Thread: The New RPG!

Okay, pretty much everyone's got their profiles up, so I'm going to go ahead and start this If you would like to join, please PM me or post in the New RPG? thread, and then you can get a profile up in the Profile thead. Now, for the fun to start ......

The country of Islen. The north is the populated Kingdom of Ellone, run by a mage council. This kingdom is the only civilisation in Islen, as the rest of the country is overrun by monsters, beasts and the like since the appearance of a Daemon Gate in the south many centuries ago. There have been numerous quests to shut the gate, but none have succeeded.

There are three main cities -

Eren, a port city, where merchants, traders, pirates and travellers of all kinds gather.

Arin - the captial, a magical city where the Mage Council meets regularly.

and Serin, where our adventure will begin. A fortress city, that prevents the hordes of evil from overrunning the rest of the kingdom.

The Fortress City of Serin was not a place one would usually expect to find the head of the Mage Council, but now a crowd was gathering in the centre of town, all vying for a decent view of the stand erected in the middle of the town plaza. Exactly a week ago a summons had been issued all over the kingdom. A summons for heroes. Today was the day they were to meet in Serin. Some came as champions, others watched from the shadows.

A hush fell over the crowd as Saehenine, head of the Mage Council, emerged into the crowd. Flanked by two guards she approached the stand, and seemingly glided up the steps. In the centre of the stage, she faced the crowd, long blonde hair blowing about her beautiful ivory-complexioned face.

"Greetings to you all," she spoke confidently, "I have called this gathering today in order that we might find champions, heroes if you will. Ones strong enough to battle through the corrupt and dangerous land in the south, to seal off the Daemon Gate once and for all.

"For the next week, those of you that wish to participate in this noble venture will face a challenge," Saehenine flung out an arm and indicated a building across from the stands. The building was constructed during the past week, after the summons went out, but noone had been allowed inside. Now the cities inhabitants finally knew what it was for.

"Only the toughest and purest of you will survive," Saehenine continued, "Some of you will face endless hordes, others the tiniest child. The tasks will come from your own soul, and your own fears. Those that do survive will also be given a magical item you are deemed worthy of. Good luck. You will need it." She concluded and glided down from the stage.

And so, heroes came. Some returned champions. Of others, only their blood was ever seen again ...

Okay, I'd like everyone to write an intro where your character faces his/her own personal challenge, at the end receiving a magical item of your choosing. If I think it's too powerful though, I'll let you know and ask you to change it. Okay - let's rock!

Gundwane’s lesser spears rattled at his back as he made his way to where the woman stood, and the spear in his hand – the spear which had brought down all he had hunted – blinked light.

As was the way of the warrior, Gundwane schooled his expression to one of rigidity, and regarded her. Her skin was pale like a sick moon, and the waist that hid under her garments was much too small for birthing. She was ugly. Yet, for all of this, the crowd stared at her with taunted eyes. The ways of the white man were strange indeed.

He straightened as she spoke. ‘And what makes you believe you will prevail against these challenges, Hero?’ She spoke to the crowd rather than him, smiled for the crowd rather than to him. ‘Why do you risk you life this day?’

They stood in the centre of the arena, surrounded by rising rows of spectators. The dust around them hovered like blown chalk, mixed with the fresh smell of blood and lost life.

‘Well?’

Gundwane drove his spear into the ground. ‘I have come to honour my tribe and all its ancestors!’ he bellowed. ‘I have slain all the great beasts that still reside in these northern lands, and there is nothing left for me. In the south lies the most fearsome of beasts. I, Gundwane – Eagle Eyes – will take for myself the teeth and pelt of all these beasts. I will close the wicked portal that spawns them, so that my tribe may live again beside the Great River Mouth that has become infested by their evils.’

The woman smiled again, although Gundwane suspected she did not listen. ‘Very well, Earrior. Are you ready to face this test, and quite possibly meet your end?’

‘I am.’

Gundwane blinked, and she was gone. The crowd applauded this with enthusiasm, and every face around him smiled. But Gundwane did not smile – witchcraft was the devil’s work.

The woman’s voice called again, amplified without instrument over the callings of the crowd. She sat within a great orb of stone at the wall of the arena. ‘Many heroes have died today, Hero. Many – it must be said – with weapons far greater than stick and shield. Here are the rules, and they must be abided by.

‘You shall be declared the winner when your enemy is no more, and no conflict remains within the arena. You will use only two weapons, which in your case, are your spears and shield. You may not venture outside of this arena, and you may not surrender once the battle has begun.

‘This shall test your qualities, Hero. This shall test your fortitude and wisdom, your strength and grace and worthiness. Once more, are you ready?’

Gundwane dislodged his spear, gripped his shield, and set his feet further apart. He looked to the iron gates that held whatever beast at bay. ‘I am Gundwane, and I have slain the mightiest of elephant – elephant so fearsome that their teeth ploughed the earth beneath them. I am ready.’

The gates came open, and a silence filled the place.


Awesome start, Blossom. Since people have mentioned word count, I'll post in bits as people post, so no one gets peeved.

Mano sat at an ancient table near the back of the tavern. The table, scarred by years of pipe ash burns and spilled ale, was in a dark corner. “Mano’s corner”, no one sat there, allowed him to survey the entire tavern and its occupants. He drank slowly of his ale and pondered the recent events in Serin. Saehenine had thrown down the gauntlet; challenging, exhorting and warning that the time had come for the strong ones to finally close Daemon’s Gate.

This challenge would soon bring the warriors to his small armory.

Mano sipped on his ale and lit his pipe. As the smoke curled and twisted toward the beamed ceiling his mind drifted back to his youth and his quest for the “Amoratie”. Legend had it that in a country to the south of Islen, was a metal worker with magical and mystical powers. The Amoratie was able to take basic materials and through mixing and firing, produce metals, that when combined with the soul of a warrior, produced an invincible combination.

Mano’s father and uncle had told him of this legend and as he grew the legend burned in his mind until he could no longer resist the call. He packed his few belongings, bid his family goodbye and began his quest for the Amoratie.

Mano was gone for several years, many thinking he had been killed by the monsters that lived in the land to the south. When he finally returned everyone was amazed and crowed around him to hear his story. To their disappointment he simply said that it had been an amazing journey, fraught with danger, but nothing more. Saying he was tired from his travels and wanted to rest, he left the crowd and went home. The villagers, disappointed and mumbling, broke into small groups and went about their daily routine.

Mano had grown taller, more muscled and his hands were like an oak tree, hard, gnarled and calloused. When he returned to the shop, that he had shared with his father and uncle, it was immediately apparent that he was forging metals in a way that neither had ever seen.

He had indeed found the fabled Amoratie.

Tarin listened as Saehenine spoke to the crowd.

If all they wanted was meat shields to throw at some damn gate, why go through the trouble of these needless tests?

Was there really any point? Tarin was intrigued to find out for himself.

"Where do I sign up?"

"Where do I sign up?" a voice asked. Saehenine turned to see the speaker, a young man, and smiled to herself.

"If you wish to face my challenge," she said, so the entire crowd could here, "Wait at the gates to the arena. When our hero Gudwane is killed, or if he survives his challenge, the gates will open and you will be admitted. Then it will be your turn to face your soul."

- - - -

Aia leant against the wall at the back of the crowd listening. This is ridiculous, she thought to herself, then remembered something her tutor had once said to her.

"Would you like to be a hero?" he had asked.

"I don't know," Aia had replied, "It would depend why I was a hero." Her teacher had laughed.

"A wise answer. But as for me - if ever I get a chance to be a hero, I'll seize it. One day, I'll show the world what I am capable of and I will be proclaimed a hero."

Aia remembered thinking he was an idiot. But if he still held onto that dream, he might be here. But how would she find him? I'll have to go for it, she thought, and began pushing her way through the crowd to the arena gates.

Tarin nodded, and stepped up to the gates.

While he waited, he contemplated what challenge his soul might offer him.

Will it be my greatest fear? Or an enemie I don't even know that I have? his mind pondered.

The sea of faces looked ravenous to Skye, nearly as wolfish as L’nacht’s glowering visage beside her. His steel grip on her horse’s reins was the same as the grip that had bruised her arm a mere hour earlier.

The street opened to the town square, thronged with people, and a building that, aside from its placement, looked unimportant.

“You should have left my money alone, lass.” L’nacht’s smile was almost tender.

“You owed me and you know it!” Skye twisted her bound wrists in her lap, hidden by folds of her dress as she hissed. “And you could have told me you were married.”

“Just come with me and I’ll leave your little fiction intact, Songbird, and you can leave the little fiction of my marriage equally so.”

Skye clamped her lips shut and looked for any avenue of escape. How she hated being paraded before the crowd when she would have much preferred to disappear among them.

Then they were at the edge of the crowd and she saw a young man stride to the massive gates of the building and stand squarely before them. His face was tense and his fists clenched and unclenched below the metal gauntlets he wore.

What is he thinking? Skye wondered. Her horse shifted from foot to foot beneath her and she could feel L’nacht’s leg pressed against hers, his shadow cold across her. Why am I here?

The crowd was reluctant to part for Aia, though a few clapped her shoulder or back and said "Good luck!". Several also muttered insults, calling her a fool or an idiot.

Aia finally pushed through to the street and saw the building that housed the challenge up ahead. A young man of around her own age was already stood before them. In for a wait then ... Aia thought.

But it didn't matter. All she wanted was to find her teacher. She strode up to the building, past the crowds and a horse carrying a man and woman. Several people in the crowds called out to her, but Aia ignored them all, her eyes flicking over everyone, searching for the familiar face.

Where is he ...?

Mano’s time to be a hero had long passed. However, he knew that the “hero’s” would soon be coming to his shop in search of a weapon that would make them victorious in battle.

Mano’s weapons were not for everyone, as the supplicant must first pass Mano’s almost inquisition like questions as he searched for their soul. For Mano to make a weapon he needed to know the inner warrior, “his heart” and these led to his soul.

The ingredients of a weapon were more than just the iron, copper, coke, manganese, aluminum and nickel. Mano’s furnace was lined with materials that he had brought back from his travels and allowed heats way beyond any other forge in all of Islen.

Combining the elements and the high heat make the metal…but without the “soul” the warriors weapon and shield were just a metal weapon. What the Amoratie had taught Mano was to find the soul of the warrior and match the weapon, something no one else could do.

The word of Mano’s skills spread far and wide and were legendary. Anytime a warrior needed a special weapon they made the journey to Mano’s shop in Serin.

Soon the likes of Gundwane and the others young hero’s, feeling immortal, would answer Saehenine’s challenge. Then…one by one they would come to his little shop hoping that Mano would find their souls worthy and make their swords, arrows, shields and armor.

Aia couldn't see her teacher's face anywhere in the crowd. Damn! she thought as she approached the building. Now she could only hope that he would come within the next week to answer the challenge.

And the only way I can be here to find him if he does is to face this challenge myself. Aia stepped up behind the boy already waiting, and gazed at the large gates that had closed behind the warrior, Gudwane.

I just hope I survive.

- - - -

The orb of stone that Saehenine was sat in also housed the rest of the Mage Council. It was lavishly furnished, though they only needed it for a week. At first the Coucil's superficial attitudes had annoyed Saehenine, but over the years she had grown accustomed to luxury, and would not like to return to her life as a poor beggar's child.

Now the Mage Council, including herself, was watching the warrior, Gudwane, face the gates as they opened.

"He is confident," Zillar remarked.

"Yes," Saehenine agreed, "But only because he does not fully understand what this challenge will entail. None of them will until they face what lies beyond those gates."

"Indeed. Gudwane may have slain the 'mightiest of elephant', but our spell will find the fears that haunt the darkest recesses of his soul and make him face them." Anjala smiled.

"Maybe this is too harsh," Zillar contemplated, "They cannot be ready for that."

"If they can't face their own fears they will never be able to close the Daemon Gate," Saehenine said calmly, "The challenges they will face there will be far worse than anything we could inflict."

She watched as the gates creaked slowly open, and Gudwane gazed into the darkness beyond.

What will he face? she wondered, What will our spell find in his soul? Will he be able to defeat his fears? Or will he be the first to die?

Mano stood unnoticed near the back of the orb where Saehenine and the Council were seated. He listened as they discussed Gundwane’s chances once the gate was opened.

Few knew that Mano had been past the gates and into the land to the south. Mano knew what lay in the darkness of the south, knew the terrors and knew that the powerfully built Nubian would need help, without magical help Gundwane, nor anyone else, would survive.

Slowly scanning the crowd Mano’s eyes stopped on the young girl with the light brown hair and green eyes, they called her Aia. Small in stature but large in confidence she seemed to exude confidence…he sensed that she had “soul” and with soul he could make a formidable array of weapons for her.

Still scanning the crowd for those with soul his eyes stopped on the one they called Tarin. Tarin was dressed for battle, leathers and gauntlets, he too exuded confidence and the possibilities of soul…hard to tell with this one.

They were all so young and full of confidence, invincible and immortal. Time and battle would determine whether these attributes were founded. Each would soon enough find what they were really made of!

Mano continued to observe the gathering hero’s.

L’nacht, watched the young fools line up before the gate and smiled with deep satisfaction. He cut his eyes back to Skye every few seconds. This one bore watching, oh yes, one never knew when she might slide from his side like water running away… usually taking some small valuable with her.

She, too, watched the ones before the gate with an unflinching passivity. Well, what she thought didn’t matter at this point. She’d play along, he was sure.

Whether she survived or not meant nothing to him. If by some miracle she did, well… she would have a Quest to survive. One that he was quite sure she would be ill-suited for. And if she didn’t…L’nacht grunted comfortably and refreshed his grip. She would be dead either way and his hands would be clean.

Gundwane felt that surge through him once more, starting at his feet and flooding his body. It was the blood lust, the want for victory – it was that which made him the mightiest of all the hunters. He felt his pulse drum within his ears and at his neck, felt the grains of sand beneath his feet, and the sweat drop down his cheek.

‘I am Gundwane,’ he said. ‘The mightiest of warriors!’

Something in the gate purred. Gundwane advanced one step towards it as the thing emerged. The lion’s mane hung in a scruffy mess, and its fur was as dull as the sand below them both. Its face was gaunt, its rib prominent. It moved sluggishly, and its paws flopped with each step as it approached.

The grip on his spear slackened. This was no great thing, no king of beasts. This thing was old and starved, incapable of capturing its own food, unable to scavenge.

The lion stood fifty feet from Gundwane. It opened its mouth and tried to roar, revealing its broken, blunted teeth.

Gundwane clenched his jaw – he had been cheated! He was Gundwane, the mightiest of hunters, and he was here for his tribe. For his ancestors.

The lion came warily to Gundwane, keeping its distance and circling. Its eyes flickered to the mass of humanity around him, and Gundwane saw its fear.

There was no honour in this. What would come from the old thing’s death? Why did they not set some real beast upon him, some beast that would bring glory to its own death? Why must they cheat him!

The lion came at him. Four padded steps brought him close to Gundwane’s spear, but he held his hand. As the lion leapt, Gundwane raised his shield to protect his face and swerved from its path.

The lion’s flank presented itself. Gundwane felt the guilt, the dishonour. It would have been all too easy to end its life then, and he would have succeeded in the witch’s trials, would have been granted passage to the south where glory awaited him. But he did not stir.

Gundwane backed away from the thing, bared his back and walked to the orb of stone. He threw his spear into the ground, and cried out. ‘Is this the challenge you have set for me, witch? You would have me murder an animal robbed of his dignity and prowess – well I will not!’ He dislodged his spear. ‘Perhaps another of your heroes can slaughter it, for I am done. I accept my defeats when they come to me, as all great warriors should.’

The woman rose from his seat, and the corners of his mouth curled upwards. ‘Hero, before the challenge was began you were given the rules. You shall be declared the winner only when your enemy is no more, and no conflict remains within the arena. And you may not surrender.’

Gundwane scowled. He looked back at the lion that stood at the centre of the arena. Its legs were set apart and his shoulders were raised in fear. It sought an escape from the wall of men, from those it feared most.

‘I will not kill that beast.’

The woman bowed her head. ‘And so, you have passed your challenge, Hero. The rules stated that you may not leave the arena until your conflict is gone – and it is. The conflict within yourself.’ The crowd stirred, whispered among each other. ‘Hero, your trial tested both your wisdom and your nobility. And on both accounts, you succeeded. It is indeed a valiant thing to do what you have done.’

She regarded the crowd with a sweeping glance, and addressed them, her voice amplified once more. ‘Gundwane is victorious in his trial. He refused to kill an opponent weaker than himself. He is the first of our Heroes!’

The crowd applauded this, but Gundwane was sickened by it all. Deception was a white man’s game, and he wanted no part in it.

The witch smiled once more, and Gundwane was more positive than ever that she would not make a wife. ‘Bring the next challenger to the arena, and escort Gundwane to the Celebration Hall!’

Don't forget he gets a magical item.

Saehenine watched, smiling, as Gudwane was escorted from the challenge arena.

"Well that was interesting." Anjala remarked.

"But what was that in his eyes, at the end?" asked Zillar.

"He distrusts us," said Saehenine, "His people possess a great dislike for magic anyway, and that we used it to decieve him only makes it worse."

"But we cannot be held responsible for his challenge," argued Jircef, "The challenge came from his own soul. Not from us."

Saehenine smiled again, her eyes flashing, but remained silent. She then walked to the other side of the stone orb, to gaze down on the next challenger. It was a young man, of perhaps twenty or so.

"Challenger!" Saehenine called, "It is your turn to face your soul, and your challenge."

She waved a hand and the gate to the arena creaked slowly open.

"Enter."

Tarin stepped forward, opening the doors and entering what he knew would be a creation of his very own soul.

He appeared in a forest, dark from the trees blocking the sun, but he could tell that it was daytime. He began walking, uncertain of what he was supposed to do.

After a short time walking through the woods, he came to a river. He looked about some more, making sure to take a good survey of his surroundings.

Suddenly, he heard screaming from a ways down the river. He knew that he must have to save whoever it was.

As he got closer, he saw the small girl that was nearly drowning.

His mind went back into the past...

I couldn't save her in time, his mind kept repeating, What if I fail again?

His body shook as he tried to focus on the present. He had to save this girl.

He fought away the flashbacks, fought away the fear, and jumped into the river, swimming after the girl.

It all went so quickly, saving her...pulling her on shore..

"Thank you," she spoke in coughs.

"You're welcome."

The vision of the girl faded, and Tarin found himself exiting the gates.

"It seems you've succeeded," a voice spoke to him.