DeletedUser
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.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________________
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!
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.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
CHARACTER SHEETS
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.)
RULES
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!