This is a character development forum. However, it's also the prime hub for flavor and storytelling! And I propose we exercise our creative skills in a constructive manner!
. . . and then the poster below me will create a story to go with the picture! It certainly doesn't have to be overly long; a paragraph could definitely suffice. It also doesn't have to be a specific kind of story either. It could be a mini-backstory for this mysterious dragon rider, or an excerpt, perhaps, of a battle scene he's in, or maybe a delve into the character's mind at this moment as to what he's thinking. Anything to provoke juices of creativity!
And the poster will include another picture, so that the poster below him can continue the process.
And so, to kick this thing into gear, I'll provide a story for that picture I just posted:
The power coursed through him -- the elemental energies of his sorcerer blood, the infernal pact he made as a child providing arcane power, and the divine strength of Bahamut himself in his blade. This king looked upon his army, the peoples of Eberron gatherered underneath a single banner in a manner not seen since the time of Galifar. He would provide justice for these people this day. He would lead them against the divine armies of angels and devils, and show the gods that Eberron was not a world to be controlled by their will. He would show them that he, son of Bahamut, was not one to be trifled with.
He raised his sword above his head, and gave the shout of war.
There! Get the idea?
Here's another picture, so that the poster below will have something fresh to work with!
Menechtaurun was terrible, it was over 100 degrees with no water within sight. Garath shaded his eyes as he looked up to the sky. The sun was not as high as it could be, it was at just a little over a quarter. It was to the east, though. Hours and hours would pass until the rays would even lengthen to be tolerable in the evening. He turned to Dana. “Hot.” “I know." They shared a chuckle. “Didn’t they teach you any useful magic at Morgrave? Set up a blizzard or anything?” Dana actually looked a little annoyed. “You know that’s not how it works”
Garath was prepared with some other retort, but a shadow fell across them. Actually, the shadow fell as far as they could see. The temperature immediately dropped. Garath took a long draw from his wineskin. “Thank the Host for that.” Dana and Gelehad had both turned their eyes up, and neither had reached for their wineskins. Suddenly, the welcome roll off of the heat became an unexpected chill. “I think that the blessed Host may not wish thine thanks for this questionable boon.” said the paladin in an oddly flat voice. His sentence was punctuated by a shrill shriek as he tightened his grip on his sword. Garath reflexively half drew his own sword even before he looked up. Whatever it was that was above him was not alive, years in the mighty army of Karrnath had ingrained the charactaristics of the undead into him. But there was more to it. Whatever this undead… dragon… was, it was of ice. Frozen crystals glistened around it as the temperature dropped. By that point, all seven standing there had drawn their weapons. The draconic abomination swooped to the sand…
Sorry that was not great, but I wanted something to keep this thread going.
PS: That was inspired by the RW weather here, WNBC keeps reporting severe heat advisories all over the area. The idea of an icy undead dragon (what the pic immediately brought to my mind) seemed almost nice.
Menechtaurun was terrible, it was over 100 degrees with no water within sight. Garath shaded his eyes as he looked up to the sky. The sun was not as high as it could be, it was at just a little over a quarter. It was to the east, though. Hours and hours would pass until the rays would even lengthen to be tolerable in the evening. He turned to Dana. “Hot.” “I know." They shared a chuckle. “Didn’t they teach you any useful magic at Morgrave? Set up a blizzard or anything?” Dana actually looked a little annoyed. “You know that’s not how it works”
Garath was prepared with some other retort, but a shadow fell across them. Actually, the shadow fell as far as they could see. The temperature immediately dropped. Garath took a long draw from his wineskin. “Thank the Host for that.” Dana and Gelehad had both turned their eyes up, and neither had reached for their wineskins. Suddenly, the welcome roll off of the heat became an unexpected chill. “I think that the blessed Host may not wish thine thanks for this questionable boon.” said the paladin in an oddly flat voice. His sentence was punctuated by a shrill shriek as he tightened his grip on his sword. Garath reflexively half drew his own sword even before he looked up. Whatever it was that was above him was not alive, years in the mighty army of Karrnath had ingrained the charactaristics of the undead into him. But there was more to it. Whatever this undead… dragon… was, it was of ice. Frozen crystals glistened around it as the temperature dropped. By that point, all seven standing there had drawn their weapons. The draconic abomination swooped to the sand…
Sorry that was not great, but I wanted something to keep this thread going.
PS: That was inspired by the RW weather here, WNBC keeps reporting severe heat advisories all over the area. The idea of an icy undead dragon (what the pic immediately brought to my mind) seemed almost nice.
Thanks! That was great!
However . . . there was no picture to keep the cycle going!
The booms from infernal war machines and fell sorceries could still be heard faintly from where Naselle sat, the last assault upon the holy academies had been brutal and even the neophytes had been standing in the frontlines to protect the Chapel of the Almighty Three. Even though Naselle could not hear them, the screams of the dying citizens of Halandsholm still echoed in her ears, the greatest bastion of mankind, the heart of the Solaian empire was crumbling, it's citizens and defenders were butchered in the streets that they called home and the Order of Rasaine were stuck at the academies, held back by hordes of inhuman abominations, the paladins sworn to protect the people of Solaia wouldn't even be able to hold the holiest of sanctums throughout the coming night. A tear fell down Naselle's cheek, when she had taken her oaths she had known that she would die protecting Solaia, but now, with it's capital in flames, monsters having torn down every last bit of the empire, she would end up dying for nothing.
The people of Aztoria had settled into outrageous decadence. Ruudi had adventured for years abroad, wielding the sword of the holy way against the demonic denizens of the underworld. He was near death many times, and other times saw his righteous companions fall under fiery blade. After all this sacrifice, he returned to his blessed city only to see the indolent lounging in the street and the immoral gorging their licentious lusts with no shame. He didn’t pause to eat or drink or even remove his armor. From the city gates he strode directly to the Temple of the Elders. Upon the sight of the great paladin, the false prophets shrank to the shadows, and Ruudi went so far as to rip the stole from the shoulders of their chief. The benches were empty as Ruudi took the pulpit, but he began to speak passionately. He spoke of the sacrifice of his brothers and sisters, and of the horrors he had seen. His fiery prose flowed into the streets of the city, and a few of the curious began to trickle in.
I am having some issues with my connection posting photos. I want this thread to keep going, can someone back me up here?
The young girl swatted at the low-hanging branch in front of her as she ran through the forest, tears streaming down her face. She choked out sobs as she ran, her grief blinding her to the myriad nicks and scratches she incurred as she ran, her once-pristine dress now frayed and torn in numerous spots. Behind her, the sound of clanking armor and shouts could be heard in the distance. Her father's lackies; henchmen, really. No doubt sent to retrieve her, to bring her home to dear old dad. Her grief mingled with rage and spurred her to run harder, her muscles burning, her ankles felt like lead, yet she saw this only as inspiration, yet another grievance the world had heaped upon her, one that she might rebel against still, each footstep it's own triumphant defiance in the face of her treasonously tiring body.
Finally, she could no longer hear signs of her father's influence, and she felt herself slowing. She quietly stepped towards a fallen log, sitting on it without a sound. She looked around suspiciously, daring fate to send her more hardship. When none came, she let her head fall, exhaling slowly and loudly. She looked at her hands; muddy. Grimy with sweat and dark and flecks of bark from when she had grabbed at passing trees to keep herself from falling during her escape. She wiped them on her dress, which also stood as a tattered testament to her current place in life. All because of her father.
She stood up in a flash. Her father. The villain. The monster. Only a monster could take from her what he had, under the pretense of caring about her, no less. The man didn't know the first thing about her. All he cared about was his precious reputation. What would the other merchants, or, Heaven forbid, the Duke say if they knew his daughter was off gallivanting with some penniless musician?
Oh that poor, beloved, beautiful minstrel. Had she not snuck out to go to the tavern those few weeks earlier, she'd never have met him. It was fate. Surely she had met her soulmate. He was sweet, and kind, and loved her as she had always dreamt someone would. How she missed him now, and the sight of his beauteous face, the sharp features of his elven heritage mingling perfectly with the softness of his humanity.
But she would never see that face again. Her father had made quite sure of it. One night, after the third week since their romance had begun, she snuck him inside her father's estate, up to her room, so that they might spend the night in one another's arms, as she had so fondly dreamt of. Everything had gone perfectly, until her father's steward had come in to inform her of some event she would be accompanying her father to. She knew she was doomed from the moment the door opened, and the steward's beady little eyes screwed in on the sight of her with her love. Without a word, he about-faced and disappeared, off to inform her father.
She knew what was to come, and tried desperately to get him to the stables where they might steal a horse and escape, but her father and his men stopped them before they could even reach the gate. She was taken to her room, her last sight of her Half-Elven lover being that of watching the guards drag him away. As she wept in her room for what felt like an hour, her father gently opened the door. She looked at him, her eyes red and puffy, as he sat down at the foot of her bed. She had screamed at him, telling him what an outrage this was, what a horrible man he was for separating them, and all throughout he simply looked at her, his face calm, his eyes shining with intensity. When she had finally stopped, she was breathless, huffing with deep breaths of air in an attempt to catch her breath.
When she did finally recover her composure somewhat, her father informed her that the Half-Elf had been killed, reported to the town guard as an act of self-defense when found breaking into the estate, and that there would be no further insolence in his household. Her eyes grew wide with horror, and just as her mouth contorted to speak, she felt a sharp sting as he reached out and slapped her. She stared at him, numb with shock. He stood up, looking down at her.
"I thought I had raised you better than to disobey me, my dear. I will rectify this, and you will learn to obey."
He walked out of the room without another word. She sat on her bed in shock for what felt like hours, before coming to a conclusion. She could not stay here. No. She had to leave. Forever. She had to go somewhere else. Anywhere else.
As she looked at the forest around her. Were she not so distraught, and were life not so cruel, she might actually find the foliage beautiful, as it lay beneath the glowing crescent moon of this cool spring night. But it's beauty could not shake her dark thoughts; thoughts of malice. Thoughts of vengeance. She paced about as her mind spun with ways in which she could get back at her father, ruin his business, ruin his life, even going so far as to end it.
She could have kept on for hours were it not for the unnatural, ghostly figure that emerged from a copse of trees. The girl let out a stifled cry of surprise as the figure walked towards her, clad in a shimmering black dress. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and her raven hair seemed to flow out like the black waters of an ocean in the night. She instinctually backed away from the advancing figure, until her foot caught on the log she had been sitting on, causing her to fall backwards and land on a patch of wild grass. Fear consumed her as the tall, unearthly figure stood before her.
"Worry not, little one. I mean you no direct harm."
It's voice was thick with dark appeal, sultry and yet somehow radiating with an energy of forbiddance.
"W-.. What do you want?" It smiled at her, ruby red lips parting to show dull-white, sharpened teeth. "I have watched you, child. Your story is that of tragedy, your love stolen from you, and now your heart screams for vengeance. I wish to help you."
She looked at the creature, the woman, with uncertainty. If it had wanted to kill her, it could have, surely. She felt the merest sense of intrigue fluttering just at the edge of her fear.
"What will you do for me? What do you want for your help? Who are you?"
The figure held up a hand, the shimmering, transparent shawl around her flowing outward.
"I will simply give you the power to have your revenge on the one who has wronged you and cruelly taken that which cannot be replaced. My help is now freely given, and for now, you may simply call me a friend. Surely that is what you need most, little one?" Her voice taking on a sympathetic pout, enticing the girl with thoughts of commiseration.
The young girl looked at her feet, then at the unspeaking trees around her. Finally, locking eyes with the creature before her, she nodded. The creature waited, silently, until the girl said,
"Yes, I want your help. Please."
The creature smiled once more, and extended her arm towards the girl, holding up her thumb and index fingers. Between them materialized the tip of a dagger, then the blade, then the silvered pommel, ending with a forked curve at the bottom of the hilt. She held out the hilt of the blade to the girl, her eyes shining in the moonlight in a way that almost reminded the girl of her father.
Raising her own hand, the young girl realized it was shaking, and did her best to conceal this fear with determination. She gripped the hilt with what she hoped looked like confidence. Letting go of the tip of the blade, the creature looked at the girl in a manner almost predatorial, before looking down at the girl's feet. Looking down herself, she saw a thick, black fog was encircling her feet, and beginning to swirl upwards, all along her body. Just before it covered here eyes, she looked up towards the creature, but she; it, was gone.
Sorry if it's long, I wasn't sure if there was a specified limit. The Next ImageShow
Ectar walked along the forrest, smiling at Melora's bounty spread about him. He loved his nature walks, as they always reminded him of why he had chosen to devote his life to the goddess all those years ago. sadly, what with his recent travels with Garud and the other adventurers, he had had scant chances to explore the wilderness of late.
Ectar's smile faded as his senses picked up something. it was faint, almost non-existant, but there was no mistaking it. the smell of decay and rot are ingrained into the mind of every person who have ever faced undead of any sort. Ectar had hoped to never face such a smell again. It always seemed to be different when malign forces were involved, and that's how it smelled now, his nose rising in an unintentional grimace.
after a moment, Ectar found the direction of the smell, and began his search. In the springtime growth, it wasn't hard to find the source: drake bones, covered in fowl runes, and releasing a visible blue putresence into the air above them. Ectar pulled out his journal, where he had a record of every prayer he had ever performed, including the simple rhyme he sang to himself every night when he went to sleep.
"Melora, mistress of all that is wild and free..." removing the malign influence from this spot would not be too difficult, as the ritual performed here was old, and the magic was wearing thin. But that was not what worried him. He had heard rumors through his fellow priests that such bone circles were apearing all throughout the forrest. Who, or what, would do this? Ectar only hoped that he and his freinds would be able to figure it out in time...
"Your men ain't got a chance in any one of the nine hells against that thing, captain" A jovial voice rang out, pulling the attention of the captain away from his eyeglass back to the ground. "Why don't you all back off an let a professional handle this?" The captain of the guards of the western fort gave Kayneth a glance over, an assortment of enough weapons strapped to his body to outfit a small army. He sniffed at the ridiculous sight, barely able to believe that this man was even taking himself seriously.
"Son, what on earth is all this here?" He asked, a look of both disbelief and insult on his face. Kayneth just gave the guard a playful smile as he slung a massive war axe over his shoulders and motioned to the sky. The guard needed little more of an answer, looking back to the Gray dragon that had beset their countryside days ago. It had attacked in spurt, almost toying with the guards of Fallsmarch and their lackluster attempts to take the beast down, or at the very least drive it back. The guard turned back to Kayneth, who only smiled pleasently. "You look like this is going to be an easy hunt."
"There's not a dragon alive that's an easy hunt." Kayneth said with a seriousness to his voice that belied his smile. "But then again, that's what makes them the perfect prey."
"My men have been shooting cannons, arrows, spells... we've exhausted almost everything we have trying to get that infernal beast to land!" Exclaimed the captain with a snort. "What do you think your going to do with so much weighing you down?" Kayneth only chuckled softly as he grinned wide, walking up towards the top of the fort, the cold air blowing his hair about as his eyes met with the dragons. The troops posted up top began to panic and run for cover as the beast began to swoop down, heading straight towards Kayneth.
"What am I going to do?" He asked, pulling one of the many swords that lined his waist out with his left hand. The guards all looked on in fear as the dragon came closer and closer, but Kayneth barely took even a ready stance. "Rather than tell you, why don't I show you?"
And the #1 item for the morally bankrupt... Why settle for a statue of a nude elf in your bedroom when you have a real, live nude elf, petrified and unpetrified on your command. She wears a tiara, when you utter a command word, she will be petrified, unpetrified, or disciplined. Any attempts by her to remove the tiara will be futile. Use her only as a statue, or to entertain any debauched desires you may have. 125,000 GP.
