Al Múrin
Established
Roleplay posts: 14 
Physical Description: The character itself is merely a shadow in the mortal realm, a manifestation struggling to stay alive, fighting tooth and nail to appear human.
Registered: Sept 21, 2015 12:23:15 GMT -8
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Post by Al Múrin on Sept 26, 2015 23:42:12 GMT -8
Far north lay a fortress forgotten to the kingdom's of the world, Nâshagrar was its name. The fortress was humble on the exterior, but expanded far into the bedrock of the surrounding mountains, providing a massive base of operation. In the heart of the mountain a group of Al Múrin's most feared servants took refuge. Here they plotted the return of their lord, awaiting the occasional command from beyond the rift.
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Dârothil
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Physical Description: Dârothil stands at seven feet exactly, his frame broad and thick. His armor was practical, layered steel plates made up most of his suit, decorated with engravings in a language lost to time. There were a few spikes extending past his shoulders and kneecaps. His helmet was horned, with two sockets of black terror staring from behind the face-guard. From his back hung a cloak of a dark red velvet, it was worn and slightly dirty at the bottom.
In his hand was a six feet staff with a worn shade of black, a crystal placed in the socket at the tip. By his side rested a long sword, forged in the heart of the fortress in which he had his origin.
Registered: Sept 26, 2015 23:22:54 GMT -8
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Post by Dârothil on Sept 26, 2015 23:49:46 GMT -8
Dârothil sat calmly on a throne of bare rock, his gauntlets resting over the armrests. The dimly lit hall provided him with just enough light to see through the dark, outlines of his minions dancing around in the pits far beneath him. The sound of hammers clashing with red hot iron echoed throughout the halls of the fortress, the occasional scream accompanying it.
He had taken leadership of the operation quite suddenly, but he was molded and brought into this world to do just that. His one purpose was to lead lesser beings to a greater cause, and so far it had not been trouble. A cloaked figure approached his throne, its robes dragging along the smooth stone floors of the hall.
The dark sockets of Dârothil's helmet focused on the newly arrived figure.
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Avenórh
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Physical Description: It appears a man, a very tall and broad person draped in black cloth from head to toe. There is no flesh visible, although the cloth seems filled out, as if wrapped around a strong frame. A sword hangs down the side of this being, the scabbard long and black, engraved with symbols. The hands and feet of this character are covered in layered metal, and on first glance could almost appear as scale.
The cloth has withered, and it is quite dirty from extensive travel. A hood is pulled over what appears a head, although there is no face to be found, only darkness.
Registered: Sept 20, 2015 18:09:44 GMT -8
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Post by Avenórh on Sept 26, 2015 23:55:04 GMT -8
"My lord" Avenórh spoke, his scaled gauntlets folded maliciously in front of his torso. "There is word from The Free City..."
Dârothil simply stared back at the wraith, not uttering a word.
"A sorceress of unknown origin has gotten a hold of Ayórh, she has given her word. Al Múrin will return on her conditions". There was silence in the hall.
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Dârothil
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Physical Description: Dârothil stands at seven feet exactly, his frame broad and thick. His armor was practical, layered steel plates made up most of his suit, decorated with engravings in a language lost to time. There were a few spikes extending past his shoulders and kneecaps. His helmet was horned, with two sockets of black terror staring from behind the face-guard. From his back hung a cloak of a dark red velvet, it was worn and slightly dirty at the bottom.
In his hand was a six feet staff with a worn shade of black, a crystal placed in the socket at the tip. By his side rested a long sword, forged in the heart of the fortress in which he had his origin.
Registered: Sept 26, 2015 23:22:54 GMT -8
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Post by Dârothil on Sept 27, 2015 0:01:57 GMT -8
Dârothil clenched his fist, emitting a lowly grunt.
"The wench has the nerve to insult him with demands?" the fury of Al Múrin himself invoked in the voice of Dârothil.
"Ride to The Free City, find the crystal and bring it to me. We will not leave the fate of Al Múrin in the hands of such unworthy filth".
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Avenórh
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Physical Description: It appears a man, a very tall and broad person draped in black cloth from head to toe. There is no flesh visible, although the cloth seems filled out, as if wrapped around a strong frame. A sword hangs down the side of this being, the scabbard long and black, engraved with symbols. The hands and feet of this character are covered in layered metal, and on first glance could almost appear as scale.
The cloth has withered, and it is quite dirty from extensive travel. A hood is pulled over what appears a head, although there is no face to be found, only darkness.
Registered: Sept 20, 2015 18:09:44 GMT -8
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Post by Avenórh on Sept 27, 2015 0:05:23 GMT -8
Avenórh hesitated, but finally answered.
"The agreement was made by Al Múrin himself, we cannot risk to invoke his fury" Avenórh spoke with a rare fright to his voice, for Al Múrin was all seeing.
It would be risky to attempt recovering the crystal with force, but certainly a possibility.
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Dârothil
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Physical Description: Dârothil stands at seven feet exactly, his frame broad and thick. His armor was practical, layered steel plates made up most of his suit, decorated with engravings in a language lost to time. There were a few spikes extending past his shoulders and kneecaps. His helmet was horned, with two sockets of black terror staring from behind the face-guard. From his back hung a cloak of a dark red velvet, it was worn and slightly dirty at the bottom.
In his hand was a six feet staff with a worn shade of black, a crystal placed in the socket at the tip. By his side rested a long sword, forged in the heart of the fortress in which he had his origin.
Registered: Sept 26, 2015 23:22:54 GMT -8
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Post by Dârothil on Sept 27, 2015 0:19:13 GMT -8
"You answer to me, now go and do my bidding" Dârothil commanded.
Soon his servant left the room, slithering across the floor. Dârothil sat there in deep thought, feeling Al Múrin's presence lingering in the room.
"The girl has you in a tight spot, my lord... Allow me to negotiate with her" It was unlike Dârothil to argue against Al Múrin, but the individual thought he had left, he exercised at this moment.
"Underlings like her will not perceive your treats rightfully... She is but a technicality to remove" his voice whispered, filled to the brim with disdain.
"You would disobey me, Dârothil?" Al Múrin spoke.
"Allow me to turn the tables on this beetle" Dârothil hissed.
As his tone grew increasingly hostile, Al Múrin brought him to his knees with mind flaying agony, his form wavering.
"Gambling with my life is an offense of greater depth than you can possibly perceive, wraith" Al Múrin spoke calmly.
"Call back your rider and make sure you don't interrupt anymore of my inquires. It would be the end of your very short reign, do you understand?"
Dârothil squirmed under Al Múrin's wroth, agreeing with the faintest breath. He was alone in hall once more, free from his masters punishment, for now. A lesson well learned.
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Orgath
Established
Roleplay posts: 25
Physical Description: This wraith is covered in tattered black cloth. It has a black leather vest with various pouches and ornaments. A hood is pulled over the head of the wraith, concealing its face.
It generally appears an archer dressed for practical field work, long stays in the wilderness and extensive travel.
Across its back is a black shortbow, by its hip rests a quiver and a sword.
Registered: Sept 22, 2015 14:44:17 GMT -8
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Post by Orgath on Sept 27, 2015 10:03:06 GMT -8
Orgath walked through the corridors of the keep with a certain haste. The sooner he could complete his task, the sooner he could hope the sorceress would comply. He walked through an arch, finding his way to the throne room. Dârothil sat there, his arms lazily hanging from the armrest.
"My lord, I trust you received the message" Orgath spoke, walking closer, his gaze fixed on his superior.
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Dârothil
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Physical Description: Dârothil stands at seven feet exactly, his frame broad and thick. His armor was practical, layered steel plates made up most of his suit, decorated with engravings in a language lost to time. There were a few spikes extending past his shoulders and kneecaps. His helmet was horned, with two sockets of black terror staring from behind the face-guard. From his back hung a cloak of a dark red velvet, it was worn and slightly dirty at the bottom.
In his hand was a six feet staff with a worn shade of black, a crystal placed in the socket at the tip. By his side rested a long sword, forged in the heart of the fortress in which he had his origin.
Registered: Sept 26, 2015 23:22:54 GMT -8
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Post by Dârothil on Sept 27, 2015 10:09:17 GMT -8
Dârothil looked back at his servant, not bothering to change his posture in the chair. He glanced at one of his lesser minions present, and the creature scurried off to retrieve something.
"I received word from Al Múrin at dawn, I compiled a generous amount of literature and information" his voice echoed throughout the great hall.
"The letters and the scripture have been transcribed over the centuries, for paper has a short life-span" he murmured as his minion crawled back into the hall with a satchel of tablets and scripture.
"Wait two days and take this to the sorceress, she will come to understand once she reads this" Dârothil whispered as the minion handed Orgath the satchel.
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Orgath
Established
Roleplay posts: 25
Physical Description: This wraith is covered in tattered black cloth. It has a black leather vest with various pouches and ornaments. A hood is pulled over the head of the wraith, concealing its face.
It generally appears an archer dressed for practical field work, long stays in the wilderness and extensive travel.
Across its back is a black shortbow, by its hip rests a quiver and a sword.
Registered: Sept 22, 2015 14:44:17 GMT -8
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Post by Orgath on Sept 27, 2015 10:11:29 GMT -8
"Consider it done, my lord" Orgath lowered his head, paying his respects upon leaving the throne room. The satchel hung from his shoulder, and judging by the weight it contained a substantial amount of information.
Orgath retired into his quarters, he had work to do.
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Dârothil
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Physical Description: Dârothil stands at seven feet exactly, his frame broad and thick. His armor was practical, layered steel plates made up most of his suit, decorated with engravings in a language lost to time. There were a few spikes extending past his shoulders and kneecaps. His helmet was horned, with two sockets of black terror staring from behind the face-guard. From his back hung a cloak of a dark red velvet, it was worn and slightly dirty at the bottom.
In his hand was a six feet staff with a worn shade of black, a crystal placed in the socket at the tip. By his side rested a long sword, forged in the heart of the fortress in which he had his origin.
Registered: Sept 26, 2015 23:22:54 GMT -8
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Post by Dârothil on Sept 29, 2015 13:53:57 GMT -8
Dârothil wandered down the many steps, his boots sending echoes into the deep. Shadows and light from the furnaces danced upon the bare rock walls of the keep, reassuring him that work was being tended to. His staff tapped lightly against the polished stone floor. The lower levels of the keep were busy at the moment, his minions working tirelessly to produce a quality product.
He however moved past the vile filth that worked the furnaces, through an arch that was at least sixty feet tall. The sound of brute force colliding with metal was welcoming. Two massive mountain trolls were looming over an anvil, one carrying a hammer taller and heavier than a man, the other turning a blade. As the hammer collided with the red hot metal it sent sparks flying in all directions, lighting up the room beautifully.
Dârothil looked over at the armor stand in the corner, it was fitted with a helmet and shoulder-plates, not nearly finished. He walked calmly across the room, inspecting the armor.
"Yes..." Dârothil muttered to himself, briefly removing the helmet from the stand, it was ready.
Holding the helmet against his side, he walked out of the room. He made his way back to the staircase, his minions nervously shrieking, howling at him. He took the staircase much further into the depths of Nâshagrar. The staircase was wider than a barn, stronger than most city walls. It had been cut out of bedrock, built to last through the ages. Dârothil could walk for hours and not find his way to the bottom, luckily for him he was not far from his destination.
He opened a ten inch steel door, the hinges shrieking violently into the abyss as the ancient door slid open. Inside he'd find a library, the same place he had recovered literature for Andraste earlier. This was an organized collection for practitioners of the dark arts. Black magic, horrible magic. Dârothil tapped his staff against the floor, and soon two books came soaring to his side.
All he needed now was to collect the proper ingredients, a difficult task for even the most experienced wizard. Fortunately Dârothil had been through the process before, in another life, at another time.
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Runaerilar
New
Roleplay posts: 8
Physical Description: It appears a man, a very tall and broad person draped in black cloth from head to toe. There is no flesh visible, although the cloth seems filled out, as if wrapped around a strong frame. A sword hangs down the side of this being, the scabbard long and black, engraved with symbols. The hands and feet of this character are covered in layered metal, and on first glance could almost appear as scale.
The cloth has withered, and it is quite dirty from extensive travel. A hood is pulled over what appears a head, although there is no face to be found, only darkness.
Registered: Sept 20, 2015 15:43:40 GMT -8
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Post by Runaerilar on Sept 30, 2015 14:53:44 GMT -8
Runaerilar slithered across the floor, his robes dragging along the polished stone. He stopped in front of a mechanism that would appear quite alien to anyone but a wraith. His scaled gauntlet caressed a panel, and suddenly a loud rumbling echoed out in the halls of Nâshagrar.
The gate to the lower levels were opening, as he had hoped. He was awaiting his lord, who was sure to be close by now. The sound of a staff clicking against the floor confirmed that he had returned on time, and soon enough Runaerilar saw the lord of Nâshagrar approaching him from the upper level.
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Dârothil
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Physical Description: Dârothil stands at seven feet exactly, his frame broad and thick. His armor was practical, layered steel plates made up most of his suit, decorated with engravings in a language lost to time. There were a few spikes extending past his shoulders and kneecaps. His helmet was horned, with two sockets of black terror staring from behind the face-guard. From his back hung a cloak of a dark red velvet, it was worn and slightly dirty at the bottom.
In his hand was a six feet staff with a worn shade of black, a crystal placed in the socket at the tip. By his side rested a long sword, forged in the heart of the fortress in which he had his origin.
Registered: Sept 26, 2015 23:22:54 GMT -8
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Post by Dârothil on Sept 30, 2015 14:58:56 GMT -8
Dârothil walked towards his servant with a satchel resting from his shoulder. "The ingredients have been collected, I must begin the process immediately". The two walked at a quickened pace, their footsteps echoing out in the empty halls.
"And the armor?" Dârothil asked his servant as they walked. Dârothil had been gone for but a few days, so he doubted that the trolls had made significant progress with the armor. They held little knowledge in the subject of crafting, but they were the only reliable creatures with strength to harden and shape the metal.
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Runaerilar
New
Roleplay posts: 8
Physical Description: It appears a man, a very tall and broad person draped in black cloth from head to toe. There is no flesh visible, although the cloth seems filled out, as if wrapped around a strong frame. A sword hangs down the side of this being, the scabbard long and black, engraved with symbols. The hands and feet of this character are covered in layered metal, and on first glance could almost appear as scale.
The cloth has withered, and it is quite dirty from extensive travel. A hood is pulled over what appears a head, although there is no face to be found, only darkness.
Registered: Sept 20, 2015 15:43:40 GMT -8
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Post by Runaerilar on Sept 30, 2015 15:17:41 GMT -8
"The armor is as you left it my lord. The sword however is taking excellent shape..." Runaerilar followed his lord into the main hall. The hall was visually stunning, large enough for thousands of troops to march through. The mountain was held together by a system of pillars. Nâshagrar consisted mainly of a handful of mountains hollowed out, but it extended miles into the crust of the earth. Creatures would be born in the deep of this fortress, and work their entire lives without ever seeing the light of day.  They walked to the main staircase, which was cut from bedrock. This staircase was wide and strong enough to march and army from level to level, and it extended all the way to the very bottom of Nâshagrar. This fortress had been built ten's of thousands of years ago and endured the cataclysm. Soon Runaerilar and his lord walked to the lower levels, where the bedrock had not been polished. Lava flowed freely in between work stations here, providing a much stronger light than torches ever could. The sound of metal clashing with hammers was mixed with the squeals of suffering workers, creating a somewhat unpleasant atmosphere.
 This was the heart of the castle, the heart of the mountain. This is where the crafting and enchanting would take place.
"We're here..." Runaerilar whispered. |
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Luzóg
New
Roleplay posts: 1
Physical Description: A fiendish creature closely resembling an orc. The creature stood at about seven foot, its frame weak and meager. Flesh, skin and bone had began rotting, but even in death this monstrosity obeyed.
Registered: Sept 30, 2015 17:23:19 GMT -8
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Post by Luzóg on Sept 30, 2015 17:32:35 GMT -8
As the two wraiths made their way into the depths of the fortress, they were met with a familiar stench. The stench of rotting flesh and piss reeked up through the staircase and tunnels. They had closed in on the breeding grounds. Luzóg stepped out from his corner to meet the newly arrived wraiths.
"My lord..." Luzóg spoke to Dârothil. "We've expanded operations significantly, most of the burrows are abandoned, but rebuilding them with mud from the surface will only take a few weeks". Luzóg's voice was brutish and low and every now and then he'd snarl.
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Dârothil
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Physical Description: Dârothil stands at seven feet exactly, his frame broad and thick. His armor was practical, layered steel plates made up most of his suit, decorated with engravings in a language lost to time. There were a few spikes extending past his shoulders and kneecaps. His helmet was horned, with two sockets of black terror staring from behind the face-guard. From his back hung a cloak of a dark red velvet, it was worn and slightly dirty at the bottom.
In his hand was a six feet staff with a worn shade of black, a crystal placed in the socket at the tip. By his side rested a long sword, forged in the heart of the fortress in which he had his origin.
Registered: Sept 26, 2015 23:22:54 GMT -8
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Post by Dârothil on Sept 30, 2015 17:40:42 GMT -8
Dârothil nodded calmly. "I will have three hundred perfect specimens armed and ready by the end of the month". The wraiths continued on their path further into the abyss. Luzóg was one of his finer minions, one with a mind for devious plotting. Dârothil had begun the production of soldiers early, various sub-species of ghouls, orcs and trolls would soon all fester in the disgusting burrows of the breeding grounds.
These wretches were not reliable nor particularly skilled, but they could be bred into fine specimens that offered great possibilities in war. This was Luzóg's specialty, he had studied the breeding patterns and many technicalities of these creatures, and it was now his job to create a product.
He had been clearing out the breeding grounds from a smaller tribe of goblins that resided in the far depths of Nâshagrar. The fortress was so large that they had bred into a small army before anyone noticed them. It would take weeks to rebuild the breeding grounds, and months to muster a force worthy of Al Múrin.
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Deleted
Roleplay posts: 0
Registered: Nov 17, 2024 5:49:31 GMT -8
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Post by Deleted on Oct 2, 2015 16:13:44 GMT -8
Godwin wakes up and looks around. The first thing he notices is the lack of fog.
"Oh thank gods...it was just a bad fairy dust-induced dream."
He looks further, and realizes that he has no idea where he is.
"Uh...what's going on? Where am I?"
He shivers, realizing that he's on a frozen mountain in light clothing. He sees the fortress, and decides to go there rather than freeze to death. The gambler walks up to the gates and bangs on them.
"Hello! Anybody home? Can you let me in?"
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Avenórh
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Physical Description: It appears a man, a very tall and broad person draped in black cloth from head to toe. There is no flesh visible, although the cloth seems filled out, as if wrapped around a strong frame. A sword hangs down the side of this being, the scabbard long and black, engraved with symbols. The hands and feet of this character are covered in layered metal, and on first glance could almost appear as scale.
The cloth has withered, and it is quite dirty from extensive travel. A hood is pulled over what appears a head, although there is no face to be found, only darkness.
Registered: Sept 20, 2015 18:09:44 GMT -8
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Post by Avenórh on Oct 2, 2015 18:06:36 GMT -8
The fortress would look rather measly, the flags rotted away with time, the walls eroded from being hammered on by wind and rain. Godwin would soon realize that below the mountain he was standing on, was a vast steppe of nothing but ash and bare rock, extending as far as the eye could see.
Occasional screeches could be heard in the distance, echoing out over the steppe. Something wasn't right about this place as a whole, and if Godwin was a human being he'd soon find a vicious fatigue settle in his chest. The air was hard to breathe, and everything was so, so cold.
The gate creaked, two creatures atop the walls slithering about speaking in a foreign tongue. The gate slowly opened, and once fully open, Godwin would be able to lay eyes on Avenórh. The wraith was quite tall and wide, its sword hanging by its side.
"How did you find this place" sounded a whisper that only Godwin heard and somehow Godwin could tell it came from Avenórh. The cloaked wraith slithered across the cobblestone, approaching Godwin.
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Deleted
Roleplay posts: 0
Registered: Nov 17, 2024 5:49:31 GMT -8
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Post by Deleted on Oct 2, 2015 20:45:10 GMT -8
When the gate opens, the wraiths will see Godwin slumped against the wall. There's something wrong with this place. Not enough air.
"I...I wish I knew."
He looks up at the wraith with bleary eyes.
"Please...help me. I just fell asleep in some woods and woke up here. I don't know what happened. Spirits maybe. Don't leave me out here..."
He collapses in a heap.
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Avenórh
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Physical Description: It appears a man, a very tall and broad person draped in black cloth from head to toe. There is no flesh visible, although the cloth seems filled out, as if wrapped around a strong frame. A sword hangs down the side of this being, the scabbard long and black, engraved with symbols. The hands and feet of this character are covered in layered metal, and on first glance could almost appear as scale.
The cloth has withered, and it is quite dirty from extensive travel. A hood is pulled over what appears a head, although there is no face to be found, only darkness.
Registered: Sept 20, 2015 18:09:44 GMT -8
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Post by Avenórh on Oct 2, 2015 21:03:32 GMT -8
Avenórh watched as the tall man fell to the ground. Without much consideration he turned around, looking at one of the servants manning the wall. "Lock him in a cell, take his belongings and bring them to my chambers". Two well grown armored orcs slithered down, their walk odd. They picked up the man with ease, dragging him along into the unknown.
He was dragged into the fortress, and then deep, deep down. When Godwin eventually woke he'd find himself in a cell only lit by a torch on the other side of the bars. It was a sizable cell for one man, but the conditions were less than desirable. He would find himself stripped of anything but his under cloth, he had been searched quite thoroughly. The cell was of bare rock, the sharp and jagged floor made it uncomfortable to walk and sleeping there was almost entirely out of the question. Thick black steel bars ran vertically from the ceiling down into the floor, with just enough space for an arm to slide through. The room in itself was cold and the air reeked of piss.
On the other side of the bars was a space for a guard to sit on a chair, next to him was a table and a torch mounted on the wall. In the chair sat a disfigured creature, heavy plate covering most of its pale almost green flesh. From behind the helmet of the beast were two yellow eyes, resting calmly on Godwin.
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Deleted
Roleplay posts: 0
Registered: Nov 17, 2024 5:49:31 GMT -8
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Post by Deleted on Oct 2, 2015 21:06:25 GMT -8
"Oh...hiya."
Godwin realizes that he's basically naked, in a cell, with an orc outside. Or whatever that thing is.
"Say...could I get some water? It's been an awfully long time since I last had a drink."
He walks over to the torch and tries to warm his hands over it.
"Where am I?"
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