4 replies to this topic

[dyscord]

Once upon a time there was a snarky spirit in a cult called Fate who decided to pee on the Gothador hall of information sharing and general banter(otherwise known to mortals as 'the forum') because it became incredibly lame due to the bishy whinging of a few wimps who got thier wee little feelings hurt.

-The end



Thus ends my IC RP.

[Mysticalme]

Why stop there .... tell us how you really feel! (IC)

[dyscord]

Dyscord watched, her spirits diminished and her heart heavy, as the once great kingdom of Gothador began to dim. The energy and passion once so prevalent in its people now given way to lethargy and apathy. The rivers of gold that flowed to the high kings of Bovineia now ran empty and the life-fueling potions came naught to the people of Gothador. One by one, the great warriors and Mages of the land began to trek onward; most heading off to distant lands to CRAFT their skills of WAR.

Nothing remained to the people of the land but their indomitable fighting spirit. Everywhere in Gothador, battles of both sword and wit broke out. The strong poured forth great words and great cunning from their lips. Those that could, matched will against will in the hope of outsmarting their foes. Most of it was good natured, though, at times a particularly sharp-tongued citizen went a bit far. The great mods of the land kept those in check though, never letting anyone get truly injured.

Soon though, the Bovinean kings began to grow weary of the joyful banter of their subjects. They began setting strictures upon them, even banishing some from the kingdom when they found them particularly irksome. Their hold became tighter and tighter until finally, they forbade all public outbursts. No words were to escape their subjects' lips save for simple words of greeting or childish prattle. The streets of the land became desultory and sullen. Its citizens could often be heard within the walls of their cults' castles, screaming in frustration and pent up rage. When the people began to entreat the kings to return their speech to them, they were turned out of the monarch's chambers and were told to study the teachings of the simple folk living high in the barren and uneventful mountains of Fallensword. The earthy and somewhat backward denizens of the mountains were oft preferred as the king's favourites, though they and their surroundings lacked the colourful zest of Gothador and its inhabitants.

The people grieved. For, what were they without thier freedom and thier speech? They grew weary and began to lose the passion that had once driven them to greatness. Most of the great hunters who were left in the land began to journey far in search of other kingdoms. The markets were empty ghost-filled mausoleums. The only sounds to be heard were the dry whispers of leaves skittering over the cold ground of a once prospering land and the occasional mournful plea from a newcomer, often begging for succor and aid. All were now gone to study the Craft of War or to seek out the elusive land of Realitopia. Their voices are but a memory now...

[lasciel]

Lasciel picked up a random bone in the Castle courtyard, sniffed inelegantly and flicked the dried old thing half-heartedly at dyscord, scowling with mock hate as it narrowly missed bouncing off Dyscord's exposed undead skull. Flouncing down into the compound wall while tendrils of brimstone and steam wafted off her horns and wings she looked down out of the void towards Gothador proper and scowled again, this time legitimately.

The Forum, a square once full of vibrant and lively debate both in jest and in anger lay almost abandoned. Huffing and tugging on one of her horns distractedly, she turned back again to her family members and whined "now where am I going to cause trouble? don't tell me I've got to be nice to that bunch of morons...I don't think know how to. you guys know I can't play well with others". Lasciel scanned the grounds, absently picked up another solid bone, this one definitely from something that was once human and heaved it over the wall, smirking with a self-satisfied giggle at the twack and "OW!" she heard echoing up from Gothador before heading back inside the Castle in search of a family member to torment...

[wolf21]

slipping silently in thru the side door of the castle where many of the few he called friends once lived, wolfie ghosted thru the lonely halls. everywhere he looked there were new adornments and furnishings, had all his friends left? or were they banished because of there love of free speech, and intolerance of ignorance. a familiar smell wafts on the breeze, catching his hunters nose, silently following it, the smell of brimstone leads him to lasciel, catching her eye, he silently waves, and with a sad shake of his head slips his cowl back up, heading back to the door