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PostPosted: Apr 7th, '09, 11:13 
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Location: In ur base killin ur doods.
Spring Rains

The climate above the forests and mountains of tropical regions is oft questionable -- It can be a frigid place of snow and ice, a place of unbearable heat or rains that threaten to drown the living as profits had once predicted.

The birth of spring into the worlds came this time with a tainted surprise. Clouds heavy with salty tears split at their seems to give way to a storm most terrible indeed. Each raindrop contained a bite beyond comparison, a corrisive edge that irritated the skin of those who happened across the misfortune to be stricken by it. The aggressive rains followed a mighty storm that rages above the northern mountains occupied by Dwarf, Elf and Dragon alike. For hours, so called hero's stood idle in caves, sheltered from the biting rain in wait of its pass. Now, and for hours after a stench fills the air heavy with crushed grass and moist earth.


Local Heresay:
"Have we truly displeased Gaia in all her glory that she might punish us with early corrosion?" -- Various bards spread this question to one another in Solinar's walls, it is not difficult to hear it amongst common folk either. It brings worry and question to the great city.

"What comes is a sign from the gods, a blessing unto us, their way of assisting with the undead threat!" -- The priests way of fighting the rumour but perhaps there is some truth behind this one.

Restricted: Druid level 4
"The corruptors shall not rest until all Gaia has built lays in ruin." -- Druidic circles claim this work to be the front of the feared corruptors, those who are bent on destroying the world rather than preserving it.

A great beast as awoken below after slumbering a thousand years and a thousand more. It's hungry, angered by the earth for its enslavement of rock. -- Dwarven Geomancers claim some form of shamanistic edge to the happenings which speaks of a strange and mighty beast trapped below the crust. The acidic spittle experienced is supposedly thrown from volcano and mountain peak alike.


Nherazkar, Westport and Elmensfaar are yet to be rithe with political statements, perhaps their way of life is too harsh to consider such things, or their logical minds too potent to put it down to gods and beasts of burden.


Those who play a Pureblood (not half gargoyle, half elf) Elf (Any creed is fine as long as it's 100% Elf)

The night of the rains took you by surprise as it did everyone, though you have found ways of dealing with the tainted substance, be that through suffer or perseverance. No less did fatigue strike you as it always does, and you find yourself sinking into meditation to recover your strength.

You dispel the woes of the day from your mind, leaving it empty and clear. The embrace of your eyelids sees you relaxed and loose, sat in your place of quiet. It is not long before your comfortable state brings with it the images they always do, a form of dream, of your homeland. Children play happily amidst plantlife, brave guardians stand in watch of the city as men and women wander about their daily life. It is a happy place that you have all but abandonned for the road of adventure and fortune, an image that strikes you with a certain nostalgia.

The nostalgia lasts only a moment however as rains begin to flood over the elven landscape, causing all they strike to itch and rake at their skins, peering about in confusion. From shadowed alleys, figures of nothing more than a blurred mass leap out upon the guards, striking them down with teeth and claw alike. You find yourself in a state of panic, your heart begins to race as images flit before your eyes, images of slaughtered children and women by fiends that darent show themselves in dream. The streets are washed red with the blood of the fallen, a taint that merges with the falling rain and trickles slowly over cobbled floor and forest leaves alike, flowing down the mountainside with ease.

It is at this point you awake to find yourself safe and sound in your meditative room, nothing has changed, but these images strike heavy at the back of your mind.


Discoveries so far:

Name:
--
Description: --
Rewarded: --

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PostPosted: Apr 9th, '09, 22:23 
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Seventh day of the fourth month:


Heresay:

Potalions of slender looking pale, sickly elves have been sighted amongst the woodlands and areas surrounding Nherazkar and in some cases Solinar, though those closer the great forest are soon eradicated by the rangers gathered there. These figures can often be seen coupled with skeletal abominations and from time to time ghostly figures clad in black robes, the likes worn by wizards and sorcerers, yet these wizards huddle and limp as slowly as the rest.

Doomcriers of Nherazkar shout of the elves slaughtered in the war of the past returning to take their revenge on the warriors. Such doomcriers are swiftly silenced of course, but rumour has spread none the less, and terrified lips are parted with the use of gold coins.

Few have fallen victim to these abominations. Those that are not slow and dim often lack the brutality to swing whatever weapons they have to any great effect.


---

Discoveries:

There is some form of sentient activity behind the occurances, but who exactly is not certain.

Discovered by: Pelgrin Swordjust, Sil, Bowyer and ... That cleric guy.

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PostPosted: Apr 12th, '09, 16:59 
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Continuing showers

The acidic storms continue to hammer the landscapes of the heard of lands. Voilent storms throwing daggers of pain through rippling clouds towards the ground, their might present across the world, even as far away as zheradan. These great storms prove non magical, at least as far away as solinar, but various adventurers might have stumbled upon a clue of sorts.

A great vortex sits atop the mountains on which the elves nest, raining bolts of lightning over the snow covered surface. Could it be that Elmensfaar suffers as Nherazkar does? Time shall tell.


Those who venture to Elmensfaar

The treevillage of the elven sanctuary remains all but unscathed by whatever is happening up here. Leaves are green and rivers are clear and blue, but amidst the tree trunks and vegetation sit various field hospitals made of linen cloth and makeshift bed, ontop of which the wounded and dying lay for what might be their last moments. The people are on edge, though officials keep their cool and guards watch every flickering shadow in every dingy corner of the wood. None seem willing to talk to you of what has happened here, as though asking was a deep insult.


Discoveries: Elmensfaar is under attack! (at long last...)

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PostPosted: Apr 20th, '09, 20:26 
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Global Effects

Solinar:
Farmers speak of failing crops and sick, if not dead cattle. Their soils, they claim, are tainted by a substance that no plant can survive and grow in, not even sand dwelling plants such as tha cactus. The cows, sheep and pigs bread nearby that have eaten imperfect grass have been noted to fall ill within several days. No humans are yet reported as stricken by similar effects, but were one to feel nausea strike them, the hospital urges they approach the experts there for further examination.

Messengers have been sent along trade routes with a handful of guards to fend off the restless dead to deliver messages to each of the major cities with which they deal, but only where food is considered. So far:

Hinshire has had word of the tainted food.
Westport has had no word from Solinar
Nherazkar has had no word from Solinar

Zheradan has had word of the tainted food
Crossroads have had word of the tainted food.
The barbarian lands have had word of the tainted food.



Stone slabs, brick walls and iron gates have begun to show signs of erosion, even after this small time. Tiny bubbles have bitten into the substances, but this can hardly be considered structural damage. Thatched roofs have begun to leak rather constantly in times of rain, and woods within houses begun to creak and bend, evidently weakened. Those who were forced to slum these conditions with little more than a bag to cover their form and a tin roof will wield great scars and cuts and sores, assuming of course they can still struggle to breathe. The dead have been taken to graveyards and morgs for further study.



Nherazkar:

Ever pressured by the threat of marauding dead outside of their walls, Nherazkar has been silent for many moons. Their frigid temperatures seem to protect them from the falling acidic rains, the great kingdoms defences as strong now as they ever were, but this does not stop the terrifying cries of infected tundra drakes throwing their tainted voices across the baron snow-blind plains night after night, nor the threat of a thousand dead creeping just out of eyes reach in the tenacious blizzards. Trade has all but been cut off from this area, but the people who live there are a hardy group, only toughened by each and every challenge brought their way. If there is no deer, they will fish, if there is no wood, they will use drums of oil to stay warm.

For those who live in Nherazkar, or have been there for an extensive period since the dead have begun walking the lands

Life has indeed been hard for you. Prices within the walls of food and furs have risen, where prices of weapons and armours and ores have dropped. Among the most expensive of trade materials are coal, wood, food and fur, be it mink, rat or yak. Fires during the night time seem to be few and far between, only the rich and the noble have the fortuitousness to be blessed with the flames of the lord of terror of late, but you know that as long as your heart beats, then his flame is still rithe within you.

If you are not a noble or not rich, or you are, but do not wish to sacrifice 6,000 gold coins to represent three months of buying things to burn at the increased rate, then the cold of every night have bitten you to the brink of giving up. You are lucky to achieve three hours of sleep a night before the bitter winds leech through your thick stone walls and into your very flesh. As a result -1 constitution will be taken from you until further notice, but you will receive a hardiness bonus of 5 resistance vs cold damage due to prolonged exposure to the bitter winds.


Westport:

Only an idiot would use undead against such zealots as these. Lady Scyla and her finest would certainly not take kindly to being attacked in the night by the gnawing teeth of the dead and yet, through the marshes rise corpses which march to the scent of flesh as with any other town. Arrows and swords easily see these abominations slaughtered, and flame vanquishes them as they would any other man, creature or beast, though still they venture from between the trees towards the nearest meal.

The surrounding swampland is very resilient to the falling acids, many plants and flowers shrug off the effects of the falling rains. Scouts report that the nearby gremlins and lizard men rejoice daily as these acidic rains tumble to the ground and partake in shamanistic rituals to their most beloved of gods, sacrificing their own in thanks and casting the corpses to the swamps, that they might be graced by their gods touch. Such actions have seen reptilian abominations waltzing with the men and elves that tumble towards your gates.

Foods imported from Solinar seem as regular as normal, though some perhaps a little wilted and damaged by the rainfall. Citizens are wise enough to know a good turnip from a bad one, however, and those which are damaged are thrown to the dogs and the rats. As with solinar, the stone structures and iron gates show signs of damage, and thatched roofs may as well not exist at all, merchants canvas even shows signs of tearing and weakening as the acidic storms continue.

To those who play a Westport citizen:

The rain bites as hard on your everyday life as it would in any other city. Your houses are beginning to suffer and the dead wander your trade routes. People you once knew, or even just glimpsed from afar no longer wander this city and there are times in which you have taken to celebrating the memories you shared with what friends remain, and give thanks to the gatekeeper for seeing them safe behind the gates.

Scouts that leave the gates, trained as they may be oft return fewer in number, this is something you have witnessed personally, and each trade load of supplies, be that silks, canvas, linen, spices or ores comes with its wounded. The walk to Westport from any other town is a long and dangerous one, even without the threat of the damned.

Despite losing friends and allies, you are not stricken by loss of moral, nor do the surroundings plague upon your body.


Crossroads:

The crossroads perhaps suffer the most from the rains and the dead. Foliage begins to wilt and seep tears of sap from its stems and branches, despite the druids best efforts to keep the shrines and woodlands cleansed of the hateful spittle that falls from above. The dead roam easily between every tree and your tiny walls and gates are no issue for them at all. The structural damage to your wooden gates threatens to grant access to any two or three zombies or skeletons who might push against them. Thankfully, however, druid initiates and hinshire crossbow men are working around the clock to see the crossroads a safe sanctuary to all who would happen across them. Even the drow would be welcome here, say some of the inhabitants, be that in a spiteful tone or in a serious one, in this time of need.

To those who are a crossroad/hinshire citizen or militant.

Citizens are often kept up at night by the groans of approaching marauders and the release of heavy crossbow bolts firing from behind gates and walls, as well as druidic chants and natural elements seeping from their finger tips. Your moral is down, but your heart is high and you have faith in your people and your god, and you will never surrender or give up. The result of your sleepless nights and low morale is a -2 against bluff checks and -5 against perception checks (spot, listen), you are in a groggy state of mind.

Militia and guardsmen and druids who wish to have aided in the fight to keep the crossroads safe will suffer an additional -1 constitution. You have perhaps achieved an hour of sleep a night. Once relieved of your post you crash and get as much sleep in as you can before the sounds of combat wake you from your slumber and you lay restless. Your muscles ache, you can't remember the last time you ate, nor the last time you were forced to wench your crossbow or bow back this many times, but your heart is strong and will never cease to beat without aid of claw or knife.


-- more to come --

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PostPosted: Apr 20th, '09, 21:03 
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Zheradan

Citizens of Zheradan find the rains bring with them much destruction. The jungle has begun to suffer, its rare insects often sighted squirming upside down in a puddle of the rains, its plants and beauty have begun to wilt and die out, and the rivers are polluted by the ever falling rainfall in this area. Fish float on their sides, dead or too weak to fight the current, crocodiles and other monsters left to deliver them to the gatekeeper do so with glee, but one thing is certain, this is not right.

This area being so sparsely populated receives little if any issues from the dead. Those that are found are often found face down in the jungle, the lost victim to a cougar, panther or bear of sorts. This brings worry to the magi who know all too well of zombie corruption.


To those who play a citizen of Zheradan

Training continues as usual for the monks here. Temples are rithe with activities for a good portion of the day, but even the monks must take a moment to reflect upon the strange happenings from time to time, gazing into the vortex of swirling clouds above with an ever philosophical mind. Most have begun to bring their bee hives within their temples to save the honey from being spoiled, and ale brewers curse the days the local water source became polluted.

Structural damage can be seen on the rocks, and any decorative bamboo or wood that might linger here and about. Flags have gathered small holes, though those rich enough to have glass windows would note that they have resisted it well enough. The wood keeping the glass from falling out however is certainly suffering.

Life goes on in Zheradan. Some accept this as fate, balance, a swing of the pendulum. Others think philosophically and share theory and suggestion with grand masters. Some simply gather what few of the dead fish float down far enough and continue their life in peace so far away from the rest of the civil world.


The barbarian lands

The lands occupied by the most honourable and ferocious of frenzied warriors suffers as the rest does. The dead plague their lands, and as a result are dealt with brutally with head of spear and axe and maul. The lacking fences in most settlements of this nomadic area result in almost constant casualty of livestock and civilian alike -- though these are a hardy people. Even your average child is capable of swinging whatever they have to hand at an aggressor, be that a stick, a sword, or their fist. The wounded often care little for their scratches and bites, believing that their god will protect them from injury and death in battle if they show honour and pride in who they are, and so they are left to bleed until they stop.

Surprisingly, few fatalities have befallen the barbarians and few restless nights have been suffered. What undead come are dealt with, and that be the end of it until more come.

To those who dwell in the barbarian lands as a citizen or warrior

Life goes on as normal. Threats come and threats are dealt with with honour and pride, and treated with respect and courtesy. Frenzied berserkers often call upon their gods, wiping out tens, if not hundreds of undead on their own to keep their strong holds safe and secure. The lack of walls does not bother you at all, though your huts suffer greatly from the falling rain. Woods are crippled, skins used as roof tops are all but severed and torn to pieces and your muddy floors are constantly wet and slippery, resulting in aggravation and lack of sleep, but you accept this as fate. No small amount of rain, nor vague stinging sensation could overwhelm your thick skin and thicker skull and your sleep soundly each night, if only for a few hours.


Elmensfaar

The noble Elves are the most torn of all races and strong holds at this point. They live, but live in exhaustion and fear and speak of terrors that have yet to be proven to investigators and visitors. Guardsmen stand ready as always to defend their people, sheer determination of will and mind is all they have to wield aside their weapon. Their muscles ache, their bodies bleed, but still they stand and defend. Citizens are sparse when it comes to outside world. Only those with first aid skills and the wounded lay dotted about freezing cold hospitals amongst the leaves on the ground, patching up the fallen and wounded.

Word from Elmensfaar has been sparse and brief at best. The people are much more concerned with dealing with their fallen friends, some of which suffer grievous wounds and injuries, than seeking help from other races at this point.

Casualties are vast. Citizens of this city will have certainly lost a friend if not more than one, and encountered marauding dead and strange creatures who waltz the landscapes in search of an easy meal. Magi claim that this is no random onslaught, and that something must be behind this. Politicians claim that it is Nherazkars doing with the aid of their newest ally and tactical leader, Keldrin Mortanis, however royalty amongst the elves keep their minds cool and clear of sway from either.

The city has suffered greatly. The very trees onto which the elven town is built has begun to wilt and twist as a result of almost constant rain fall. Trees are dying all around, some even dropping the first of their leaves, still green, to the floor below. The food here is almost definitely poisoned, anything grown wields a tainted taste of disease and putridity that is enough to sicken one to the very core, even the meat, cut fresh from bone from boar or deer is green and tainted. Trade carriages have not been able to pass through in weeks, and supplies begin to dwindle.

To those who have stayed prolonged periods in Elmensfaar or have lived there for as long as the dead have begun to roam:

You are crippled by the goings on here. Will to fight or will to run, you are forced into conflict almost every night and day by pressing zombies and skeletons, their numbers vast as the horizon line. Elves are able to keep clear heads on the matter and gather some respite each day but ultimately the conflict has brought moral to an all time low, and exhaustion is rithe amongst all, even the princes and kings.

As a result, Elves who have remained here will suffer a -2 to detecting bluff checks and a -2 to any strength or dexterity related checks untied to combat (for instance lifting a rock, tying a knot in a rope, climbing a tree, etc.) Humans, or any other race that have remained here will suffer the same and an additional -5 to perception checks as a result of lack of sleep (spot, listen). Adrenaline and expectation of combat, however, will see the strength and dexterity penalties removed as long as you are threatened by the undead and are capable of, or have been in combat within the past five minutes, but exerting yourself in such a way may provoke heavier penalties if a DM decides it so. These are to be role-played.


Rivenwood(I think)

The aquatic elves are amongst the few races that are relatively unscathed of yet. Their food supplies are well and good, their water so vast that it remains unpolluted and their way of life remains untouched. It is a good time to live under the sea. Any sea elf that has remained here, or returned here after spending time in the sun will be relatively oblivious to the rains above and the damage they have caused, however, for a sea elf to come into contact with the above rains is a bad thing indeed. It will result in agony, as though a fresh water fish had entered the sea (or the other way around). Sea elves are rendered almost useless by the acidic rain and will find little respite from the pain in local water sources less than fifty meters wide or long, and twenty meters deep in the case of still water, or any body able to contain the entirety of the elves height whilst he is standing vertical for flowing waters.

To those of you who have settled here:

Little is known of the threat above and therefore there is nothing to concern yourself with. Sit; enjoy fine wine and finer fish and seaweed dishes. You deserve a break once in a while after all!

--More to come--

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Never under estimate the power that language imparts. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can break hearts.

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Last edited by WilliMortis on Apr 20th, '09, 21:50, edited 2 times in total.

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PostPosted: Apr 20th, '09, 21:33 
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Morinsen

The mighty Dwarven empire stands rigid and firm in the very heart of the mountain lands. The hard working citizens care little for the rainfall, it bothers them not when they live so far under ground and since no cry for help has been thrown, no help has been sent. The honourable race go about their daily duties with pride, though various geomancers have spoken of a beast far underground throwing its rage into the sky. The word of a geomancer is never ignored, and hunting groups of paladins and warlords have been sent into the darkness to find this beast and end its life, though so far nothing has been found within the mountain.

Searches continue where possible and trade wagons are sent out to each city, rithe with weapons and armour and shields of all kinds. The undead they meet are dealt with swiftly and the king has been informed of the threat. He has promised that should the threat be worthy of dwarven interferance, then five of the forge fathers most righteous will be dispatched to deal with the walking damned and display true dwarven honour to those who would spit upon the fine name of the bravest of races.


To those who have stayed within morinsen, are a morinsen citizen, or wish to have taken part/take part in the hunting of the beast below the mountain:

Morinsen is quiet between the hours of 22:00 and 05:00 and any other hour it is bustling with workers, traders and citizens. It is easy to sleep here, even if you are not used to an early rise. Adapting to the climate and way of life harbours no ill effects to your body, and within a week you are up half an hour before the workmen begin their busy day.

Militia and holymen alike are friendly folk, though those who break the law oft recieve the blunt end of their axe and are thrown in jail for a time decided by the lawkeepers.


Geomancers are wise dwarves who often outlive their best of age by entwining their body and soul to the very earth itself. Some even achieve a stone-like skin through their devout practices and honour of Silvana and the earth in which they live. They serve as spiritual leaders and advisors to the king, bested only by those who preach to the overgod of the Dwarves himself. Recently, a Dwarf by the name of Kriggnor, of clan Stonefist has spoken of prophesy and fate, and as a result of his words has gathered the attention of many a man and dwarf who are willing to venture to fell a mighty beast.

If you are one of these, then you will know that what you hunt is huge, powerful and angry. Silvana is said to have trapped it in the earth itself which forged the great claw mountain, and you each know of how big the mountain is. For it to be so big, the creature must harbour power beyond belief, and therefore it holds threat over your clan, or your world.

So far your searches have turned up little more than ore veins and potential dig sites. If you are a Dwarf, then the constant marching through the caves and the bitter cold of such depth is no problem for you.

Marching more than fifty miles a day over rough terrain for any other race, however, is agonizing to your muscles. You are not used to dragging huge carts of ores through these tunnels and as a result your muscles are in agony, burning like flame, but with every day they get stronger and more potent. For the time being, you will suffer a -2 to any constitution based skill outside of combat (for instance, resisting sleep, resisting the effects of alcohol, resisting poisons or disease, or indeed even the bitter cold). That said with every passing day your muscles are beginning to develop stronger and the drag becomes easier. Perhaps you will be the first to match a dwarves persistant march.



Gluckweigl

The gnomes burried below Solinar are aware of the threat above all too well. Few will venture out of their underground city, few care to acknowledge the threat to the above landers after being all but wiped out in past wars. These creatures will not care to assist you, even with their most potential battle mechs. They will however offer protection and sanctuary for a time, if you are worthy.

To those who have stayed in this city:

The gnomes are a strange kind to those who do not know of the gnome way of life. They seem almost insane and some of them certainly are a little bit 'gone'. If you are not a gnome (or don't have spell focus: illusion), and are not used to the constant practice of would be illusionists, whilst staying here you have begun to question what is real and what isn't. As a result, though your body is rested and physically fine, your mind is a little bit 'thrown'. Extended time in the gnome land has lead to you question the reality of everything -- is that door real? Is that bird really a bird? Is that really a hole in the ground, or a cat?

Taking this into mind, you will suffer a -3 on any intelligence based checks outside of combat (for instance, picking locks, coming up with intellectual put-downs in arguments, disarming traps). Additionally, you might well think that something that may be out of place (a plate next to a tree, a picnic basket atop a stove, a kettle amongst brambles), is an illusion and should roleplay expressing your thoughts to that accordingly. In such situations, if other players are trying to persuade you against thinking that kettle is really a dragon, then the DC they must beat is equal to 15 + the amount of days you have spent around the gnome. For example, if you've spent two weeks amongst budding practitioners, the DC would be 29. The skill is persuade. If they pass, you may stop thinking that the kettle is a dragon. This effect will last until you have spent a week away from the gnomes (in game time), or until you are convinced on three seperate occasions that an item is not illusionary.

The Academy

The academy is the one place the undead darent tread at present, though their cries echo throughout the nearby forests and plains. Wards easily keep these lessers at bay, granting sanctuary to all who have stayed within the walls. However, studies continue as they always would and the reaction students give to having such large heros and villains so close is some what predictable. These are impressionable children and those that talk to you take what you say to heart. If you are mean to them, they will likely venture off to their friends and be sad, if you are cheery and friendly, they will do the same but smile, and if you inspire them, they will likely follow a similar course to you. You must be careful in these lands if you wish not to create a fan club.

At night it is silent and easy to sleep, the wards fend off the dead and thick walls protect ears from the cries and wails of the night. It is peaceful here, despite the rains beginning to wittle away at the rocky walls and the vegetation and foliage.

To those who have stayed here

You suffer no losses and no gains. Your morale is as it is (high or low depending on how your roleplay has lead you), and though you likely fear for the lives of the children within, you know it to be safe in the long run. No word has been sent to the academy from other towns except for that done by players. It is known that the academy is run by a Ghazakiin influence, and for that reason people need not waste effort which would be better spent fixing their walls and roofs.

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PostPosted: Apr 20th, '09, 22:58 
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B'Ahal, any other desert place:

The hot winds of the desert often find you parched and laced in a layer of sweat. Frankly, acidic rain would be a blessing and a gift, but it does not come here. Amidst the sands, however, the dead crawl forth, likely folk who have fallen prey to the harsh conditions, traders or similar who now only wish for one thing. The head of the desert sun carries the fetid stench for miles.

Though you suffer not from searing acids, the dead still attack your gates and towns, unhindered by the heat and by the storms of sand. Not only that, but those dead clad in desert gear are difficult to spot, making ambushes through the storms of sand almost constant.

The cities are relatively safe, but you know more than any that should your water supplies become tainted by corpses, each of you will die a most painful of deaths and wilt away to nothing more than bones. Guards work around the clock to burn away the tainted flesh of the corpses they kill and patrols are often sent out to aid in bringing trade in safely.


Should you play a citizen of the desert:

You face the double edged sword of sanctuary and a painful death. The water supplies cannot be kept within your walls, oasis's must be defended and to that end guards and militia must be employed to do it.

If you wish to be one of these militia, then you will have fought to keep the oasis's clean and free of taint, but standing around in the blazing heat for days will have taken its tole. If you are not native, you are likely burned and in a lot of pain, and chaffing leather armour will only aggrivate that. Roleplay this where necessary, should some one slap you or similar. The searing heat will bake anyones mind, however, no matter how climatised, and constant mirrages are a problem. Those who have chosen to guard oasis's will suffer -10 to all perception skills (spot, listen), while out of combat, but as a bonus will recieve 600 gold for every day they have guarded a pool of water. This is to be roleplayed (it will not be statistically removed)

The citizens way of life is a lot easier, however. You are happy and content within your walls, even if you have lost friends who wish to help stragglers who turn out to be the walking dead. It is a dog eat dog world, after all. Water is plentiful, drink it and be merry. You suffer no consiquences for your way of life.

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PostPosted: Apr 21st, '09, 22:14 
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Wanderer

Nights are exceptionally hard for you. If you are sleeping outside of walls then the sounds of creeping dead between each and every tree keeps you up. You are unable to sleep, unable to concentrate and fearful that should you close your eyes it will be the last time and you will rise as another of these damned creatures to destroy your friends and family.

Wanderers who spend nights outside of sanctuaries and walls will suffer -2 Constitution, -4 against bluff and -10 spot and listen. The constitution will be taken from you, but the rest can be roleplayed since it only counts outside of combat. Adrenaline gives you a rush enough to counteract tiredness, but it is a temporary respite.

If you really wish to spend your nights outside of walls, there is a chance you will be found and attacked. This chance begins at 20%, and raises by a further 2% as nights drift on. If asked where you have been sleeping, you say "forests and plains for seven nights", then, I will roll 1d100, and if it is <= 37, drag you away and throw monsters at you ^_^


Wanderers who spend nights in multiple different towns in downtimes will recieve the mixed blessing of all the above listed at a reduced rate. It is up to you to decide, but it should be logically based. For instance, spending four nights in a town which is ransacked by the dead before finally escaping to solinar, a clean and quiet town and resting four nights will give you half of the negatives of the town that has been attacked. However, wandering between solinar and the academy will see no penalties, sinec both are sanctuaries.

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PostPosted: Apr 23rd, '09, 03:05 
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((Plot Personalisation

I'm going to throw in some elements of personalisation into various plot encounters for characters (all of them) along the way. If you have anything I should know about the background, for example that your mother has died, or your father has died, and it has not been listed in your bio on the forums, please pm me over the foums.

If you wish to be excluded for personalised events cropping up, then whisper me and let me know.

note: The personalisation won't be anything huge like your great grandfather appears and saves your life, more perhaps you discover something, find a missing link in your family tree, other things like that that you might wish to build on through DM - player activities.

Thanks. ))

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PostPosted: May 1st, '09, 22:15 
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Global Effects

Those who linger outside whilst the moon is in the sky are in constant contact with the dead, as well as various strange happenings. Images between trees that with a second glance appear to have gone, and every now and then flashes of the past; things that are normally good, an old friend, a family member, a lover, flash before your eyes briefly suffering some form of vast injury, bleeding heavily, in terrible pain and anguish. These images last only a moment but their sight burns its presence deep in your skull.


Those close to Elmensfaar encounter more powerful images, images of friends walking slowly into the woodlands, into caves and towards the mountainous lands. No matter how loudly you call them, the most they acheive is a brief glance before continuing on their path. Reports in the local area speak of people disappearing mysteriously, both on their own and in large hunting groups, armed or unarmed. Local rangers speak that tracks are either well hidden or nonexistant, a strange thing, considering that these humans who tread the woodladns at the very least are corporeal.

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PostPosted: May 4th, '09, 16:13 
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Global Events:

Ships can be spotted with the flame of the lord of terror etched into their sails, small ones carrying a handful of soldiers and no doubt some form of courier. Their route seems to be toward the great desert and indeed Solinars shoreline. It will be a number of days before they arrive on the shores, but they sail none the less.


Crops continue to fail and die in Solinar and trade is suffering as a result. Animals who consume the dying grass are reported after autopsy to have died of interior bleeding rather than some form of disease. It is claimed that the acidic substance falling from the skies is no match for even the very organ that contains such a potent acidic substance as the stomach. Once the lining animals are reported to suffer painful deaths, though relatively quick ones. Still of yet there are no human casualties, it would appear that direct consumption of the acid is a bad idea, however and solinars finest advise that citizens do not drink acid.


The shallower, still reservoirs of water begin to show sign of death, too. Small fish and crustaceans float on their sides or back on the surface, death poluting the waters until they can be sufficiently cleansed by falling rains or flowing rapids, both unlikely. Flowing waters seem relatively unaffected by the storms. Sceptics believe that fish from oceans and rivers are the best source of nourishment in this current time of crisis.


((Event tiem))

Word travels amongst commoners of an Elven male riding on the back of a creature which appeared half eagle and half horse, a courier who delivered a message of summons to all who consider themselves worthy and willing to assist the elven nation; the good, the bad and the worst have been asked to brave the rains when they are at their weakest. It is said that the rains will cease their fall, if only to a fine mist once again, in the coming week, towards its end.

((Friday the 8th, 11 GMT (6 PM EST)

Event nature:: Beginning, introduction to NPC's
Combat:: Lite to none, depending on how many choices are made ^_^
Roleplay:: Heavy
Puzzles/contemplation:: Heavy

Note: If you're not one for talking to kings and discussing plans of actions before acting on them it's probably not your thing, but it might be worth turning up regardless and putting in your two cents!

))

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PostPosted: May 9th, '09, 13:54 
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((Rescheduling to next friday as a result of server down ness.))

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PostPosted: May 31st, '09, 16:29 
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((Since the forum feedback for downtime actions has been somewhat... nonexistant, i'll try to make myself available throughout the week when I see people online. If anyone wants to do some detective work then do send me a tell on Keldrin or indeed whilst on as DM and we can work some things out.


Examples:

Why is there suddenly a king in Elmensfaar? Who is he?
Who is this durion fellow?
What do the locals know?
What do the shadey locals know?
What have my faction found out so far?


This invitation extends to everyone and not just to the people who arrived at the event last time. If you wish to know what happened IC, do go ahead and ask Galiae, Tammy, Sorwiel or .... Sarah's ranger guy.))

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PostPosted: Jun 1st, '09, 17:55 
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Location: Québec !!
((Loyden

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as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour".

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PostPosted: Jun 23rd, '09, 20:50 
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Location: In ur base killin ur doods.
Global Effects

The ancients move
Elves of various creeds have begun to move begrudgingly towards Elmensfaar. Those that dwell in the seas, those who dwell praise the sun, but most numerously, those who dwell in the woods have been seen traveling with non combatants amongst their numbers. When questioned the majority are reluctant to reply. Those that do request not to be bothered and continue on their pilgrimage.

Beneath the feet

Something stirs beneath the ground, causing faint, but noticable tremors throughout the land; even in places as remote as Nherazkar and as highly strung and civilised as Westport. What could be creating these tremors remains a mystery.

Prerequisite: Bard of some renown (level 6 at least)
Send me a PM with a screenshot of your 6 character levels and i'll inform you!

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