Forums / Roleplaying / A REAL RP

This is pretty much just to see if there is anyone here up to the challenge of a real RP, please dont be childish, NO "*" at all.... >_< Not for the faint of heart : )

The nights grew longer and longer, and the days were no better lately. The chared alleyways of Istaos were dark even in the day, when the sun was hidden by clouds of black smoke. A dozen or so soldiers clad in rusted chain mail armor were all ready for whatever it was that lurked in these ruins. A man covered in tattered black robes held the only available light in this dark night, a staff of oak with an orb at the top emited a light that made the area even less uncomfortable if that was possible. Its earie blue light casted shadows in every direction, bluring the lines of physical objects. The man with the staff made a gesture with his hand, and the soldiers moved down an alleyway, he then looked around behind him, the light shone on his face. To some it may appear as if he was no living being at all, only a mere skeleton, a summon maybe, but most knew exactly who he was. Lord Zarun, the dark mage known for bringing about the destruction of countless cities, and hundreds of thousands of men and women. This man let nothing get in his path, he was known to beat even time and death, no one knew how old he was, some say he was ancient, others think he is mortal, and only a younglin by their standards.

Turning his head back to the alley, he dissapeared amoung the shadows with his soldiers, reaching into a hidden pocket into his robe he pulled out some rose pettals, and picked up some ash from the ground and ground it into his hand, the words of a spell on his lips, he ran into the darkness, already knowing what would lie ahead.

The first soldier sprung the trap leading into the shelled out structure, a giant bear trap clamped down on him, causing intence pain and bleeding, his screems filled the air. It was almost enough for Zarun to not hear the shutters oppening above them, and archers nocking their arrows, almost. As he muttered a few words, and threw up the crushed rose petals and ash into oblivion, the air was suddenly erupting with dancing flames. The archers were burnt to a crisp as the orb on Zarun's staff shot flames into the already burnt out building. The suddenly bright alleyway showed that they were in courtyard of sorts, a perfect place for an ambush, too bad it had gone horribly wrong. Pushing aside their falling comrad, the remaining soldiers moved into the building, escaping the flames, only to find a small group of soldiers, and more archers. Fighting ensued as Zarun ran up an old staircase, in an atempt to flank them. When he was met with a few soldiers and a mage of their own, he reached to grab some reagents, when he noticed it was unecesarry. The enemy mage, being very unexperienced, had already thrown his reagents into the air, some thorns and pepperweed, but was fumbling with the words, Zarun had them ready in a second. With a roar like thunder they were thrown backwards, the force of the spell alone killing them, and sending a large portion of the building flying into the sky with it, landing with a crash some distance away.

Zarun looked down to the inside, now fully visible through a new hole. His men were all alive and intact, except for the new recruit, now moaning from a toppled over bear trap. Many dead men lie on the floor, mangled and bloody, under the heels of the dozen or so men under the command of the mage. Nodding his approval at thier efficency, he moved into the room where his objective was, a woman clad in robes that once may have been fine silk, but were worn and torn. Even with the worn robes and the ash everywhere, she was clearly beautiful, and an elf at that. She was also pretty shaken, but was clearly attempting to be calm. "My lady, Zarun bowed slightly, mockingly even, I see that you have made yourself quite cozy these past few days." Stepping forward, the elf maiden was visibly furious.
"Few days, you've had Istaos under siege for over a month now!"
"Yes this has gone on longer then I wanted it to, I had planned on having the entire city destroyed quiet a while ago actually."
"How much more destroyed could it get Zarun! This city was on the brink of destruction before you even got here! But you will never destroy its people! Never!" Zarun chuckled at her cliche.
"That's what they all say My Lady Senator, but you all fall, everyone will fall."
"What are you acomplishing from this! Why do you want everything to be destroyed!" Again, a chuckle from Zarun.
"All in good time Senator, all in good time, but for now you come with me."

And with that two men pulled a bag over her head and knocked her unconcious. "Lets get out of here, this place gives me the creeps." one of the soldiers said. "Get used to it, we'll be here awhile yet." the other batently replied. Zarun stood in the entry way, four of his soldiers in front, and four behind him, the other four were carrying the Senator up ahead, back to their "Base". "I really hope the trip back is a little less eventful, I could use a good rest..." Zarun sighed as they headed back. Though they all knew he was joking, Zarun hadn't slept the entire month they'd been here, and when they had time to rest he only re-memorized his spells for hours on end, until it was time to go and reak havoc once more.

((Please keep it nice and long, and very discriptive, free RP set in Istaos, the ruined metropolis city of Rivania. It is multi-cultural, and very large, there are pockets of rebels throughout the city with very few leaders left alive. It's settings are very much like that of the DragonLance setting, enjoy.))

[[I'll have a look at this when...1. I'm sober...2. not in need of sleep...3. got enough time to write a long enough story...btw...anything goes in this story? or are there certain rules to be followed...is there an ending? anyways...a Carrothian envoy will arrive in the near future...surely there's a portal somewhere to be found in that realm...]]

[[Look up DragonLance for a vague setting. The story itself is up for debate, The obvious choice would be that Zarun is simply set on destroying all, but perhaps there is more to it then that. This is not a story, Im not telling you a tale, I set the intro for something for us all to create, its an RP. And Onex, you can be whatever you want, be it a rebel leader, a Knight set on stopping all evil, a mercenary looking for work, a civilian set on escaping, or a King from a different nation looking for peace or war with Istaos, only to find it is fallen. The magic system is that of DragonLance. Please be civil and fair. I expect this to go very much beyond Istaos.]]

[[can't find dragonlance so I'm just going to write anyway]]

  Hearing the blast, he opens his eyes, I say he as no one really knows his name, those that know of him call him the healer. He sits up and begins preparing himself, the destruction had begun a little late this time, but it didn't suprise him, Zarun was getting *beep*y lately. After checking to make sure that all of his supplies were still with him, he gathered some of the spruce leaves he had slept on, taking out a red feather he muttered an incantation and blew on it gently, soon a fire grew out of the leaves, next he took out several dove feathers and spread them over the fire, muttering a bit more as he did. Almost instantly a cloud of purple smoke appeared over the fire, he frowned, Zarun had been busy today already. Waving his hands across the fire his rings twinkled breifly, then the fire went out. Standing up he brushed the brown strand of hair away from his weathered face. To call him a healer was not totally accurate, he had apprenticed under a paladin, but had quickly become bored with the strong melee influnce, learning what little magic the paladin knew, he then went on to spend many years under the teaching of a sorcerer. Mighty though the sorcerer was, he never cared for the darker aspects of his magic, learning valuable lessons about reagents, he finally began training by himself, roaming from forest to forest, awed by the power he found in nature, he spent many ye*beep*xploring the healing power of the trees, and how they drew their power from the ground. For years he studied the careful balance that existed there, how it be harnessed for healing purposes, and manipulated for destructive ones. The trees nurtured him, and he developed a life much longer than others, with only the slightest touch of age ever showing upon him. For many years Zarun had been upsetting the careful balance, bestowing upon the forests a rage, he could feel the power of the old trees reaching out to him, he knew that he must track down the source of this dark power.

    He knew that eventually he would have to confront and defeat this dark mage, however after sitting upon a hill and watching the defeat of an entire city come swiftly and almost entirely unhindered, he knew he couldn't do it alone. Instead he followed him, helping those who rose up to defy him, and caring for those that survived. He never found anyone that was powerful enough to fight beside him and stop Zarun, but today he could feel another strong presence, he would seek it out after he had attended to the survivors of the most recent attack, doubtless it failed, mortal's lifespans are almost never long enough to learn anything valuable.

 Making his way towards Istaos he only paused occasionaly to pluck leaves of the more uncommon herbs or pick up feathers. 

  [[just an intro, more tommorrow when I'm not so sleepy.]]

      As Zarun and his company made thier way to the city Capital with their new captive, the scenery begain to rapidly change. It seemed the deeper into the city they went, the less destroyed it became. The unconsious elf senator began to stir slightly, but was of new real threat to any of them, not yet. On their way back they came across groups of bandits and mercenaries, stuffing their pockets with valuables, throwing away their supplies to make room for the gold. "Greed, Zarun thought to himself, the downfall of all humans...". Very few of the hired blades not in the company of the mage would survive the coming week.

      The group entered a clearing, and a burst of fresh air rushed across them. The sky was still the same, black with smoke and death, but the land, the land could not have been more different. Or perhaps that was exactly what it was not, different. It seemed that this entire area had been untouched by the fires, the attacks, all of it. Trees bent slightly in the wind, an ornate fountain shot out water, and a marble walkway led to a palace of sorts. This was exactly where Zarun was headed, the head seat of government in this large city had become the base of operations for him and served all of his purposes quite nicely. The palace was magnificent, its large windows overlooked the once glorious city, and coloms raised up along the walkway reaching to the heavens, the heavens the city had long forgoten.

       There were no guards, magic guarded this building better then hired men. Zarun dissmised his men as he headed into the palace, the elf floating behind him as he controlled it into the entryway. With a wave of his staff the entryway dissapeared, and they were in a large ornate room, which was used for accountants when in service. Tying the senator to a sturdy oak chair, she beagan to stir. "How nice of you to join us Lady Senator." Zarun had his back to her, he was grinding some herbs together on a table. Her head was spinning, she had a nasty bump on it as well. "Here, take this, it will help you're pain." putting a vial of clear green liquid to her lips, he gave her no option but to drink it. The pain imidietly went away, and she began to think clearly once more. Anger suddnely flushed through her body, as if it were part of the potion itself. "Who are you! Why do you slaughter so many innocent! We have done nothing wrong! You will pay for your actions!" Zarun moved closer, put only a foot between their two faces. "There was a day, my lady Senator, when I said the very same to your people, now look at you... I kept my promice..." it was barely over a whisper, but she heard him loud and clear, and shivered slightly.

      "You see, Senator, you might think that all I am doing is murdering innocent people, destroying peaceful nations, razing beatiful cities to the ground, but there is far more to my plans then you could ever understand. So let's leave it that way. Ill be back for you shortly, have a nice rest." Zarun went to leave, then turned, and blew a small pile of sand off his hand into the air. Slowly, it made its way to the elf, and imidetly, she was in a deep sleep. With that, Zarun sat in his study, studying his spells, and working on his plans.

[[Its great Charley, except you missunderstood me, I should have been a bit more clear. Istaos is a very large city, not a province or continent. But it doesnt effect your story at all, so lets just say Ravinia is a small village just on the border of Istaos and thats where you're heading... ok? Other then that its fine : )]]

An elf was sitting in a tavern not far from Istaos. He went by the name of Gailen Silvermoon. He ordered a mug of mead because he had not the money to spare, but wanted something to calm his nerves and perhaps take the worries and cares off his shoulders. His brows glistened with sweat as the fireplace in the tavern blazed with a red glow. He sat back and pondered about the past few years and perhaps what the years ahead held.

He had been overwhelmed by the work his master had put on his shoulders. Being a mage never incurred such a physical stress as this had. He was training to become an equal to his master, Farethor Thunderstaff, in most aspects, seeing as he was the brightest pupil of his and not only that he was the one that had survived through the most dangerous tasks that were set before him. For his hard work he was well rewarded. He recieved from one of his journeys into the depths of a dungeon to face his hardest oppenent. An undead lich, with the power over all undead, it was a far more formidable opponent then he could have imagined in his darkest of nightmares. He was only a journeyman to his master in most aspects of the earth and it's elements, so to fight one who could summon legions of undead at his will was a horrid thought. However, there was a slight mistake in the Lich's movements and that is where he took advantage and conquered his foe he took up his staff. It was a magnificent staff of slender oak strewn with emeralds and sapphires and one large ruby. He felt it's power surge through his very being as he wielded it. However, being only an apprentice he had to give it up until it was time for him to use it.

So in the mean time it was locked away well in the soul of the tower, only him and his master knew of the way to get at it, unless someone had even more powerful magic then his master, which he knew not. Instead of that staff, he used only a maple staff with a coursely cut amber gem at the top of it. His red robes were worn and tattered, his black sandels were even worse off then his robes though. His long silver hair was tied back into a tail so that it wouldn't get in his face.

He was sitting enjoying his meal completely unaware of the destruction going on in his home town or the complete obliteration of his master and most of his friends. That all changed in a matter of seconds however. A young courier came tumbling into the tavern and near fell over the chair that was in front of him. His hair was singed and his clothes almost none existent due to the scorch marks on him. He was seated and given a cool drink to calm his nerves. Then he began the horrid tale of how Zarun had come in and almost destroyed the town and most of his inhabitants. A sickly green look fell upon Gailen as he grabbed his staff and his pack and strode out the door without so much a second look, to see if what the mere child's rumors were true. If so he feared the worst and knew his master would be dead or close to it. However, even as he played some pictures through his mind just trying to get a picture of the destruction his eyes would know a new level of fear when he laid them upon his once peaceful town.

[I think it's an ok intro, but let me know Pumpkin]

[[If there are *beep*jections...I would like to change my character's first name to Thomas....I have my reasons and I will explain them later if needed]]

  The day so far had been tedious, very few people were open to the idea of a mage coming with throwing distance of them, he spent more time explaining who he was than actually healing, a few of the rebels within the city knew who he was, or at least what he did, and gladly led him to their injured. Zarun had blown right through the ambush, just as he expected, every city tried it at least once, Istaos made one of the best attempts from what he saw, but many were left dead, and he didn't work on the dead, that was for dark mages. Walking through the back streets of Istaos, he made no sound, anyone that saw him would have described it as gliding, years in the forest meant that he could walk across a pile of dead leaves without disturbing a paranoid rabbit. He paused in a particularly dark and lonesome alleyway and looked at the sky, the sun could not comfort him here, and he had to draw his strength from his oak staff, looking at it it would seem as though it were cut just yesterday, though he had crafted it over 100 years ago, secured at the top was a large round amnethist, down the center of the staff ran a thin vein of ground crystal, though it could not be seen. Looking into the amnethist he sighed, he must find this source of the magical presence here, it seemed to be just outside the city, a tired, but defiantly strong source of magic rested somewhere outside the city.

    Moving down the gloomy alley again, his eyes darted to a man lying amongst the filth, his clothes were once that of someone quite rich, stooping over the unconcious man he examined him, his face was obiously untouched by the poverty that spread in this part of the city, his cheeks were round and pale from years of a happy life, his clothes were slightly tattered, and his hands were crossed over his stomach, moving them he saw that they were covered in gleaming blood, the man had been stabbed quickly and vicously, and his pack cut away from his belt. This man had waited to long to flee, and was robbed and left for dead before he could get to the gates. He noticed a signet ring flashing on the mans hand, it bore an emblem he was not familiar with, this man was someone important, perhaps he even had some weight with the council. Placing some fresh kava on the wound he began muttering furiously and concentrating on the wound, this was something that could not be done by raw power, carefull attention must be paid to reattaching various tissues correctly, finally closing up the wound, all that remained was a callus that the body had formed with the some of the old cells. As he was doing this he sensed the human down the alley, doubtless pleased with himself at finding a rebel mage, if he were smart he would turn and run to Zarun, but he was greedy, and delivering the rebel first hand would be more likely to open promotion opportunities. In one fluid motion, he spun around and threw a small bit of ash and pine needles into the air and muttered an incantation, by the time the soldier realized his mistake, it was to late, his expression changed to that of shock, but there was no time to do anything else. Finishing the incantation with a slashing motion across his chest with the staff, the ash hissed and evaporated, and the needles sliced through the air, and into the man's face and neck, falling to the ground, he felt little pain as the life slipped away. Now he moved quickly, turning around and picking up the man he just healed, he slipped back into the darkness, heading to the safehouse. Although it was very simple magic, there was a chance Zarun felt it. His work in the city was done for the day anyway, he must track down this new power outside the city.

   Soundlessly he approached the door of a rundown tavern, it had been closed long before the destruction of Istaos had begun, there were only two windows, one on either side, and they were heavily boarded up, the door was closed, ask any local and they would tell you it had always been that way.  After giving a series of complicated knocks on the door, he heard locks begin to slide open, then it reluctantly opened several inches. Knowing that several arrows would fly at him if he burst through the door, he said bluntly, "It's me, and I'm not bothering with your ridiculous password you change every day, so open the door." The door swung open a bit faster this time and the stout doorman gazed upon him with watery eyes that were made all the more shiny as they peaked out from the filth that enveloped him. Stepping in he looked around at a scene that was almost ironic, in a very dim light, he could see once proud soldiers scattered throughout the room, their shining armour mocked by very building they stood in, between them people ranging from very poor to very wealthy sat, but none of it mattered now. Setting down the man in the middle of the floor he wasted no time in beginning to leave, pausing only to look at the doorman and say, "Here is another for you, I believe him to be someone of importance, so question him when he awakens. There's an abandoned food cart by the old blacksmith shop east of here, rob it before someone else does." The man just continued to look up at him and nodded before closing the door. Now he made his way quickly to the edge of town, to the source of the power.

The man lifted the remains of the stick, before half of it fell down to the ground, the tendrils of fire still eating away at the remains. He stared ashen-faced at his opponent, obscured from his view by a cloak, of the colour azure. What it was made from the man couldn't tell, nor did he wish to. The only part of the being that he could see was a withered hand which held a staff. A low strangled cackle came from beneath the folds of the clothing. "So, how does it feel to have killed all those companions of yours? Relishing their screeching and the flow of blood? Your magic taking their lives away, the many years of those children stretching into the future, gone. A mere few drops of water is what drove you to it, perhaps? Or the last few chunks of the succulent meat to be found on the rabbits? Or, perhaps it was the greed for flesh, and to quench your thirst on their blood?"
                The cloak fell from the figure, the repulsive sight sending the man back several steps. The figure was ancient, of unknown gender, the sunken eyes sightless. It was probably deaf as well, it looked almost undead. Still, it moved, and the staff of birch adorned with many gems was that of a professional mage. The man moved a foot towards his adversary. It reacted rapidly, the man was thrown back against a tree trunk. "So, Killer" the person said, with much emphasis on the name, "Who dares mock me with a puny step, shall you accept my challenge to a duel of magic? Of course, untrained in magic as you are, you aren't going to do much, but it will all be entertaining."
              The man stood, moonlight dancing in his eyes. Not in a whimper, but in a voice ringing clear and true "I accept your challenge, old man," figuring it was a man. He was however mistaken. The voice came back taunting him, "I am no man. Nor a woman. I am a dead creature brought back to life, and that has no gender." Sadness entered the creature's speech. "I am an animated puppet, used by my master to kill, a dim remnant of what I once was. No more!" his voice raised, and shook with rage. With his last breath he yelled. "I serve you no more, and this kill shall be my last." With that it plunged hits staff, its uppermost stone pointed to a sharp tip, into where his heart once lay. Bone flew everywhere, and the dead thing fell to the ground. The man collapsed, his energy sapped somehow.
               The man awoke in the morning, and set out towards Istaos, the great capital. He arrived without hazards, and greeted a lone guard, just a lowly common peasant, probably watching his stores. "Who are you, and why do you come in times as these, suffering and torment the joys of Zarun?" The man answered shakily, oblivious until now of the origin of destruction across the land. "I come to conquer evil, and as for my name, it is Killer."

                                                   Earlier that Day

The large locked doors boomed open and through them strode the dark mage that had been terrorizing this poor town. Farethor sat in his large satin chair that stood before his fireplace and next to his glamorous fountain that had sculptures of each of the different elements shooting water into a center hole that collected the water into a center pool. "You are not that lucky good sir, Zarun. Why do you come here to torrment this town and it's good people? Is there any pleasure in it for you to here the final screams of those whom you have shone to death's doorstep? Yes I can here your thoughts young mage. I am the Archmage of this once great city whom you have brought your wrath down upon." said a voice that seemed to echo off the large dust-ridden walls.

The dark mage watched carefully as an elderly man with a long grey beard stood from his comfortable chair. Then out of the corner of his eyes he saw a glit of ash and wood shavings fall to the grounds in a sudden spark. He knew at once the old man was not one that would go silently, but instead with a hard fought battle. Suddenly the ground beneath him began to tremble and the mages struggled to keep there balance. Once balanced Zarun had to make a leap towards the elderly mage and once done a large stone pillar rose from the ground whence he stood. It blocked the only exit, let alone the only opening, to this great tower and that also meant that Zarun's men would be of no use to him in this battle. Lightning shot out of Zarun's fingers, as the metal scraps and fresh rosemary sank to the floor. Farethor lept to the ground and the sparks shot into the wall behind him. The shards of rock flew in all directions. One rather sharp piece streaked across the sprawled man's face leaving a long deep gash upon his cheek. He winced in pain as his blood dripped from the side of his face. He stood and grabbed his staff.

"This is for all the poor apprentices you have murdered!" he swung the staff in a fluent montion with one hand threw some reagents in the air as they were consumed by a spark. The fire behind him suddenly rose into a roaring inferno that shot out of the fireplace and burnt a hole through the excellently crafted chair, which Farethor knew in his mind he would never have the chance to sit in again. The flames burst forth and seemed to be the end of this sinister mage, but he leaped to the ground and turned to see the streaks of flames spread along the walls like the tentacles of an octapus seeking his fresh prey.  The heat from the flames sent the temperature in the room to enormous heights, which seemed to singe the hair on Zarun's head and face. He may be invincible, but he has a weakness that may be enough to slow him down. However, this knowledge must be given to someone that was not in this battle to the death. Some poor unsuspecting soul.

                                    That Same Evening

Gailen stopped after a day of rushing back to the city at what seemed to be an abandoned hovel. He knocked slightly on the door and heard nothing. As he grabbed for the handle the door's hinges gave way and the door fell to the ground with a boom. Dust creeping up from the ground in circles from the sudden rush of air. As he peered in he noticed the owner of the nicely furnished home in a chair facing a fire. As he moved for a closer look he found the man was murdered. His throat was slit and flies flew in the area where the fresh flesh was found. Gailen had not been prepared for such a sight and lost his dinner he had eaten not long ago. "What foul thing could do such a thing to such an innocent person..." he thought as he noticed that all of his belongings were intacked and knew at that instant that this was clearly a murder for the joy of it. Being disgusted by the soon to be maggot infested body he decided to bed outside and so he slept in a tree near the house incase the murder decided to return to finish the job of scavenging the house.

[Read my message I sent to you pumpkin and try to end the battle something like that. It doesn't bother me how it ends, but it is much to late for me to stay up and type anymore. I'll be on to fini*beep* tomorrow during my next turn.]

A man of average height and build walked through the streets of Istaos, however his walk was more of a stumble than a walk. His face was caked with mud, his clothes a mess of rags and tattered clothes that may have been decent a decade earlier. Nothing gave away his true nature except for his eyes. His eyes showed a degree of pain and sorrow that would kill a lesser man, to look into them would be to look into the shattered soul of a once valiant man. He turned down another alley and left the middle class section of town, he walked into the varshek, the roughest section of town. Populated by legions of thieves, mercenaries, veterans, and murderers, only the toughest could survive. Adding to the trouble was a maze of alleys and sidestreets that even a Resevian scout with the best sense of direction could not navigate. In front of the man was another man who walked with a degree of fear. His exquisite clothing was covered by a robe that looked as if it had been used in a pigpen. Suddenly, the walk of a drunk left the man as he ran towards the wealthy one, he grabbed him by the neck, brought his foot into the back of the man's knee, and threw him to the ground. He drew a dagger and brought it to the man's throat while covering his mouth.

"I want to know everything you know about the rebel base in the city," said the man while taking his hand away from the noble's mouth.

"I will not tell you!" yelled the man, though the drunk could smell the fear in his voice.

"You will, if you would like to keep your life, but I will not take it first. I will first take your finger nails, then your toe nails, and if you still havn't told me, I will cut off your fingers and toes. If you havn't told me then, I have more ways of torture," said the drunk.

The noble's face went white before practically yelling, "They're in the Balor Inn!"

"That's a good boy, and passwords I should know about?" asked the drunk.

"No!" yelled the noble.

"You're a liar, and liars lose fingernails," said the drunk before bringing his dagger down to the noble's finger.

"Fine! Breshaft! It's Breschaft!" yelled the noble

"Good boy," said the drunk before cutting the noble's throat, he wiped the blade with the noble's shirt before shoving it back into the scabbard under his coat. He then started off towards the Balor Inn.

As the flames engulfed the dark mage, Zarun slammed the end of his staff onto the floor, muttering a prayer to Nuitari a wind pushed back the flames, the two elements battled in the center of the room, the wind fueling the fire but pushing it back, and the fire eating away at the oxygen. The tower began to fall down around the two mages, chunks of debris were crashing holes into the floor and walls. Zarun's hood flew back and revealed his face to the arch-mage. Shock, fear, confusion, all feelings that flooded over the elderly man. "You arn't even human!" he yelled to Zarun across the flames. Underneath the hood, Zarun's skull was fully exposed, it seemed there to be only a membrane of skin spread over his bone. A smile revealed the toothy smile of some undead skeletor creature. "But all undead must have a leader! Some necromancer who rose them from the dead!" Farethor backed into a corner, as the rest of the floor was being eaten from the flames, his head began to spin from the smoke, he fell to the floor, closing his eyes to escape the smoke. When they were oppened again he saw that the flames had eaten away at an entire wall, exposing the next room. An ornate staff lie on the floor, untouched by the flames.

Zarun replaced his hood, and hid his face once more. "You ask too many questions old man, you will serve me better dead." Pushing his staff out, he propelled the flames towards the old man, burning him alive.

The flames grew brighter, and much more hotter, he could no longer see Zarun. Which meant Zarun could no longer see him. He used his last bit of effort to run to the staff which lie on the floor, it may have been untouched, but it was very hot. His skin burnt away on his hands, as the rest of his body was singed from the flames. In agonizing pain he did something he had not done in a very long time, he prayed.

After a minute or so of a blazing inferno, Zarun needed to get out of there, or be at risk of the entire structure coming down on him. Turning, he blew the large pillar from the door out, and walked casually out of the blaze. Once a safe distant away he looked at the tower. "Let this be a beacon of despair to all those rebels who think they have hope." The tower was the tallest building in Istaos, and the flames spread higher then the peak. All of Istaos would witness this inferno, witness the power of Zarun.

Thomas Deallus woke up in the empty house that he was in.  It was another dreary day as he looked out of the old window.  He saw a cloud of smoke in the distance from where he was and decided that it was worth investigating.  He gathered together his equipment and began travelling towards the smoke.  He had been moving in that direction for several hours when suddenly a voice shouted out.

"Halt! Identify yourself or perish!"

Thomas looked around for the source of the voice and saw two men with bows, aiming at him.  They slowly approached him and stopped several yards away.

"Identify yourself now!"

"I am Thomas Deallus, a humble traveller who is merely wondering what is going on here."

"You must really think we are fools.  We know that you are no humble traveller.  Why are you wearing armor and carrying weapons then?"

"I wear them for protection in these dark times.  Who would not want to be protected?"

The rebels then made their first mistake, they got too close.  Immediately Thomas drew his swords and impaled both of them at the chest level.  Their bows dropped harmlessly to the ground.  Thomas then wiped his weapons clean upon their clothing, and searched them for any items of worth.  He then continued on his trip towards the smoke.

He got a little farther when he heard voices and hid in a doorway of a building.  Two men wearing tattered clothing walked by with swords at their sides.  Thomas noted that they were rebels and casually walked up behind them.  He drew his swords and shoved both of them into one guard at his neck and heart.  He pulled them both out and cut the other guard's head off as he turned and was drawing his sword.  Thomas took any of their valuables and cleaned his swords upon their clothing.  He then kept on his path into the heart of the city before finding an intact house.  He went into a back room and sat down before falling asleep.

_______________

1. Duke Pumpkin Head 
2. Onex
3. Killer
4. Charley
5. DD
6. Facepalm
7. Septim

[[I overheard the people in the tavern talking about Zarun.  His personality intrigued me so I decided that I would head to him and join his services....for a price.  That in turn, makes the rebels my enemy.  If I go to Zarun and say I have killed a number of rebels, and give him items that I have taken off of their bodies, it helps prove that I am truly wanting to join him, and not just want to assassinate him behind his back....if that is possible of course.  Thomas Deallus is the younger brother of Charley, and has a hated of his family for not being given more power for being the son of a king (Ernest Deallus of Tasidian).  So he left in anger and decided to become a mercenary.  He takes out his anger by killing for money and is generally inclined to be sided with evil.  All of the RPs(and stories) I do and join are connected in some way (Except The Shadows and modern stories.) Ernest is king of Tasidian, Charley is the eldest son, Thomas is the second oldest, and there is also Ernest II and Edward.  Those two have yet to enter a story.  I didnt want to explain all this in a long post but I guess it explains SOME things.]]

[[Keep in mind that I am not travelling in broad daylight....that isnt a smart tactic for keeping a low profile....]]

The drunk turned to see a man following him, the drunk then smiled and began running. For the last five years he had used the poor district's maze of streets to his advantage, and that day was no different, he turned many corners and ran through many alleys before finding that he lost his follower. He then took off the clothes of a drunk and underneath was the armor of an old mercenary and a crossbow across his back, he dropped the drunk's clothes into a trash container and walked off towards the inn.

***

"Password?" asked the guard.
"Breshaft," said the mercenary in a whisper.
The guard let the mercenary in, and the mercenary sat down in the corner of the large inn, it was dimly lit, yet it held a distinct comfort. He found a seat in a shadowy corner and began watching each figure in the tavern. He sat for nearly a half an hour until a man walked into the room, his hair was gray, but his spirit young, the mercenary recognized him as Garrus Varsooth, a key figure in the resistance and target. He turned to his guard and whispered something before walking outside. The mercenary got up and walked out the back door, he walked around several corners and began trailing Garrus and his guard. They obviously knew the poor district, as they walked with confidence, but the mercenary knew it better. He followed them until they turned into an alley, then he struck. He drew his crossbow and fired, hitting the guard in the neck. Garrus turned to see the assassin and turned to run, the mercenary quickly loaded another bolt and fired, hitting Garrus in the leg.
"Dammit!" yelled Garrus as he fell in pain.
The mercenary ran up to him and put his hand on Garrus's mouth.
"Death falls upon us all, old one, and now she has you in her embrace," said the mercenary as he cut Garrus's throat.
The mercenary again wiped his blade on his victim's shirt and swiftly ran from the scene, checking for people following him.

***

"You've done well Septim, and for that I am pleased, Istaos thanks you," said a wealthy General.
"I do not care for your country's thanks, only for the money your country has," replied Septim.
"Of course," said the General with a smile as guards entered the tavern they were meeting in.
"I expected this, General, and I still expect you to pay. A friend of mine currently has somebody very dear to you, your wife and unborn child to be exact, and if I do not report back to him within an hour, they will both die," said Septim.
The General's face became white.
"How do I know this is the truth?!" yelled the General.
"Tomorrow a carriage will be found with three slain guards, but no woman," said Septim.
The General threw a sack of gold down to the table in fury.
"Fine! Clear out men!" yelled the General before leaving, Septim picked up the bag and left the tavern. As he walked towards his base of operations he smiled, he had not kidnapped the General's wife, but he had done his research on his client, and in the end it always pays off...

[Sorry I had trouble getting my sister off the computer. She wants to buy a chihuahua and can't stop looking at them. I knew that if some posted before I did it wouldn't mess up my story that I was trying to create so I was in a rush to beat her off the computer.]

[[good lord Septim, an invincable character? This rp is running out of room for those, especially unreasonable ones like yourself. Obviously I'm going to take the most direct route to the inn if for some strange reason I lost you after hundreds of years of tracking wild game in the forest, being a mage with reagents already in hand wouldn't hurt either. Needless to say I would have made it there at least in time to rush in and point you out to everyone in the inn.... Now all you leave me to do is track down the elf archmage, together we will make a powerful team. mwuahaha, but I'm still pissed at you]]

[[OOC: Not invincible, and you never got a good look at my face. It is currently night and I was wearing the clothes of a beggar. Then I changed into the clothes of a mercenary. And plus, no matter how many years you tracked game through a forest, the maze of the city is no forest. And posting in order? Well pfft...done with this...]]

Septim is suddenly shot in the neck by a crossbowman.

[[OOC: Didn't kill myself because of that, I killed myself because we have to post in order, I hate order!]]

[[If your going to die Septim make it good >>]]

Xyphos Celestin stared at the burning tower. “That’s impressive, almost scary, it’s as if hundreds of Chromatic dragons are swooping down upon this town” Xyphos spoke thoughtfully “…But it makes a damn good waypoint if I do say so myself. Extremely useful I‘ll have to thank this Zarun fellow eventually.” he continued happily. He pushed Sigheart into a steady trot as he entered the gates of Istaos. He eyes took in the destroyed city silently.

Xyphos continued into the city as he walked he drank in the surroundings. Finally he took a sudden left turn at an alleyway and approached several people all dressed in mismatched armor breaking into . Obviously mercenaries. Xyphos spoke to them calmly “So then my good fellows, do you think that perhaps you could lead me to a nearby inn good sirs?”. The mercanaries glanced at each other in shock from both his refined way of speaking and how casually he had approached them. Finally one of them smiled and said “Of course we’ll take you to a nice inn.” “Why thank you good man” replied Xyphos. As he got off of Sigheart and began to follow them around.

Quickly they began to continue down the path towards much more damaged parts of Istaos. In many places their were still fires going on and small skirmishes could be seen from the path they were taking. The mercenary took a wrong turn along the way because soon they were in a dead end alley. “Damn city” spoke the mercenary “Can’t find my way around”. “I believe this is quite far enough” said Xyhpos in a much more quite voice. “But sir we st-” the sword sticking out of his gut suddenly quite noticeable to the other 3 mercenaries “I said it was far enough” Xyphos hotly replied. The other 3 quickly realized he wasn’t to be trifled with and charged him. Xyphos pulled out his reagents with his other hand and spoke swiftly “Lightning Burst” suddenly from his sword lightning came out in an arc killing all of them.

“Good” breathed Xyphos “I was worried you would be tougher then I expected. But now you’ll be more useful then you were ever alive.” Xyphos got down on the ground and began to make a summoning circle. Using their blood in minutes he had everything ready. He summoned one inhumanly large scorpion. “Now then tool you shall cause as much chaos as possible. To get as much attention as possible.” Xyphos spoke in a calm voice. The scorpion scurried off beyond the alley. As Xyphos watched it go he spoke “It’s time to find out the players of this little game…but that can wait, for now it’s time to save some peasants. After all it’s always fun to play both sides.” and with a smile that touched both eyes Xyphos Celestin was off.

"Arvayas gro weshann, culpit to-sati harbandith" Zarun chanted as he stood over a small pool of black water. It could have been only a puddle, or perhaps the small fountain that held it was a mile deep, it was impossible to tell. Soon the water swirled around and formed images, mercenaries ran through the streets, cutting down innocent peasents, a group of white and red mages sat around a table, slaming their fists and cursing, a large scorpion roamed the alleys of the city, and then finally the view was that of beyond the city. Rolling green plains came into view, and then tents, thousands of tents. Zarun concentrated his spell on these tents. Soldiers were moving in between them as the sun set, fires were lit, forges set up, ar army prepared. They were not even a days march from the city, about fifty thousand in total, alot less then Zarun had thought they would send for such a magnificent city. Zarun stood up and paced the room, ploting.

A disturbance at the door caused him to put his thoughts at ease for now. "What is it..." he said before the knock came. "The elf wishes to speak with you my Lord Zarun." a dark cleric, coincidentally dark elven, spoke with his head bowed. Zarun nodded, and dismissed the cleric.

Entering the small room the senator was kept in he saw that she had made no attempt to escape, it would have been futile but he expected her to try non-the-less. "You wish to see me Senator?" Zarun expected she wished to know what he wanted with her. The elf maiden sat in a chair, looking at a blank wall, it was much better then the scenes displayed out the window, the chared city, the blazing tower, the dead. "Remember what you said, earlier... about what happend to your people, what did you mean?" if ever Zarun could be surprised, it was now. "My lady, how is your history of these lands?" it was her turn to be surprised now. The Senator turned to look at him, "Well, better then most, but why?"
"Do you remember the Voyages of Charels Uth-Mondar?"
"Yes, a Solamnic Knight who took ten council ships across the Sirrion Sea. It was supposed to be a mission for the council races of Krynn to unite and find new land across the oceans. There were Elves, Dwarves, Humans, Minotaur, even some Gnomes aboard."
"And do you know what happend to them?"
"They perished, never to be heard of again... what does this have to do with anything?"
"Because Senator, they didn't perish, at least not imidietly... Charels Uth-Mondar and his fleet made it to land, to a large island very far from here. They called it Newlan, and it was an ideal location for a colony of Krynn. But they were not alone, there were small villages on this island. I lived in one of those villages Senator. The mages on the crew branded us with the name Hantu, ghosts in the magic language." Zarun began pacing, as he remembered the events that followed.
"They called as Hantu for the skin of our people is not the same as you humans and elves, it is typically a light blue, but sometimes grey, or even a tint of green in it. We are very gifted in the art of magic, but we were naive, we thought they had come in peace. How wrong we were. They burnt our villages to the ground, enslaved our people to mine and work for them, so many of us died. We were the last of our kind on that island, and they killed them all... Finally, in the night, I was visited, not by any mortal, but by a god. I couldn't look at him, the power was intence, awesome, and frightening. He spoke to me, in my mind, he said, "Are you ready to leave this island Zarun?" I nodded my head. "You are a follower of Chemosh now Zarun, only in death will these people of Krynn follow me. You know what to do..." The next morning there was a staff by my bed, amoung other things..." he trailed off for a monent, touching his cheek, feeling the bone.

"I took up the staff, and killed every one of them, they slaughtered the rest of my people Senator, but not me, I let them feel the wrath of my god, I showed them true pain, and then I came to Krynn. It has been many many years since then, I have gained power, Nuitari gives me the Arcane Magic here on Krynn, and Chemosh the power of the gods. No one will stop me in my goal Senator, no one."

Zarun walked from the room, the Senator had tears streaking down her face, she looked at Zarun wept. Zarun shut the door behind him, and went to the magic ward of the palace. He would need some study if he was to leave here today. Looking out the windows he embraced the death, he could almost see the souls leaving their bodies and being embraced by Chemosh. Paladine has been aweful quiet lately... thought Zarun uneasily, wondering why he had not stepped in earlier to aid his followers. Unless they were repeating their acts of many many years ago, and turned their backs on the gods once again. Zarun hoped they could only be so fooli*beep* would make his job that much easier.

[[paging killer, undead slayer can you hear us? once again paging killer, killer to customer support.0_0]]

[I'm not on all the time, you know...]

Killer looked at the weapons. He had joined the various tools together to make slightly better ones, yet still rudimentary. "It's not as if," thought Killer, looking at the body of the man, his once blond hair red from blood, which lay in a pool around him,"he'll need them." He looked at the weapons he would be bringing along. A slingshot he had made himself, a few spears to throw and a spear to jab with. A huge oaken shield which he had found lying on the ground. A strange device which he had made, and a small curved sword. The other weapons he had made would be of no use to him. He also found various bags in which to hold the spears and carry supplies.
            He walked quickly, in an unknown direction to most. The buildings which used to soar into the sky were reduced to ash. He had been here once before, long ago, and still the buildings had been large. He had never cared much for cities, but still the reckless destruction unnerved him. He had found what he was looking for, a tunnel into the ground, his refuge in another time. It was closed off by a hatch, rusty with time. He struggled to open it, and just managed to. He slipped down into the darkness and closed the small door.
            He dropped to the ground, and looked around. It was bright, despite the darkness outside. Torches lined the walls, unlit, and Killer saw the reason for the light, a strange thing it was, which had been there for as long as he could remember. Why it was lit he was unsure, and shivered despite himself. He crept on towards the source of the light. He noticed a slight movement to the side, and drew his slingshot and fired a warning stone. It seemed to hit the target, who groaned and fled towards the door. He fell, and something snapped audibly. It was the man's neck. The door however was open. Killer was knocked unconscious by a blow to the back of the head.