Topics

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East Island / Highmarch's Betrayal ---- What next???

« on: July 04, 2018, 11:12:10 AM »

Since there was so much arguing going on IC I thought it would be nice to allow people to vent on the much slower paced forums.

What will happen to the momentum of the war now?

When will peace be made?

Why did Highmarch do it?

And more.

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East Island / Looking for knights

« on: June 13, 2018, 03:57:44 PM »

Not for lords, just knights. Isadril needs a knight and together we can beat all those knightless lords out there.

hmu

3

BM General Discussion / Five years gone, whats changed?

« on: December 26, 2017, 07:52:52 AM »

Just as the topic header implies.

So I see everything has changed a lot since I was gone, at least in terms of the UI. Also hey, how is everyone, and how is the community doing?

Special hello to Vita, Anaris, Matt, Kelley, Chuong, Tali, Miri and a few others whom I haven't talked to in a million years.

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Roleplaying / The Blood Oath

« on: August 09, 2014, 08:17:08 PM »

A blood moon hung over the clouded sky. The ritual was nearing its completion in a shadowy grove on the outskirts of Lasop, the first city to be rejoined with Remton when its reign over the Far East was in its ascendancy. On the stone he had dragged to where the lunar light shone brightest lay in wait the three items he had found in his travels which were lost to the courts of kings, queens, dukes and knights.

The ring of a king who had become an emperor.
The sword a duke who had slain a terrible traitor.
The idol of a false god who now held his enemy between his teeth.

Gadivald had found these in his journeys across the north in the deep caves and unworldly woods  men no longer trod for fear of where the animals laid down to die. For some reason objects which gathered the threads of fate to them were of special interest to the shadow beasts, perhaps hungry for the potent essence which had been given to these named artefacts. Maybe it was what gave them their power.

Now he had brought them to this place lacking in any worth or great note, a grove rich in only the seclusion it gave to his activities. No peasant came here, he knew from the lack of anything but animal tracks, and certainly no noble lady or knight would come across him here.

He picked up the sword, lying on the right of the other two items as it would be the first to be raised in defence, and held it hesitantly for a few awkward moments. Those who spoke the lay of the world to him had told him of Goffrey, the fourth of the Emperor’s companions. Children of Arcaea knew him as the one who had avenged Duke Aerywyn’s death and had been dubbed the Wyrmslayer in honour of his deed. The blade had needed sharpening to serve its new purpose, but it still demanded blood.

Odin had sacrificed his eye. Today Gadivald would start with his blood, though further sacrifices would need to be made. He pressed the blade against his palm. Deeper. Deeper still. A harsh spirit stunk on his breath. His eyes went wild, but his pulse slowed. When he began to feel the pain he pulled the steel across his hand and cut it deep enough to bleed. He clenched his hand into a fist and felt the blood come up and out between his fingers, down his wrist, dripping swiftly onto the sword first, then on the stone and ring and idol.

Finally it was complete. Taking the sword he lifted it above his head, steady for a few seconds, then swung it down and broke the silver idol upon the stone.

After putting the sword back in its place and wrapping his wounded hand, Gadivald sat. He waited and let the significance of what he had done sink in. The blood loss and spirits had thinned his corporeal being and drew the harrowed vestiges of his spirit forth close to the surface of his flesh. Flashes of light upon his darting blue eyes. A great shivering swarmed through his entire body until it bordered on convulsions and muttered words were coerced into a low, unintelligible chanting, speaking the language which had drowned within the matter of his life as a man until it could be brought out by the terrible fury which now wracked him with fever.

Then they appeared.

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South Island / Rape, Murder, Pillage

« on: August 06, 2014, 06:24:50 PM »

Because Taselak OOC can't give me more of a headache if anyone tried.

As I said, here is a place to discuss it if it really is so necessary to discuss it OOC.

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Roleplaying / Reclaiming a name

« on: July 01, 2014, 06:07:33 PM »

Some small backstory. I'm linking the Haerthorne and Ademar family as Marche and his brothers being descended from Aerywyn Haerthorne (first character) via his son Caim, who died in disgrace and whose wife remarried, taking her new husbands name and passing it onto her young children.

Roleplay from Marche Ademar   (just sent)
Message sent to everyone in the region Ipsosez (61 recipients)
Atop the head of the column of soldiers the enormous banner of the Arcaean Empire flew, larger than any banner Marche had ever seen before. It had been kept largely furled for the duration of the march until the army was sure that the enemy would soon see it, and upon a command from either the Emperor or one of his cohorts it was let loose, a myriad of crests trailing in the wind above the soldiers, emblazoned at the base of the six-man tall symbol of the empire herself, the blue and blazing gold of the Pheonix Crown. For a while he walked in awe, trying to guess at all the different houses and lands which were signified as loyal by their presence on that banner, almost failing to notice the ancient fortress of Ipsosez itself baring the remains of its legendary glory forth from the shattered basalt walls of the mountains.

Neither did it fail to impress him, but he drew up a stern face to not seem boyish or naive. Though he was young all of this did not bow him low but bore up even stronger the knowledge that he would have that this was a world which he would only deserve if he could match these sights with his own spiritual fortitude.

The fortress of Ipsosez blazed in the evening sun like mottled, burnished clay, seeming to appear on fire. Though many of its walls were crumbling and the defences were a far cry from what they must of been in the days of Svunnetland, they still endured with some majesty and demanded respect. The whole experience was doing something to him, ever since he had passed through Topenah and seen the situation there, read the records of his grandfather...

When the lines of Arcaea, Coralynth, Sorraine and Zonasa arranged themselves before the walls the army sounded like they were being sucked into a void in trepidation of the clash which was to erupt soon, even if they sound of so many thousands would have had to be deafening. Marche and his unit were preparing for their part in the assault with Coralynth’s men of the Dark Isle. Captains barked orders to their soldiers and the noble knights of the Arcaean Empire stood ready with their units to plunge up that rise to the citadel which had been taken by their foe. He did not know if Kindara or Cathay were as bad as he had been taught to believe. What he knew was that this was his chance to prove himself better than his peers. Strong enough to fulfil the gaping hole in the legacy of his family, left behind by the deaths of her noblest and greatest.

Lucky that his eyes were fixed ahead lest any see what dangerous and youthful flames they held.

And oh how he wished to be amongst the ranks of his true-born family. He was an Arcaean, no matter where he was, no matter who he served. He was a Haerthorne, no matter what the name he held was.

Thus Marche felt as he fought in the first battle of his young life.

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South Island / The war has begun! Lets celebrate with a nice tall glass of bloodlust

« on: June 06, 2014, 07:20:06 PM »

About bloody time! Thanks devs for making this opportunity possible. Lots of excitement about how things will turn out now.

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Roleplaying / My Magnum Opus plz red

« on: October 09, 2011, 03:34:06 PM »

I just decided to share this all with you. Its just a one off, thirty minute piece of writing and I have a weeks worth of correspondance to catch up on and oh god why does my ear hurt so much why can't alcohol save me?


It hurt. There was no other way to sufficiently describe how much everything was suffused with this malificient, clawing, throbbing, sweaty pain pulsating across his skin, his muscle, his bones. And his skull! What kind of daimon was locked up in the tiny cage of his mind that could press against the walls with such relentless, bull-headed fury? Throughout the day he had tried cooling himself off until he was forced to drag his weak body over to a bucket of cold water to dunk his head in it. Eventually all he had left was sleep. Even that was running in short supply now though.

"Gods, if you ever decide to break free do it now and relieve this blasted, miserable, gum crunching pain...", Rickhart moaned piteously from the white downy confines of his bed.

The King flinched away from the world as the banging in his head reached a volume that screamed 'kill me now you miserable bastard!'. He imagined the daimon inside was scratching through the viscous layer of membrane to the skull itself with his claws, dragging it along with a sound like a rusty iron nail against a sheet of metal, banging it with his spare hand all the while. The banging continued for a while.

It took a few seconds (an eternity) for him to realise it was the door and not some insane little imp inside the room.

He refused to answer, as that might cause more harm than good. It didn't help as the door was opened anyway by a particularly bathycolpian chambermaid, with no obvious regard for his the health of the poor king, and she was followed in by the insultingly thoracical oaf of a guard who was oblivious of how obvious in the fact he was more interested in the chambermaid than in his poor king. (It should be noted that perhaps they weren't all that bad, but the king becomes particularly venomous when ill). Rickhart decided to glare at them all the while they were in the room. The chambermaid changed his pot under his bed and put a new (colder) bucket of water beside it, smiling coquettishly. The guard stared idiotically back at the King and put a letter down on the desk in the corner. The two promptly left once it was clear the king wasn't going to utter a single word of thanks or dismissal to either of them. 'So much for the grace and intellect of a  philosopher king', they may have thought.

By this stage Rickhart just didn't care anymore, because his gaze had fallen across something else. For the first time in days it occured to him how high the pile of letters in the corner had become during his sickness. There were hundreds of them. They were falling off their neatly stacked piles into less neatly stacked piles spready horizontally, diagonally and vertically across the floor, a forest of words and thought shedding their pointlessly communicitave and demanding leaves to the ground. The sight of them wasn't new. The realisation he'd have to go through them all was.

His eyes bulged with the crescendo of pain that had been building up all throughout this little episode. The expletive the exalted Third King of Luria Nova screamed at this point cannot be printed in legitimate literature.

9

Background / Rage Thread

« on: June 23, 2011, 10:10:19 AM »

I thought we should have this thread because I want to show you something. This will enrage anyone who knows anything about the relation between the HRE and Italy. The name of this particular strip is called "Chibitalia and HRE".

http://aph.starry-sky.com/rkgk21.html

Incidentally, France later molests Italy.

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Background / Fealty and Homage for Freemen and Villeins

« on: March 15, 2011, 05:49:09 AM »

This is a fairly interesting document taken from one of the sights Artemesia posted. What is important to note about this is that the line between freeman and what we would call a "knight" is far smaller than that between a freeman and a villein. As the middle ages progressed, more freeman either became villeins due to economic troubles and the ravages of warfare and nature (putting themselves into the property of their lord so that their lord was then to be more responsible for their wellbeing) or they became "knights" i.e. had the money and connections to fight and sustain their position.

In posting this document I'm trying to say that the oaths between freeman and "knights" would be fairly similiar. Note as well the lack of any recorded option for villeins to give homage, as opposed to freemen.

http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/source/1275fealtyhomage.html

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Background / What do you think is wrong?

« on: March 15, 2011, 05:37:08 AM »

I'd like to start this topic with people's personal feelings about what is wrong and right in terms of how people roleplay their characters. I'm not trying to reach a consensus here since the medieval period was very diverse, but it would be nice if we could discuss what we think and perhaps even learn things from one another in respect to our knightly (and non-knightly) characters and the world they live in.

To start off, it rustles my jimmies when knights need to go to pubs to have a drink! You have all these other knights and soldiers who will happily drink with you and servants who can bring you the ale. Why go to a pub unless your ransacking it?