The mourn stood before the prison….her skin tingling from the power seething within the wards…..
Her companion…a drough…let out a tight held breath…
“That is a lot of power….are you sure this is wise….?”
The mourn’s eyes were gleaming with insanity…”…you wanted help Death Cult…..you are getting it….you want revenge…this is it….its to late ….we are committed…..”
She drew upon the innate force bound within her ancient spear….then
Thrust its flint tip through the drough’s throat…
It gargled through the ruin of its wound
The mourn….sneered…..”old.magic…demands sacrifice…you are it….”
The hand collapsed….blood pooling….then…seeping in a crimson stream towards the wards…..
Which began to pulse….and pulse and pulse…
Along with his fading heartbeats
The wards burst open …in a ubernatural throb of released rage…hurling the mourn fifty feet and reducing her weapon to componant molecules….
Shadows….moved beyond….slim…tall….eyes pools of liquid darkness…
They killed the mourn….it took a while as they flenced her body …mind and soul….
Then..opened a portal….and left…..their dark magic…..chittering…in their wake
Smoke bellowed from the tallest chimneys. Acrid, full of metal particles. The smell, that of burnt flesh reveals the inhumanity of what fuelled the fires.
The ubernatural powers swelled, as Duncan stood within his circle. Finely crafted and tuned for this purpose. Surrounded by mirrors, Duncan stepped out from behind one to face himself. And then, another, and another. Twelve spoke first.
“We stand here, on the turn of history. For it has always been said, I would save the world.”
He pulled back the sheet covering a box in the centre of the circle. A coffin.
The doors to the silo sealed, pushed shut by gears the size of horses and mechanical arms with nails the length of swords. An ethereal glow seeped from the edges, and the sound of mirrors shattering, one by one echoed.
Hours later, the doors reopen with a gasp of air and a release of power. Duncan strides forth, slightly trailing him, another figure
“… prepared with the correct trappings, the first ritual can be enacted”
“I hope you remember your part, we begin tonight”
Three humanoids crawling on all fours scuttle into the Ritual Chamber, the sounds of crunching glass as they move and scrape their limbs. Twelve bodies, so alike.
Duncan and Michale walk into the transport circle
“Come Michale, we have only just started”
Sgt Paul Smaller. 13th Scout Eagles
His retirement wasn’t going well. Never did for the veterans really. Pulled back into service for a good wage. He was getting old. He hated it, even though all he had to do was walk the edge of The Jute and report back.
But today, his walk takes a little longer. He can feel the prickle of its ancient power pulling at his magic. He kisses his focus, an old wedding ring and the feeling subsides. Odd, usually only happens when much closer. He gives it no 2nd thought, until he sees the clouds of smoke.
Toby Smythe was doing his rounds as usual. Sweep the circle, clear away the burnt down candles and wash the blood. Picking up the last shreds of a torn robe, he felt a tug. He instinctively felt out to the circle to ensure that all the power had gone. It had, all of it. It felt empty and his stomach sank. If the Cardinal should find out the all the sacrifices had not repowered the circle, then the ritualists would be flayed. But as soon as it had gone, it was back.
Stepping out of the circle he almost tripped on nothing, as if something was just off from where it should be. Curious he reaches out again, sensing the circle. Striking, not pantheon. This would need reporting to the Cardinal, Toby knew he would get whipped for this.
Current System Effect
All circles briefly stopped working. During this time, their alignments have been restored to how they were crafted. All ritual circles are now aligned to one or more of the schools of ritualism. Over time, this may change but it will be due to IC actions.
You are also now unable to use power to increase RP in a ritual. This includes sacrificing items etc. They will still be taken into account for the performance score.
The Tome of Magic has been updated to reflect this as a fundamental change.
*As the sun sets and the moon rises a man with blonde hair in a black cape and mask is seen darting around the streets dropping letters through the doors of every Stormguard hero and with every delivery he shouts ‘na na na na DOUGMAN!”
The letter is as follows:*
My fellow Stormguardians,
As you may already know, we have been invited to Ravnhjem. With the imperials outside Stormguard combined with the militia and Sunwolves protecting our hold, I believe we may visit this place together. Our beloved Manny has confirmed that travelling to this place is safe and these people mean us no harm.
At this time, making allies is crucial and with the amount of craftsmen and alchemists thriving in Stormguard, it is quintessential that we open new trade routes. As this is new unexplored land for us, we have a chance to discover new materials and artifacts that could help our hold develop and evolve.
There are many among you with a wide variety of skills and knowledge. We will be looking for everyone’s opinions and informed conclusions on whether they believe an alliance with these folk will benefit our home and the people who live in it.
I have been guaranteed that we will have free and safe passage to and from Ravnhjem by the Jarl.
If any of you, my brothers and sisters have any issues or worries, you are more than welcome to come and knock on my door.
The blood of their enemies fresh on their blades
The raucous calls of the corrupted gretch echoed about them
Black bone arrows skirled through the air striking boulders
Bouncing from their battered armour
Once lanced through Keris’ thigh
She grunted and fell
Stood over her as she ripped the barbed missile from her flesh
The first demon touched rounded the bend in the ravine
The barbarian’s sword cleaving off its head
It fell screaming in pain
Keris shouted to her mate
Her spells and knit her wound into a ragged scar
They sprinted for the circle
The spirits of their tribe warded them against the death haunt guarding
The witch way
The gretch screamed their frustrated cries
Ragnar stopped within the skulls that marked out the circles circumference
Shouted to the gods of the steppes to seal them from harm
Arrows and darts bounced from his hastily erected ward
“Where! Go where?” The shameness spat in all directions to grant them luck in travel
Cut her palm thrust it into Ragnar’s face for him to taste their bond
He wracked his brain
Where was safe
A place he had heard of a trapper told of
A fortress paved in gold
The gretch eyes blood red and hate filled loped away
Dragging their dead
The hunt had made them hungry
Welcome to Stormguard!
People don’t come here to live, they come here to die! (more…)
The year comes to an end….the wilds begins to quieten its rage slowly ebbing away as winter takes hold and frost, rime and snow blanket its leafless mass. Druids go from glade to glade watching their flock descend into hibernation….rituals ward the sleepers from harm. (more…)
The signs of the end of the day in full swing. The sun going down, and people coming in from the fields. The militia hand over from the day shift to the night shift. Private Thompson of the 9th Cohort 666th Legion, locally known as “The Militia” stands on the walls. (more…)
A work in progress novel about the land of Af’ael and the story of Aftermath – by Carl Danes.
Click HERE to have a read!!!
Old man Edrik staggered as the first quake hit, he was flung to the floor of his dwelling as plaster and straw fell from the walls and roof… (more…)