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Post by Land Tillers' State on Apr 14, 2016 17:15:05 GMT -8
There are two reasons why this particular land was selected for the United Training Force. First of all there is the wide open spaces and wide variety of terrains. Second, there are the small wyverns and drakes. These small dragons, like Small Green-Wing Drake, are not the stuff of legend. Really they are just big flying lizards, no bigger than large horses. However, they are surprisingly intelligent and amicable towards humans, causing the Land-Tillers to form a symbiotic relationship with them. In exchange for providing food and lodgings, the small dragons help protect the expanse and its people. In order to enter this area, one must gain consent of one of the wyverns. |
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The Kingdom of Belrow
Committed
Roleplay posts: 86 
Player's online availability : Most days
Registered: Apr 10, 2016 2:54:12 GMT -8
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Post by The Kingdom of Belrow on Apr 23, 2016 22:02:06 GMT -8
The party of the dead walked towards the Wyvern guards. Uncaring about the danger. They all surrounded a single figure,draped in tattered cloths with symbols of dull green radiating from them although he was the same size as his followers he brought the illusion of being much taller. He walked with purpose, slowly and methodically. Where ever he stepped, the grass died. As if the very life had been sucked out of it. He approached the stationed dragons and spoke. Not with his voice, but with his mind.
"I have come to speak with the living. I am Overlord Ralakor of Belrow, master of the dead and I am here to warn the living of our mistakes."
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Post by Land Tillers' State on Apr 24, 2016 0:29:00 GMT -8
The wyverns sensed the creature was telling the truth, and allowed the being to pass.
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Reuna Laurént
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 361 
Age: 51
Physical Description: Reuna is a striking study in contrasts. She is just slightly above female average, height-wise, standing at 5'8", and is slender, with a fragile bone structure that makes her look weak; this is, of course, balanced out by her strength and skill in magic. Her hair is long, descending to her waist, and is purely black, which is a sharp opposition to her pale-skinned features. Her eyes are the color of amethyst, dark and intense, and are usually the only method from which one can derive her mood, as she very rarely displays her emotions via facial expressions. She appears young, in her mid-thirties, although if one looks closely enough, they can see the beginnings of fine lines around her eyes and mouth. Although few have ever seen them, due to her tendency to keep herself fully covered from neck to toes, she has whip-mark scars covering most of her back, and scars from long periods spent in manacles around both of her wrists, remnants from her days as a slave.
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Clothes and Equipment: Generally, Reuna wears one of five sets of identical robes, with high collars and long slightly-loose sleeves, in black, dark grey, purple, dark green, and dark blue. Commonly-carried equipment consists of her personal grimoire, a traveling writing kit (with ink well, quills, and writing desk), and a belt with pouches that contain various items (both magical and non); though perhaps not considered equipment, her raven companion Karrik always accompanies her.
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Player's online availability : Evenings. (EST)
Registered: Jan 25, 2016 16:56:44 GMT -8
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Post by Reuna Laurént on Apr 27, 2016 17:04:21 GMT -8
Reuna approached alongside her new husband, Edward. She had been told of this storytelling event by Jun, who had attended the wedding, and it had remained with her. There was a story that she felt needed to be known by someone other than herself in this world.. and so she approached the wyverns with a smile. "I am Reuna Laurént..I come to tell the story of a dear friend of mine and her triumph against darkness." Assuming they were granted permission to enter, she would turn to Edward and give him a quick kiss. "I will see you when this is all over, and we can return home." Then she'd continue on her way.
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Attla, the Conniving
Committed
life
Roleplay posts: 84
Age: 27
Physical Description: A shrewd and bent over nomad, deprived of food at a young age, giving him malnutrition. His thin bones and muscle weaken him physically. He is just 5 foot 5 inches and has a weak and flimsy gait.
He is usually wearing a form of battered cloak, over black robes that hang loosely across his protruding figure.
His weakness extends to his legs, where he cannot run effectively. Instead, he must hobble at a slow pace, making him simple to outrun.
To most people he would be considered an outcast, a useless fruit of society, living off the work of others in a parasitical one-sided form of symbiosis.
His face is droopy, his eyelids purple, a permenant state caused by his lack of sleep. He is an insomniac and thusly has use magical means to get himself to sleep.
He has beard, congealed with silver and brown hairs, which is spewed haphazardly across his chin, in an ugly show of his unclealiness.
His hair is a mess of dirt and grime. It is hard to gauge of his hair is brown, or it is merely the mud that lumps together inside of it.
His eyes, a brilliant green iris, contrasted by the vicious red tendrils in his eyes, a sign of bleariness and tiredness.
His nose is long and angular, ending at the near hidden, slim mouth stuck in a grimace of pain and anguish.
He near always has a thin cover of sweat across his body, with little pieces of grit mixed in, like a foul soup.
Clothes and Equipment: As mentioned, he has a black, torn and weak robe, covering a small fleece of sheep's wool. Over this robe, a battered and torn black cloak covers him fully. His is connected to his robe by a simple headwrap, creating a black hood to shield himself from the sun with.
He wears large leather boots, worn and old, with obvious mistreatment. No attempt to clean his boots has been made.
He carries a twisted and gnarled ironwood root, as a walking stick and makeshift weapon. He uses it as a way of casting magic, using it to gather energy in the same way a lightning rod would conduct lightning.
Underneath his robe he carries a satchel. In the satchel he keeps a small coin purse, and a small box where he keeps various nefarious equipment, such as lock-picks, needles, small daggers and some throwing darts, all of these stolen or created by him.
Registered: Mar 18, 2016 23:24:09 GMT -8
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Post by Attla, the Conniving on Apr 28, 2016 0:19:00 GMT -8
The sound of a three-legged beast alerted whoever may be nearby. Rhythmic tapping with a resonance, the sound of wood slanting off of solid stone. The nature of the beast was revealed. A hunched over man, not a beast, dispelling the notion of an alien form. He tip-tapped his way, making steady progress through the path. A cloak surrounded his body, oscillating back and forth, moving with every strange step he took.
He did not see any guards nearby, a flash if confusion started upon his face. He decided to motion towards the nearby drake, a motion to communicate to the dragon that he required its attention.
He spoke to the dragon, with a general smooth tone, with eloquence.
"Please, allow me to pass."
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Post by Land Tillers' State on Apr 28, 2016 0:40:45 GMT -8
The wyvern sniffed the strange man, and balked. They didn't like what they smelled. Another wyvern appeared, then two more, surrounding him. They could sense a darkness about him. The wyverns were trained not to be biased against the undead of Belrow. But Attla didn't bother to state who he was.
After several moments an actual human guard came riding on horseback. He was carrying a short bow. "State your business, please."
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Attla, the Conniving
Committed
life
Roleplay posts: 84
Age: 27
Physical Description: A shrewd and bent over nomad, deprived of food at a young age, giving him malnutrition. His thin bones and muscle weaken him physically. He is just 5 foot 5 inches and has a weak and flimsy gait.
He is usually wearing a form of battered cloak, over black robes that hang loosely across his protruding figure.
His weakness extends to his legs, where he cannot run effectively. Instead, he must hobble at a slow pace, making him simple to outrun.
To most people he would be considered an outcast, a useless fruit of society, living off the work of others in a parasitical one-sided form of symbiosis.
His face is droopy, his eyelids purple, a permenant state caused by his lack of sleep. He is an insomniac and thusly has use magical means to get himself to sleep.
He has beard, congealed with silver and brown hairs, which is spewed haphazardly across his chin, in an ugly show of his unclealiness.
His hair is a mess of dirt and grime. It is hard to gauge of his hair is brown, or it is merely the mud that lumps together inside of it.
His eyes, a brilliant green iris, contrasted by the vicious red tendrils in his eyes, a sign of bleariness and tiredness.
His nose is long and angular, ending at the near hidden, slim mouth stuck in a grimace of pain and anguish.
He near always has a thin cover of sweat across his body, with little pieces of grit mixed in, like a foul soup.
Clothes and Equipment: As mentioned, he has a black, torn and weak robe, covering a small fleece of sheep's wool. Over this robe, a battered and torn black cloak covers him fully. His is connected to his robe by a simple headwrap, creating a black hood to shield himself from the sun with.
He wears large leather boots, worn and old, with obvious mistreatment. No attempt to clean his boots has been made.
He carries a twisted and gnarled ironwood root, as a walking stick and makeshift weapon. He uses it as a way of casting magic, using it to gather energy in the same way a lightning rod would conduct lightning.
Underneath his robe he carries a satchel. In the satchel he keeps a small coin purse, and a small box where he keeps various nefarious equipment, such as lock-picks, needles, small daggers and some throwing darts, all of these stolen or created by him.
Registered: Mar 18, 2016 23:24:09 GMT -8
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Post by Attla, the Conniving on Apr 29, 2016 0:51:40 GMT -8
"I tell you, I am a traveler, here to spin a tale."
He had not lied. He was not to lie in a time like this - else-wise he would jeopardize himself. He wished to partake in the competition, so he may acquire the reward; missing opportunities would be foolish.
Why had he been singled out by these wyverns? It was strange. He thought of himself as appearing to be a poor peasant. It was peculiar that his deeds - as a man motivated by greed would have spread so quickly. At least he theorized this was the case, for it could have been the fact he had not been to the Land Tillers Expanse beforehand.
He must be let through. He must get the reward.
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Post by Land Tillers' State on Apr 29, 2016 6:17:43 GMT -8
The wyverns and the guard looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Then they shrugged.
"You may pass." The guard said.
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