# How About Something Fantasy? (potential planning)



## Raikomaru (Nov 7, 2011)

Don't have very high hopes for this plot of mine so far, but let's give this a go.

Norsca. A land where Chaos reigns. Where bands of warriors travel, fight and perish without anyone remembering who they were. serving but as fodder to boost the reputation of the one who slew them. This is a grim place, where the laws of reality are taken with a grain of salt, and where creatures of odd composition dwell freely.

In this realm of snow and steel, do you, as an adventurer, have what it takes? Do you have the strength, of body, mind and heart, to succeed here, where so many others have failed? The time has come to band together and strike out, lest you be overrun...



Now, I'm not too great at planning a plot but the basic premise is simple: as a band of Norscans, be ye heavily-armored Warrior or lightly-armored Marauder, to travel around, gain prestige by defeating the local town-terrorizing monsters, and, perhaps eventually, form an army of your very own, with your allies by your side. Quite a few things can happen, of course...

Here's the basic rules, in case anyone's wondering:
1: No Godmoding. Doing so brings dire consequences. If you absolutely MUST, then at least have a chat with the player whose character you intend to 'involve' thusly to see if it's okay to do so.
2: Try And Be Active. This speaks for itself. I\m pretty lenient with waiting for poses, but when the action's pumping...
3: Character Development. Your character is allowed, and encouraged, to develop as you play him or her. After all, adventuring teaches a person about themselves and their abilities!
4: Character Death. Character death CAN happen, but only if one is careless. Be smart about how you interact with the world, your allies and your enemies, even if you're Khornate or Nurglish, and you'll be mostly okay.
5: Put In Effort. Far be it from me to sound elitist, but it's reccomended to try with your poses. Sentences help, as does avoiding the ominous one-or-two-word reply. Putting in effort also includes respecting the wishes of your fellow roleplayers...we all want to have fun, after all!

I'm not too well-versed in the kinds of wargear that Fantasy Chaos champions and such can acquire, but I know enough to assemble a good profile. Feel free to add to this:


Name: Your name. Pretty self-explainatory.
Allegiance: Are you a follower of any of the Four Great Deities, a specific lesser-known one, a worshipper of Chaos in general, or even faithless?
Gender: is your character male or female?
Age: How old is your character?
Appearance: Describe what your character looks like. If he or she is armored, include that too. If they wear a helmet, include what they look like under the helmet as well, in case they ever take it off. Also, make sure to mention any visual mutations here!
Background: What's your character's history? What brought them upon the path they now tread?
Personality: What's your character like? How do they react around other people? To what extent does their faith in their deity of choice(or lack thereof!) affect their wheelings and dealings?
Weaponry: What weapons does your character wield? Anything special about them? Shields qualify as going here too, as a quick note.
Equipment: What sort of gear does your character wear? Armor? Pendants? Charms? Magical artifacts? The whole shebang, put it here.
Mutations: Since we're dealing with Chaos, mutations are relevant. Do they have mutations? If so, do they confer any sort of practical ability for your character, or are they purely aesthetic?


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## Firedamaged (Oct 27, 2011)

Alright, have wanted to join a fantasy RP for a while now but for some reason they keep fizzling out. I'll post a character sheet soon. Any more ideas for the whole meta-plot? Villains, interesting plot twists, or maniacal scheming demons?
I'll be looking forward to this if it gets going.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

I wouldn't give them a choice about the armour. Have them unarmoured or armoured, one or the other, otherwise whoever took a maraurder would be at a severe disadvantage


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## Ratvan (Jun 20, 2011)

this sounds good, i'll post up a character sheet later


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## Firedamaged (Oct 27, 2011)

Ronir Urlafson had, in times gone by, been well respected in his home village. An accomplished smith, he had tended to the various metallic needs prevalent in typical Norsca villages, mending plow shears, shoeing horses and crafting the occasional knife. The sun had set on the eve of his twenty fifth winter when the first emissary of Chaos came to call.
A stranger arrived on the edge of town, his coming heralded by an unusually strong wind from the north, which had led most to fear that winter had arrived early. He was clad, not in the warm furs of the season but in silken cloth and moved with unerring grace, his face an androgenous mixture of sophisticated man and beautiful woman. The man had glided through the town, tempting and promising all and sundry with gifts of beauty and pleasure if they would but follow him and serve his master. He had come to Ronir's forge with the same words that did ensnare the youthful and jealous, but was thrown out, banished by the strength of Ronir's arm. The man fled wit all he had gathered, cursing Ronir's name and strength.
The next month another stranger appeared, clad all in red armour and promising battle, blood and glory. He called the angry and the impetuous to him and they did follow. When he came to the smithy, however he was cast out as the one before him, with the strength of Ronir's arm and the might of his iron shield. This man too did flee, with all he had gathered, once more cursing Ronir for his strength and his iron shield.
Another month passed and, in the depths of winter many were struck down with ill health. There, again did appear another man, this one clad in rags and a vile aura of disease. He did move through the village and gave those who wished his blessings, that they might live through their ills and move on to spread the good news to others. To himself he gathered those left who were afraid to die, those of ill health and advancing age. He too, in turn came to the forge where Ronir worked. Ronir did drive this man from his village too, with the strength of his arm, the might of his iron shield and cleansing fire from his forge. So the man fled, cursing Ronir for his strength, his iron and his fire.
A month later and Ronir stood waiting in his forge. The village was near abandoned by now, either from joining the men who had come through or out of fear of what the next would bring. Another man did enter the village at this time, but he did not move from house to house as the others did, nor did he make clear his intentions to all who would listen. Instead he went directly and surely to the smithy when Ronir stood waiting with his strength and his iron and his fire.
Ronir tensed as his door opened, a chill wind whipping past the stranger in his doorway to blow snowflakes about his feet. "I'll tell you what I told the others!" he shouted "You'll not take me for your games, now get out of my village!" And with that he leapt at the man, flaming brand held high and iron shield ready.
He was blasted out of midair and sent reeling back through his forge by an unseen force. The stranger stepped through the doorway and after a short while, Ronir could make out his features. Clad in an impressive purple and yellow cloak, the man stood at seven feet high, almost forced to duck his head at the low ceiling of the stone workroom and carried with him a vicious halberd of equal length. His face was inordinately plain in comparison, except for his eyes, eyes that glowed a ethereal blue in the reflection from the forge. The figure looked down at Ronir for a full minute before speaking, his voice deep and booming; "You, Smith, have angered my brothers and denied their generosity. You have expelled them from this land and in doing so insulted powers far greater than your feeble mind can conceive. They have cursed you, condemned you and I am here to exact their vengeance. And it will be the sweetest vengeance my lord can provide, for it too is a gift as was offered to your neighbours, but which you have thrice denied. First, the gift of my master; a change of form more suiting to one of his servants."
A pale light enshrouded Ronir, who screamed as a torturous pain shot twin streaks up his back and then erupted from each of his bones. Slowly two great, bird-like wings sprouted from the smith's back as his bones hollowed out and flushed the excess material from his system.
"Second," the man's voice cut through the haze of Ronir's pain, "your first curse. With strength you did cast out my brethren and your strength is what I take from you."
Ronir's agony returned anew as most of the muscles on his arms and legs unknotted themselves and flowed beneath his skin to reattach on hi chest and back.
"Third," that hateful voice made itself heard once more, "with iron you did protect yourself, but now it's very touch shall cause you pain."
The shield and brand that still rested in Ronir's hands suddenly burned as though with a cold flame, forcing him to drop them from his weakened grasp.
"Finally, with fire you did attack my brother," saying this, the flames of Ronir's forge did rise up behind the man, before lashing out towards the helpless smith, striking him in the chest and then flowing into him, "so now your blood shall be as fire, so that any wound you suffer shall release it to burn your flesh."
Finally the light surrounding Ronir died, and he sank exhausted to the floor. The last thing he was aware of before consciousness left him was the man leaning over him and whispering almost lovingly, "Welcome to the service of Tzeentch, my brother."
When he came to the sun was just peeking it's first rays over the horizon, the man was gone and the forge had died. Realising that nothing was left for him there, a mutant smith who cannot touch iron in an empty town. So he left, aimless and alone, to wander the wilds.

Ronir Urlafson stands at five foot eight and is around thirty winters of age. He wears furs and leathers with either wood, clay or bone fastenings and what appears to be a feathered cloak about his shoulders. His face, when seen from under his hood has a gaunt and haunted look about it. He is frequently indifferent or depressing in his dealings with people and tends to avoid them most of the time. His only weapons are a pair of leather-wrapped bone daggers and a cheap wooden short bow with several stone-tipped arrows. He has been severely mutated by the forces of chaos, his feathered cloak actually being a pair of over-large wings, most of his muscles are extremely weak even after five years of use, with the exception for those on his chest and back which are developed to the extreme, allowing him to put his wings to good use. He is frail and any wounds suffered result in a gout of fire erupting from his veins, potentially burning his attacker but hurting Ronir in the process. Finally he has been cursed with an aversion to iron on par with a werewolf's allergy to silver, rendering him unable to use either iron or steel items or equipment.

What do you think, that something along the lines of what you wanted for this campaign?


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## Sanity (Feb 17, 2012)

I plan on joining I like the idea very, very much. I think it has a lot of potential.Bear with me if my character seems a bit lame. Just getting back into roleplaying. Been a long while but I figure it should come back to me like riding a bike. I'll be posting my character sheet hopefully tomorrow.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

Sanity you're a bit late because this died a few months ago and to be honest it didn't even start


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## Sanity (Feb 17, 2012)

Yeah, that occurred to me when I logged on today and looked at the date. Sad, seemed like the idea could go places. Oh well I suppose. No point in crying over dead threads. I'm off in search of another although, there don't seem to be too many fantasy rps being started or that are still open.


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