Hello guys... Well, as some of you may (or may not) know, I'm currently working on an RPG project thing. Although currently still, for the most part, in the drawing board, I finally gave myself time to start writing up part of the prologue for the whole game setting. Now, let me state again that this is still only PART of the thing, it still lacks about some 3 or so more similar sections (which i'll post here as they are written up). At any rate, I'd really appreciate any feedback on the matter, for these two sections and the rest as I continue writing them.  I'll focus on the exact specs of the background for the game at some other point (for those of you whom i've not yet told what exactly this is all about), but for now, think of this as the beginning of a book or sumthin

 

Prologue

 

            Air thick with grief, the older man approaches the woman standing before the massive four-post bed. On his head rests a small coronet, symbol of both duty and power. His eyes map her features carefully, her deep-blue eyes, the strands of brown and white hair flowing down to her waist, and the pearl-white regal gown she’s clad in. His gaze, though, stops at her midsection, where in her arms rests a child, no more than a year old. He smiles wearily as his fingertips caress the babe’s cheek. She giggles with delight, completely unaware of the gravity of the situation and events to come, honey eyes looking up to meet the older man’s emerald stare. As he leans closer to kiss the child’s forehead, one of her hands rises up to gently tug at his graying beard. With glassy eyes he pulls away, their attention returning to the woman in front of him. Tears flow down her peach cheeks and she embraces him, careful not to hurt the bundle between them. A tug along his side brings his attention to the young girl standing beside her mother, the resemblance between them uncanny. As the man parts with his mate and bends down, the younger girl wraps her 14-year-old arms around his neck and hugs him tightly, planting a soft kiss onto his cheek. He smiles a sorrowful smile again. Somewhat startled, he releases his hold along the girl’s midsection as a hand comes to rest on his shoulder. The young man behind him nods slightly, locks of golden hair flowing across to rest on his forehead. Without a word, the older man runs his gaze along his kin one last time before departing, followed by his scarlet cape and the younger man. A quiet sniff escapes the woman as she watches the doors close behind her king, wondering if this, indeed, is the last hour they will have shared together.

 

            Walking through a darkened hallway, a single hooded figure clad in a black cloak makes its way through the castle. Outside, inhuman sounds stain the world, along with the sounds of metallic hammering and creaking wood. The figure’s steps are outlined by the resonating sound of greaves and the rustling of a chain mail. As he strides nearer, two massive ebony doors slide open off their own accord, a muted creak emanating as their hinges reach maximum extension. Inside, several figures scurry about. Lacking any sort of symmetry in physique and dressed in patched leather garments, each proceeds to a different wall of the dimly lit room. The figure comes to a halt in the middle of the domed armory, raising and stretching its arms to shoulder height. Slowly, the cloak slides off the arms to reveal pale hands with black, inch-long nails, causing the odd creatures to move about again, but this time closing in on the figure. Guided by unseen commands and an unnatural precision, they begin garbing the figure in the remaining pieces of armor as black as its fingernails, accented by blood-red sigils and gothic contours, without bothering the sleek cloak. After less than two minutes, the work is done except for two pieces. The last of the short aberrations draws closer, holding in its hands a long sheath with the hilt of a blade protruding from one of its sides. With an evil fanatical grin, it belts the sword at the waist of the figure, wheezing lightly and mumbling as it completes its task. The figure resumes then its walk, shoving its slaves aside and exiting the room. After several corridors, it reaches a doorway even larger than the one at the armory, which also proceeds to open for its master. Just outside awaits man with a cleanly-shaved head and a black goatee, holding a cushion of dark purple velvet. On it rests a macabre helm, the front a gaping dragon’s maw, with bat-like wings extending along the sides. Eyeing the man’s garment carefully, the figure pulls its hood down to reveal long, flowing, white hair. Blood-shot eyes stare at the dark brown robes of their acolyte as the gloveless hands reach and take hold of the helm. Slowly, the helm is carried to rest on its rightful place, the murmur and sounds around growing in intensity. With one swift move, the sword is drawn and held up high, aiming at the clouded evening sky. The blade itself appears to lack any substance at all, seemingly made out of the dark void of nothingness, with only a faint purple glow crawling along the edge. The sounds grow to a roar amidst which wails and moans are heard as the thousands of monstrosities tribute their lord and master. Within the helm itself, a thin smile extends across pale lips, parting with a cold chuckle and exposing two bone-white fangs.

 

hey, that's pretty nice, keep it up

hey, that's pretty nice, keep it up

I know about this guy, who has.. like.. this pics for you.

Who like.. calls himself El_guali and who like.. has some of the art you required from another guy.

Like.

Really.

 

And kids. The Archer boy has nice thing in his hands. No, not that thing you fugly minded monsters. I mean the game. Theres love put into those pages. You can almost taste the blood and sweat and tender tears on the writting.

 Really. The guy gets pretty weird when writting and putting stuff on the ink.

 

Regards,

Mike

Well, i'd be obliged if this "el_guali" threw the art my way so i can attach it to its respective document.

And actually, you'd be amazed mike. already managed to sort out the main plot deal and most of the general details for the thing the other night after a little discussion with wally. Granted, i'd have preferred not having anyone know the whole extent of the "metaplot", but oh well, every now and then a second opinion helps... which is why this thread is up in the first place

Indweebdy doo.

But still, i want to draw more freaky things.

Send me some scenes and things to draw for interior art, you know.. the kind of art they put mid riff in chapters and stuff.  And descriptions.. Actually i was aching to do some people of the Aquaman flunkies and some werecritters.

Send me an email, tell me what can you use and what would you like, and you have it.

 

Regards,

Mike

Ok... after a bit of delay, here's the last two parts of the prologue...

 

Bathed by orange light from the setting sun, the older man stands now wearing most of his armor. Beside him, his heir helps him buckle the remaining straps on the breast plate. As the work is finished, the older man turns to slowly walk up to an intricate doorway, at which’s sides stand two guards in highly ornamental suits of scale mail. As their lord approaches, they slide sideways with a metallic rustle to open both sides of the door, revealing a small, marble-white balcony. The view itself is breathtaking: domes and towers as far as the eye can see with the sun setting over the horizon to the west, greenery dotting the urban landscape at certain intervals. On the other side, after a massive wall, meadows extend in a seemingly endless fashion. Beyond that there are plains, and beyond that the cursed lands of eternal darkness. As both young and old generations stand overlooking their mighty capital, shadows begin creeping along from the buildings as night approaches. Without any command, the older man walks back inside the keep, his footsteps followed closely by his son. The guards again move to close the doors, but one hesitates for a second, staring off into the meadows as an almost unnoticeable shiver covers his body. Resuming his duty after no more than a heartbeat, he closes and locks the door just as the light of day is extinguished by the far west.

 

            After a 3 day siege, a standstill remains. Many have died on either side, but the fortress-state has yet to be breached. The skies remain darkened by obscure magic. Men are weary and fearful, their enemies relentless and lacking any sort of burden as mundane as fatigue, making matters even worse as morale continues dropping lower for the mortals. Through the undead ranks moves a cloaked figure in field armor, visibly upset. Shoving through skeletons, zombies, ghouls, and other aberrations, it finally stops in front of the raised drawbridge. It turns its gaze downwards to the huge moat, and with a wave of its hand, the water begins to rise up to meet the figure’s foot as it steps onward. As the greaved boot touches the murky water, it freezes instantly into a smooth yet brown-green walkway. Flaming arrows begin raining down, but the figure shrugs them off as they break into pieces on its armor, the fire dying even before the actual contact. It less than 4 minutes for the figure to cross the moat now ridden with corpses from the previous days of battle, leaving behind a frozen walkway. Standing before the massive oaken gate, it looks skywards, the light from hundreds of torches gleaming on its red eyes. In an eloquent yet unnatural voice, it speaks “Your walls may protect you from my weak lackeys, Roland, but they protect you not from me!” In a single pass, its hand grabs hold of the resting sword’s hilt, unsheathing it and slicing upwards through the 2 feet of wood that compose the drawbridge. A thin black line marks the point where the blade cut cleanly through it, while the figure stands waiting before it with its sword at its side. Slowly, black veins begin spawning from the original cut, making their way across the whole structure. These begin growing in width, inch by inch, until the whole massive doorway is nothing but a black wall. A single pulse crawls across the blackness, then everything contracts back to the original slice, but, as it does so, leaving behind rotten slabs of wood, apparently centuries old and brittle. Unable to hold its own weight, it crumbles onto itself, leaving the way clear. As shocked guardsmen stare at what was once their drawbridge, countless creatures begin pouring into the city, while, behind them, the cloaked figure still stands on the ice bridge. Screams and orders tear the air as the battle continues again, this time raging inside the city itself. Amidst the sound of clashing weapons and armor, the figure lets out a barely audible laugh, as it turns back and returns to its tent on the other side of the battlefield. In its mind, a single thought holds ground “So ends the mighty empire…”

Cool that whole rot the drawbridge thing is neat. ThoughIf he could do that why waste three days before doing it. Just walk up the first day and be done with it.

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H-here, b-bunny, bunny, bunny...

well, for one, having a siege not only lowers the troop's morale, but it also messes up their resources somewhat (arrows, men, etc etc) Sides, someone who has an eternity to live by has all the time in the world, and more often than not just about the same amount of patience. Maybe it was his whole plan to take that long or even longer... maybe something happened to cause him to hurry up his schedule (God knows a siege vs an undead army wouldnt exactly be as harsh on the undead as it would be on the humans, if anything, there'd be more people to recruit as they start dying on the other side. Sides, do consider the fact that the skies were darkened, so day coming on wasn't a problem either)... maybe he got scared

 

(To answer jwm's question, yes, that little "contradiction" was planned, not a mistake *wink* do remember its a prologue and supposed to leave doubts like that hehe)

Oh I am not trying to knock holes in your story. I just sometimes wonder what the heck Evil villians are thinking.

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H-here, b-bunny, bunny, bunny...

 

Villains: The ultimate Guide to having really **** blowing ideas.

Third Chapter: How to catch the good guy, dangle him over sharks with missile launchers with poison tipped AGM 119 Penguin Missiles and then go away to get some Haagen Dazs thinking he will without a doubt die even though he most surely will not and still look surprised when he hits you in the face with a dead walrus.

*ph43r th4 l33t 1v0L*

Alas,  Id like to read more of the background please.

Besides, youll get more return for your buck if you dangle it here, where more people will see it and tell you what they think, What say you! Whaaat saaay YOU !!! *Does his best Aragorn Elessar Son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur and King of the Reunited Kingdom of the Dúnedain of the North impression*

Regards,

Mike

I'm working on it... i have a map that needs scanning and photoshopping... when its ready i'll post a link here (i'll prolly do that tonight if it does indeed turn out that i dont have an exam tomarro and if i stop by wally's). Then there'll probably be a document basically giving the general outlook and idea of life inside the main sites of the setting...

 

Patience...

 

Cool beans.

When you have time, send me a brief mail about the races of the Archer-Lands so i can get to work on them (More, like an exercise of conceptual design) and can you run again those classes you ask me about  2 weeks ago?

I swear i got home and tried really hard to remember but was never really able to reminescence the lil punks.

 

Regards,

Mike

 

Humans, Werewolves, Merman and Vampyrs would be the main ones, right? But PC wise, only Humans and the other races half-folk.

And yo, bowman! My scanner's open to the use of the masses! Bring it on, whenever you want!

 

We are playing a playtest thingy of the World_of_Archer-y things. And my magey guy looks sweeet.

Old as a f@ckin rock. But sweeet.

*casts upon the layers of infinity*

Regards,

Mike