Quincarnon
Age: Does not look it, but at least 25 years of age
Gender: Male
Species: Quincarnon – a feline species native Alia wildlands. He is a “unique” case, as the species cannot speak and is not bipedal. He just so happened to run into the “right” fantastical beast with magical texts and ended up this way. (He’s embarrassed to talk about the time before he “started wearing pants.”)
Role: Messenger

Appearance:
Image

Weapon:
Image
- It is actually a human sized dagger, but he carries it as a sword. He has trained himself to use it, as he's come very close to injury without a method of protection.

Gear:
Image
- Picked up during one his travels before war became too problematic, Theodore carries a lute. It is always tuned and can be heard playing it during a moment of pause. It can always act as a blunt object if a moment of surprise. He... cannot sing. He thinks he can, but really can't.
- Water canteen
- Stale bread and dried meats
- A map of the world, corrected after war struck
- A journal with field notes on all of his journeys

Weight: 35 lbs/16kg
Height: 3’2”/96.52 cm (ears included)

Personality:
Theodore is a highly intelligent Quincarnon, not just for his own species, but above others as well. He is well-versed in many different subjects, talents, and ideas; just because he can speak very highly upon, for example, magical talents, does not mean he can perform them, of course. He can act as a voice of reason, based on knowledge and experience from his travels. He has taken his travels very seriously, understanding this world around him through a new mind and eyes. Based on his vast knowledge on random facts, he could be quite critical and quick with his words or suggestions. He is generally very friendly, but he assumes his knowledge is fairly known by all and can be insensitive if you don’t know what he’s talking about. Once realized, because the small cat does not always see sarcasm or naivetes, he will be supportive and offer a helping hand. Theodore understands new things quickly, and a new lesson or finding can put him in an excited stupor. He is naturally curious and could easily scoot into a conversation if it peaks his interest (his height allows for easy slipping in), but knows between a life and death situation. He despises being called anything but Theodore and will sometimes resort to a hiss if something does not go his way or if someone angers him. He only wants to be taken seriously, as a scholar and a creature of high intelligence unlike his quadrupedal family.

Background:
He does not quite remember when or how it happened; much of his life before the magic set in is really muddled and usually comes when he’s dreaming. What he can recall, however, is the woodlands, a dark hand snatching him from the nests, and the stinging pain of… intelligence. If you can find the old beast that had done this to him, he’s positive they’ll tell the story best. He’s also sure that it still lurks in the woodlands, now upset its little play thing ran away from everything that made Theodore… well, Theodore. All he has to go by is a parchment of paper, explaining the details of his happenings.

The parchment reads, in a very beautiful script, as such:

The poor creature, cold and hungry and alone – I saved him. Me alone. I brought him food and milk. But, he did not, could not, understand my kindness. With his soft hissing and huddled posture… Doesn’t this kit know who I am? Doesn’t this kit know what I have done for him? I tell him, but he snarls at me, bats at my fingers, refuses my guidance. These creatures, these Quincarnon, are without plain man’s tongue. We cannot converse, not like this. I want him to understand why I picked him from the weeds and brought him into my home. Thus, I find a trick of nature, a special twist of the wrist. Old texts have theorized on this, swore upon this dark magic, but no book or parchment proved success. I would have to be careful; I love my tiny friend very much… I just want him to realize that.


The parchment ends. It doesn’t take much thought to realize that Theodore was the product of dark magic merely because a creature was lonely and words could not be understood between them. The old beast played God or fooled nature, whatever you’d like to believe. It taught him everything he now knows – of the lands, of old and new languages, translations of mythical texts, medicines from an age no longer known – but as a being with a new and growing intelligence, Theodore wanted to know more, more than the beast could offer. The beast knew, though, when knowledge is sought, actions are drastic. When the last of Theodore’s questions could not be answered, he decided to find the answers himself. At fifteen, five years after his new mind, he left. He has not seen the beast for 10 years.
Why do write like you’re running out of time? Write every day like you’re running out of time?

GreasyOypus
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Posts: 391
Joined: Mon Jan 23, 2017 12:12 am
Location: Michigan

Re: [CS]Messengers

Post by GreasyOypus » Sat Jan 28, 2017 12:22 am

NPC

Name: no one knows the beasts name, no one has either lived long enough to share or was never told.
gender: male
species: Bunyip
Extra: the bunyip is a large beast that has dwelled in the Hirthe Lake with the Foidale Forest, now along the Brittania border, for as long as anyone can remember; never changing. It can take on the shape of a blind man to trick any travelors into being its next meal. Though as time has passed during the war and less has been seen of the beast, it has been said to just be a legend...
appearance:
TheDamned-Page3.jpg
TheDamned-Page3.jpg (97.98 KiB) Viewed 917 times
TheDamned-Page4.jpg
TheDamned-Page4.jpg (90.67 KiB) Viewed 917 times
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f2bfe48518ca0620fd27280254c86778.jpg (72.95 KiB) Viewed 917 times
Last edited by GreasyOypus on Wed Feb 01, 2017 2:53 pm, edited 2 times in total.
No mistakes, just happy accidents.

Flamma
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Posts: 650
Joined: Mon Jan 23, 2017 1:06 am

Re: [CS]Messengers

Post by Flamma » Mon Jan 30, 2017 3:39 am

CS


Name:
Aburi Flamma
Age:
56 (she died when she was 28)
Gender:
female
Species:
Revenant undead (human) - Revanent undead were once mortals then brought back to life by a necromancer by embedding a single wish into the corpse along with a ton of magic. While usually the revenant would be a mindless slave to whatever wish was made because Aburi's ambitions align with the wish made she remains in control, but requires constant faith to keep it that way.
Role:
Follower of Kaith
Appearance:
Image
Weapons & gear:
Armor:
Armor belonging to the cleric's of Kaith. While the saints of Kaith, usually 1 blind woman guarded by 2 acolytes, are seen as bringers of good harvest and hope, the clerics of Kaith seek a worthy death and are only seen where it is sure to be found in spades.
Image
dagger/Oko:
A special dagger passed down from father to daughter. His whole life Calton Flamma just wanted a son to pass his thief armor and weapons but instead he had a girl.
Image

saber/Akurra:
A finely sharpened blade from Aburi's time as a blade dancer. As a blade dancer Aburi's job was basically to entertain men and occasionally women. Think stripper who dances with several sharp blades as well as other small tricks like swallowing blades or hiding them in her throat and pulling them out unexpectedly.
Image

saber:
While this saber isn't as long as Aburi's Akurra it is made this small on purpose to make parrying easier.
Image

falx:
a large 2 handed curved sword with an extended handle.
Image
Weight:
138
Height:
5'7
Personality:
while Aburi might seem melancholy and distant at first it's really nothing of the sort. As a revenant she is constantly observing to determine enemy or foe or in her case whether Kaith will find you appealing or not. Will she is quick to be angered by unfair or unlawful behavior Aburi isn't very quick to act unless it's something her god disapproves of. The undead blade dancer is one of few words, though her personality could best be described as lawful good she isn't opposed to lying or bribing and does both more as an instinct then anything else. If Aburi's past life, before Kaith's light had found her, had taught her anything it's that people will give you money for anything and you can get anything with enough money.
Roleplay example:
Aburi laid naked under a red tapestry decorated by a Golden sun with wavy rays pointing out from it and curling at the ends, a symbol of Kaith god of redemption and martyrdom. She wasn't afraid, though she knew she should be, but she wasn't glad either. In every servent of Kaith's life they were expected to die for a true cause, but for those with exceptional skill and strength were made into revenants, undead who have had their mind altered to fulfill 1 wish. A cleric in white robes and a long red scarf wondered into the room holding Kaith's boon, a stone sword with a cross shaped handle. Aburi's body shivered, her arms became restless and for the first time in so long she wanted to live, but fear of rejection held her still. Her heart raced more and more with every step. As the cleric stood over Aburi's naked body he nealed down beside her holding the blade over her chest. Her eyes closed and I don't want to die... was all she could think. As her eyes remained closed she felt the blade puncture her chest, breaking bones and forcing Aburi's eyes open as she gasped for air. Blood filled her longs and spat from her mouth as her vision began to fade. Am I redeemed? were her last thought before drifting into sleep.

As Aburi awoke her mind began to pulse and her head ached from even the tiniest noise, before being carried to her room. As she rested her only thoughts were to fight for those Kaith would deem worthy.

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Quirbles
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Location: Coastline

Re: [CS]Messengers

Post by Quirbles » Tue Jan 31, 2017 4:09 pm

Name: Draxius Monovre

Age: Unknown, but many speculate him to be middle-aged.

Gender: Male

Species: Presumed Human

Role: Draxius was enlisted as protection for the messenger party. Originally, he was a renowned veteran knight; he is also a Royal Guard for the Gaul Military.

Weight: Draxius stands at an imposing height of 6 feet and 8 inches.

Height: Draxius weighs 243 pounds; along with his armor, his weigh can reach an upwards of 280-290 pounds. Despite the heaviness of his equipment, Draxius rarely appears to be encumbered by all of it.

Personality: Cunning. Manipulative. Deceptive; mere words that do no justice to describe the master of artifice that is Draxius. To the unassuming eye, the imposing knight is simply that; a knight. He is ambiguous, unforthcoming with his background and is slightly bellicose to those around him, especially those that prevent themselves as targets for his small mind games.

Although he rarely shows human decency and compassion, Draxius does seem to have something along the lines of a moral compass. If he finds himself allied to a certain group of people--say, for a mission or assignment--he obliges himself to complete said contract and uphold his temporary alliances. He is still one to start arguments, however.

Weapons/Gear:
Image
A weapon that has served him well over the years; a steel claymore sword, forged and shaped by Draxius himself. If there is anything to point out about Draxius, it is that he trusts his blade more than those around him.

Image
Strapped upon the backside of his chest-plate is an adorned crossbow, a Monovre family heirloom. It is quite large--even when folded down and placed upon his back--and requires both hands to use. As a result, it takes precious time during combat situations to take off of his back and prepare. Due to this, he uses his claymore first, and his crossbow as a last result. Despite having a ranged advantage, Draxius finds his prowess in hand-to-hand combat.

Appearance:
Image
Draxius is an imposing individual, and the reasons for such a description have already been explained; his height and weight, paired with the heavily armored outfit he wears through his journeys happen to give him a very officious and aggressive mien. Said mien, coincidentally, happens to be chiefly accurate.

Image
The removal of his impressive and grand armor would reveal Draxius to be a main of fair visage; a long hair and beard, along with unforgiving, unflappable eyes. His regular outfit--if he would be wearing it--is composed of a jacket with a fur collar, along with simple trousers and boots.

Image
Adrian's Orchard, Southern Gaul
Midnight
Dead of Winter


Silver specks of snow steadily sank to the already bleached earth, the colorless ground already laden with a white blanket from the inception of snowfall mere hours prior. The grove was silent, with only the hushed howl of a gale passing through the wavering trees, gradually rustling the pine quills upon their branches. It was tranquil, a placid haven for nature and life.

The ivory snow, however, would soon become stained with crimson.

The uninterrupted droning of the wind was soon drowned out by the clapping of hooves upon the ground, the humdrum rattling of metal undulating with the rhythm of the cloven feet. Sparrows and crows scattered from their nests in the trees, the foreign noises scattering them into the frigid night. Within moments, the small coppice was thrown into the state of a frenzy; the horse and its rider caused the uproot of wildlife along the trodden path that they were travelling on.

The trotting of the stallion did well to signify any onlookers of the rider's presence, and soon broke through the network of trees into a small clearing. As the horse pulled from the tree line, a single dominating voice boomed into the midnight air and drowned out all other distractions.

"HALT!"

The rider gripped his stallion's reigns and hoisted backwards, causing the horse to come to an abrupt stop and rear into the air; its front hooves were sent skyward and then brought back down to the ground with a slap, the horse's feet scattering snow from the impact. The animal released a hearty snort and shook its head in protest to the abrupt cessation of movement. In the lustrous moonlight, the rider's figure was revealed: obviously a male, the rider possessed a petite leather satchel upon his hip; below the satchel and its shoulder strap was a thick, ebony cloak, most likely worn to protect from the harsh Gaul winter.

The entire wood seemed to lay still for a moment, with only the sound of the horse's breathing permeating the night air. The rider--who, no doubt, had a missive inside the satchel upon his hip--scanned the darkened clearing for the owner of the voice he had heard. A stark silhouette ominously formed from the darkness of the tree line and came forth into the effulgent moonlight, unveiling the stranger's appearance. Recognizing the physique and esteemed armor, the messenger gave a short sigh of repose and threw the cowl from atop his head.

"Monovre the Fifth," The messenger affirmed, releasing himself from the saddle upon his horse and dropping to the ground. The satchel upon his hip dangled and shook from the fall, and its contents rattled within.

"My sincere apologies for the wait, Sir Monovre. A brief skirmish with a few soldiers from Alia, I'm afraid." The courier continued, peering down to his satchel for a brief moment before opening the lip and reaching inside, removing a compact scroll with a band of beads wrapped around its center. Draxius remained mute, stopping a few paces from the courier, his arms interwoven. The courier noticed this aloof body language and furrowed his brow, approaching the armored knight. The messenger proffered the tightly-wrapped scroll to Draxius, holding the message out into the frigid climate of the winter night. The parchment was quickly snatched from the courier's bare, reddened hands and was hastily unrolled, the beads dropping to the snow without so much as a sound.

"Something wrong, Sir Monovre?" The courier inquired, his tone seeming too flippant for its own good; in response, the knight glared up from the message at the messenger, an obvious telling off. A grim frown crept upon the messenger's face, and a barely audible gulp came from his throat.

"Punctuality is always a virtue, boy." Draxius finally spoke, his gruff voice bringing a wave of anxiety over the courier. The bottom of the man's lip quavered, and he slowly began to tread backwards, towards his horse. Draxius instantly picked up upon this and gave a hearty chuckle.

"Do you believe me angry enough to kill you where you stand? My dear lad, you surely are more lily-livered than I had taken you for." Draxius spoke, rolling the scroll back to its compact state. The messenger gave a small choke of laughter, glancing around the perimeter of the clearing once again before turning his back to Draxius and mounting his steed. The courier anxiously glanced towards the knight, but found that he was no longer there; looking at the snow where Draxius once stood, the messenger found that there were no tracks. Only the soft, undisturbed blanket of snow met his gaze.

Looking around once more with a weary expression, the messenger kicked his horse's side and snapped the reigns, sending his horse forward and out of the clearing, back into the starless atmosphere of the dense woods.
"Do I dare
Disturb the universe?"
-T.S. Eliot, "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

GreasyOypus
Member
Posts: 391
Joined: Mon Jan 23, 2017 12:12 am
Location: Michigan

Re: [CS]Messengers

Post by GreasyOypus » Wed Feb 01, 2017 2:53 pm

NPC/Future side quest

Name: Catheryne Monvoison, popularly goes by La Voison
Age: some 50 odd years
Gender: female
Appearance:
witch 1.jpg
witch 1.jpg (53.15 KiB) Viewed 831 times
Species: Black witch
Extra:
Hundreds of years prior to the outbreak of war, most witches had been called 'Wise Woman' or 'Cunning Folk'. Some lived in the kingdom peacefully among the ruling humans as White Witches, possessing vast knowledge of healing spells and various plants and herbs which was passed down through the generations. The Black Witches, which is what this woman is, are clearly distinguishable from the White. They were seen as those who practiced the secret arts of witchcraft in order to do physical or practical harm to others. However, the distinction between White and Black was nearly completely lost around the time King Oxedale was assassinated. Some blamed them for the hard times that would begin to fall over Alia and with the Witches refusal to participate in the war effort, were cast out from the kingdom and often killed if found.
Last edited by GreasyOypus on Wed Mar 08, 2017 3:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.
No mistakes, just happy accidents.

Flamma
Member
Posts: 650
Joined: Mon Jan 23, 2017 1:06 am

Re: [CS]Messengers

Post by Flamma » Wed Feb 01, 2017 3:14 pm

(Yes, I got the ok from the boss for this.)
Side quest: A Pale sight...


A decrepit village surrounded by tall corn fields. Towering above the corn fields a tall statue can be seen holding up a leaning mountain adorned with an ash covered castle with a large gaping hole in it's side. Adventures have told tales of the village and it's dark secrets, though none know the full story. Tales tell that at the center of the town where the giant statue kneels under the weight of the mountain, a black stone circle lies below his feat and actually appears to be a calendar telling of a "pale curse" and how the village fell to ruin. Though many speak purely of the sight of this bewildering ghost town from a distance even fewer speak of the ghost who inhabit it.

Giant statue:
A man with a long dreaded beard holds up a leaning mountain adorned with a castle.
Image

Decrepit castle:
a large half destroyed castle lays rest on top of the mountain.
Image

GreasyOypus
Member
Posts: 391
Joined: Mon Jan 23, 2017 12:12 am
Location: Michigan

Re: [CS]Messengers

Post by GreasyOypus » Wed Feb 01, 2017 11:06 pm

NPC's

species: Northern Forest Nymph
appearance:
forest protector.jpg
forest protector.jpg (100.33 KiB) Viewed 783 times
extra:
A species that comes in a variety of different colors and sizes, which is in-tuned with nature and most of its creatures. The northern most species is a night dweller that has white hair and blue skin with skinny features, knowing little to none of the English language commonly spoken among most others. They never leave the forest and are relatively peaceful unless hungry or they find you to be a threat to their woodland home and its creatures.
No mistakes, just happy accidents.

GreasyOypus
Member
Posts: 391
Joined: Mon Jan 23, 2017 12:12 am
Location: Michigan

Re: [CS]Messengers

Post by GreasyOypus » Thu Feb 02, 2017 7:10 pm

NPC's

Name: One infamous giant we shall name; Seshi
Species: Lakjin Mountain Trolls
appearance:
b9bc9317-5450-4d4b-9a6b-2ee0a58c60da.jpg
b9bc9317-5450-4d4b-9a6b-2ee0a58c60da.jpg (111.59 KiB) Viewed 766 times
extra:
A dangerous and greedy species that have inhabited the Mountains of Alaria for generations. Few have been spotted, all possessing their own unique traits. They mostly speak in grunts and growls, knowing fractions of english.
No mistakes, just happy accidents.

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