Demoria [Inactive]

[Richard Headman]

Hagrad Stuhl submitted a new role play:


Demoria - Medieval world adventure through lands of magic and chairness

The Nations of Demoria have been at war for years, the people are beginning to feel empty inside. Their morale is crushed under the corpses of friends and loved ones. Famine runs rampant, and the poor are only getting poorer. While the weaker nations lose strength, the larger nations only add to the already ridiculous body count. Demoria, the world in which we live, is in utter chaos. Diplomacy has failed, as the nations argue over petty resources. The twelve large countries are all nearly...

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The ground slushes beneath Beaurmont's feet, it's been raining for days. He is getting rather tired of the constant downfall, it's making travel rather difficult. Even though it is a light trickle his cloak is drenched and Beaurmont is shaking slightly. "This blasted rain will be the death of me before I even face the Monster Lord." He says with a sigh. As if the world understood him, it begins to rain harder, crushing his dreams. He sighs heavily and begins to jog steadily down the dirt road. After another five minutes drugging through the rainy weather Beaurmont happens to see a small building appear in the distance. Without stopping he squints his eyes and cups his hands. Trying to identify the small worn building. To his surprise, and great delight, he discovered that it was an old tavern. His jog turning into a sprint as he strides toward the only beacon of light he has left. Finally after reaching the front door he shakily takes hold of the large door knob and pushes it open gently. Beaurmont is welcomed with the banter of drunkards and the smell of rum. It's warm and welcoming. He eagerly walks over to the nearest table and begins removing his wet cloak. After hanging it on a post next to him he slowly sits down into a chair, easing all of his muscles. Beaurmont basks in the warm dryness and wearily massages his own neck. Suddenly he hears a muffled yell and looks around himself, confused. He tries to identify the culprit, but everyone seems to be interested in drinking and merrymaking. With a confused shudder he tries to shrug it off before hearing the yell a lot louder, angrier and...beneath him? Beaurmont jumps to his feet and backs away from the tiny wooden chair he sat on. People begin to notice his frightened state and chuckle lightly. 
The chair was made from a brilliant polished oak and the sum of it's parts made it look like any wooden chair, however the chair was obviously magical in some way. Beaurmont could feel the chair's magical essence; it was a faint. Then the chair did the unthinkable "Gie ye crease awa' from me." The chair spoke; to Beaurmont's utter and complete shock.

 

[Beaurmont]

More and more heads begin to turn toward Beaurmont, the strange man suddenly startled by a simple wooden chair. He pulls his blade at the chair and pokes it a bit intrigued. "Are you alive creature?"

 

[Richard Headman]

The chair responds curtly "Oi, boy this ain't on' of your on' night stands wit on' of the ladies, get that piece of junk outta me face" However the chair makes no move to show that it had actually said anything. there's no indication that the chair was actually speaking except for the vocalization in Beaurmont's head.

 

[Beaurmont]

"I must be going mad, the fatigue is making me hear things." Beaurmont whispers to himself, his behavior is beginning to worry those around him. Trying not to ruin the merriment he quickly puts away his rapier and sits down in another chair, slowly, poking it a few times. Lets make sure there isn't a family of talking chairs. Beaurmont looks over at the bartender and yells for a mug of Rum, feeling a bit parched. The on-lookers avert their gazes, but he could still feel the tension in the air.

 

[Gilrumm]

Suddenly a small gnome appears next to the strange man. "Excuse sire, my name is Gilrona." The gnome introduced herself. "Did I hear you talking to that chair?" she asked. Curious heads turn toward the gnome, as she is the only one to crazy enough to approach the man.

 

[Beaurmont]

Beaurmont lowers his head and looks down at the tiny woman, studying her appearance. She is nearly the same height as the table. She's rather skinny for a gnome, most are a bit more on the chubby side. She carries a wooden staff and wears dark glasses, covering her eyes. "Er, yes." He manages to get out, grabbing the mug from the bartender. "Was I not the only one who heard him speak? Am I not insane?" Beaurmont asks a bit embarrassed.

 

[Gilrumm]

"Alas" she replies. "I heard it too. Do you mind if I sit? I'm most curious about this chair." She is already sitting in the chair before the man can say anything. "What do you think it is good sir?"

 

[Richard Headman]

The chair speaks to the two "Oi'm not an it; i'm a man, and ah've got a schlong. Jus' not rit' now!"

 

[Beaurmont]

Ignoring the chair's opposition toward being called an it, Beaurmont looks back at Gilrona. "Uh, you may madam. I don't exactly know why, but I hear the strange...voice in my head-"

 

[Myr Echidni]

*An elegantly clothed drunkard stumbles over from the corner of the room to the group.* Oi mates. I heard that shair talkin more than onsh. Ish been here for yearsh and never caushed any troubl... *the drunkard half passes out and nearly falls onto the chair, but wakes up half way through his fall, and in order to catch himself, causes a small explosion under him to throw him back up into a standing position, making a medium size hole in the floor.*

 

[Gilrumm]

"By the gods! Why would you do that, you drunken fool!" Shouts Gilrona toward the strange man.

 

[Beaurmont]

Beaurmont stares at the strange drunkard, confused all to hell. Why are all these strange people showing up? Why a talking chair? Where in the hell is he? "Calm yourself Gilrona, this man is...quite intoxicated." He says to her.

 

[Gilrumm]

"Seems like." She says with a scornful look toward the man. "But it is as you both said, it's like I hear this chair's voice within my head. It's almost like telepathy." Gilrona inquires.

 

[Myr Echidni]

"Ahh shorry about that. I didn't wansh to get my robe dirty. Hey barkeep heresh shome money." *He tosses a bag of coins at the bartender, but in his drunken stupor he throws the bag too hard and makes a dent in the bar.* "Ehh shit...Well anyway, this shair hash been here for yearsh...He's been talkin' for ash long ash I can remember..."

 

[Beaurmont]

The strange man spits everywhere in his drunkard actions, covering Beaurmont's face with a veil of saliva. Calmly, Beaurmont reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver cloth. Quickly he cleans the spit off and turns back toward Gilrona; "Yes...quite. This chair...is not normal in the least."

 

[Gilrumm]

Gilrona nods in agreement and looks to the chair, "What are you good sir chair, and how did you get this way?"

 

[Richard Headman]

The chair sits there motionless "Me names Hagrad Stuhl the second! Son of Hagrad Stuhl the first! heir to the great Viking king's throne! hahahaha, The story fer 'at on' is a long and excitin' tale! But let's not waste any of me time. I'll just tell ya that a damn witch is the cause for me ailment and ah've been this way since 30 or so years!" The chair is still motionless, but the thoughts of the group were in a daze from the shear loudness that the chair summoned to their heads.

 

[Beaurmont]

The ringing in Beaurmont's head is causing him to get a headache. Did he say something about a witch? "Erm, Hagrad was it? You mentioned a witch? Could you elaborate?" He asks.

 

[Richard Headman]

The Chair remains motionless "Yur' fukin' bet yur ass I said witch. her name was Lucinda the wicked, dumb bitch turned me into a contraption made fer yur ass to sit upon, after I nearly defeated her. I woulda killed her too if it weren't for her meddling powers. Witches be bitches!" The chair is motionless, but says enthusiastically to Beaurmont.

 

[Beaurmont]

Beaurmont taken aback by the response he turns to Gilrona and raises an eyebrow.

 

[Gilrumm]

"Don't look at me!" The gnome replies sheepishly. "I've only heard of such things! My grandmother used to be a power warlock. She might know something about this curse, not that that does us any good anymore." Gilrona's gaze drops to the floor. She looks saddened, as if recalling a happier time.

 

[Beaurmont]

Beaurmont sympathetically pats the saddened gnome on the shoulder, everyone has a dark past they want to forget. He tries to speak softly, not trying to further her pain. "You mentioned your grandmother being a warlock, perhaps in her pursuit of knowledge...she owned a book of curses?"

 

[Gilrumm]

The gnome suddenly lights up with excitement. "Yes, yes I believe so. I may have seen it on her shelves!" Gilrona looks solemn again. "But her home was in Jormungand, far away form here. I could never make it there alone."

 

[Beaurmont]

The drunkard gets up slowly and stares at Beaurmont straight in the eyes: "I heerd yu need a to relesh a cursh? Right?" Beaurmont, hesitant at first nods in agreement. He man gives off a sly grin and points toward the west. "Therse a city...uh...west? East? Frrum here filled wiht witches...they couldz fix the...talkin' churo."

 

[Richard Headman]

"Oi you better watch what you say or this churos's gonna kick yur ass" says the ever motionless chair.