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BattleMaster => Roleplaying => Topic started by: Malus on April 17, 2017, 03:27:17 PM

Title: The Crimson Lord
Post by: Malus on April 17, 2017, 03:27:17 PM
The Tale of the Beggarman
They say he came out of the Palm Sea. A blind man in a tattered red vest, eyes blackened, the skin around them scorched and somehow smoking. He's seen motionless in the streets of Drowenton sometimes at night, preaching to the air. A scary story for local children, likely.

Yet it was not. More reports began to come through. Monsters found slain where he was seen, merchants who swore they sold him minor goods. The stories built, but most were insignificant. Glances into a hood, seeing that horrid gaze...and he being gone. Some were much more intimate; a glimpse into what the strange creature meant.

The tales spread wide and far, and soon all the commonfolk of the land retold gossip of the Beggarman with the Blackeyes.

Tale of L
He passed me in the streets of Drowton and grabed my hands as I passed. The eyes seemed to entrance me for just a few seconds, but it was enough for the beggerman to place some old murder dagger in my hand and poise the blade point to his heart. He asked in a husky desert voice,

"Can blood anoint blood?"

Well, I turn towards the stranger and say "Wait, what do you mean with the dagger, and the words.....?"

He goes, in this dry voice "I see highblood in you." Kept on an' on about inheritences and blood. Said "...these eyes see little else than blood."

I lowered the dagger, wasn't sure what to think, so I just looked at him...that same pause came over me after glancing into the star-sky black in his eyes. I think I stuttered "Who are you?".

Creepy fella never moved...said "I have had many names. Wanderer, King, Jester...priest will suffice for now. I would speak with you about the future of our people. All people. The lords may throw us scraps, care little for our plight. They have the key to defeat the monsters besieging Dwilight, they know it not. They would not use it if they had knowledge, for they would fear the price. Come, I would speak with you of humanities hope."

Was the weirdest thing I've seen, I swear. We talked for a bit, then he left me standing there. Said "He'd call."

Tale of M
So, a desert wind passed in Fissoa Fields. Strange, I thought, so far from the Palm Sea. Peasants said it came from a local cave, along with howling at night. They asked me to investigate. 'Well, seems I have to put some creatures to sleep before I get some myself',  I thought to himself.

Couple of hours of investigating the region revealed an invasion, which hadn't discouraged me at all. I entered the cavern and to the sounds of not one or two but entire packs of gnarling creatures. It quickly became obvious that escape was the only option. The..something happened.

A wind blew from inside the cavern. The ear of every horrible dogman perked, and suddenly a panic. Ignoring me, they scattered through tunnels. A few beasts lingered, just as stunned as I was. A blink, the smell of desert flowers...and then I saw all this blood.

The lingerered beasts dead, scattered across the floor in pieces. A single hooded man standing amid the scatters of blood and viscera. His ruddy crimson vest shines inside a threadbare cloak. He looked and me then nods toward a tunnel where I hear the faintest sound of a woman's cry. Also points to a small scattering of slain undead, in a nearby passage. "Come...come..either way to save her.".

I followed the path shown by the mysterious wanderer, deeper and deeper into the cavern. Led by the sound of woman's cry, sound getting louder with each step but at the same time not seeming any nearer. On my way I bash a few undead skulls, unlike the beastmen horde those ghouls were not a challenge for the young adventurer. Only after the brief struggle with the undead did I notice that the sound of the girl is no longer there.

A cavern near the beggar collapsed somehow. Undead poured from a thin hole in the ceiling...then the light flickered. I blinked....somehow found himself running a tunnel, lending a shoulder to a limping beggarman, him covered in blood!

He said: "The desert, the distance strains me and there are too many. I did what I can, but I can do no more. I would seek your help now, though I only meant to ask for it at a later time. The girl may yet live."

We talked and fought for a time, but I saw it with my own eyes.

Tale of K
Folk say he came fromma desert. A blind man , eyes blackened. A scary story. 'Da begger wit'em derk eyes' I scoffed.

T'wernt a story. Folk in Fissoa said he were eager to meet adventurers, asking for me to seek him. "Calling out to the brave", they told.

I looked like a member of the low nobility, that good were the armour, sword and overall equipment I had. The main difference was me manner, weren't none takin' me as using too many forks at 'a table. I rested for a few last hours, then disembarked and started asking those around the port if they hard heard anything of all dat strange man nonsense.

Damned desert wind seemed to pickup through the port. Sailors and beggers all over, I thought I saw ta' beggarman hobblin' into a darkened alley. When looking, there w'ere only what appears to be a broken sword with some Fellish crest. A dry voice whispered above me

"A deep blood, an old blood. Though not blessed with comfort, you too are blessed with true spirit. You came and that is well..."

I scans the area for the location, I finds the sword is replaced with dat dere beggar. He rasped at me "Though my glamors wane, I still have power. Power that you too posses, in your form. Power is needed to save the world, and a fighter such as yourself will be needed....yet would you save the world or damn it?"

I says ""Ye a seige? Ye'll olweys speakin' wi-erd, yes ye do...", bugger looked somethin' m'thic.

Guy said, "A priest, more than sage. Priest of little, but on a holy quest. I speak of power, the power of spirit, which all lords have. Yet it is also in you, a spirit of power...found in blood. Many common of the land have this spirit, squandered at menial tasks. I am on a quest, to gather that spirit, and let common blood claim glory by cleansing abominations on Dwilight. The great gnashing in the west, the cries of undefended innocent in the east. Silence for beasts and rest for the undead...yes...a call to silence, of sorts. You are a fighter, a swordwielder, and heroquester, yes? Would you join me in a quest across Dwilight, to save or damn the world?"

Was a' bit wordy, ifn' ya ask me.

The Call of Fissoa
A dream invades the slumber of adventurers from Madina to Drowenton. They find themselves in a desert, a stranger bedecked in tattered robes before them. He beckons to them, in a raspy voice, he proclaims: "I call each of you. Spread word, a gathering must be made. Those of true spirit must gather in the southeast, in Drowenton. The old gods have shown a way, a way of glory for those that toil. A way for the true blood of the common clay to rise up, to grasp that which they most desire."

In a wisp of sand, he is gone. In each adventurer's dream they are then surrounded by monsters slain in glorious combat...the monsters are cowering all around. The dead walk among them thanking the adventurer; returned to their living forms and no longer the undead horrors recalled from nightmares. The dream ends, waking each from slumber for a brief second. They all recall the desert beggar that disturbed their dreams. They all heard the Call.

The Call of Luria Nova
Magnus, the burned man. Lucius, the braveknife, and Gudrun the fair joined the beggarman's quest. Clearing lairs and conversing at campfires before venturing north. The companions from Drowenton made camp and accommodations in Irvington, then. Upon the first parting, the beggarman vanished and could not be found.

The tale fades, the beggarman missing for a time. Yet the desert wind howls at night, as if shrieking in the air in his presence. The seems, was not just the wind. Reptilian monsters amass on the shores of the eastern continent in the beggarman's absence. Once lands are lost, peasants rampaged to anarchy and feed...then, does the beggarman return, preaching in the night streets of Irvington.

"Woe! Woe, I say. What became of west can come of east. The nobles and their armies cannot save us, only true spirit can hope to save Dwilight."

"A questing must be made! Those of true spirit must gather, prove themselves in the east. Gather the force of humanity in the west, and strike deep into evil's heart."

"The prophecies of dead gods and alive agree, only spirit can shape the world."
Title: Re: The Crimson Lord
Post by: Malus on April 17, 2017, 03:47:10 PM
Reserved for Second Act

I try to pick it back up at some point.

Adventures north.
Title: Re: The Crimson Lord
Post by: Malus on April 24, 2017, 12:52:50 AM
Third Act: Something that references a time long ago...and is probably far, far away from happening.

Doings in the west.
Title: Re: The Crimson Lord
Post by: Malus on April 24, 2017, 04:41:01 PM
One more reserve post, just in case. Try to keep the whole thing together.

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