Hello! I'm pretty bored so I'm tossing a starter out here!
This is a very loose fantasy one-off and isn't going to be super long. Some good ol' character bonding and exploring.
All kinds of characters are welcome, just take it easy with over-powering. Closer to medieval fantasy than modern setting.
It was a poor idea to travel that evening. Maybe you thought you could reach safety before the storm began, or maybe you didn't even see it coming. Regardless, the clouds rolled in as the sun set, the cold became biting, and the wind blew the snow towards you. It is easy to get lost in the bluster, with only hills to hide behind. The only shelter you see is the Snowfall Manor, or so the sign proclaims.
The sign is rusted and the fence that used to surround it is completely collapsed. The rest of the manor seems to be following. If it used to have an upper floor, splinters were all that remained, and the white paint had peeled off the outer walls, making it a dark silhouette. It's no hotel, but it's got a standing door.
You hear a voice coming from inside, rising over the wind that rattles the broken boards of the Manor.
Between the name of the place and the weather outside, the only songs Fallow could bring to mind were ones about snow. But this place, all alone, creeped him out, and his gloved fingers were too cold to play the lute hung from his back. He stood away from the door but pressed against the wall. There was a fire pit across the room but the floor of the living room looked very much like it would cave in if he stepped on it.
Fallow, his long blonde hair harboring many, many unmelted snowflakes, sang to keep himself warm while staring down the floor as if his gaze would make it stronger.
This is a very loose fantasy one-off and isn't going to be super long. Some good ol' character bonding and exploring.
All kinds of characters are welcome, just take it easy with over-powering. Closer to medieval fantasy than modern setting.
It was a poor idea to travel that evening. Maybe you thought you could reach safety before the storm began, or maybe you didn't even see it coming. Regardless, the clouds rolled in as the sun set, the cold became biting, and the wind blew the snow towards you. It is easy to get lost in the bluster, with only hills to hide behind. The only shelter you see is the Snowfall Manor, or so the sign proclaims.
The sign is rusted and the fence that used to surround it is completely collapsed. The rest of the manor seems to be following. If it used to have an upper floor, splinters were all that remained, and the white paint had peeled off the outer walls, making it a dark silhouette. It's no hotel, but it's got a standing door.
You hear a voice coming from inside, rising over the wind that rattles the broken boards of the Manor.
Between the name of the place and the weather outside, the only songs Fallow could bring to mind were ones about snow. But this place, all alone, creeped him out, and his gloved fingers were too cold to play the lute hung from his back. He stood away from the door but pressed against the wall. There was a fire pit across the room but the floor of the living room looked very much like it would cave in if he stepped on it.
Fallow, his long blonde hair harboring many, many unmelted snowflakes, sang to keep himself warm while staring down the floor as if his gaze would make it stronger.
The snow didn't bother Fasntar much, as he was a Snow Elf, one of the last of his kind. The manor ahead was intimidating, but it was the only shelter from his pursuers, Nordic Mercenaries who believed he had summoned a troll to kill the Jarl of Riverdarke. (See the Riverdarke roleplay) The door was open, which was an invitation for the mage, who stepped within the boundaries of the walls. He closed the door behind him, realizing he was not alone. He turned quickly, a frost spell in hand. "AHA!" he jumped from behind the corner in an attempt to surprise the other inhabitant. "Who are you," he snarled, "Are you with the Nords? I told them the troll only killed him because of his ignorance!"
"Whoa!" cried Fallow, stepping backwards and away from the mage. "No, no! No no no no no!" Despite his frightened words, he was smiling, stretching the scar through his lips. He held up both his hands in surrender. "No need for that, friend! I'm not really with anyone. That all sounds very exciting though! I'm just here so my fingers don't freeze off, they're rather important to me..." He kept one hand up, but extended the other for a handshake. "The name's Fallow."
"Sorry," Fasntar apologized, "I'm just a little on edge right now, seeing as I'm being hunted for reasons I already explained. So, what brings you here?"
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