- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Online Availability
- Usually later in the day MST
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Fantasy, SciFi, Modern, Urban Fantasy, Dark, Horror, Medieval, Any Punk Genre
((OOC/Plot discussion))
Change was coming to the kingdoms. It was felt in the air. It was in the hushed movements of servants preparing for the festival. Through the Arvien noble's houses as they laughed at petty intrigues. It was deep in the tunnels Hahdrim where heat of forges kept the cold from seeping in. Inside the many taverns of Incyriia where waitresses served ale to less reputable folk. Among the desert dwellers of Krosir where the sands shifted in menacing patterns. It lingered as the people of Yashin trained with wooden swords, swinging on command from their instructor. And where change pulsed the most was within the Kingdom of the Dead. Where the people's fear grew as something seemed to wake from a slumber from long ago.
But deep in Arvien something else was stirring. The people were getting excited. The grand tournament was beginning. Warriors from all over the land would come and compete. Swordsmans, archers, hunters, and battle hardened veterans of all kinds were flocking towards the city of Tavin. The merchant guilds prepared their wares to the travelers. The High Lord of Arvien came personally days ahead to see the preparation. The nobles were betting on their own champions. Even the peasant folk were beginning to rile up in anticipation. The High Lord treated this event like a festival of sorts and was more charitable and lenient during it. Even the thieves and beggars appreciated the influx of new money.
But dark forces also gathered. They wore cloaks of dark material. Beneath them held blades as black as night. They watched wearily at each new incoming traveler, seeking something within their possessions. They did this for hours until someone alerted the guards. The cloaked group walked into an alley and vanished from sight. The guards felt as if they were just standing near a ledge, death looming near. One of the cloaked men looked back. His eyes were as black as the blade he held. He grimaced with disgust as if he felt something was coming. He grinned as if he thought of a particularly terrible way to kill someone. He continued with the rest of his group as if he never paused at all.
Change was coming to the kingdoms. It was felt in the air. It was in the hushed movements of servants preparing for the festival. Through the Arvien noble's houses as they laughed at petty intrigues. It was deep in the tunnels Hahdrim where heat of forges kept the cold from seeping in. Inside the many taverns of Incyriia where waitresses served ale to less reputable folk. Among the desert dwellers of Krosir where the sands shifted in menacing patterns. It lingered as the people of Yashin trained with wooden swords, swinging on command from their instructor. And where change pulsed the most was within the Kingdom of the Dead. Where the people's fear grew as something seemed to wake from a slumber from long ago.
But deep in Arvien something else was stirring. The people were getting excited. The grand tournament was beginning. Warriors from all over the land would come and compete. Swordsmans, archers, hunters, and battle hardened veterans of all kinds were flocking towards the city of Tavin. The merchant guilds prepared their wares to the travelers. The High Lord of Arvien came personally days ahead to see the preparation. The nobles were betting on their own champions. Even the peasant folk were beginning to rile up in anticipation. The High Lord treated this event like a festival of sorts and was more charitable and lenient during it. Even the thieves and beggars appreciated the influx of new money.
But dark forces also gathered. They wore cloaks of dark material. Beneath them held blades as black as night. They watched wearily at each new incoming traveler, seeking something within their possessions. They did this for hours until someone alerted the guards. The cloaked group walked into an alley and vanished from sight. The guards felt as if they were just standing near a ledge, death looming near. One of the cloaked men looked back. His eyes were as black as the blade he held. He grimaced with disgust as if he felt something was coming. He grinned as if he thought of a particularly terrible way to kill someone. He continued with the rest of his group as if he never paused at all.