Christ Centered Gamer

The Purging of Agronon.
Among the lands of Perissos, the greatest of these was the Kingdom of Agronon. Many fine people including the greatest of heroes came from the Great Kingdom. The most renowned of which were the champions of Agronon: Dwarven Warrior Gorehcht Shieldbreaker, The Human Mage Caldrenon Openfist, The stealthy Halfling simply known as Blackfoot, the Elvin Cleric known as Father Michael Elder.

These four heroes protected the realm from the darkness that crept ever so subtly from their evil cesspools in the surrounding lands, only to be returned crushed and bruised.

The Ogre War or 1132, The blood of the Agrononian warriors flowed on the field of battle. There was little hope it seemed for this great people. That is until Gorehcht claimed the killing blow when he buried his hammer deep into the skull of the Ogre chieftain Grahg Ral’Kathulmar. Without their religious and military leader, the Ogre clans began quarrelling among themselves as to who should become the new leader. Soon after an internal conflict arose and they disbursed, seeking the refuge of the mountains having lost all unity and hope for their cause.

The Goblin uprising of 1247. The great hordes of goblins claimed the lives of many villagers. Hope seemed all but lost for the outlying towns of Agronon. Caldrenon the prudent dealt with them in an ingenious manner. He concocted an amazing and delicious brew that would be too tempting for any goblin to pass up. Inside the brew held powerful magic. As quickly as the war began, it was over for the goblins were converted from the devious brigands they once were to living the rest of their days as sheep. The farm on which the goblin/sheep reside still exists. The wool there is good.

The Civil War of the Agronononian undercity, 1386. Disease consumed the crops within the outlying towns. The city encountered a massive famine while awaiting aid from nearby allies. The nobility of the city, good men and women all, sold all they could to purchase food for the people. In the end, it proved ineffective to quell the desperate starvation occurring throughout. Gangs began to form within the undercity and rioting plagued it’s people day and night. Blackfoot united the gangs and focused their efforts in better serving their communities instead of destroying it. She was able to devise a plan that allowed the people to combine their efforts and ration all that they had until help arrived. Without her intervention, the city would have consumed itself from within.

The Scourge of the Darktide, 1405. Creatures long since dead began to claw their ways from the graves they once occupied. In mass, the evil army swept over the country side. As they destroyed town after town, their numbers grew from the fallen they created. In an open field there stood Father Michael Elder. An elf reared by human parents and offered to the church as a willing servant of the faith. The armies crept closer and closer. Their stench carried heavily on the air. Soon, with the walls of the Agrononian capital city were within their sights, and in seeing them, their pace quickened. Father Michael trusted in his god. He believed that his lord will come through for him, even at the last second. His faith proved too real that day for Father Michael summoned the power of his god, and with a vanquishing light the darkness was expelled. The creatures consumed and the scourge was no more.

The four seemed immortal, destined to live forever protecting the weak and innocent. As the saying goes, however, every good thing comes to an end. The charms that allowed the great mage to survive eventually collapsed and their magics consumed him. There was no body to speak of, just the quivering magical essence in the air from where he vanished. Blackfoot was given a great gift in honor of her service to the city. The amulet of the waking sun. It’s power had the ability to prolong life to incredible lengths. She finally found a lover. A man who seemed worthy in her eyes to love and trust. Soon after, they were married. Truth can be a bitter and dark enemy for her lover was consumed with greed and stole the amulet in hopes of using it for his own fortune. Without the amulet, her body began to wither. Many believe, however, that the power held within the locket did the least amount of damage to her. It was her broken heart that consumed her will to live and she wasted away. Betrayed and alone.

Eventually, the Darktide returned, fervor renewed with the appointing of the new Necromantic King. This unholy creature drove it’s hordes from the shadows to consume the beauty that was Agronon.

Gorehcht was lost to the onslaught. His death was lined with rumors of foul play from within the kingdom itself.
The Darkness continued to creep and consume. The people of Agronon we enslaved to the dark power and forced to serve its bidding. Few escaped into the dying wood, an incredibly dense forest filled with the thickest and tallest of trees and dangers both terrifying and plenty. The forest proved a death trap for most that entered.
Father Michael, however, found refuge. There, The Branded, have assembled in service to Father Michael in hopes that the light and beauty will one day return to the kingdom.

You are a member of the Branded. A group of elite few who were unaffected by the charms the darkness offered. You are destined for greater purpose. You now sit within the lounge area of the great tree. Hewn from it’s living trunk many rooms and common areas appeared, a gift from the Arch Druid Council to Father Michael in hopes that he will quell the darkness as he once did. This is your strong hold, the last beacon of light in a dark and hopeless world.

You are the newest of the recruits and were formed into a war band to combat the evil. You are referred to as The Branded due to the mark found not on, on but inside you. A mark that is somehow, ghostly in appearance and seems to bleed through the skin with a feint light. The mark is found in a different location on each individual.

Recently, a dark storm has covered the dying wood. A strange weather that seemed to have a fell taint to it. Father Michael has summoned you to discuss the recent change in climate.

Kratimos rubbed at his right forearm. The mark shown faintly through and he still has not become accustomed to it, and he suspects he never quite will.


((Not sure how far I should go with my narrative or what to do, so I'll stop here))

ArchAngel wrote:Kratimos rubbed at his right forearm. The mark shown faintly through and he still has not become accustomed to it, and he suspects he never quite will.


((Not sure how far I should go with my narrative or what to do, so I'll stop here))

((Feel free to use this time for description or if you want to look around. The tree is the main focus but there is a small village outside of the tree itself. You're being summoned, but you can say that this is the time before you were summoned and were walking around))

A Kratimos touches the mark, it glows faintly. Occasionally, when his hand comes in contact with the ghostly essence, it turns bright red and then recedes back to blue when his hand is removed. Never among the branded have you seen such a thing as this.

He raises an eyebrow and looks around. Nobody seemed to notice. Except Father Michael. His attention once given to others now completely focused on Kratimos and the mark. He beckoned Kratimos to stand, and he did. After all, Kratimos was curious about what his brand was doing and the Cleric would have the best idea of anyone.

Father Michael peered at the mark closely, then relinquished his hold on fighter's arm.
"Interesting," Father Michael said thoughtful, "And I thought bringing you here was a mistake."
Kratimos smirked, "Now now, don't get ahead of yourself. You might still be right."

ArchAngel wrote:He raises an eyebrow and looks around. Nobody seemed to notice. Except Father Michael. His attention once given to others now completely focused on Kratimos and the mark. He beckoned Kratimos to stand, and he did. After all, Kratimos was curious about what his brand was doing and the Cleric would have the best idea of anyone.

Father Michael peered at the mark closely, then relinquished his hold on fighter's arm.
"Interesting," Father Michael said thoughtful, "And I thought bringing you here was a mistake."
Kratimos smirked, "Now now, don't get ahead of yourself. You might still be right."

((This post worked out fine. Be careful, however, speaking on behalf of NPCs, especially key ones. Some I have made a specific way with certain reactions to things. Technically, Father Michael was not in the room yet, but this is fine and I can continue as Father Michael moving forward. Your control over the naritive is awesome, and encouraged. If you entered a pub and started a fight, you could narrate what happens in the first few blows or so. If a key player enters, I'll interject with their reactions. Does that make sense?))

Father Michael smirked. His eyes, a deep gold color radiated with holy energy. His robes, standard for a priest of his order were strange. Though they flowed as cloth they were as cold as iron to the touch. The aura that radiated around him seems to have a power, a force that effects everything in the room. Occasionally there will be a stiring of wind that flows from him carrying with it the smell of flowers and freshly cut grass. Every so often, a light would line his visage with and the other lights in the room darken in comparison.

His smile grew. "A lycan? And an outcast?" He points to your shoulder, the location of the scar.

"I think you will do well here." He firmly pats you on the shoulder. As his hand comes incontact with you, you feel the beast rear up within. Not with rage or the desire to control you. The source of its fit came from...fear. The beast is genuinely terrified of Father Michael.

The priest turns from Kratimos, returining to his maps, to his planning.

Without looking away, he says, "The others should be arriving soon. We seem to have an adventure on our hands.

It wasn't the jousting list, it wasn't the Blademaster's courtyard and it wasn't even the countryside where ruffians melted into the shadows when the King's noble warriors scattered them like crows...

...but somehow, it represented danger. Guy deLyonesse walked with Death as a companion now, a new one perhaps but familiarity would grow between them soon enough. He stepped into the massive tree, not that it was anything like any tree he'd ever seen before, and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. Two strangers, one bearing a mark exactly like the one on his own forearm, stood near a map table. He rolled his sleeve up far enough to display the mark, and cleared his throat.

"I..." His voice broke like an adolescent boy's and he cleared it again. "I am Guy deLyonesse, and... I believe I've come to the right place..." The mark seemed to writhe under his skin even as it cast its blue glow through his flesh. He was fascinated by it and terrified by it, but his thickly muscled forarm did not tremble in the slightest as he held it out for Father Michael's inspection.

Kratimos quelled his beast as the young Paladin walked in right after Father Michael's words. He could tell by the footsteps: it was a Paladin. A little less sure of himself than most, probably still young, but undoubtedly their characteristic morally superior thomps.
Kratimos turned and smiled, "Speaking of the devil."

Guy's brow furrowed at the stranger's words. He had no idea what led to the man saying what he did, but that didn't matter. WHat mattered was the voice... it was familiar somehow, he was sure he'd heard it, and yet couldn't place it. "Do I know you, sir?" His arm remained extended for Father Michael's inspection but, by instinct, he subtly shifted his weight on his feet, ready for trouble.

"I don't believe so." Kratimos began walking around looking for a drink, "Maybe I killed a family member? A brother?" Kratimos stopped and spun around on his heel to face Guy, his finger extended towards him as he recalled something. "No wait, deLyonesse you said your name was. I don't know you, but I know your father. No, I'm pretty sure if I'd remember if I killed one of your family."

Guy nodded. "As far as I can tell, it seems everyone knows my father." He paused, lowering his arm at last, then extending his hand toward Kratimos "In any case, I see we have more than just my father in common, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

After over hearing the discussion between the two warriors and noticing their markings CrimsonBlade ponders how she will show her mark to Father Michael without embarrassing either party. She recalls how she first noticed it.

(flashback sequence)
After collecting a bounty from a nearby town, she purchased a nice pair of dark leather pants. This will go nicely with my boots she thought. Upon trying them on she notices some tenderness on the lower region of her back. Well that's strange, I wonder what this could be. Oh well, no matter I'll just have to keep an eye on it and I better head over to the Deep Wood see what father Michael needed..
(/flashback)

That was two weeks ago, apparently this mark is not going away anytime soon. CrimsonBlade got up from the dark corner and nodded to the two gentlemen and asked to speak to Father Michael in private.

As guy enters the room. A feeling of holiness surrounds him, almost empowers him. The aura of light surrounding Father Michael seemed to glow a little brigher.

Watching the exchange between the men reminded him of his childhood pride. He could sense the beast in Kratimos, tearing inside him and the hatred Kratimos had for the Paladin. Not for the man himself, but for what he stood for. He hated him for the life he seemed to be denied.

As the fair rogue approaches him, he bows his head lightly to the girl. Upon hearing her request, he smiles.

"Of course, my study is right through this door. He gestures to a large and sturdy looking woodendoor. The hinges of which seem to bee roots of the tree that the door is set in. On closer inspection the door itself seems alive. As the two approach it, the door opens on its own.

The room is lined from floor to ceiling with books. An enchanted duster floats near the top shelf, on a continuous dusting pattern. On the floor, there are many beautifully decorated urns. Inside are many rolled up parchments. Maps or paintings perhaps.

After they clear the door frame, the door closes itself.

"How may I assist you my dear?" Father Michael says with a kind smile.

I overheard the gentlemen talking and saw you examining their unique markings. I too have a mark similar to theirs. CrimsonBlade blushes. The problem is that it is on my lower back. I didn't think it would be appropriate to show it out in the open. Without hesitation she unties her pants so they drop down about an inch or two and lifts her shirt up a few inches from behind. To get her mind off her awkward situation she starts to read the titles from the stacks of books through out the room. Do you have any books that can enhance my skill set?

Kratimos shook Guy's hand. The grip was strong and firm. A sword grip. Good.
"So, Pally, know where they might keep the ale in a place like this?" Kratimos broke off and continued his search.

Father Michael smiles. "There's no need to feel embarassed my dear, the mark appears reandomly on people."

He walks over to the book shelf as Crimson reties her pants.

"It would depend on what your skill set would be." He said as he looks over the ancient tomes. "there are many volumes here containing ancient wisdom. Some in languages so ancient or so alien that I myself can not understand them fully."

When Crimson is ready he looks over at her. "Why are you here?" His gaze, piercing, almost as though he were asking himself the question as he read her thoughts.

"There is no money in the restoration of this Kingdom, so what would make a fortune and thrill seeker such as yourself come to a place like this?"

He looks away again. His hands folded behind his back. He looks over the books again.

"A bounty perhaps? Or is there the desire to do some genuine good roaming somewhere within you?"

His words carrying the authority of a general on the battlefield yet spoken with such elegance and grace.