Richard Headman
New Member
Hagrad Stuhl submitted a new role play:
Demoria - Medieval world adventure through lands of magic and chairness
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.
Demoria - Medieval world adventure through lands of magic and chairness
Read more about this role play...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...
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.
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