It has been two weeks since the sun dissapeared from the sky. The event known as the "Dark Horizon" has reshaped the land and altered it's features, as well as plunging the lands into almost pitch-black darkness, and is often accompanied by fog, with only the blue moon and the stars to provide any sort of light. Towns and villages have been over-run with night dwelling beasts, even some of those who have came from the dark temples that have risen up from underground.
Only some villages and strongholds remain, with countless encampments across the realm. The largest known stronghold, Artenoch, is to the far north, in what is now taiga. Many groups tried venturing there, avoiding the beasts, monsters, and corrupted mages as best as they could, but only some survived. You all are one of the groups that got ambushed a long the way. The guards tried their best to keep the monsters at bay as they traveled, but it wasn't enough, they didn't keep their guard up, and most of the travelers got killed, by a rogue mage accompanying a nightmarish creature in the dark...
You awaken in what looks to be an old and small shack, with a single desk in the middle of the room, with the front door propped loosely closed by planks of wood. On the desk, there is a map of the region. It shows the shack you are in labeled as "Drayden's Outpost", and to the very top of the map shows the city of Artenoch. There are two villages shown as well on the map, one to the east, the other to the south-west. The room is lit up by a lantern in the corner, and a candle on the desk. There are also unlit torches and lanterns stockpiled near the door, some of the lanterns actually still have oil in them.
There is a dead guard slouched over near the door, with burn marks and gashes in his plate armor. He has one of his hands in front of him, holding a small silver amulet, as well as his steel ax and kite shield discarded across the room.
Only some villages and strongholds remain, with countless encampments across the realm. The largest known stronghold, Artenoch, is to the far north, in what is now taiga. Many groups tried venturing there, avoiding the beasts, monsters, and corrupted mages as best as they could, but only some survived. You all are one of the groups that got ambushed a long the way. The guards tried their best to keep the monsters at bay as they traveled, but it wasn't enough, they didn't keep their guard up, and most of the travelers got killed, by a rogue mage accompanying a nightmarish creature in the dark...
You awaken in what looks to be an old and small shack, with a single desk in the middle of the room, with the front door propped loosely closed by planks of wood. On the desk, there is a map of the region. It shows the shack you are in labeled as "Drayden's Outpost", and to the very top of the map shows the city of Artenoch. There are two villages shown as well on the map, one to the east, the other to the south-west. The room is lit up by a lantern in the corner, and a candle on the desk. There are also unlit torches and lanterns stockpiled near the door, some of the lanterns actually still have oil in them.
There is a dead guard slouched over near the door, with burn marks and gashes in his plate armor. He has one of his hands in front of him, holding a small silver amulet, as well as his steel ax and kite shield discarded across the room.
Artemisia awoke with a throbbing in the side of her head.
She looked around the dimly lit room she was in, where? She thought. The woman sat up, trying to make sense of the scene she had just woken up in.
A man was slouched by the door. He might have been sleeping and after cautiously deciding she was safe, Artemisia cralwed over to where he was.
She gasped, realizing the sleeping man was actually dead. He clenched a small amulet in one cold fist and there were ugly looking gashes in his armor plate.
"What in the world?" the woman whispered. She didn't stand to look at the table that stood behind her, no, she was still trying to process exactly what was going on. Why couldn't she remember?
(Hope you guys don't mind me starting.)
She looked around the dimly lit room she was in, where? She thought. The woman sat up, trying to make sense of the scene she had just woken up in.
A man was slouched by the door. He might have been sleeping and after cautiously deciding she was safe, Artemisia cralwed over to where he was.
She gasped, realizing the sleeping man was actually dead. He clenched a small amulet in one cold fist and there were ugly looking gashes in his armor plate.
"What in the world?" the woman whispered. She didn't stand to look at the table that stood behind her, no, she was still trying to process exactly what was going on. Why couldn't she remember?
(Hope you guys don't mind me starting.)
Having spent some time in darkness, Heimon’s eyes flickered open suddenly. Their first view was a stone ceiling, illuminated by fragile light. It occurred to him that it was not a place he’s supposed to be in. With some struggle, he managed to sit up, a gnawing pain on his side, and he lifted his white shirt to reveal an ugly swelling just below his ribcage. More than the bruise however, he felt more unsettled by his surroundings.
Rundown walls, a table in the center of the room, with a sheet of paper on it. It seemed to have some writing but Heimon would have to stand to see it. Around laid several bodies, but what caught his attention was a woman, leaning over someone unconscious. The man was in armor and looked to be a guard. The woman seemed to be as lost as he was.
With a grunt, he stood, wobbling a bit as the room spun around him. As he approached the two he caught a glimpse of what appears to be a map. Heimon stopped a feet away from them, still cautious.
“Where is this?” He asked, though not expecting a helpful answer.
Rundown walls, a table in the center of the room, with a sheet of paper on it. It seemed to have some writing but Heimon would have to stand to see it. Around laid several bodies, but what caught his attention was a woman, leaning over someone unconscious. The man was in armor and looked to be a guard. The woman seemed to be as lost as he was.
With a grunt, he stood, wobbling a bit as the room spun around him. As he approached the two he caught a glimpse of what appears to be a map. Heimon stopped a feet away from them, still cautious.
“Where is this?” He asked, though not expecting a helpful answer.
Merrick's eyes painfully flutter open as he pulls himself up off the ground, his vision throbbing and spinning. He manages to haul himself onto a nearby chair. He rips off his helmet and it clatters to the floor. He plants his elbows on his knees and proceeds to violently massage his closed eyes. After the pain recedes he sits up and looks around the shabby hut.
His eyes drift over to the seemingly dead guard, and as he lays his eyes on the scorched corpse, his recent memories come flooding back. "Lords above.... What happened?" he inquires to the other awakened two. "Where are we? Where's the rest of the convoy? Was I drinking too much again?" he asks in a slurred , hoarse voice.
His eyes drift over to the seemingly dead guard, and as he lays his eyes on the scorched corpse, his recent memories come flooding back. "Lords above.... What happened?" he inquires to the other awakened two. "Where are we? Where's the rest of the convoy? Was I drinking too much again?" he asks in a slurred , hoarse voice.
Commander, the boy whispered, fingering the deep gash across his neck. It had stopped bleeding a long time ago. You can't sleep yet.
The Hanged Man jerked upright and clutched the leather enarme of his tower shield, which had started to slip from his hand. The boy disappeared as if he was never there. The soldier didn't seem too concerned--Ayma was a common sight, and over the years the boy's whispers had lost their accusatory edge.
The Hanged Man was just outside the room, standing guard next to the propped-open door. The previous night was hazy in his mind--night, day, whatever it was. This eternal darkness was wreaking havoc on his sense of time. The attack had come so swiftly that their convoy stood little chance of resistance. His body ached from dragging the bodies of the fallen back to this shack. From the sounds of stirring within, they were starting to come to. "W-what ho, Joseph?"
He stepped through the doorway, looking around at the people starting to awaken, then to the slumped form of the guard just inside the room. "Joseph ... bones, is he ..." He stooped down and gently shook the man's shoulder, but he was certainly dead, having succumbed to his injuries sometime during the night. For a moment, Joseph's face turned into Ayma's, though the other witnesses would see no change. "Rest well in what comes after, lad," the Hanged Man muttered. He had tried to tend to the guard's wounds, but he was a destroyer, not a healer, and he'd had little luck.
Overhearing Merrick's comment, the swordsman sighed. "Aye, well ... I haven't had nearly enough," he said. In order to keep himself from falling asleep he had abstained from drinking the whole night, and he felt like his aches and pains were magnified threefold. His sunken green eyes flicked to each person in turn: from Merrick to Artemisia, and finally settling on Heimon. "It's g-good to see you waking up. Do any of you remember what happened?" His voice, though soft and stuttering, didn't sound afraid.
The Hanged Man jerked upright and clutched the leather enarme of his tower shield, which had started to slip from his hand. The boy disappeared as if he was never there. The soldier didn't seem too concerned--Ayma was a common sight, and over the years the boy's whispers had lost their accusatory edge.
The Hanged Man was just outside the room, standing guard next to the propped-open door. The previous night was hazy in his mind--night, day, whatever it was. This eternal darkness was wreaking havoc on his sense of time. The attack had come so swiftly that their convoy stood little chance of resistance. His body ached from dragging the bodies of the fallen back to this shack. From the sounds of stirring within, they were starting to come to. "W-what ho, Joseph?"
He stepped through the doorway, looking around at the people starting to awaken, then to the slumped form of the guard just inside the room. "Joseph ... bones, is he ..." He stooped down and gently shook the man's shoulder, but he was certainly dead, having succumbed to his injuries sometime during the night. For a moment, Joseph's face turned into Ayma's, though the other witnesses would see no change. "Rest well in what comes after, lad," the Hanged Man muttered. He had tried to tend to the guard's wounds, but he was a destroyer, not a healer, and he'd had little luck.
Overhearing Merrick's comment, the swordsman sighed. "Aye, well ... I haven't had nearly enough," he said. In order to keep himself from falling asleep he had abstained from drinking the whole night, and he felt like his aches and pains were magnified threefold. His sunken green eyes flicked to each person in turn: from Merrick to Artemisia, and finally settling on Heimon. "It's g-good to see you waking up. Do any of you remember what happened?" His voice, though soft and stuttering, didn't sound afraid.
The rites and rituals completed in eldritch sequence......the tonal sounds of chanting echoed in the cavernous rock opening serving as cathedral to the faithful of the deep god. The cries of his wife as something unseen began coiling around her from beneath the roil and surf of the sea.
"Genime!" Kippling shouts as he awakens and fervently glances back and forth.
The vision of his wife faded he begins by stealing a moment to gather his wits, and taking in the scene before him. Kippling begins muttering silently "A horrible dream...or rather a memory?". The realization that the other caravan travelers are watching causes Kipplings brow to furrow as it returns to him even more grim recollections from his past, albeit fresher in his mind.
The figure on the floor preoccupies Kippling's attention for a breif moment as he steps in close tapping the badly damaged armor of the once caravan guard. "This poor soul, needn't have died defending us. This armor was shoddy quality, no doubt sold on the cheep but given a shine and polish to fool the eyes."
Looking back towards the others but lowering his eyes "From what I can tell you, I threw my pinning hammer at some well...thing diggings its claws into the side of my wagon, none to gently mind you. Next thing i know some jinx flinger sent a ball of flame the size of my horse hurdling into the wagon next to mine. Had I not been impatient for this damned string of carts to get me where i was needing to go, I'd have been a might more burnt than our fallen fellow here. My leathers took the brunt of the blast and sent me ten meters aside the rest of the wagons."
Rubbing the stiffness left in his muscles after his ordeal and looking up to the rest of the group "I cant say I can clearly recount what happened next...but mayhaps if any of you would be so kind as to fill me in while I strip this burnt cow hide from my shoulders..." Kippling looks onto to the others hoping they can fill in the gaps of his rattled memory.
"Genime!" Kippling shouts as he awakens and fervently glances back and forth.
The vision of his wife faded he begins by stealing a moment to gather his wits, and taking in the scene before him. Kippling begins muttering silently "A horrible dream...or rather a memory?". The realization that the other caravan travelers are watching causes Kipplings brow to furrow as it returns to him even more grim recollections from his past, albeit fresher in his mind.
The figure on the floor preoccupies Kippling's attention for a breif moment as he steps in close tapping the badly damaged armor of the once caravan guard. "This poor soul, needn't have died defending us. This armor was shoddy quality, no doubt sold on the cheep but given a shine and polish to fool the eyes."
Looking back towards the others but lowering his eyes "From what I can tell you, I threw my pinning hammer at some well...thing diggings its claws into the side of my wagon, none to gently mind you. Next thing i know some jinx flinger sent a ball of flame the size of my horse hurdling into the wagon next to mine. Had I not been impatient for this damned string of carts to get me where i was needing to go, I'd have been a might more burnt than our fallen fellow here. My leathers took the brunt of the blast and sent me ten meters aside the rest of the wagons."
Rubbing the stiffness left in his muscles after his ordeal and looking up to the rest of the group "I cant say I can clearly recount what happened next...but mayhaps if any of you would be so kind as to fill me in while I strip this burnt cow hide from my shoulders..." Kippling looks onto to the others hoping they can fill in the gaps of his rattled memory.
(by the way, there isn't a post order, so you can post whenever ye feel like.)
(Posting again just to try to keep things moving)
The Hanged Man tensed up when one of the sleeping men awoke with a jolt, crying out what sounded like a name. For a brief moment the swordsman watched Kippling with sympathy in his eyes. He understood.
Everything the smith said fell in line with what the Hanged Man remembered, and he nodded idly along with the story.
"After that, the warlock began to utter some sort of hex. I know little of m-magic, but it cast most of you into slumber." His lips thinned, and he looked away. "S-some stayed behind to try to fend them off, but ... t'was to no avail. We dragged you all back here, and ... Joseph, he'd been in-injured. I tried to set his wounds as best I could but they were grievous. He must have passed sometime during the night."
The swordsman pulled out his waterskin and handed it towards Kippling. There wasn't much left inside, but it was enough for a few hearty gulps.
The Hanged Man tensed up when one of the sleeping men awoke with a jolt, crying out what sounded like a name. For a brief moment the swordsman watched Kippling with sympathy in his eyes. He understood.
Everything the smith said fell in line with what the Hanged Man remembered, and he nodded idly along with the story.
"After that, the warlock began to utter some sort of hex. I know little of m-magic, but it cast most of you into slumber." His lips thinned, and he looked away. "S-some stayed behind to try to fend them off, but ... t'was to no avail. We dragged you all back here, and ... Joseph, he'd been in-injured. I tried to set his wounds as best I could but they were grievous. He must have passed sometime during the night."
The swordsman pulled out his waterskin and handed it towards Kippling. There wasn't much left inside, but it was enough for a few hearty gulps.
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