- Looking for some like-minded dungeon crawlers for a classic 80's romp through a deep maze of death and traps. High adventure, lethal sorcery and unspeakable evil await us here in the company of misfits or heroes.
- They say that character development is impossible in a crawl. I say Nay! For we onnly know who we are when the depths of the realms is plundered. What are we made of?
- Feel free to use the following thread for the possibilities
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On Argo's long journey across this world, he stopped in a town to do an odd job and buy some supplies. While searching for a mercenary or carpendry guild; he felt it. A twinge of dark magic. Flipping a pair of internal lenses so he could see this new trace of magic. As a soldier; he knew that if he didn't stop this and the source the people here would would suffer. He then followed the trace into a forest, drawing his hammer of small size off of his belt and made it full size, read to pulverise any and all threats. As he drew nearer, he recognized the magic to be at least a few hundred years old.
This is once again seasoning my brain, anyone else wish to join the mayhem?
The Priests in their temples far and away, in the big cities that reached up to their terrible skies, said that the Gods blessed or mercied upon these pitiful things called us. But Murk never believed that, he believed, like so many of his fellows in the latrines and cobbles of the old city believed- that the gods laughed. And with the sudden appearance of this fanciful she, they laughed hard. So he decided so did he.
"Laugh like the gods," Intruso once told him. "Laugh hard at us."
Murkstav had to, had to laugh hard at this gorgeous glowing thing that had to be something, could it be, A Fae?
Of the creations of the Gods the minions of that laughter had to be the Fae. When the gods laughed, their laughter, their joy, manifested in the form of a Fae.
And Ye Gods help those that called them fairy!
"So you have come to help me, uhm help US," Murkstav said with a smirk, trying hard and fast to hide his laughter. Ye gods they were cruel. "The gods or this misshapen forest must think so much of me."
Despite his sarcasm, he offered a sit to his colleague, with the tip of a dagger.
It was one of the earlier summers of her childhood. It was tea time, and all the lord and ladies enjoyed brunch at this estate. But the hustle and bustle could not distract Juliet from a growing dread in her stomach. Juliet looked out in the field behind Valentina's estate, sensing something strong, like magic, pulsating from somewhere beyond the tree line. "Madame Valentina, I'll be going out into the woods to play. Follow if you dare," She yelled, not looking back to the tea party happening behind her, instead, dashing forward to run and investigate.
Then, the fog started to thicken. She didn't notice the fog, when it was below her ankles. It was only a shallow pool at first. Yet, it got denser, all the way up to her waist. It got darker. The woods almost seemed to change. It was like she had passed a threshold, some sort of invisble border, and she was somewhere else. Finally, she noticed some sort of paper hanging on the tree. It was a call to action to dungeon explore. Her eyes peered through the density of the trees, searching for something, paper in hand. Maybe some sort of building. But instead, she saw smoke.
Juliet approached, pale in the moonlight, almost appearing like a ghost. "I hear that there is a dungeon near by, monseiur. There is a reward if I explore it, yes?" She was so small and appeared so frail, it might be surprising to hear soemthing like that come from here. "Are you here for the same reason?"
Perhaps some inspiration?
I have noticed that some seem to be hesitant in the diving in of the thread. I am not suggesting no planning at all, but just a show of interested hands. Here is how something like this would begin... with people taking turns posting.
The fire burned, giving light like nothing else in the decaying forest. Where once there had been life now shadows overcame anything that promised hope. The figure by the fire, clad in a opaque pocket-filled armor. Grim he stares at the fire, sharpening a blade, then throwing another tinder into the fire.
No doubt he wonders if any more will come to his call, a torchbearer to raid the tomb of Ra- Kinsor, the arch-mage of the Kimian people. The forest beyond made no noise, no hint of anyone approaching. It worried him.
Just beyond, a few paces to the northwest stood the tomb, and Murkstav could not get the feeling out from behind his eyes of nothing approaching. Surely there were minions, hordes defending the tomb of their most sacred magi. But he knew one thing and one thing- he could not handle this place alone, he needed others. He just hoped that the word he left at Gerrard's Tavern lead to a bite or two of volunteers.
But he wasn't in the business of hope, he was in the business of coin.
@Juno @Juliet De Amber