The Unreal


There was a time, long ago, when the towering castle that housed the Roderick house was a fortress of epic proportions. The great barracks located in and around the two hundred yard courtyard housed upwards of ten thousand soldiers at any given time. The Duke and Duchess were still in power then and their wise decisions greased the wheels of industry in the Roderick holdings. Tradesmen of all calibers came to the Roderick holdings, looking to become the titans of industry they had always dreamed of. The Roderick holdings once commanded the greatest army on the field upon any given day.
Now, ten years after they have fallen from grace, Duke Roderick's son, Jacob, sits on the throne. Under Jacob Roderick, the kingdom has simply fallen prey to itself, now only a few of the Roderick's vast army remains encamped in the castle, as it crumbles around them. Jacob Roderick is not an evil man, just a simple minded and easily manipulated fool, and worse, one who catches ill easily. Jacob's newly appointed counsel are the true masters of the Roderick holdings now and they suck greedily at the lifeblood of the once great Roderick’s.

These ten men control all of the Roderick holdings and rule it with an iron fist, Jacob Roderick is convinced that there is a rebellion going on, but this is a simple ruse, because The Ten use the Duke's simple minded gullibility to field all the troops they need to crush those who decide to call a spade a spade.

These are dark times, but what's worse is the new horror that stalks humans, but not in the countryside, but in the very halls of Castle Roderick itself. Whatever it is has claimed over ten victims already, 8 of those casualties having happened all in one room, to an entire family. What was left of those poor wretches was hardly recognizable as human, simply mangled bones and flecks of gore. If the guards who had found them had not been looking for the missing family, they would have been mistaken as beef or venison that a dog had gotten a hold of.

Andrew Roderick, one of the few Roderick’s still alive, had never been one for words; in fact, he rarely spoke in a tone that was not commanding. To the end of his life, he would be eternally resentful of his late father, who had given control of the Roderick holdings to Andrew's weak younger brother Jacob. In Andrew's mind, Jacob did not deserve the throne and, looking out over the now dyeing fields outside his window, he could not see as how any in the kingdom could disagree with him.

Andrew was a tall man, at least six and a half feet tall and the great muscles bunched up his arms, legs and torso were a testament to his years of training and combat, both to be king and then later, to smite those who would deprive him of his right. Tremendous scarring was built up around his face and upper chest, which was thick with muscle. Looking into the mirror beside his bed, Andrew Roderick was once again struck by what a proud and handsome figure of a man he was. The axe strapped across his back adding to the warrior's persona he built around himself.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed to go out to the court, to that bear trap the supposedly noble folk of the Roderick holdings jokingly referred to as their seat of power. Andrew was one of the enlightened few who knew what went on behind the scenes. His hypochondriac of a brother, Jacob was being used, unknowingly handing out vast sums of money to The Ten, to fight supposed rebellion in the western holdings, really all the money went towards outfitting a secret force that controlled all the black market trades going on inside and outside of the Roderick holdings. Meanwhile, Andrew and a trusted associate of his were plotting to begin assassinating The Ten, problem being, there was probably ten minutes in any given day when they were alone, probably while they were in the privy and most likely with guards outside the door. To put it simply, The Ten were almost impossible to get too quietly, but if Andrew and his friends went after The Ten in an openly hostile way, they would be hanged as treasonous murderers, which was exactly what The Ten wished for.

Beside him, her raven hair spread in a great black wave across the bed sheets was one of the serving girls whom had brought him last night's dinner, which lay untouched upon a table in the corner. Andrew let his gaze roam over her barely concealed nakedness and he was about to take off his clothing and join her once again in bed, when there was a sharp wrap at his door.

Standing, the rightful king walked over to the heavy wooden door that served as the entrance to his chamber. He opened the door and standing before him, was a blood drenched soldier. Not just any blood drenched soldier, but one of his trusted associates and further, Andrew's personal friend.

"My lord Roderick, there's something-" he stammered "some horror in the residential wing of the castle.” Tears ran openly down the soldier's face, as he spoke "My god sir, there's no weapon we have that can stop it, not even the strongest blade can kill it."

"Slow down, Griffon, what exactly is in the Residential Wing?" Andrew Roderick asked, growing concern upon his face.

Griffon made a great effort to control himself, but failed miserably and instead of replying, the battle weary soldier fell to the ground, assuming a fettle position, as he wept into his hands. Clean white patches of skin shown down his cheeks, from where the tears had washed away cached on blood. Andrew Roderick left Griffon where he lay and closed the door to his room behind him, as he stormed down the hall, towards the residential wing.

Argot had only ever been called Argot. He had no middle or last name and, with the way the battle was going, in the tight confines of what use to be a bedroom, he would never have a chance to make one. All about him, the men waged their own private battles against demons that should never be given flesh. A hot sun burned down upon them, inside the room, but to Argot's surprise, it was snowing, a thick white layer of snow coating the ground and impeding proper movement.

A single disembodied head appeared out of thin air and flew at Argot, its razor sharp teeth glistening with slobber and dripping with gore, after tearing the throat out of a guard who had been standing beside Argot. Crying out with pain and frustration, Argot backhanded his blade directly through the creature's mouth and the creature uttered a fearsome cry, like that of a newborn baby. As Argot brought his blade around to smite another beast from the darkest corners of the human imagining, a few of the crystallized droplets of snow touched his skin and they burned with all the fires of a thousand furnaces, but his armor wasn't melting, nor was it even becoming hot.

There was no sense to this alternate universe inside the bedchambers of the now deceased Urguay's. Snow burned, like it was on fire, but it was so hot as to prevent snow from falling. Yet, snow fell and what lay upon the ground was the temperature of snow. From a door opened, as if out of the fabric of the earth itself, more and more men filed into the purgatory inside what was once a lavish bed chamber. Far off into the distance a vague black shape could be seen charging the line of soldiers, who were already fighting for their very lives, in this strange and hostile new world. As the black shape came closer, Argot could begin to make out features of a double king sized four poster bed, charging towards the group on muscled wooden legs.

Argot looked on in horror, as the four poster bed slammed headlong into the shields of the phalanx of guards; massive teeth appeared in the space between the bed frame and the mattress underneath and grabbed a soldier from the group, before disappearing, soldier and all in a black cloud of smoke. As quickly as it had begun, the onslaught of monsters ceased and the remaining phalanx of soldier’s found themselves lost in a thick black smoke. The only thing they could do to keep from getting lost and burning alive, was to cluster together, shield to shield, providing cover and keeping the acidic snow from continuing its relentless attack.

All hearts pounded as one, each man in the phalanx looking out into the sheer black landscape in front of them. The smell of sweat and fear was almost palpable in the close confines of the shielded phalanx of guards. Many of the men were bleeding heavily, so much so that Argot knew they would not live to see the outside, ever again. Then, as Argot looked over at the wounded, disfigured and openly weeping men, they came again.

It was the four poster bed again, only this time, four grizzly human heads were stuck to each corner, their mouths slowly writhing with an agony that was both disgusting and mesmerizing. As Argot looked into the faces of the dead soldiers, he realized, they would never get the peace of death, but would be trapped in this world between reality and nightmare forevermore.

More of the severed metal toothed heads sprang from the deep shadows and the phalanx of soldiers were forced to lower their shields, the snow that had accumulated in the few moments they'd had to rest fell from their shields onto the oncoming heads, slowing the charge marginally enough for the soldiers to strike with their swords, lances or pikes. The crunch of the heads being crushed under the heavy blows of well trained soldiers lightened the few survivors’ spirits, before the macabre specter that was the four poster bed smashed into the phalanx, scattering all the men like a house of cards. Argot was flung backwards with enough force to make him bite the tip of his tongue off, as he crashed to the ground. The salty taste in his mouth reawakened him, just in time for the burning snow to fall onto his face.

As Argot looked around, he saw the massive figure of Andrew Roderick storm into the nightmare, the massive axe clutched high above his head and swinging ferociously. The heir to the throne hacked and tore with the double bladed axe, at times he even used his bare hands to pry into the disembodied head's mouths, before breaking them in two. He fought tooth and nail towards the nightmare bed and when he got there, his axe slammed down with the might of twenty men swinging in unison. Wood splintered, metal reinforcing cords snapped and supports gave way. To Argot's mounting surprise, the bed began to retreat, only to be ceased upon by Andrew Roderick's strong hands and pulled back towards the melee of shambling horrors and terrified men. Time after time, Andrew Roderick's axe smashed down into the nightmare bed and coming up from the very depths of the bed chamber itself, guttural screams issued forth, slamming into the ears and minds of all present.

Argots got to his feet, his eyes and face burning and blistering, and slashed at a nearby skull with his blade the skull, unlike the others, like a knife through hot butter. The soldier could see his comrades doing the same, as if with each mighty blow the heir made to nightmare bed, the nightmare itself weakened. Argot's breath was coming in short rasps of pain, as he slammed his shield against oncoming foes, only to let his blade bite deeply into flesh. With tooth, nail and sheer willpower, Argot fought his way, to rejoin the phalanx, which had begun to cluster around Andrew Roderick, who was still crushing the bed under his tremendous strength.

The nightmares began to slow down and they lost their strength. They made for easy pickings, among the fearsome guardsmen. No, with whatever was stalking them in this world between worlds slowing, the phalanx began to let their mean side out, multiple blows would land upon single targets, a few of the larger guardsmen adopted Andrew Roderick's tactic and tore them apart with their bare hands and a cacophony of battle cries were heard over the din and clatter of battle.

Finally, the brave and fearless Andrew Roderick smashed his axe down upon the bed one last time, hard enough to break the once lavish bed in two. As the now destroyed piece of furniture’s death spasms ended, the endless black began to flicker. The very air about the phalanx of soldiers crackled with an intense energy that was alien to them. Under normal conditions, the men would have shrank back from the strange feeling, but these weren’t normal conditions and all they could do was stand and hope their mettle was not to be tested again. Their prayers were answered a moment later, when the black that had cloaked them so utterly dissipated, leaving only 43 men standing, of the original one hundred whom had answered the call.

“I think I understand the kind of mess that has arrived at our door.” said the witch Regina. “Oh yes, I do, I surely do, Lord Roderick.”

It had been a full 24 hours since the Urguays had been murdered by whatever foul black magic was in their rooms. Andrew had only had time to sleep for five hours, before one of his brother’s personal attendants had woken him with a shake. The servant stood before Andrew Roderick had told him that his brother was holding him personally responsible for the attack on the Urguays and that it was now his duty to find out what it was that killed them. It chaffed at Andrew’s mind that his brother would order him about, like he was some common foot soldier. It was for that reason that Andrew barked at the young witch in front of him “Then tell me, witch, before I lose my patience.”

“So angry, Andrew Roderick, but why would you be? You have everything a man could ever hope for. Women, food, power, yet these are not enough for you. Why?” Regina responded, catching the man sitting across from her off guard, he wasn’t expecting that.

Andrew’s face lit up with fury the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the battle last night. Stars collapsed under his anger and suns imploded upon themselves, but the witch Regina simply sat in her chair, with her ruby red lips turned up at the corners. Finally, after composing himself for a long moment, Andrew replied “It makes no difference what you believe, I simply need the information you possess.”

“True, I am but a lowly Head Witch, not up to the task of conversing with you mortals, however, you shall tell me of yourself, before I will tell you anything of what you need to know.” Regina smiled a warm smile, one that could melt glaciers.

Andrew didn’t have time for such games! He was the heir to the Roderick holdings, a champion of the realm; renowned for his skill with blade and bow alike, but here he was, having to answer to some witch! “Alright, witch, I realize you care little for anything that happens within this castle, but because you have information that I need, I shall tell you. My brother is a weak man, not fit for the power that his position gives him. It is rightfully my throne. There, now tell me of what evil was awakened last night.”

“You speak of it as if it is gone, Andrew Roderick, when it is not.” Regina replied. She reached forward and picked a small pastry from the table in front of her, before popping it into her mouth. “That was an old evil, one that I have never seen in my long life. It is Unreal.”

“Unreal?” Andrew asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“Yes, The Unreal is” Regina paused, as her eyes got a faraway look, as she tried to remember back so very long. “The Unreal is, well, it’s unreal. There’s no sense to it and when it starts it’s almost impossible to stop. You think you destroyed it, but all you did was temporarily weaken it.”

“But I saw it disappear, there was something about that bed that bent the very fabric of time and space. One hundred men were able to stand in full battle gear inside the Urguay’s rooms, but after it was destroyed, the 43 left could barely move.” Andrew looked expectantly at Regina.

“I have told you all there is too know about the Unreal. It has never been defeated before, you shall not be the first, brave Roderick. You shall not be the first.”

It was at that very moment, when Andrew Roderick felt all hope fading, that there was a call of horror and confusion in the courtyard. In a daze, Andrew stumbled form the witch’s tent and towards the screaming that seemed to burst his ear drums. Looking up as he came into the courtyard, Andrew Roderick saw, nothing, no stars, no moon, just an all encompassing darkness. One that stretched on into infinity, from all sides of Castle Roderick.

This is a time for rebirth. The winds of change are beginning to filter down through the stagnant halls and forgotten bedchambers of a once great and noble castle. Valiant men and women must rise to the occasion, to stare pure evil in the face and fight whatever has been born in this place of fallen glory and they must emerge victorious, for if they do not, it will not only be their lives on the line, but all of the worlds.



Name: (What is your name?)
Age: (So, how many winters, eh?)
Equipment: (What weapons and tools do you carry?)
Profession: (Mage? Smithy? Warrior? Tradesman?)
Allegiance: (Jacob Roderick or Andrew Roderick?)
Biography: (Your life thus far.)


1: No Godmodding! This means you cannot control other’s characters, or the reaction that NPC’s have to another’s character.

2: Realistic names!

3: The Unreal may only be controlled by me, for the purpose of driving the story on. However, when in battle, you choose the kind of monsters and demons you face.

4: The Unreal has isolated the castle in Non-Existence, meaning that until it is destroyed, no one can leave or enter Castle Roderick. So, all characters must be within the Castle walls within 24 hours of Andrew Roderick’s first battle with the Unreal.

5: I will direct the storyline, using both The Unreal and NPC’s, such as Jacob and Andrew Roderick.

6: Please, I put a lot of effort into the storyline of this RP, so post with good punctuation, spelling and each post must be at least a paragraph long. ( No “She stared at him.” Posts.)

7: Have fun!


Name: James O'Malley
Age: 37
Equipment: A steel shield with the family crest of O'Malley. A silver rapier with a guard for the hand. A short yew bow carried on the back and a quiver of arrows tipped with steel points that are attached to the left leg.
Profession: Warrior
Allegiance: Andrew Roderick
Biography: Born on the great isle of Ireland, James O'Malley lived a privileged life. He lived like a noble, but it was very dull and boring. He picked up the sword at the age of 16, and ran away from home after killing his personnal guard. He lived as a pirate for some time, pillaging and plundering for any crew. He was captured by Vikings at one point in time, and became like family to them after helping them take over a city guarded by a castle. But, he couldn't live as a criminal for long.

He was sleeping in a tavern after a heavy night of drinking when a man barged into his room. It was Andrew Roderick. He had heard of James' talents and wanted to hire him as a personnal bodyguard. James thought this would be an easy way to make money and so left the tavern with Andrew that night. Over time, the two had become great friends, one that Andrew could confide in over matters of politics and the wrongs that had been brought upon him by Jacob.

When the castle had been taken over by the Unreal, James stood at Andrew's side, willing to protect his new home and his friend...


Name: Conrad Julian Kinane
Age: 30
Weapons: Rapier, Dagger, Throwing Knives
Apparel: Dressed in a black frock coat, white shirt and brown leather waistcoat, knee length boots and a pair of thick gauntlets
Misc: Compass, whet stone, signalling mirror, Letter of Marque
Profession: Corsair (or Pirate take your pick)
Allegiance: Jacob Roderick
Biography: Conrad Kinane is a myth and legend, a name spoken in darkened bars all along the coast. He has smuggled and plundered in the Roderick name for ten years now and although most of the stories are false (lies he happily encourages) he is still a fine swordsman and an excellent navigator.
Although feared throughout the sea's of Cathay and Mariposa he is little known in this part of the world allowing him to come and go as he please's.

"How much?"
The black marketeer bent over the collection of gold and silver items on the table, stolen from a Cathayian trade ship, the rest of the cargo was being unloaded at the docks as he spoke.
"I'll give you two hundred for the lot" the greasy man declared, a sly grin spread across his face, conning the gullible and the desperate was his trade and he was very good at it "Yes, two hundred florins take it or leave it" the smug face beam up at Conrad under its mop of filthy unkempt hair. Conrad pretended to consider the offer for all of thirty seconds before diving across the trestle table, both hands grabbing the terrified man about the throat and then slamming his head onto the tables surface "Two hundred? I did not sail half the world and rob those people so that you could insult me!" Conrad, mere inches from the mans face roared in fury.

A hand like that of a gorilla clamped down heavily on his shoulder, hauling him off of the beleagured store holder. He felt himself being spun round effortlessly to face one of the black markets many hired thugs. Conrads one green eye stared balefully into those of the bearded man that held him. His vision spun as his forehead slammed into the nose of the guard, who now was staggering back clutching his face, two more swift blows brought the giant whimpering to the ground allowing Conrad to focus his attention on the store holder "Now make me a Real offer!"

The deal had been brokered to his satisfaction, and now as he headed for the gate out of the castle to the dock he quietly considered his next move. However his thoughts were brutally interrupted as the world around him went dark.
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Name: Emmerich Gerhild
Age: 34
Equipment: Große Messer, langsax, shield, francisca
Profession: Diplomat/warrior/peacekeeper
Allegiance: Jacob Roderick, not the 10 though
Biography: Emmerich Gerhild was born to a family who had been assigned the important tasks of chief diplomats, lead warriors, and keepers of the law. Emmerich's family wasn't the only family to have this responsibility, but they were one of the few. The biggest distinguishing factor of these families was their tendency to have children with full black eyes, that stayed for life. They were treated with respect, and would have been royalty, if they had owned enough land. They weren't allowed to, the royalty wanted power to themselves, and the families didn't want to take power from the royalty. They had the fun jobs, while the royalty had nothing but work and rule.

When Emmerich was 25, the situation in the lands of Roderick were brought to the attention of the nobles. Jacob Roderick was threatened with loss of throne, by his brother, Andrew. For a year, the royalty was split as to whether they should help Andrew, Jacob, or stay out of it. Eventually, the Jacob supporters won, by use of arguments allowing their nation to grow more powerful, and eventually control the Roderick lands. Emmerich was sent to be the next diplomat, while secretly working against the Ten and Andrew Roderick.


Name: Johnathan Smith
Age: 21
Equipment: Smaller more portable blacksmith tools, dagger, and broadsword.
Profession: Trained as blacksmith, but is a warrior.
Allegiance: Andrew Roderick
Biography: As a small boy his father was a blacksmith. He apprenticed with him in the hopes of stepping into his footsteps. This was all brutally changed when an "accident" caused the Smith's Blacksmith Shop to burn down with his father, mother, and baby sister inside. He was not inside however. He was outside playing (Was 10 at the time.) when he saw a man cloaked in black bend over beside his shop as if to inspect something. He then, quick as lightning, pulled out a match and sparked the house. It was ablaze before he could do anything. He heard his family's screams and vowed revenge. He tried to explain it to King. Jacob seemed interested, but one of the Ten quickly whispered in his ear. Andrew was there that day. He explained everything. He told a tale of betrayal and heartbreak. Most importantly he told Jacob that his father had been murdered by the Ten for resisting them. John took up apprenticeship with him and trained to fight. He is now one of Andrews closest friends and allies, you might even go so far as to say like a son. Sometimes even put in charge when it is required. He was one of the 47 to emerge with Andrew from that horrible realm after the fight with The Unreal.

The day had seemed normal. Until suddenly the sky went entirely dark, the color of death, and the color of robe the man that killed his family wore that day. He had sworn revenge, he knew something big was about to happen. He sprinted off towards Andrew as fast as he could. Now's the time.
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Name: Emetald

Age: Unknown, rumored as 200+ years

Equipment: Black hooded robe with silver filigree sigils, Bloodwood staff

Profession: Witch

Allegiance: Self

Appearance: Emetald is of average height and weight. She is fair of face, and has midnight black hair. Her eyes are a dark blue. She wears a hooded robe, and is never seen without an intricately carved staff of Bloodwood.

Biography: As with most of those whom wield magic, Emetald is a well known name amongst the people. It is said she hails from the Estsor Mountain Range, though none know for certain, and that she is a powerful practitioner of the magics associated with the elements, especially fire. Though none know the year of her birth, scribes of the past have associated her with several incidents ranging back throughout the last two hundred years, which is not unheard of amongst the magical folk in the world. She is rarely seen, but when she is, it is generally in times of hardship, woe, and darkness.


Emetald found herself tucked away in a small inn near the west entrance of the city surrounding Castle Roderick. She was a short woman, dressed in travel clothing and her black robe. Her constant companion, a richly colored bloodwood staff, was set directly to her left side against the table she sat at. Her attention was set on the man, and only him. She pointedly ignored the other peasantry in the inn, who spoke in hushed whispers at the extremely rare occurrence of two magic wielders being in the same location and at the same time.

She smiled at the man sat across from her at the table as she picked up a small, steaming cup of tea and blew gently across its surface. She took a sip, set it down, and looked out the window at the darkening skies as she quietly murmured, "Seems dark times are coming brother." She looked back at the man. "Portents have been announcing its arrival for some time now, but it is now coming to a headway. I'm quite sure it will be here, at the castle." She smiled again as she continued, "I thought I would be alone in this sight, so imagine my surprise when who but Tonos is in the same place and time?"

She took another sip from her cup and sighed, "It feels ancient, this evil, yet known to me somhow. A waking dream perhaps." She shook her head, and slid her hand through her dark hair. "This could be the end of things that are known." She sipped from her cup and looked out the window once more.
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Name: Tonos
Age: Somewhere are 150, at this age, people tend to forget.
Equipment: A simple hand and a half sword. Completely unusable is a black and white cat that follows Tonos about.
Profession: Mage.
Allegiance: Thus far, neutral.

Tonos was born one cold morning in early spring, in a simple hut outside the Roderick holdings, to this very day, Tonos cannot recall it's exact location. Many nights, his parents would go hungry to feed their new son, who was growing at a frantic rate.

Unlike many, Tonos parted with his parents on happy terms, for when he began to show magical potential that few children had a man appeared one day with a signed and sealed letter, one that he had to read to Tonos' parents, who were illiterate, from the Wizard Despris. Under the harsh tutelage of the Wizard Despris, the young Tonos' abilities exploded. From the gift of foresight to the summoning of water from the ground, Despris'es young apprentice never failed to amaze.

Tonos and Despris loved together for many years, they practiced their magic, gained the wisdom of thousands of years of accumulated knowledge and traveled about the countryside. Despris taught the young Tonos all he could and in exchange, Tonos provided company to a very lonely and sad man. Until, one day, when Tonos was about 80 years old, young for one gifted with magic, he awoke, to find Despris had disappeared, leaving Tonos alone in this world, to find his own way from then on.

Tonos debated long and hard with himself, to return to his homeland, which at that time he still could remember although dimly, but in the end, he came to the harsh realization that he was cursed to never age. Tonos would live his life, meet women that he loved, but he would never grow old and die, but they would. The sadness builds up after a time and it turns witches and wizards alike into cynical and angry people in the end.

The younger Tonos wondered the land, as he had before, eating vegetables and felling the odd dear to sustain himself. He did not hold Despris responsible for disappearing, sometimes, that was how great wizards choose to be remembered and Tonos would not deprive his mentor of that right.

It was not until Tonos was an older, more mature wizard, of around 150 winters, did he find to the Roderick holdings. Just in time for the experience of a lifetime.


The sky was clouding over, streaks of lightning blazing momentarily in the sky, before burning out to the distant echo of thunder. Horses, cows, dogs and cats ran for cover as a light rain began to fall, a rain that threatened to turn into a downpour. It felt, to Tonos at least, that the earth itself was just beginning to let out a scream of pain.

Tonos had his right leg hooked over his left, as he sipped at a pleasantly flavored tea. His cat, Alabaster, sat curled up at his feet, batting at a tuft of cloth that hung down from the bottom of his traveling cloak. Tonos idly wondered why the cat was so intent upon snaring his cloak, rather than attacking the multitude of rodents that infested the tavern part of the inn. Antlers hung from the wall in many places and a full boar's head hung stuffed over the mantelpiece, where a raging fire burned.

The wizard pondered his life of late, thinking of the odd feelings and impulses that had brought him to the side of one of his oldest friends, Emetald. Tonos had long since mastered his impulses, but something even more powerful than himself pulled him to the inn on this dark night.

Emetald's words brought Tonos to life once more. It was odd timing that would bring the two together and in such an unlikely place. Tonos scratched his blond head, then his stubble before replying "I feel it too, Emetald. There is something sour in the air, a foulness that I cannot place for the life of me."

At that moment, Alabaster the cat arched his back and let out a fearsome howl, as the crackle of lightning and the roar of thunder sparked simultaneously. The strike was close enough and hard enough to shake the liquid inside Tonos' tea cup. As the cat Tonos had called friend for so long settled in his lap, he looked back over at Emetald.

"What brings the great witch Emetald to such a lowly place as this?" Tonos asked, as he stroked his cat gently.


As if the world itself were throwing it's might against the now isolated world the sky opened and an explosion of light, sound, and water came forth. Puddles exploded as John sprinted down the cobblestone to his masters room in that castle. Before he left the village behind he figured he'd check the tavern. He smiled to himself as he recollected the memories of his early apprenticeship when he had been to naive to check the tavern and always went to Andrews room first. As he entered the tavern he blinked for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. He quickly saw Andrew. As he began to walk over he slowed his pace. He must have misheard. Surely he could not have heard what he thought! He stopped and listened again. "No I'm not drunk!" shouted the man. "Well maybe a little but this is no tall tale. Emetald and Tonos are in this village now! They are over at the inn!"

This was terrible news. He had heard plenty of stories about the wonders and wiles of wizardry in his life but only the tales with actual names were whispered into the night. And none more so than those of Tonos and Emetald. It was said that they were powerful beyond comprehension and as old as the sky itself. If they were here together it only confirmed his suspicion that a danger was about to completely envelope this world.

So as not to attract attention he hurried past the whispering peasants over to Andrew. "Good day sire." John said clearly as he approached.
"I wish it were John..."
"We need to talk."
"We're talking now!"
"No this is sensitive information not for the ears of the world yet and you know that!"
"Very well."
"I'd also advise that you call a meeting of all ours allies and trusted allies. This is a serious of a threat to ignore. First the dream realm yesterday and the sky going black today!"
"Agreed." He finished for the first time I looked at him closely and realized he was nervous. There was something he was not telling me because he felt that I didn't need to know yet. This was another one of his attempts to protect me.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing I'll get messages sent to all the allies we're still connected to..."
"Still connected to? What does that mean?"
"Nothing! Just try to track down some of our allies and don't leave the village or castle grounds."
"Yes sire." I finished in a defeated tone as we stepped through the door outside and turned different ways down the cobblestone road.


Name: Alexandria
Age: 24
Equipment: a black bag
Profession: a waitress
Allegiance: Andrew Roderick
Biography: an adopted child


It was a long winter night for the town around the prestigious Castle when the Schober's heard a hymn they never heard before... it was when they opened their wooden door that they saw a basket adorned with silver ribbons and a silk white sheet covering a golden music box playing for what a sleeping little girl. To their surprise, the Schober's look around their neighbors wondering who might left the child at that very moment.

" It is a blessing!" said the fat man wearing an apron while looking at the slumbering baby.

" It's been a long time since we hope for one. But what should we name her? " said his wife while preparing the toasts they left for a while.

"ALEXANDRIA!" exclaimed the baker.

"What? but . . ." the old lady asked as she rushed into the man. She had never heard of the name and her eyes turned into a big glare as she saw her husband holding a heart shaped gold cover of a diamond adorned locket by which the name was engraved.

"An heiress?" as they looked at each other with pounding hearts.


"That is all for today" she thought to herself as she try to reminisce the day her parents found her. She took a small piece of cloth and walk towards the table of a mysterious lady in black...

" My lady, would you like another cup?" she asked the lady and waited for her to look back from staring into the window as she wipe the table and take the pot of hot water.


The day after the attack was suspiciously wet and loud, a sure sign of either a coming doom for most or all, a cleansing, or both. It was hard to tell at this point, but Emmerich knew that soon he would find out what this rain meant. He walked away from his window, and sat down at his writing desk. The composing of letters usually cleared up his mind, and allowed him to think easier. It also stopped the nagging from the royalty about how the various missions and diplomatic proceedings were going, at least temporarily. Of course, after yesterday, the main theme of the letter was about the attack last night by the supernatural force.

Emmerich remembered what had happened the night before. Of course, it had only happened the night before, it wasn't hard to remember those events. But, even if he had been remembering them from even 50 years in the future, those events would still be as clear as they were at that moment. It was like something out of a story told to naughty children, only it had happened. It was gone now, thanks to Andrew Roderick, who had destroyed the source of the power at that time, a bed of all things. It wasn't gone though, Emmerich knew that, he could feel it on the edge of sense, it almost wasn't there. It was waiting for something.

After he had finished the letter, Emmerich decided to attend the local tavern, maybe a few spirits would help, the usual ritual of letter composing having done nothing to help him think through this thing that had attacked the poor group of 100 men, slaughtering over half of them. It must be stopped somehow. Emmerich arrived at the pub, noticing a man he recognized as one of the Andrites. He walked up to the man, to make friendly conversation, but he had started talking to Andrew himself, and then left immediately. Emmerich shrugged, and sat down at the bar, ordering a few meads.


John walked briskly down the road but not to where Andrew had told him to go. Not yet. First he had to head to the inn. John was not a superstitious man but he was no fool either. He decided to go talk to Tonos and Emetald if they were still here. He walked into the inn casually so as not to attract attention but it wouldn't have mattered if he had cut the door in half with his sword. There was only a scattering of people here. He scanned over the room and saw a waitress talking to a woman by the window and a man sitting near but not with her. As he approached he felt a cool breeze rush over him, but no window was open. Yes, this was definetly Tonos and Emetald. As he got to the edge of the table the waitress turned on her heels and walked away.
"Are you the mighty witch Emetald?" I asked the woman.
"Depends who is asking."
"I'm a regular man simply wishing to know why the overly powerful witch Emetald and wizard Tonos are here together at the kingdoms darkest hour."
The woman paused for a minute in thought...


Emetald smiled easily at Tonos as he asked her why she was present and responded, "Several reasons. The obvious choice will suffice for now. To investigate what is going on in this sorry hole in the world." She looked at the bar lady as she approached, studying her with a surprisingly intense gaze for a moment. She shook her head as the woman asked to refill her cup.

She said, "I'm afraid not. There is no more time for tea. I will finish this cup and be on my way shortly." Her eyes again studied the woman's face, as she remained silent for a few moments before saying, "You should consider accompanying me. You do fine work as far as I've seen, and I would wager you could find a better life at the castle."

She looked back at Tonos and said, "Why, dear brother, have you decided to be present? I had last heard you were in the Isle of Hatadranper. That is quite distant from here." She finished her tea, and set the cup down as she continued, "Perhaps, it would have been wiser to have stayed there. You must know what will happen here."

She looked up as a soaking wet individual hurried up to the table and interrupted the conversation. She studied this man with the same intense momentary attention as she had visited upon Alexandria. He was obviously from the castle, and appeared affiliated with the older brother judging by his livery. She listened to his question and stood up slowly. She grabbed her staff and said, "I am here because it is where I am meant to be. Tonos walks his own path, and I would never answer for him. Excuse me, I have business at the castle."

She looked at Tonos as she raised her hood over her head and waited, obviously expectant of his company.


There are those that would call Witches and Wizards a curious bunch. Others would rather have them hanged or burnt alive. Yet one thing is for certain, they have done great and noble things for the world of men, as well as some rather mischievous things that had no real meaning, or function. What Tonos had been doing on the Isle of Hatadranper was, sadly, the latter. There exists on that isle a kind of small gecko which can walk on only two legs, which was fascinating to a younger Tonos, who had spent many years alone on that island, trying to catch one. They are not a widely known creature and Tonos, somewhere around the 130 year mark, wanted desperately to catch one. Tonos never did however, though he came close on numerous occasions. The man who had told him of these spectacular multicolored reptiles had failed to mention that they were extremely rare, even on Hatadranper and, after Tonos grew older and realized how foolish he looked, crawling about on all fours, trying to catch a gecko that could run upon two legs and he gave up trying. Tonos promised himself then that he would catch one of those lizards if it was the last thing he ever did on this earth.

"Ah yes, I was in Hatadranper. How did you come to know this? I was under the impression that none but I and Alabaster knew where we were for those long years. I shall have to tell of of those spectacular lizards sometime." Tonos stood, as Emetald did, Alabaster held in his arms, under his cloak.

It was then that a young boy, Tonos had long since lost perception of mortal years, strode to their table. In a soft tone he politely asked them why they were here, making some passing remark about this kingdom's darkest hour as well. Tonos could not remember how many "Darkest Hours" he'd seen over his long life. Probably just some wandering dragon, causing some havoc in the fields, or an overly rambunctious peasantry making trouble.

"I am here because it is where I am meant to be. Tonos walks his own path, and I would never answer for him. Excuse me, I have business at the castle."

"Oh, you do not say, Emetald. It seems that I have business there as well. I would be honored if you would allow me to accompany you." Tonos replied, as the black and white cat latched his claws into Tonos' cloak and began to climb up to his shoulder. "Tell me, boy. What manner of darkest hour do you speak of? What has happened?" Tonos asked, as his cat finally settled upon his shoulder blades.
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Conrad stared up in berwilderment at the sky. Black. Solid, oppressive black. No stars, nothing it was as if the world had been covered by a sheet. It was time for him to leave but not before he found his brother Gideon there was no way in hell he'd leave his brother here, He had witnessed many strange and disturbing things on his travels but this...this was bad, he and his brother were getting out of here.

Gideon was one of the few remaining soldiers in the castle and his valour and loyalty was spoken highly of by all that knew him. He would be in the castle so that was where Conrad would go and no one would stop him. He strode purposefully toward the castle's main gate and upon finding it deserted enetered the castle itself.

The hall was dark, lit only by a handful of candles but it was bright enough for him see the carnage before him. Grieviously wounded soldiers in full battle dress lay on the floor, attended by servants as others ran back and forth on errands, the panic still in their eyes, What had happened here?
"You..." Conrad grabbed the arm of the nearest soldier, pulling him to face him "...Wheres my brother Gideon?" the soldier was young, no more than sixteen the armour dwarfing his small frame, he was coverd in gore, a pair of terrified eyes stared back at him unable to answer "Wheres Gideon...He's my twin, looks just like me but without the eyepatch"
Conrad had lost his left eye many years ago to a cathayian swordsman, the patch he found added to his image of brutallity better than any story did.
The boy shivered violently in Conrads grip, he began to answer stammering badly but it was too late Conrad had lost his patience and temper, tossing the soldier aside he roared across the hall to any that would listen "Where is Gideon Kinane? where is my brother?"


"In your long life I'm sure you have seen much death and despair. But this is no run of the mill danger. There is no dragon or princess that needs saving from danger. This is something else. A Being. Unknown to all yet it seems to nag at the deepest darkest corner of our minds. It is almost as if our ancestors developed and passed on to us. It seems to be a body that is physical yet not, and a spirit that is dead but alive. It is almost death in a metaphysical form. It seems to warp reality to it's limits ad then bring you into a sort of alternate dimension and realm. It then attacks everyone and everything and kills everything in sight. Andrew Roderick and one hundred of his men including me experienced. It drew us into the realm. Andrew came and saved us. He seemingly killed the beast but reports of it's attack are getting more frequent and brutal. Any way after we went in 47 and Andrew came out. An uneasy feeling has swept the land and now this omen of a pitch black sky. It's unearthly. I fear the worst. The worst is that this is the beginning of the Being warping reality and pulling us all into a dream world where it can feast on us all."

"A wizard and witch as powerful as yourselves would be useful in this fight. Will you help by siding yourselves with Andrew? Please put your hardest thoughts into this it may be too late already..."

Lord Regal

Well-Known Member
Name: Mark Sunder
Age: 25
Equipment: Staff of Light, Crucifix, Religion-based spells.
Profession: Priest
Appearance: 5'11". Slight build. Brown hair and green eyes. Most often has a solemn expression. Wears the robes of a Priest. (Junior and Senior wear the same, High Priests have their own).
Personality: Mark is a solemn person. He is slow to anger, and is overall mellow. The only thing he is passionate about is his God, the rest is secondary. He doesn't have a devious bone in his body, and always follows through on his word. He conducts himself in a respectable manner, and is stoic when it comes to dealing with people outside the clergy.
Allegiance: Whichever side the Church deems holy.
Biography: Mark was born into a rough family. His parents were both alcoholics, and due to that he was frequently beaten, and treated poorly overall. He cursed his misfortune and ran away as soon as he deemed he was old enough. However, he forgot to pack supplies, and it was in a half-dead state that he ended up on the doorstep of the largest church in the kingdom. The priests took him in and nursed him back to health...this was a new experience for Mark, as no one had ever shown him kindness before. He listened earnestly as the priests told him that it must have been God's will for him to have ended up at the church, and he believed it. As soon as he was well again, he asked if he could be a priest. Due to his age they denied his request, but told him he could be an assistant until he was old enough. He became Priest Anthur's assistant, and in addition to running errands and prepping the church for services, Anthur taught Mark holy magic on the side. By the time Mark was eligible to strive for priesthood, he knew all the basic holy magic and several advanced spells. As a direct result, he was soon admitted to the church as a Priest and received his Staff of Light, as is customary. He also was given the holy Crucifix, a talisman that strengthens all holy spells while he wears it. Mark currently is a junior Priest, but is one of the more advanced magic users. He is incredibly pious, and his faith cannot be shaken, making his holy magic all the stronger. He is not married, and is beginning to feel the pressure from the expectancy that all clergy members should marry and rasie a respectable family.


Mark was busy writing his next sermon when the sky went dark. After a few moments of confusion as lamps were lit and a head count of the clergy was taken, he along with all of the other Priests went directly to the altar. Kneeling, bowing his head, Mark prayed to his God that whatever caused this unnatural darkness was His will and that minimal suffering would be caused by this event. As the day went on, however, the news became grimmer and grimmer, as they learned of the being that had supposedly decimated a decent chunk of the royal guards. Upon hearing this, High Priest Anthur (he had been promoted) summoned Mark to his chambers.

Anthur ordered Mark to go to the castle and to either determine what was going on and how the clergy could help, reporting back to him once he knew all he could, or if that was impossible, do all he could to minimize the suffering. "I don't know what God's plan is in this dark time," Anthur said grimly, "but I do know we need to help the State. If this monster is dark, as it seems to be, holy magic will be in high demand. I wish you luck, Mark...and if you must carry out the latter of my instructions...for your bravery I will ensure you become a Senior Priest within the decade. God be with you."

Mark and Anthur both bowed to each other, Mark responding, "I will do as you ask sir. God be with you." With that, Mark turned and left the Church. He was to be the only clergyman out in the city for at least a short time, so he had to have a sense of presence, and with his chapel robes on, he knew he had just that. He set out for the castle, walking briskly. He had his Staff of Light, his Crucifix, and his knowledge of holy spells. He prayed to God as he walked that he would be in time to help, and that he would be able to report back to Anthur...for while promotion was promising, it would be folly to deny a chance from God to get help.

(Edit: I'm basing Mark's abilities off of the Fire Emblem series Bishop...light magic based on faith and healing magic based on same...however to keep the religion from being something specific I'm refraining from using pretty much any defining words to bind the land into a certain faith...the only thing I couldn't think of another word for was the Crucifix...but a Crucifix can be defined as any cross, so it isn't necessarily the Christian cross in any case, so that helps my case.)
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During Emmerich's drinking time, he heard reports from multiple drunkards that not one, but two Spellmen (wizards, witches) were staying at the nearby inn. As was the custom in this place, that meant that death and destruction were about to be set forth upon the area. After the events of last night, Emmerich was starting to believe that specific legend. Back at home, Spellmen didn't mean much, except they could do things many people could not usually do. There were theories that stated that the families were descended from Spellmen, but they were false, most likely. The families couldn't do much, they just had better training.

Emmerich felt that it would be a good idea to talk to these Spellmen. It was a possibility that they, in their seniority agewise, had encountered or heard of whatever it was that happened last night, or at least heard of something similar. After his fifth mead, Emmerich walked out into the rain, surprisingly cold for this time of year, and walked down to the inn, which was very nearby. Once inside, he looked around, not seeing many people. There were three people in one corner of the room, one was a man of Andrew, the others were unknown. They seemed different, so Emmerich guessed that they would probably be the Spellmen. He gambled on this assumption, and walked over to them.

"Heil Spellmen, powerful beyond human comprehension," declared Emmerich to the two different people. It was a shortened version of what Emmerich's people were told to say, according to legends and stories, to Spellmen, the long version taking up to 20 minutes, depending on how fast you spoke. Emmerich could say it in as fast as 2.432 minutes, not a very bad time for a family member of Emmerich's age. "If you so be the Spellmen I have heard that have recently arrived in this area," Emmerich added, this amendment to his greeting acceptable, making said greeting an easy example of mistaken identity. "If you are the Spellmen that I have heard have recently arrived in this area," Emmerich started to ask. "Then I inquire as to whether you would have time to spare a mortal with a question on an issue that might have a very serious implications to this realm, and the world as a whole."


Tonos reached up to his shoulder and stroked between Alabaster's ears, as the boy, a representative of one of the ruling family member's, enlightened Emetald and himself of their recent problems. There was a problem in the castle, from the vague description that Tonos received he could speculate that what was killing people could have been anything from a rogue witch or wizard to an earthbound demon. Tonos was not particularly passionate about finding out, he had long since lost all interest in the troubles of mortal humans, they were always squabbling about this or that. The dynamics of the political field changed so often that it was almost impossible to keep track of and so Tonos opted out of politics completely.

The boy went on for a few moments, describing the attack, the aftermath of the attack and then, to Tonos' chagrin, the political factions that had sprung forward. It seems the Roderick holdings weren't as stable as they seemed. The poor folk wished for Andrew Roderick to take the throne, while the more powerful, and the ones making the greatest profit, would see Andrew's brother Jacob stay on the throne. Then the boy asked he and Emetald to join with Andrew Roderick.

"Boy, do not try and influence my decision. I will not become engrossed in the politics of you deaders." Tonos was worried by his choice of words, using the derogatory word for the mortals.

Tonos was about to go on in explaining that he could really care less about the politics, when a curious man stepped into the tavern and strode quickly over to them. The man, who was obviously under the influence of an alcoholic beverage of some kind, immediately established himself as being a foreigner, by calling the "Spellmen". Which almost made Tonos burst into laughter.

Looking over at Emetald, Tonos said in a joking tone "I will let you handle this one, sister."


Tonos listened intently on the story, only to then snap at me about not wanting to be involved in politics. As John was about to apologize and leave another man joined them and began asking questions. John could tell that he was extremely superstitious because of his reference to them as "Spellman". Tonos seemed to find this extremely humorous. I quickly stated to Tonos and Emetald, "I at least suggest you head to the castle to help fight the threat neutrally." Without waiting for an answer I quickly turned and walked out the door. I made a few stops at peoples houses to rally the meeting then began heading to Andrew's chambers for the meeting.


Conrad watched as the guards advanced on him, obviously his approached hadn't been the most diplomatic but he wanted answer's and these damn flatfoots weren't giving out answers. "I don't care who you are or who your brother is, you need to leave now!" the man was tall and scarred and judging from his uniform he was some form of officer "Look Pal, my brother Gideon has serve in this army for three years so I deserve the right to know where he is" their was a flicker behind the mans eyes, a look of remorse, it'd only been there for a few seconds but it had been there he knew something and he wasn't telling.
"Captain Kinane how good to see you again" an elderly gentleman dressed in a long burgundy robe entered the room. His hair was almost pure white and was receding rapidly. Conrad instantly recognised him as Councillor Mirchaud one of the kings advisors or "The Ten" as they were more commonly known. "You can leave us captain, Captain Kinane and myself are well acquainted" the captain grudgingly left. "What brings you to the castle Conrad? we haven't seen you since we made the agreement, theres nothing wrong I hope?"
The Ten had made an agreement with Conrad and six other captains to plunder the trade routes of Rodericks competitors and in return for a hefty percentage of the plunder and in effect a private navy, The Ten would provide them safe haven in Rodericks wharf, an annual wage and access to the dry docks. The agreement was made secretly not even the king was privy to the knowledge "No everythings fine on that front, Its my brother Gideon..."
"Oh dear, Conrad I have some bad news for you I am afraid" it was at this point that the councillor began to tell Conrad of the battle with the monsters and Gideons fate.
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